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indecisivemuch · 10 months ago

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Look at me

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: Being oblivious to Luke’s feelings, you tried to get over him by getting a boyfriend, who just does not know how to treat you right. Inspired by the song ‘Boyfriend’ by Dove Cameron ~ “I could be a better boyfriend than him.” (jealous luke, friends-to-lovers, fluff, angst, pining, happy ending.)

Warning: Just the boyfriend being an asshole and unwanted physical touch for a split second, but nothing serious. Sorry if your name is Cole. Violence (physical fighting)

Note: I’m sorry if there are a lot of errors, I haven’t had the chance to edit this thoroughly so if it feels like a train wreck, then I'm sorry. I just needed to write this out, get it out there, so I can go back to revising for my exams in peace lol, cause this plot/idea has been at the back of my head, I could not stop thinking about it or study properly. Lowkey hated how this one turned out, but whoops.

Word count: 4.8k

“People say that eyes are the windows to one's soul,” you once told him. You two have been best friends for a very long time: five years of being attached to the hip. Yet, you were completely oblivious to the way he looked at you. Even everybody at camp noticed and thought it was bound to happen. They were so sure that Luke and you would end up together. So imagine everybody’s surprise when something else occurred.

It happened right in front of Luke: Cole - a boy from Cabin 5 and son of Ares - asked you out, and you said yes.

It has been two months since that day. All Luke could do was sulk as he watched his best friend slip away. Of course, you still tried to spend as much time as possible with him. But even then, things have changed. There were no more of those content silences between the two of you. There were no more carefree laughs that made Luke feel like you two were the only ones that existed in this place. He used to walk you back to your cabin every night, hugging you good night or kissing your forehead close to your hairline if he felt brave enough. Moments like those convinced him you two would be like that forever. But his solace was taken in a split second. Now, you were so near, yet so out of reach.

It didn’t help that he saw you every day, like right now, as you sat in the middle of a gathering hosted by your cabin. Gods, even the wind seems to be in love with you, judging by the way it was blowing through your hair as if it was trying to twirl itself around those lovely locks that Luke himself used to always tug behind your ears. The sight of you always bathed him in this warm feeling, like the morning sun. Hence his nickname for you: sunshine.

Then his brown eyes landed on the figure next to you, and they hardened. He has witnessed it all: Cole’s backhanded compliments, ignoring you on your birthday, leaving you alone to talk to his friends, occasionally flirting back with girls who batted an eyelash at him, and then blatantly telling you that you were overthinking it. Luke knew he could treat you so much better.

You were sitting with your boyfriend and his group of friends, who often gave you weird looks or snickers. Gods, if it was him you were with, he’d never make you feel excluded. He would have his arms around you and defend you if his friends ever made snarky remarks. Not that that would ever happen anyway; you were well-loved at camp, and all his friends loved you. But he would treat you well, nevertheless, not like that dumbass sitting next to you.

One of your favorite songs started playing, and Luke watched as you genuinely smiled for once tonight. You touched your boyfriend’s arm, muttering something to him. Luke knew exactly what you were saying to Cole because you and Luke used to do this together. Except, you never had to ask Luke.

Whenever your favorite tunes were on, Luke would immediately pull you out of your seat and dance with you, laughing as if nothing mattered at all. Nights like those, he liked to imagine that the stars above envied them and what the two of you had. Now? He felt like one of them, watching from the outside.

Luke’s jaw clenched as he saw Cole shrugging off your hand on his arm. Gods, Luke felt like that idiot was taking you for granted, and his blood boiled. Before Cole, Luke used to always orchestrated some excuse to have you touch him - getting injured on purpose sometimes just to watch you frantically panic over his wounds and take care of him, volunteering to help you out with swords training just to touch your hand and pretend to adjust the way you were holding it, hugging you every time he greeted you and so on.

For a second, your mask slipped, and you had that look on your face, like something had left you emotionally wounded. It was the kind of look Luke would kill to never see again, and oh, the things he would do to get rid of Cole. Luke had to wrestle with the thought of marching up to Cole and beating him to a pulp. However, he did stand up to approach you.

You felt a hand touch your shoulder. When you peered at the person standing, your eyes immediately glimmered as they caught Luke’s. However, something foreign was gleaming in his eyes. The Hermes boy has always looked at you sweetly. But the way he was looking at you right now was filled with something much more intense - borderline fervent, like an obsession.

Cole finally glanced over at you for the first time the entire night. Unlike you, he instantly recognized the look in Luke’s eyes: hunger and longing. It was clear as day to everybody but you.

Luke extended his hand out for you to take and you understood right away. For the first time in two months, your hand touched his. Luke’s chest sunk and his breathing lost its usual rhythm for a second as your skin made contact with his. The Hermes boy finally looked over to Cole, and the Ares boy saw an immediate shift in his eyes. Now, they were filled with animosity and - the most obvious of all - heated jealousy.

Luke led you away from Cole and started twirling you around. You let out a laugh - the kind that was infectious and has always brought a smile to Luke’s lips. You both sang along to the lyrics. For once, your relationship felt restored, just like the good old days. Was it wrong that this was the happiest you have felt since you got together with Cole? You shrugged away the thought as the song slowly ended. Luke settled with both hands on your waist while yours were around his neck. Usually, you would put your head on his chest as you both slightly swayed around. But now that you were in a relationship, you kept a bit of distance between the two of you. You gaze up at Luke, who was already staring at you sweetly. The moment was perfect. Gods, you almost wished to stay in it forever.

Meanwhile, Luke hoped he could convey his thoughts through his eyes - the unspoken words he wished he had told you sooner. Could you not see the infatuation coursing through his veins whenever he was with you? Could you not see that you got him at your beck and call?

The look you gave him almost convinced him that you heard his thoughts. You leaned your head on his chest, caught off-guard by the speed of his heartbeat as it soothed you along with the music in the background. Feeling a heated look over his way, Luke glanced around and locked eyes with your boyfriend. Cole narrowed his eyes while Luke gave Cole a look of resentment and immense loathing.

Gods, he could be a much better boyfriend than Cole.

“Hey, man,” when you heard your boyfriend’s voice, you lifted your head from Luke’s chest and withdrew your hands around his neck. “I’ll take over from here,” Cole practically pulled you away from Luke and started swaying with you. Instead of feeling happy that Cole finally danced with you after two months of dating, you felt wrong. Cole's hands were on your waist, but they felt sluggish like his heart was not in it at all. Your ear was against Cole’s chest, so you caught the sound of his heartbeat. It sounded…too calm, almost cold and shallow, causing you to twist your lips into a frown.

You glanced up at your boyfriend but saw him staring behind you instead. So you glanced back and caught a glimpse of Luke before getting pulled around by Cole, who roughly yanked your face towards him. He kissed you almost aggressively. There was something cynical and bitter about the way he was kissing you.

Cole opened his eyes and conceitedly made eye contact with Luke. The Hermes boy glared at the sight of Cole handling you so roughly, claiming your lips so smugly. If it was him, he would be kissing you for you; he would be kissing you to show you how much he worshiped you and the ground you walk on, not to prove an empty point.

You finally managed to pull away when Cole let go of your chin. “All right, we’re done for the night, don’t you think?” your boyfriend muttered, quickly leaving you to return to his friends as if nothing had happened. Despite feeling slightly aggravated at Cole, you hated that you couldn't care less of his words at that moment, and the first thing you did was look in the direction Luke had been before.

Yet, he was not there anymore.

~~~

Your cabin was not on the same side as Luke’s cabin for this match of capture the flag. You were fighting off some people who were on the blue team. Years of training with Luke paid off because you managed to point your sword at the person’s neck and grinned when they put their hands up in surrender. You continued perusing through the area, trying to regroup with your team or take down another blue team member. However, you almost tripped as you witnessed Cole on the ground with Luke on top of him, repeatedly punching his face..

“Luke!” you called out, watching as Luke’s action faltered, and his eyes darted around frantically around like a lost wild animal. However, Cole took advantage of Luke’s momentary distraction to land a hit on Luke’s face. The Ares boy got off the ground as Luke stumbled and went for another punch. However, Luke dodged it effortlessly and rammed Cole against a tree instead.

“Hey, knock it off,” you yelled, standing between the boys to stop their flight. Luke immediately backed off, afraid he would accidentally hurt you if he didn’t. But Cole, in the middle of his blind rage, still swung for Luke and ended up striking you across the face instead. Right when that happened, Luke pushed Cole again and rushed to your side to assess your injury. At that very moment, Chiron approached the scene with one of Cole’s friends next to him, who promptly told the man:

“It was him. Luke initiated the fight.”

~~~

Luke wished for somebody to put him out of this misery as he stared at you from afar helplessly. He was so dotted that it hurt. Somebody must have answered his prayers because your eyes met his from across the field. There was a bit of sadness behind them, perhaps regret from how things ended yesterday. You whispered something to your boyfriend, but Cole did not even spare you a glance and waved his hand as if dismissing you from the discussion. Luke’s hand once again curled into a fist. He bit the inside of his cheek from the pain induced by his injury. The Hermes cabin counselor felt no bit of guilt in his body about his physical altercation with Cole. He felt smug at the sight of Cole with one black eye, busted lip, swollen cheek and a body sporting way more bruises than him.

You deserved better.

“Hey, stranger,” you greeted, sitting beside Luke. Almost immediately, he hooked one finger under your chin, tilting your head lightly as if he was afraid he might break you. The boy scanned over your injury, sighing at the sight of purple forming under your skin, indicating an emerging bruise. Even so, under the moonlight, you still looked heavenly to him.

“Devon said you initiated the fight. Is that true, Luke?” Luke frowned at the mention of Cole’s friend. Great, now he knew another idiot’s name. Meanwhile, you have asked this because you knew him. There was no way the boy you knew would lose control like this and swing his hands first.

“No, but what’s the point of telling Chiron that? It’s two against one,” he breathed out.

“Luke, you’re literally the friendliest and nicest counselor here. Of course, he would believe you,” you reasoned. You sighed disappointingly as Luke only shook his head in response as if asking you to drop it.

Now, you two sat in silence. It felt the same as the comforting ones you have had with him before - the ones that made you feel like you were at home in front of your fireplace, curled up with a book.

“Why are you with him?” and with that, the comfort evaporated as the air thickened. You and Luke rarely argued or even disagreed, so it felt like an unfamiliar territory every time it felt relatively tense between you two.

“I know you, which is why I know that you’re absolutely miserable with him, so I don’t understand why you’re still with Cole,” Luke commented, though his voice was quiet because he was considerate of drawing this type of attention to you. He had seen it before - Cole causing public altercations and storming off and you running after him with tears emerging from your eyes. He did not want to put you in the same position.

“Y/N, please, as your best friend…” there it was again, the word that used to make you smile brightly, was now the same one that brought you pain. You wanted more. “...You deserve better,” he uttered, his eyebrows slightly scrunched as he looked at you with those eyes. There it was again, the look so intense that you were convinced they could swallow you whole. Yet, you could not interpret them. So, you looked away.

“Luke…” you said his name almost like a warning sign. The boy sighed at this.

His fingers gently tilted your chin towards him, urging you to face him. There was so much contrast in the way he touches you and the way Cole does. You knew precisely why Luke wanted you to look at him: your eyes were your tell for him. Years ago, after you told him that eyes were the windows to one's soul, he told you that he knew this already because he had learned that your eyes will always tell the truth for you. That’s how, in so many instances, he would be the first to notice whenever you're upset.

“Y/N, does he make you happy?” you stiffened at the question. Words choked up in your throat as your mouth opened to answer. You wanted to say yes so you both could get over this conversation. But you knew he would be able to tell you were lying. The way he looked at you right now, as if you were the only thing that mattered. He seemed so vulnerable. Little did you right at this moment, Luke was willing to surrender and let you go if you said yes.

“Oh, this is who you left me to talk to?” Cole's voice broke you both out of the trance. “The person who beat your boyfriend?” Cole passive-aggressively spat, sneering from above as he looked down at the two of you. You called out to your boyfriend, but he quickly cut you off with a quick “Unbelievable,” before walking away. But Cole did this on purpose. He liked the attention he drew, even if they were at your expense, especially because he knew you would chase after him.

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered to Luke on your boyfriend's behalf as you stood up to run after him. Luke frowned as he shook his head. If you were his, he would never allow you to apologize on his behalf, nor would he give a reason for you to ever do that.

“Uhm, what are you waiting for?” Annabeth’s voice broke Luke from his irritated state. “Go after her,” the young girl nudged.

“I doubt I should do that, Annabeth. Last time I was with him, he ended up in the infirmary.”

“Yes, but you need to go after her before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late.”

“No, it’s not,” the girl stated sternly, and when Luke peered over at her, he recognized the look on her face. From experience, he knew better than to doubt when Annabeth was right. So, he stood up and walked in the direction where you disappeared after your boyfriend.

“Stop it, Cole. I don’t want to…” Your voice grabbed Luke’s attention as he started walking in that direction, eyebrows furrowed.

“Come on, this is the least you could do to make it up to me,” Cole replied.

When Luke reached the scene, he almost went into an uncontrollable wrath when he saw Cole trying to take off your shirt as you objected and struggled out of his grip.

“I said ‘let go,’ Cole,” you yelled this time, pushing him back. Upon finally doing so successfully, a figure stormed past you and immediately flung at Cole’s cheek, right at the spot that was already bruising. The impact knocked Cole to the ground as he wailed from the pain. Averting your gaze to the person, you saw Luke. Like a deranged bull, Luke grabbed Cole by the collar and lifted him up, going in for another hit, but you quickly stopped him, calling out his name.

Cole, who did not learn his lesson, spoke again, “Gods, of course! He runs to your aid again. You must be a good fuck for him to get this attached. How many times have you fucked him, huh? Gods, you’re such a whore, you know that?” If it were not for your hands stopping Luke and removing his grip from Cole’ shirt, Luke would have ensured Cole no longer had a face.

“Cole, stay the fuck away from me. We are over.” Your words seemed to affect Luke more than Cole. It was as if Luke could feel an immense weight being lifted from his shoulders. “Let’s go, this is not worth it,” you told Luke. Cole barked a laugh at this.

“Man, you’re more trouble than it's worth. Do you know why no guys ever asked you out? You’re fucking difficult and clingy, that’s why. If it was not for that fucking bet, I would not have either.” Luke was about to launch at Cole but was caught off guard because you had already done it yourself. You punched him, aiming for his nose and teeth, making sure to break a few.

“You fucking bitch!” Cole spoke after he howled in agony. He spat out blood as his nose started bleeding, “Gods, you’re gonna pay for this.”

“Oh yeah? Come on!” you challenged him, motioning him to come over. Any sense of calm or restraint you had was long gone. “I’ll be the one sending you to the fucking infirmary this time,” right when you started approaching Cole again, you were quickly stopped by Luke. He stood behind you, one of his hands soothingly rubbing your back in an attempt to calm you down. Luke averted his gaze to Cole.

“If you know any better, then leave, Cole. And don’t come near any of us again, or I promise you…” Luke trailed off, shaking his head as his eyes bore the weight of the promise he left unsaid, leaving it to Cole’s imagination as to what Luke would ever do to him if he ever saw the boy again. Something seemed to dawn on Cole as he saw the dark look on Luke’s face. Cole finally decided to leave the scene, limping away from the area as he muttered some insults under his breath.

You turned around and inspected Luke’s hand, which started bleeding again through the bandage. Taking his non-injured hand in yours, you wordlessly dragged the boy to the infirmary. Despite the excruciating pain spreading through his injured hand, Luke blushed at your action and followed you like a lost puppy.

The Apollo person on shift was someone you knew, so you managed to convince them to let you do the work on the Hermes boy. You observed his hand again, peeling off the dirty bandage from it. As you went to grab disinfectant, Luke softly held you back by flipped over his hand that was in yours so that he could take a look at your hand instead.

“Are you okay?” His words made you swiftly look over at him instead. There was a sad look on his face as he sat on the infirmary bed. You haven’t seen him this hurt and dejected in a long time.

“Am I okay? You’re the one with the bleeding hand.”

“You punched him quite hard.”

“He deserved it,” you settled on answering, hesitantly pulling your hand out of his so you could grab the things you needed.

“You know I had that handled, right?” you asked mindlessly, trying to fill the silence as you disinfected his hand and wrapped a new bandage over it. “I don’t need you to defend my honor or anything, Luke. I can hold my own ground,” you tried joking.

“No, I know you can hold your own ground. Besides, I wasn’t defending your honor,” he spoke softly, watching as you delicately held his hand with so much care. He wished you could hold him like that as well. A quivering sigh escaped his soft lips, his voice much less firm than he wanted it to be:

“I was defending the girl I’m in love with.”

You immediately looked at him, only to see him already gazing up at you. It was as if a blindfold had been taken off, you finally understood what your other friends were referring to when they said that Luke had always “looked” at you. His eyes were filled with adoration. However, this time, they were also decorated with pain.

“I could be a better boyfriend than him,” he stated, almost like it was a fact, and your gut knew it was true, too.

“So….Why not me? I watched you give Cole - a complete asshole - a chance with you. I watched him give you so much less than what you deserve. It pains me, but I still sit here and wait for you to look in my direction for even one second in the way I have always looked at you. I could be so good to you, Y/N. I waited for you to realize I could be the one who loves you so endlessly and treats you way better than all these guys combined. So…why? Please tell me why and put me out of my misery. Why is it not me?”

“Luke…” you rasped out his name. Despite the pain he was in, his heart could not help but throb for a second as it yearned for the sound of your voice calling out to him again. He almost scowled at himself for the way he was reacting to you. Gods, you managed to unravel him through the sound of his name from your lips. He hesitated for a second, wondering if he would even be able to take it at all - if he was given a chance with you. Would he be able to handle the way your skin felt against his, or would his heart burst into unstoppable flames? Would he ever be able to move on if you ended up breaking his heart, or would it remain in scattered pieces of you?

“I love you,” he uttered so effortlessly, which almost convinced you he had said it a thousand times before. In a way, he did, but only in his mind after every time he bid you goodnight. Gods, never did you think he’d say it out loud and put it out there. You almost said it before as well - out loud to the universe, but never brave enough.

“Luke, I never knew,” Luke wanted to sigh as he looked away from you. For the first time ever, he did not want to be vulnerable and let you see his eyes. The same ones that had been looking longingly at you for the past five years, and you were too blinded to see.

He could have sworn that he had been laying it on thick for the past years - all the touches, the looks, his actions. Luke would always linger near you and select you first every time he had to go on a quest. And if he ever were selected to go on one without you, the first thing he would do after returning is wrap his arms around your waist as he pulled you into a hug, breathing in your presence like it would bring him back to life from the gruesome battles he had to go through while out of camp. Did all those actions throughout five years not show you enough that he was infatuated with you? He wanted to reassure you that what Cole said previously was not true. Many guys wanted you but never asked you out because they knew he would be first in line no matter what.

"Luke, please, look at me," Of course he obeyed. His eyes met yours - the ones he always tried to find in a crowd of demigods.

“I never knew that you were an option. I did not know that I could choose you. I thought that even attempting to tell you about my feelings would break our friendship forever. I didn’t know you felt this way, too. In fact,” you dryly chuckled. “I was giving Cole a chance because I was trying to move on from you.” Luke tugged you closer to him, his fingers lingering on your hips. Thousands of thoughts speared through him as he tried to collect himself. A glimmer of hope presented itself as his mind toyed with the idea of you wanting him too.There was no way he was letting you move on now, not when you both have mutual feelings.

“I thought I was deep in the friend zone. Did you not see all the moves I pulled on you?” he asked.

“What moves?”

“Uhm—the physical contact?”

“I thought you were just touchy.”

“I walked you back to your cabin every night!”

“Well, I thought it was just a best friend thing?”

“The first thing I do after every quest is search for you, you’re always the first one I want to see.”

“I really, really thought it was because you were my best friend.” He groaned at all of your responses.

“But do know, Luke. You have always been my first option in everything. And I would have chosen you again and again, the first pick every round…if I knew you were up for it.” He groaned again, but this time out of temptation and satisfaction. He didn’t think the metaphorical butterflies were real. He slowly but surely stood up from the infirmary’s bed and wrapped his arms around your waist. You reciprocated, your hands around his neck. He leaned closer to you and gulped. He wanted to say the right words, do the right things and not mess this up. He took a deep breath and finally settled on what to say next.

“Can I kiss you?” He muttered in a low, raspy voice with a restrained manner, as if he was holding himself back. Five years of pining led him to this point. You almost melted at the sound of his voice.

“Kiss me, Luke.”

And he did. He pulled you up and arched down, connecting your lips together. He dove in as if he had been waiting for this day his whole life. He felt every breath knocked out of his lungs. He sunk himself into this moment like he was living for it rather than in it. He kissed you as if it was the only time he could and as if you would evaporate if he stopped. His hands moved to your face to embrace your cheeks in his palm.

You started moving your hands up his head and played with his curly hair. You tugged it slightly, and the action drew a moan from Luke. The sound caused you to break away. It made you flustered that you had evoked such an alluring sound from the Hermes boy.

“I wanna go slow for you, I really do. But it feels like I’ve been waiting for so long. I want to be a gentleman and not skip steps. But I can’t wait anymore,” he whispered before whimpering against your lips, “please be mine.”

He went in for another kiss again, but you pulled away. His heart clenched at this. The boy bit his lip and wanted to scowl at himself for attempting to speed things up. He was too greedy and wanted things too quickly for you. He almost whined at the thought of losing the chance he barely had.

“That was not a question, Luke. Ask me, and I’ll give you an answer,” he stared into your eyes, and it almost set him on fire. He never saw that much passion in them before. It almost matched his, and that made his heart fasten again.

“Will you be mine, sunshine?”

“Yes, Luke. As long as you’re mine too.”

“I have always been yours.”

——————————

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nebulaafterdark · 15 days ago

Text

Dragonseeds (Pt. 1)

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Cole)!Reader

Summary: If any man can claim a dragon, what good is the blood of Old Valyria?

18+ ONLY MDNI

Y/N Velaryon has loved Aegon since she was small; fascinated by the Prince, three years her senior. Like a shadow, from corridor to corridor, and one day, like a switch, they flip.

Aegon begins seeking her out, searching the castle high and low for his betrothed. Training fiercely by the sword, with the understanding that only a knight could properly defend her. A sworn sword will only go so far, they could not love her the way he does.

“I love you too much, you have ruined me.”

He often tells her, to which the princess smiles.

“As dearly as I love you.”

When they are forced to wed immediately after the incident at Driftmark, neither the prince nor princess are eager to produce heirs.

They fight often, loud, passionate disagreements. He raises his hand to her once, in a fit of rage. Using every bit of self restraint to cup her cheek instead, a bit too forcefully. With blunt nails digging into her delicate skin as she watches him with wide eyes. “I meant to strike you.” That is what one does when the person they love refuses to listen, is it not?

“You did not.”

“I wanted to,” he admits. “I could not.”

The princess offers a sad smile, turning her face into his palm. “That is what matters.”

They do not lie together for some four years, until the growing protests become too loud to ignore.

“The smallfolk believe that a strong line of succession is the work of a strong marriage. My claim is already in question, we will need a strong line.” Y/N whispers against his lips.

Aegon loves his wife, but detests the notion that she is to be bred like cattle to uphold their duty to the crown. He hates being a prince, he hates being a Targaryen.

That is why he so loves Y/N’s hair, each dark, rebellious wave. How it screams ‘I do not belong to you.’

He hacks off his silver tresses at the first sob of his wife on the birthing bed. Never allowing it to grow past his chin again.

The future Queen and King consort are blessed with twin daughters, followed by three sweet sons, the youngest two inherit their mother’s dark locks. Pleasing Aegon to no end.

“I want a daughter who favors you.” Aegon admits.

“Then we must try again.” Y/N grins.

Aegon fists a hand in her dark locks as they make love, as though it will grant his wish.

They are expecting a sixth child before King Viserys’ death. Before Aegon takes the throne to guard it. Before Y/N crowns him, in the dragon pit, at Ser Criston’s order.

“Listen to me now, these next days are critical. Decide now whether you wish to live or die, if you want your children to live.”

“My children are in danger?” Y/N whispers.

“Your children have been in danger.” Ser Criston sneers.

“Why are you helping me?”

“You know why.” Cole grits out. Blood of my blood.

“Surely it would be easier for you if I were gone.”

“I do not wish you dead.” The man tells her. “Crown Aegon, the people must see you to do it. Surrender it peacefully and they will fall in line.”

“And my mother?”

Cole squares his shoulders, “we save who we can save.”

————————————————————————

Only two days later tragedy strikes, pressing on the delicate ties that hold the greens together. Severing them with the news of Vhagar’s betrayal.

“I did not mean to kill Lucerys.” Aemond admits, in the presence of his mother, grandsire and brother alone.

“What did you mean to do?” Aegon slams his fist against the table.

“Have a bit of fun.”

“Fun?” Aegon scoffs, “is it entertaining to you that I must now break this news to my wife in her condition?”

“Aegon,” Alicent sighs, “mayhaps you might wait until-”

“I will not lie to her, mother.” Aegon says, “better she hear it from me.”

“The grand maester should ready a draft, something to calm her.” Otto suggests.

“No.” Aegon shakes his head.

“Think of the babe.”

“I do think of the babe!” Aegon shouts, “I think of the babe and I think of my wife. My poor, sweet, wife who is never considered by another soul, save for me.”

Alicent swallows hard.

“This world can be cruel.” Otto admits, “you must keep your wits about you, your grace.”

Aegon scoffs, storming out of the room to find his wife, standing but a foot from the doorway. “How much did you hear?”

“Very little, I was headed to look in on the children. I heard you shouting.” She admits, “it stopped me.”

“Come, my heart.” Aegon murmurs, wrapping her in his arms. “There is something I must tell you.”

Y/N nods, against his chest. It must be something awful, she can feel it in her bones.

“I need you to do your best to keep calm. Our child needs you calm, yes?”

Again she nods.

“There’s been a terrible accident,” he begins swaying her. “Lucerys and Aemond had a run in at Storm’s End.”

“No,” she clutches him a bit tighter.

“Vhagar…is accustomed to war. I do not-“ he breaks off. “Aemond insists it was an accident.”

“My brother is dead?”

“I am so terribly sorry.” Aegon murmurs, pressing his cheek to hers, in a desperate attempt to absorb even an ounce of her pain. “I am so sorry.”

“I cannot breathe.” The thought of sweet Lucerys dying frightened and alone is inconceivable.

“You must.”

“I should have been there, to fly for my mother’s claim.”

“You are with child.” He reminds her.

“I am always with child, it makes little difference.” She heaves in a bitter breath.

“You could not have changed it.”

“I might have tried!” She pulls herself away from him. “I need a moment alone.”

“My heart, you should not be alone.”

“Please,” she insists.

Aegon spends the evening drowning himself in cups, choking down the urge to murder his brother.

————————————————————————

Y/N and Aegon make the decision to leave with their children under the cover of nightfall.

Ser Criston catches them of course, he always seems to. Only this time he makes no move to stop them.

“I swore an oath to protect you.” Cole insists. “For too long I have stood idle, allowing Rhaenyra to guide you. To mold you into the heir she so desperately needed.” He looks to Y/N, “I offered her a quiet life on the hillside, selling oranges.”

Y/N blinks at him.

“She wanted no part in that,” Cole smiles. “I suppose Ser Harwin Break Bones was more agreeable.”

Y/N stares back at him with familiar eyes…his eyes. “Are you not ashamed of me?”

“I did not turn away from you because I was ashamed. I have never been ashamed of you. I wished only to make it easier on you, so that you would not bear the shame.” Cole tells her. “Now you decide for yourself…the life you want. Return to your mother on Dragonstone, or fly away across the narrow sea.”

Aegon taglist: @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @niyahnotnia

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #hotd smut #aegon targaryen smut #aegon smut #aegon ii #aegon imagine

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prideprejudce · 3 months ago

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I think alot more people would enjoy the show if they learned to see Rhaenyra and Alicent as Unreliable Narrators, and characters who are supposed to have glaring flaws and weaknesses.

Mandatory preface- There are Issues™️ with season 2 that are its own other ask- but the complaints ive seen about character assassination on both women kind of tells me ppl just wanted to see the two just GirlBossing around, not being tragic characters trapped in their own circumstances.

For Alicent specifically- she just isn't written to be Cersei 2.0, and while it was really interesting to see motherhood from cersei's point of view, its already been done!! I actually prefer seeing Alicent's mercurial clinging to and abandoning motherhood- its interesting!! She was made a mother at what- 15? An age where you truly arent mentally developed enough to raise 3 kids, AND be a child bride, AND be a queen, (AND be a lesbian).

Alicent is interesting to me because she's stunted at 15 years old, she's an adult woman who talks to and sometimes bullies her kids as if they are her peers, and is obsessed with her childhood crush(es). She hasn't built any new relationships* past the ones she was entangled with as a teenager, she's obsessed with both acting out to make SOMEONE see that shes suffering, (she's honestly pretty blatant for someone who prides themselves on being the Temperate Voice of Reason) but also to erase herself and reset to before she had to marry the king, before aemma died.

I think most of her 'bad out of character' decisions are just these two impulses winning out, her trying to force a reset, go back to a time where none of this had happened yet, when things were simpler and she had love and every day wasn't the worst day of her life™️.

She sleeps with cole, the man she thought was pretty at 15 (her last uncomplicated attraction just before it all went wrong and aemma died) -she doesnt seem to like it that much, but she does seem compelled to seek him out, esp when upset- shes obsessed with, and desperate to reconnect with Rhaenyra, her childhood best friend (and first love) and get back to where they were as kids, AND she still treats and asks her father for absolution as if he's still the only authority that matters to her just like she did at 15. Alot of her 'victim complex/bewildered they took it so far' behaviour in the plotting of rhaenyra's usurption reads to me like a teenager in over her head, she talked big game and now its real and shes panicking!! She's tragic BECAUSE she's still a teenager- so stunted shes unable to meaningfully grow up and learn to make healthier choices for herself, or move on and stop trying to grasp at the 'if i could just go back' urge.

As a mother, I think this creates an interesting dynamic as well, and I do like that in the casting even, she seems closer in age to her kids than rhaenyra does to hers. I think the contrast ppl are drawing with Alicent Protecting Her Kids in season1 compared to her giving them up in season two isn't bad writing to me, just massive differences in context. Sure she protected Aemond in driftmark, but we cant ignore that she probably felt humiliated by her husband choosing rhaenyra's side over hers in front of everyone, did it seem like a grown woman fighting for her son?? or a teenager furious with her ex winning one over her again? or both!! both sides twisted together is still interesting! When she protected Aegon from Rhaenys, is stepping in front of her son the king to protect him from the enemies dragon fire not the most romantic daydream of a deserving death a child bride could come up with?? Was it the impulse to protect the son she couldnt decide if she loved or hated, or was it to have the most heroic death possible to escape the reality that she sees coming. And if Rhaenyra hears about how Brave she was in the face of a dragons maw, and cries about it forever and feels sooo bad and regrets it til the day she dies, thats an added bonus. I think Alicent loves her kids, but is teenager selfish about HOW she loves and protects her kids, and is unable to be a mature, consistant, protective mother to them when she also sees them as having ruined her life. I think in season 2 when she 'gives them up' shes relieved, and once again following the compulsion of 'if i reset to when Rhaenyra was heir, i had no sons, and i wasn't married or queen, everything will be better'. I think theres complexity to it, i think she does love her sons and feels insane about it, but I think Alicent has been trying to Go Back in more and more Intense ways ever since she got married, and we might be giving her sanity more credit than it deserves when it comes to the need to wipe the board clean and go back to being 15.

hey anon are you trying to get married to me or what

#answered #anonymous #house of the dragon #hotd #rhaenicent #alicent hightower #EXCELLENT EXCELLENT EXCELLENT #every time we remember that alicent is a stunted teenager who married a man twice her age another angel gets its wings #even rhaenyra is nowhere NEAR as stunted as alicent who was popping babies at 15 #her relationship switches from protecting mother to a sneering older sister to HER OWN KIDS #because shes emotionally stuck at the age her life went to complete hell #thanks again otto for the lifelong trauma

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s-brant · 3 months ago

Text

The Calm Before the Storm

With the family coming from Dragonstone to visit after the birth of Y/N’s first child, Aemond must control his impulses and be civil with the Velaryon boys for the sake of his wife. (or judas part five).

9k (18+)

Warnings: smut, lactation kink, oral sex (male receiving), facefucking, switch aemond, strong language, hints of yandere (so basically canon) aemond, death, and referenced violence.

Their footsteps echo in the hallway as they make their way to the private rooms her mother and father are staying in for the next few days. Her husband's shoulders are squared, his posture straight, the entire way there. Ever since he woke up this morning with the knowledge that Daemon, Rhaenyra, Jace, and Lucerys are here, he hasn't allowed himself a moment to relax. If it weren't for the three-week-old babe clutched against her chest, she'd reach out to take his hand or rub up and down his back.

Without turning her head to look at him, she says, "You need not worry. My brothers simply wish to meet their niece."

The doors to their chambers come closer and closer—

"I am not worried," he says. "Your half-brothers pose no threat to me."

The long conversation they shared last night as the babe suckled at her mother's breast proved otherwise. It was late enough that their servants had gone to sleep, so neither of them felt the need to speak in the language of their ancestors to keep anyone from overhearing. They spoke quietly in the common tongue to not wake their daughter from her milk-drunk trance.

He confided in her that he didn't feel comfortable having his daughter around her half-brothers without him present in the room. At first, she had been offended. She looked at him like he had struck her and bit her tongue as she fought the urge to say the first nasty thing that came to mind. It had to do with his brother. It was a snarky comment regarding her reluctance to allow their daughter to be alone in his presence, but she stopped herself before she could say it. No matter how much she loved them, he had reason to be wary of them after what they did.

The guards hold the doors open for them and announce their presence as the couple enters the room. The first thing Y/N sees is her mother and father standing together, the former with a hand cradled on the underside of her heavily pregnant belly. Then, it's her half-brothers sitting on the couch behind them. And, finally, her youngest brothers, Viserys and Aegon, play together on the carpet-covered floor.

"My sweet girl," Rhaenyra says in greeting with a bright smile and holds out her arms.

Aemond, ever the attentive husband contrary to the assumptions from her side of the family, is already reaching to take the babe from her arms to allow her the chance to embrace her mother. A quiet, "Thank you, my love," is muttered under her breath as she passes their daughter off to him, trying not to ogle him in the presence of her family. Seeing him with Daenaera, cradling their small child against the body she knows so intimately, never fails to make her stomach flutter.

What she doesn't notice due to her preoccupation with her mother is that her brothers are staring daggers at Aemond from where they lounge on the couch. As always, he doesn't miss a thing.

Jacaerys in particular has the more sour expression between the two of them, seeing that he is older and more knowledgeable about the ins and outs of marriage, but it does little to intimidate her husband. Aemond simply stares back with a blank face, daring him to say or do anything to provoke him in the presence of his wife and child.

Next, he turns his attention to Lucerys while Y/N is greeting her parents. The younger of the two is less angry and more frightened. Ever since what happened between them at Driftmark, they've never been able to let their guards down around one another. And now that the young boy he maimed has grown into a man, one who rides the largest dragon alive and has bested Criston Cole with a sword, Lucerys has often anticipated retaliation of some sort whenever they meet again.

But he made a vow to his wife. He swore that he would not harm either of her brothers, and it was not something he took lightly. It wasn't a means to end their argument, it was real. For her, he would leave them be...unless they swung first. In that circumstance, he cannot deny that he would revel in the opportunity to get revenge. His vow to her did not mean that he would befriend her brothers, or that he cared about them. It only means that he cares more for her and their daughter.

Aemond never breaks his eye contact with Lucerys as he stands by in silence. The mischievous glint in his remaining eye seems to say, "I won." The tiny, shifting weight of the newborn cooing in his arms is proof of that.

Before anything can be said between the two of them, Y/N pulls away from the embrace shared with her parents and turns to him to say sweetly, "Māzigon, valzȳrys. Ivestragī zirȳ rhaenagon zirȳla." Come, husband. Let them meet her.

The little girl fusses in his grasp when he walks over to the three of them without speaking a word, and this causes Y/N's brows to pinch together in concern. Her hand comes up to stroke the top of her head, fuzzy with wisps of silver hair, to soothe her as Aemond hands the babe off to her grandsire. Although he does not cry, his eyes become glassy at the sight of his daughter's child.

Daemon says, allowing her little fingers to curl around his pinky, "Gevie." Beautiful. His eyes shift to look back and forth between Y/N and Aemond before finally settling on the former. "She has your lips and nose." A pause, and then he looks at Aemond. His tender expression hardens a little, but he keeps it contained. "I see you in her as well."

He hums in appreciation of the comment—a rare compliment, perhaps—but is quick to correct him.

"She is the image of her mother," he says softly and valiantly fights a smile when his eye abandons his uncle to look upon her little face.

The harshness that is always present in Daemon's gaze when Aemond is near softens at this as though he has been presented with a new side of him. Throughout their marriage, Daemon has made no secret of his distaste for her husband. Not only because of his scheming grandsire but because of his history with her half-brothers. With every raven sent to King's Landing from Dragonstone, he made a point to ask her how he had been treating her, promising that he would be there on Caraxes with haste should he mistreat her. But this...Even though she has told him countless times that she is happy with her marriage, this is the first time he has truly seen it.

Next, Rhaenyra holds her. It's almost effortless how she falls back into the motherly role once a babe is placed in her arms. Having birthed five children that survived beyond the womb, it is second nature to her, and it won't be long before the sixth comes along.

"What is her name?" her mother asks.

This brings a smile to Y/N's face.

"Daenaera."

Dinner with the entire family, both the Green and Black sides, is never a dull event.

She sits with Aemond to her right and Daemon to her left, little Daenaera sleeping with her head on her shoulder. Both Alicent and Rhaenyra advised her to give the babe to a servant to allow herself to enjoy the night, but she politely refused. Her little girl often had trouble if neither she nor Aemond was near, so she is held to her chest with one arm while the other reaches for the fork beside her plate.

The last time they had a dinner all together was before she married him. It's a little different tonight seeing that Viserys is not well enough to attend, but there's a new member of the family to bind both sides together this time, so the night has progressed without issue thus far. How could anyone be compelled to argue or incite violence with an infant present at the dinner table.

It was a calculated decision on her part, which Aemond clocked instantly. His lips fought the urge to turn up at the ends in a slight smirk when she insisted upon keeping the babe with her. She knew that he would refrain from any impulsive behavior regarding her brothers with her at the table. His cunning, devoted lady.

Aemond watches her as she struggles to hold their daughter up with one arm while she reaches for her cup of wine. He's readying to scoot back from the table and take Daenaera from her arms, but he's halted by the sound of her brother's voice.

"Sister, if you won't let the servants help, please allow me to hold her while you eat."

His one eye shifts its focus away from her to find the source of the offer.

Rhaenyra says, "How kind of you, Jacaerys." She then turns to look at her daughter past Daemon, leaning forward into the table. "You should take him up on the offer, my love, you must be tired."

The younger princess hesitates for a second and glances at her husband as though to tell him to keep his composure, then nods.

"Here, let me bring her to you," she says to her brother who was already prepared to walk around the table to their side. "If she wakes, she will not be easily soothed by anyone but her father."

It is true. For some reason, only the Gods may know, she is most comfortable being held and talked to by him when she's crying in the dead of night. Y/N is a close second, but no one makes her feel quite as safe as her kepa does. Even now, when she's too little to speak or walk or show a hint of personality, she knows that he will cross any line imaginable to safeguard her and her mother's lives.

The comment brings him pride, and it's difficult to refrain from smiling to himself when he hears it. Despite all their attempts to frame him in their minds as an uncaring husband—he didn't pretend not to see the comments Daemon made in letters she left out in the open for him to find—he has proven otherwise. He knows it must pain them, especially her father, that there are no excuses for them to look down upon him.

"You must support the back of her head with your hand or your arm," she says softly to her younger brother as she transfers the babe into his possession. "There—like that."

It takes little time for her to circle back around to their side of the table and take her seat beside her husband. From a glance, she can tell that his body has tenses from the sight of Jacaerys holding Daenaera. It isn't as though he's deluded enough to think her brother would wish to harm their child or act in an unbecoming way in her presence, despite his grudge he knows his nephew well enough to know that. Yet, it makes him squirm in discomfort all the same.

What if he accidentally hurts her? What if she wakes from her nap to see a new, strange man holding her and is frightened? Would anything be able to stop him from taking his child from his arms and glaring at him for inadvertently upsetting her?

It isn't until Aemond feels his wife's right hand settle atop his clothed thigh under the table that he is snapped out of his thoughts. Gods, he feels so unlike himself when he takes a step back and analyzes his thoughts at the present moment.

He always swore to himself that he would not care this deeply when the time came for him to take a wife and sow his seed, but, as he has been forced to realize again and again, he does care. In fact, he cares so deeply that he doesn't know what to do with himself when anyone is close to either one of them. It's possible that his vow to remain detached from his feelings, to focus solely on his duty as a husband and father without complicating things, was another defense mechanism unknowingly put in place to protect the part of him that always cared too much.

As the others talk amongst themselves and pick at their food, she leans in to say softly, opting for the native language of their family over the common tongue to keep it as private as can be, "Nyke gīmigon bisa iksis qopsa syt ao." I know this is hard for you. Her eyes soften, and she can feel the hard muscle of his thigh relax a little when she strokes it gently with her thumb. "Yn emā gaomagon sȳz." But you have done well. There's a pause, and then she mutters quietly enough that no one else can hear, "Perhaps I may express my gratitude after dinner."

This makes his body go still.

Since it is his blind eye that is closest to her, he cranes his neck a little to allow him to see her face. The expression he wears is virtually unreadable to everyone else in the room, but she can see the fire she lit within his body from gazing at him alone. Seeing that their lives have been consumed with doting on Daenaera in the time since she gave birth, only opting to hand her off to servants for the night to allow them time to rest, they haven't had the energy or urge to engage in any sexual activities. Not that she can be on the receiving end of anything for two moons, but that doesn't mean she cannot satisfy him.

Aemond's brows furrow a little, then he mutters, chancing a glance around the table to ensure nobody is listening, "We cannot."

Her lips twitch up on both ends into a slight smile.

"There are other ways," she says softly, careful to keep her tone hushed and words ambiguous in meaning.

From the outside looking in, they appear to be a happy couple, so taken with one another that they are lost in a conversation that causes them to ignore their surroundings. In a way, that perception is true, but the topic being discussed isn't what anyone would guess.

He doesn't respond to this verbally.

Instead, he hums to himself and turns his focus back across the table to where her brother is cradling their daughter in his arms, but she knows she got under his skin. A second after he looks away, his hand finds the one she is resting on his thigh, and he weaves their fingers together. The sole reason he didn't say anything back to her was because he knew he wouldn't be able to control what would come out of his mouth if he let himself speak. As peacefully he and Daemon have managed to co-exist today, Aemond does not think he could say any of the things he says in the privacy of their bedchamber in his presence without causing a brawl.

Jace smiles down at the babe and says, not to anyone in particular, "She'll make a fine queen, will she not?"

Rhaenyra's head turns to look upon the two of them, and it's clear to see the warmth this brings to their mother's heart.

It's Alicent, however, who responds.

"Yes." She looks at Rhaenyra, saying, "We have had our share of difficulties, as all families do, but Daenaera is a blessing."

The effect it has on her mother is clear in her. Y/N's eyes linger on her for the better part of a moment before they find Otto sitting next to her, doing his best to mask the displeasure evident in his expression at the notion of Rhaenyra or her children ascending the throne. Aegon, on the other hand, seems as though he couldn't care less. Although they rarely dwell on the matter of succession to avoid fighting, she and Aemond have both agreed that he does not want the position or the duty it entails. He would be content to live the rest of his days as he does now, drinking himself into oblivion and fondling any servant girl left alone with him for too long.

The hand resting on Aemond's thigh squeezes at the rare sight of their mothers getting along.

Rhaenyra says earnestly, fighting off a smile, "It gladdens my heart to know that we are both grandmothers to this beautiful babe."

There's a distant flash of longing in her eyes in the second she takes to pause, then rise from her seat with her cup raised. The last time she toasted someone at dinner, it was to Alicent, but, this time, she turns toward where her daughter is sitting beside her husband.

"I raise my cup to you, brother," she begins. "For your devotion to my sweet girl. As the Queen said, we have had our difficulties as a family in years past. Yet, I find I can sleep soundly at Dragonstone knowing my only daughter and grandchild are undoubtedly safe and contented at your side." Her cup is raised higher. "To Prince Aemond. You have my gratitude."

At first, he is frozen in his seat and unsure of what he hears. How could this be the same woman who demanded he be "sharply questioned" after one of her bastard sons maimed him for life? Then, as he takes in what she says, he has to fight the urge to doubt them. His immediate assumption is that this is a facade being put on for the sake of bettering her appearance, but when has his half-sister ever cared for appearances? One glance across the table at Jace's dark brown hair answers the question for him. So, he thinks, if it isn't to make herself appear gracious, seeing that she is too confident in her position as heir to deem it threatened by anything she does, it must be genuine in some way.

It goes against everything he knows to admit to himself that Rhaenyra is being anything but ambivalent toward him or Aegon, and yet...He inclines his head to her in a gesture of acknowledgment and gratitude. It's all he can think to do until words find him, and they eventually do. A lengthy moment passes then—

"You have my gratitude as well, sister," he says, although strained, to Rhaenyra. It comes as a surprise to everyone watching after all that has transpired in the past. He then looks upon his wife with a tenderness few ever receive from him. "For having her."

As soon as the door shuts behind the servant who gently took Daenaera from her arms, Y/N has Aemond pushed up against it with her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, and their lips connected in a kiss.

After they dined, Rhaenyra felt a sensation in her body that she knew all too well and apologized to her daughter for having to hurry back to Dragonstone on such short notice. She made certain to apologize to the Queen, asking her to pass along the message to the ailing, bedridden King Viserys if possible. This saddened Y/N, of course, but she cares for the comfort and health of her mother. She agreed it was better that they return to their ancestral home at the first sign of her impending labors. Seeing that this was a possibility, they brought her midwife along for the trip, so the Princess is soothed by the knowledge that her mother is to be well taken care of on the journey home.

Her mother is the last thing on her mind now, though. All she can seem to think about is the man she has trapped between her body and the door to their chambers.

Aemond kisses her hungrily, his hand cupping the back of her neck and head to keep her from pulling away as he delves his tongue into her mouth. He is careful when touching her, however. His hands slide down the sides of her hips to gently squeeze her bottom, but not too forcefully. She gave birth three and a half weeks ago, and the maesters were strict in their instructions to wait five at the very least to encourage healing.

Knowing this, he feels compelled to stop her despite the ache of his erection pushing at the fabric of his breeches.

He parts from her for a second to murmur, "I will not bed you in this condition," before lurching back in to kiss her again.

It almost makes her chuckle into his mouth, and she flattens her palm against his chest. It descends against the taut, muscled abdomen hidden beneath his clothes and continues until it reaches what she seeks. Beneath her palm, he pulses with need after three weeks of nothing but the comfort of his own hand.

"Mmm," she hums against his lips as her own tilt up at the ends in a grin, "I'm afraid your body does not know that, my love"—The tips of her fingers reach for his belt with a confidence she does not have to question—"and, as I said, there are other ways."

As if to punctuate her statement, she unclasps his belt in a matter of seconds and pulls from the buckle until the leather band comes free from the loops of his pants. The very same belt that he instructed her to bite down on the last time he fucked her. The sound of the buckle clattering on the floor echoes through the spacious room as she moves to sink to her knees, but he stops her.

Her brows raise in a silent question directed toward him. His answer is equally as silent.

Aemond begins to undress her, starting with the top layer of her dress and patiently working his way down to her underclothes until she is standing nude before him. She knows without having to ask that he does not intend to push the boundaries of their agreement with the maesters by taking her too soon after giving birth. He simply wishes to see her in her entirety. If he will be laid bare, so will she.

Once her clothes all lie in a pile on the floor, she returns the favor. Her gentle touch lights a fire in the pit of his abdomen, but he holds still and watches her undo the buttons of his doublet until the garment comes loose around his torso. It takes little time for the pile of clothes on the floor to grow, and she cannot help but stare at his nakedness with flushed cheeks as though she hasn't seen him like this countless times. Now that there are no more layers left to separate their bodies, he leans in to kiss her again. Slowly, drawing it out for the sake of savoring the moment.

To her surprise, he lays a sweet peck on her lips, then dips his face into the crook of her neck.

"Aemond—" she warns, not wanting to become too aroused without a way to satisfy herself, but he is too starved from not touching her for the past three weeks to care.

His teeth nip at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving a mark visible for everyone to see as he sucks at the sweet spot that never fails to draw a breathy moan from her. She can feel his mouth curling up into a smirk when she, as though on cue, lets a stifled sound of pleasure escape. It isn't the first time he's left a love bite somewhere that couldn't be hidden beneath her clothes. Every other time, she was quick to scold him once the blissful haze of post-orgasmic bliss receded, but she doesn't feel so angry this time.

It's been far too long since she's had the opportunity to get upset over something like this.

Those desperate kisses descend the length of her fragile neck and go down, down, down until he's crouching to take one of her nipples into his mouth.

"Wait," she says, whining in sensitivity, and braces a hand against his chest. "It's going to—"

His arms pull tightly around her waist to keep her from moving away before the first drops of it touch his lips. The relief of the milk letting down causes her to let out a sigh, but paired with the inherent eroticism of him doing this, she has to press her thighs together to quell the dull ache felt between them for the first time in weeks. Her hand had fallen to his chest with the intention of pushing him away out of embarrassment, but the sound of him groaning in approval gives her a reason to pause.

Does this...arouse him? He has always had a fixation with her breasts since before she was pregnant, but perhaps it's shifted into something stronger with the changes in her body after birthing a child. She cannot deny that it feels good—not only due to the relief it provides after going all day without feeding the babe but because of how perverse it feels.

The hand on his chest moves to slip her fingers beneath the leather strap of his eyepatch and toss it to the side. Then, she cradles the back of his head with it, playing with the soft strands of silver hair as he continues to suckle at her breast. It's a strangely thrilling sensation. Her lips part to allow her a shaky inhale, and she feels the hands gripping her waist squeeze hard enough to leave a bruise behind.

Ignited with a new sense of confidence from having a typically strong, dominant man in a position of vulnerability, she asks, "This is what the rider of the largest dragon in the world enjoys behind the comfort of closed doors? Feeding from his wife's teat like a helpless babe?" There's a second of pause, then—"Hmm."

He can hear a smugness in the tone of her soft "Hmm" he would often fuck out of her or swat his hand against her ass as punishment for, but he cannot bring himself to do anything about it at the present moment. No, he just lets her nipple slip from his mouth and moves on to the other. The sweet taste of her breastmilk on his tongue makes his cock twitch where it sits, heavy and hard, against her belly. While he is distracted, she reaches down to grasp it.

The sudden stimulation makes him suck harder at her breast in response, and she chuckles under her breath. Her thumb brushes over the tip of him a few times, just for the sake of teasing him, before she begins to pump him at a pace that never fails to send all of his blood rushing down. The hand cupping the back of his head pushes his face harshly into her chest in a desperate bid to bring them as close as possible without having him inside of her.

Another moment passes, yet the lust surging through her has yet to be sated by what they're doing. It matters little to her that she won't be getting anything in return. With how rare physical intimacy is for them as of late, she is eager to indulge in everything they've been kept away from.

"This isn't enough," she says through a sigh.

Her fingers slip into his hair to get a good grip, then tug to pull it taut from his scalp in a way he's done to her many times. This brings him far enough from her breast for their gazes to meet across the limited space between them, and his eye widens a little at her impertinence. As quickly as it widened, it narrows at her. Now that he isn't preoccupied with her breasts, which are no longer as heavy and full with milk as they had been before he worshipped them, he can think clearly enough to decide that she needs to be put in her rightful place.

All it takes is a pointed glare from him for her grip on his hair to release. With how quickly she retracts her hand, one would think he burned her, yet he just looked at her. He remains silent and straightens his spine to bring him back to his full height. This only intimidates her more. With him looming over her, his eye not blinking as he stares, she cannot resist the urge to look away from him.

To this, he makes a quiet "Tsk," sound at her.

Her chin is quickly snatched up by his callused hand, forcing her to meet his gaze and hear what he has to say next. Their faces inch closer until—

"Kneel."

Her knees are kissing the cold floor in a matter of seconds. His hand never leaves her chin, keeping it tilted up to prevent her from breaking eye contact.

He nods at her in encouragement, then drops the hand holding her chin back to his side.

"Go on," Aemond commands.

Not wanting to provoke him any more than she already has, Y/N wraps her fingers around his thick cock to help guide it past her lips. But, first, she takes a moment to stroke him, keeping the fire blazing within him burning in the time it takes her to let a string of spit drip from her mouth onto his tip. It makes the movement of her hand pumping up and down the length of him much smoother. The hand that fell back to his side reaches for the back of her head, though, so she keeps her hand firm around the base of his length and dips her head down to put her mouth on him before he grows impatient.

A muscle in his jaw clenches as he watches those pretty lips wrap around the tip, smeared with a mixture of his precome and her spit, and sucks just hard enough to elicit a quiet moan. Then, slowly, never looking away from him, she takes as much of him as she can fit into her mouth until she feels him in her throat.

When she first did this, she thought it quite awkward. Although he assured her he had enjoyed himself, she knew she wasn't keeping the correct rhythm the whole time, and she had to take a few breaks to breathe. After the first time, she decided to make it her mission to perfect the vulgar act. It only felt fair considering how skilled he was with his face between her thighs. So, she did it all of the time—waking him from sleep with her throat clenched around him, dropping to her knees in a secluded corner of the library, and, most often, when she dragged him back to their chambers after watching him train with Ser Criston.

Somehow, he had been foolish enough to admit to his older brother how frequently his insatiable wife does this. Aegon had goaded him into it, imploring him to accompany him to the Street of Silk night after night. He droned on about the things these low-born whores would do for the right sum of coin. At last, after hearing him comment on how they are more willing than their wives to partake in such "undignified" behavior, Aemond said under his breath, "Speak for yourself." Although he was pestered for more details, he refused to provide them. Naturally, Aegon made all sorts of teasing remarks for the next couple of days and hasn't been able to look at Y/N the same since.

The hand wrapped around him pumps what remains of him that she cannot fit in her mouth, her other hand gently cupping his stones and stroking them the way he likes. With ample experience under her belt since they were wed, she breathes calmly through her nostrils without having to pull away to allow herself to rest. This allows her to fully devote herself to his pleasure.

And while she is singlemindedly focused on what she is doing, Aemond is losing himself in the haze of warm, wet pleasure.

Targaryens have always been likened to Gods walking amongst men, and how could he deny such a claim with how he feels at this moment? Not only did Vhagar choose to bind herself to him but so did this beautiful creature kneeling before him. Most of the people inhabiting this keep pray on their knees to the Seven, but she prays to him, and with every caress of her mouth, he is pushed a touch closer to the heavens.

Her head bobs in a practiced rhythm, and when she pulls away, leaving just the tip between her lips, she hollows her cheeks to suck harder. If she could, she would smile in satisfaction at how his head tips back in a groan.

"Aōha relgos iksis bē hae sȳz hae aōha orvorta," he says. Your mouth is almost as good as your cunt. High praise as far as she's concerned. He has made it clear to her on many occasions that his favorite place to be at any given moment is inside of her. "Fuck..."

The last bit was muttered under his breath as he pushed her head further down his length until the tip of her nose grazed his stomach. He can feel her gagging, throat clenching and unclenching around his cock, and forces her to remain this way for another second before releasing her. Yet, even after this, she doesn't retreat to take a breath. She simply opens her eyes to look back up at him and relaxes her jaw to open her mouth to him as much as she can.

He knows without having to communicate verbally what she's urging him to do, and it's a wonder he doesn't spill into her mouth in a matter of seconds at the mere thought of it. There's a glint of mischief in her eyes—which he responds to with enthusiasm, taking hold of both sides of her head and guiding every fluid movement. It's more gentle at first. Rather than roughly fucking her mouth the second she gives him the go-ahead, he takes the time to enjoy it and commit every sensation to memory. There's something intoxicating about the power she allows him to hold over her.

Both of her hands slide up his thighs to seek stability, her fingertips digging into the muscular flesh hard enough for her nails to leave crescent-shaped indents in his pale skin. With each thrust, his pace picks up, and soon her spit is drooling out of her mouth onto his sack. Those once gentle thrusts turn rough and unforgiving the longer he spends trapped within the warm, wet channel of her throat. And though he is the one leading, she looks just as hungry for it as she had when she set the pace. If anything, having him hold her head in place to rut into her mouth like a wild beast makes the lust wreaking havoc on her healing body worse. What truly makes it insufferable, however, is knowing that she cannot have him after this. Not to the extent that she craves so badly.

Her lashes flutter with the effort it takes to keep looking up at him like he's a God while she gags on him and takes deep breaths in through her nostrils. Her spit is dripping from the corners of her mouth and onto the floor, his manhood entirely soaked in it too. All the while, Aemond is making noises unlike anything she has heard before. Due to his naturally reserved disposition, he often stifles the moans and grunts that try to leave his lips. But, sometimes, when he's too overwhelmed with pleasure to recall the world that exists beyond it, all of those lovely noises flow freely.

Right now, as she reaches up to give his stones a squeeze with her free hand, he's whimpering, gasping, and grunting all at once. Not only is he a feast for her eyes, he's a feast for her ears as well. Gods, she has never wanted anything as badly as she wants him right now, and the frustration of knowing she cannot do more than this drives her to work even harder. To perform for him as though she's getting paid.

The vibration of her soft moaning around his cock pushes him closer, dangerously closer, to the climax threatening to barrel into him at a moment's notice. Somehow, he hangs on. Not for anyone's sake but his. It has been too long since he has been allowed the privilege of being intimate with his wife, so he tries to stave it off for as long as possible. But, fuck, she's making it difficult—with those sultry eyes looking up at him through her lashes, cheeks hot to the touch under his palms, and mouth swallowing around him on the upstroke of every thrust. He cannot bring himself to look away from her, and that is what brings him to the edge.

"I'm—" he tries to give her a warning, but she doesn't need nor want it.

She continues at this pace for another ten or so seconds, intent on milking him dry, until his cock begins to twitch in her mouth with the onset of his climax.

Her lips remain closed around him, determined to catch every drop as his seed spurts into her mouth in pulses of warmth that trickle down her throat. As it always is, the taste is slightly salty, though not unpleasant enough that she can't swallow it all. It isn't until he is grabbing her by the shoulders and guiding her away that she removes herself from him, letting it slip out of her mouth as it softens, still shining in the dim light with her saliva.

When she looks up at him, it is clear to see that he is utterly spent. A job well done as far as she is concerned. Aemond tends to have an impressive amount of stamina when he fucks her, and sometimes they can continue round after round without him having to stop, but she managed to subdue him with her mouth alone tonight.

His chest rises and falls with the rapid pace of his breathing, and she can see by looking into his eyes that it'll take a moment for him to come back down from such a high. It's as though he's in a trance of some sort, staring down at her and panting for air. It only takes a second or so for the trance to break at the sound of her voice.

Her delicate hand slides up the length of his thigh and over his abdomen as she asks in a doting voice, "Do you feel better, my love?"

Without answering, he dips down to heft her into his arms, lifting her and holding her against his body with one hand on the small of her back and the other beneath her right thigh.

As he walks in the direction of their bed, she is giggling and asking him what he is doing, yet he offers no reply. Not until he has her laid down on the mattress. A second later, she feels the bed shift with his weight when he crawls in beside her and pulls the sheet up to their waists. The warmth of his body, solid with lean muscle against her soft, womanly figure, instantly keeps the breeze blowing in from the open windows at bay.

"Hold me," he says, already moving to lay his head atop her breast. "Kostilus." Please.

A second later, one of her arms is wrapping around him, keeping him cradled as close to her as physically possible, and she can feel him loose a heavy sigh of relief he's been holding onto all day. His head fits perfectly into the crook of her neck. Every few seconds, she lifts her hand to rake her fingers through his hair. The silver strands are silken beneath her touch, scented with a hint of lavender from the bath they shared before falling asleep last night. Noticing that it is still tied back in his typical, half-up fashion, on her next pass through, she pulls it free and combs gently until there are no tangled pieces left.

For a while, they lay together with nothing to fill the silence but the sound of their quiet breathing. His head rises with every inhale, her breast a soft cushion for his cheek to nuzzle up against. Neither of them wants to be the one to speak first for fear of ruining the peaceful moment, but, inevitably, she gives in.

His neck cranes to allow him a glimpse of her face before she starts speaking as though they share one mind, as though he knows what she'll say or do before she does it. When she thinks about it, they've always been that way.

"I'm proud of you...You have every right to feel slighted by them all for what happened at Driftmark, I will not deny that," she says, pausing for a beat afterward. The tip of her thumb brushes across his lower lip as she looks down at him with nothing but love in her eyes. "And you still didn't let it stop you from enjoying our time together as a family."

Hearing her lavish him with such praise brings a flush to his pale face, and he must resist the urge to avert his gaze sheepishly. He manages, though. After all, he's faced much more daunting challenges than looking at his wife as she tells him how proud she is of him. If these are the only challenges he has to endure in this new chapter of his life, he'll be eternally grateful. He has spent his whole life yearning to prove himself—as a son, a dragon rider, a prince, a swordsman, and now a father. Because of this, her approval and praise mean more to him than she'll ever know.

The thumb pressed to his lips is given a tender kiss before he moves on to her index finger, then the next, the next, and the next. His larger hand is clasped around her wrist with his thumb pressing into the center of her palm to allow him to maneuver her hand however he sees fit. Once the last kiss is placed against the small pad of her pinky finger, he releases her wrist from his grasp to lace their fingers together. Aemond holds on as though she is the anchor keeping him grounded to their world, always there to draw him back before he disappears too far into the darkness that has dwelled within him since the day he claimed Vhagar.

Unable to accept it without diverting some of the attention away from himself, he takes it as his turn to praise her.

"You were clever in keeping Daenaera at the table for dinner," he says. A half second later, he utters the next words into the soft skin of her breast. "You see right through me."

Although he can barely see it from the corner of his eye, her lips curve up at the ends in a soft smile.

"I always have, haven't I?"

To this, he responds with his usual hum of acknowledgment and brushes his nose against her peaked nipple. His lips press against the skin just beneath it in another kiss, but he's careful not to stimulate her. It would be cruel to arouse her even further with no way of sating her desires. The next two weeks will pass, albeit slowly, and then he can properly bed her the way he wishes to tonight.

His arms pull tightly around her waist. If she had any hopes of escaping his embrace tonight, it's now clear he has no intentions of entertaining them. No, he will hold her prisoner if he has to. He will do whatever he must do so long as it means he gets to keep her, and the thought of this brings a barely-there smile of relief to his face.

"Sleep," he murmurs, pulling the sheet further up to keep their bare, entangled bodies warm. "Tomorrow, when the babe is taken for her nap, I will take you to visit Vermithor. You cannot ride him yet, but he will be glad to see you. It's been too long. The dragonkeepers have told me he has grown restless."

This makes her smile too.

"I would quite enjoy that."

With that, she relaxes beneath the weight of her husband's body lying atop her and nuzzles her face into the pillow the way he had her breast a moment ago.

It takes little time for the pair to be pulled beneath the veil of consciousness, their breathing evening out into slow inhales and exhales that are hardly audible over the fire crackling in their hearth. For once, all is peaceful in the Keep. Their families dined together as one, the children have been put to sleep by their nursemaids, and the night has descended into a type of quiet so rarely found in a place like King's Landing.

As night descends upon them, the only people still awake within the walls of the Keep are the servants readying themselves for bed after a day of tireless work. While the royal family had been served platters of freshly cooked meats and goblets of the most expensive wine, the smallfolk working beneath them quiet the rumbling in their stomachs with whatever scraps remain if they are so lucky. If not, they eat a plain stew of some sort, accompanied by slightly stale bread and a cup of ale to wash it down. But even that is considered generous as far as lowborn citizens of King's Landing are concerned. Servants within the keep live comfortably compared to peasants living in the city beyond the walls.

Far from where the servants reside, in the stillness and silence of the night, King Viserys slips further into a state of delirium where he lays alone in his room in Maegor's Holdfast. Since his lady wife, Queen Alicent, left to retire to her chambers for the night, he has been muttering into the empty room and talking to ghosts. At last his frail, trembling hand lifts from his chest and toward the sky, reaching for what he could not have as long as he remained alive. With his last breath, he calls out for his love, Aemma, and his suffering is ended at long last as the Stranger comes to take him.

Despite this, the night remains quiet and peaceful. For no one can know that Viserys has passed in his sleep until the servants come to wake him in the early hours of the morning, but, once news breaks among the staff and Queen Alicent is informed of her husband's death, the calm before the storm comes to an end. Soon, dragons will dance, and she will not waste any time in securing her eldest son's birthright. Not after her husband spoke his name in his final hours.

It isn't until an hour after sunrise that Y/N is roused from a deep sleep by the light shining in through the windows that remained open all night.

She sighs and presses her cheek into the pillow in defiance of her current state of consciousness, wanting to steal another couple of moments of rest before she's ushered into the bath by her bright-eyed young handmaidens. But, after lying there for a second or so, her eyes flutter open. The sun has fully risen, she realizes with a sense of urgency. Her feet quickly kick the sheet from her body. Her hand reaches behind her to feel where her husband should be resting beside her only to find the mattress cold and empty.

How had she not felt or heard him leave?

"Aemond?" she calls out drowsily and pushes herself up into a sitting position, looking around the room in confusion.

No answer.

"Nyla?"

No answer.

Nyla is always the first to arrive and aid her in getting dressed for the day, intricately braiding her hair to her head in the fashion her mother wears, not that which Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena prefer. But the sun has already risen, she should have come in to wake her and Aemond already if they had not risen on their own accord...

Y/N abandons the bed and makes for the chair her robe, a rich shade of red embroidered with accents of gold and black, is draped over. Seeing that she is nude, it's the quickest way for her to cover herself and protect her modesty before leaving the room to inquire about why no one thought to wake her as they have every morning since her wedding. Something is wrong, that much she knows. She feels it in her gut and the very air surrounding her.

Rather than find Aemond, she'll first head to the nursery where Daenaera has been sleeping all night. Her husband is capable of taking care of himself, their daughter not so much. If something truly is amiss as her intuition is telling her, the babe comes before her husband—he made her come to that agreement the day she was born.

But when she tries to pull the doors to their chambers open, they do not budge. Thinking it a mistake of some kind, she tries again, and they refuse to open no matter how hard she pulls at them.

Her closed fist begins to knock at the door, soft at first, then harder and harder until she is forced to bang on it in hopes that someone will come.

"Hello?" she yells, pounding on the door with both fists. The thought that she is trapped, forced to stay away from her weeks-old child...It makes her efforts double in intensity. "Why have I been trapped in my room?"

No answer.

"I need to see my daughter! Let me out—"

The sound of Ser Erryk's voice interrupting her plea for freedom pulls a deep sigh of relief from her chest. Of all the men sworn to protect their family, he and his brother have proven the most loyal and kind. Surely Erryk will help her.

"My sincere apologies, Princess," he says, "We have been instructed to keep everyone confined to their rooms until further notice. One of your ladies will be up to bring you breakfast and dress you soon."

Her brows furrow at this.

"And under whose authority am I to be held prisoner in my own home?"

There's a long, drawn-out stretch of silence that follows, and it makes her stomach churn with dread. Something is wrong. This is not normal.

When he does not respond after a moment, she calls, "Ser Erryk?"

He clears his throat.

"Our lord hand is the one responsible, my lady. I am only doing as I've been told."

It takes her the better half of a moment to conjure a response. She is too shocked to put anything into words at first, but, then, her mind runs wild.

"What has happened? What could possibly warrant this?" she asks. After another dreadful stretch of silence, she resorts to shouting. "Tell me! That is an order from your Princess, an heir to the throne no less!"

Despite being strictly ordered not to divulge any critical information to anyone aside from the Hand, Queen Alicent, and her children, he cannot allow her to sit here and suffer in a prison of her making. He has watched her grow up and served her since he was first sworn into the kingsguard. She deserves the truth even if she cannot be freed from her room to do anything about it.

"The king has died. Princess Rhaenys is confined to her room as well by the orders of the Hand. I cannot say more. Forgive me, my lady."

Before she can even process what he has said, Erryk turns and walks away from her door, leaving her frozen in her place with her closed fists hanging at her sides. They have been anticipating this for the past five years, yet hearing it still shocks her.

The king has died, which warrants every lord and lady in his court to be kept out of the way as they make the necessary preparations before it is announced to the city...but it does not warrant the imprisonment of any members of the royal family. Surely, this is a mistake. Surely, there has been a miscommunication regarding who is to be kept from roaming the keep. If Aemond is not here, he must be permitted to go where he pleases, so why cannot she? Why cannot Rhaenys?

A cold chill runs down her spine when the realization of what's happening hits her.

Her feet are carrying her across the room before she can blink, bringing her to the opened windows that overlook the courtyard where people come in and out of the gates to the Keep. What she finds, she does not want to believe, but she's witnessing it with her own two eyes. Lord Caswell is being ripped from his horse by members of the Kingsguard and dragged like a dog through the dirt in the direction of the castle doors.

There is no other explanation for why Aemond is allowed to roam free while she and Rhaenys are held prisoner. There is no other explanation for Lord Caswell to be violently assaulted by the kingsguard for trying to leave the Keep on horseback. There is no other explanation for Ser Erryk apologizing to her. He wasn't just apologizing for locking her in her rooms...

They are usurping the throne.

Oh it’s about to get goooood. Let me know if you liked this chapter. I’ve had it in the works since before season two aired but I wanted to wait to finish/post it.

Tag List: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @aemond-targaryenx, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @cicaspair418, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @vainillasmil157, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @kaicyl, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravenart, @isaxbella749, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, @fan-goddess, @glame, @muthafuckingstargirl, @barnes70stark, and @shintax-error.

#fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond x reader #barely edited we die like men

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servicpop · 2 months ago

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How about ur ocs with a sensitive crybaby reader? In a way that reader is a cutie who would sniffle 'nd shiver if they did as much as brush against their perky nipples ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა The type who would sob when they're teased 4 far too long, 'nd probably would be crying during foreplay too !! Already so overwhelmed before the main course even starts :<

I luv ur ocs and ur writing so much. 'm giggling while kicking my feet while writing this, mwah mwah ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

— ♡

nonnie i luv the way u write its so cute >< anyway !

Adrien loves teasing , he could do foreplay for hours n hours. When you're busy , maybe making some dinner for him while parents are out , he'll slide his fingers underneath your shirt , up your tummy and circling your pink buds. He loves playing with your skin , he holds you so close when he starts to feel you shivering , trying to squirm out of his grasp but he keeps you pressed firmly against him so you can't escape. The tears admittedly make him feel a bit guilty but he knows thats just a way of you showing how much you like it ! He kisses the corners of your eyes to try and stop those tears but he keeps playing with your sensitive body so it never works in the end. After a few more tears he gives in , his heart can't take your crying face for too long. "You're pretty when you cry, did you know that?" He's definitely got a few polaroids of your crying face stuffed in his drawer.

Vallen doesn't let up. The moment he sees those tears he smiles a sickeningly sweet smile. With just the tip of his finger — a feather light touch — he continues to circle it along the head of your cock. It's already weeping with pre just like your pretty eyes. He doesn't wipe them away , he watches as they roll down your rosy cheeks and blurs up your vision. You're whining and it falls to deaf ears , he'll continue to tickle you with just his finger , pushing your hips back down everytime you try and push up against it. "You'll run out of tears if you keep crying baby," he'll coo , bringing his other hand up to gently caress your chest , rubbing along your perky nipples.

Cole feels bad immediately TT The moment he even sees tears bubble at your eyes he stops and cradles you in his arms. Apologies will spill out his mouth and he'll desperately wipe your tears away. Even if you tell him you just cry because it feels good , he can't bring himself to continue. "Sorry honey, please don't cry, y'know my heart can't take it" he just holds you , afraid to touch you incase you start crying again but after some reassurance he'll continue. He keeps your face pressed against his shoulder as he lets you sniffle , he's nuzzling your cheek at the same time while his fingers press deep inside of you. He's slow with his movements , pausing whenever he heard a louder sniffle.

Callahan does not care ( or at least he claims he doesn't ) He'd scold you for crying so easily when he's barely even touched you , telling you off when you sniffle and grab at his shoulders to ground yourself. "What happened to your tough guy personality two seconds ago?" He'd mutter , just loud enough so you can hear. He's rough , all the time. Fistfuls of your hair , he drowns out your sobbing into the pillow. Its practically stained with your tears by now. But when he's done and its time to clean up , he feels a pang of guilt shoot through his heart seeing your teary face. He bathes you , dresses you , brings you water and food afterwards. He holds you close , his hand pressed against the back of your head as he cards his fingers through your hair. He waits till you're asleep before apologising.

#servicpop — talks #servicpop — ocs #oc x male reader #sub male reader #mlm nsft

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kiwi-on-ice · 2 months ago

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can u do 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 lifeweaver x gn!reader ? i found u on tiktok and i loved ur lifeweaver slides!

Favourite positions headcannons with Lifeweaver, Cole Cassidy, Ramattra, Lucio, Genji and Reinhardt with gn!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: 18+ smut, reader is implied to have a pussy (or at least be a bottom lmao), dom/sub dynamics and degradation present in Ramattra’s.

Notes: just wanted to do a quick post to say thank you all so much for nearly 300 followers! I’m grateful for you all xx

Lifeweaver:

Oh this is a certified lover boy right here. Best believe he wants a position where he can see your face, where most of your body is exposed to his gaze.

That’s why missionary is always his go to, he’s able to thrust into you while keeping a hand on your cheek to ensure your pretty eyes are on him. So he can gaze down at you lovingly and watch your facial expression as you react to every movement.

It also gives him the ability to pinch and play with your nipples, smiling at the sounds that escape your throat as he lavishes you in praise.

But his absolute favourite thing to do in this position is fold you over yourself, knees pressed to your chin so he can slam into you in a mating press, letting you feel him all the way in your guts.

Because he’s so big, he dwarfs you and ensures all you can think about is him, all you can focus on is his cock thrusting in and out of you rapidly. Loves to kiss you in that position, mumbling against your hips how good you take him, how much he wants to fill you up with his cum for being so so good for him. But before he does that you’ll have to cum first.

Apart from that, any position where he has you in front of a mirror is perfect for him. He’ll set you on his lap so he can play and toy with your body, telling you intricate praises and compliments. If you’re a self conscious person, he’ll make you repeat them back to him while keeping your eyes on the mirror as he brings you over the edge again and again.

Alternatively, he might not even fuck you at all, perfectly content with you sitting on his face as he gives you the pleasure he knows you deserve.

Cole Cassidy:

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. Save a horse, ride a cowboy.

He loves it if you ride him, the sight of you moving up and down on his lap. The sight of every angle of your body being on show for him to watch. The sight of his cock disappearing into your hole with every bounce.

Doesn’t care if it makes him look lazy, he’ll just lay back into the pillows, one hand stroking your hip while the other puffs the cigar in his mouth, occasionally offering it to you.

Now if you really want him to go feral, take his cowboy hat off and put it on yourself. You’ll feel him throb inside you as she growls, teasing you about it as he starts to thrust up inside you.

Now he’s an ass man, so when he isn’t gripping your ass while you ride him, he’s gripping and slapping your ass while he takes you from behind, another favourite of his.

Just loves to see it ripple with every thrust, and how you squeak or moan when he spanks you. Depending on the day he’s had, he’ll pump into you in methodical strokes while teasing you, or he’ll fuck into you hard and fast, chasing his pleasure.

Don’t be surprised if he’s puffing his cigar in that position too, the scent filling your nostrils before you even realised he’d lit it, too preoccupied by how deep he reaches as he forces your back to arch.

Ramattra:

Yeah he also likes doggy style, for more…dominating reasons.

Will love to push your head into the mattress, pounding into you while he mocks you for being so pathetic, so desperate to be filled that you’d let a dangerous omnic fuck you and toy with you just so you could find release.

He’d pull your hair, making your back arch for him as he railed you. Just loves to see how pliable your body is when he has you like this, and the noises that fall from your throat. Will also spank you to elicit similar noises, and best believe you’ll have a handprint on your ass to prove it.

And he could even pick you up in that position, moving you into a full nelson as your body jolts with each punishing thrust upwards.

Alternatively, he likes fucking you against the wall. Displays his sheer strength as he can just manhandle you to a position of his liking, you legs dangling pathetically as he has his way with you.

Although he loves fucking you while you’re facing him in that position, your legs wrapped around his waist as he holds you steady against the wall with his hands on your hips and ass. He won’t want to admit it, but it makes his internal fans whirl louder when he sees you face in ecstasy as you gaze up at him longingly.

However if you’ve been a brat, then you clearly don’t deserve the cock he graciously had fitted just to please you, so he’ll love to watch you hump his leg instead as he sits proud in his chair, legs spread. If you please him enough he might let you sit on his lap and hump his thigh instead. And if you please him just right, if your begs and grovelling are to his satisfaction, he may even let you sink down on him and ride him till he short circuits.

Lucio:

My sweet baby, he’s such a romantic!!! His favourite would definitely be missionary, you guys are just so close like that.

He’ll be holding your hand like a lifeline, gentle and measured strokes inside you as he rests his forehead against yours. Would love to feel all your little gasps against his lips, feeling your chests so close, his thumb soothingly running over the back of your hand. He’s always got you <3

However every man has needs, and Lucio is no different. So if you ask to ride him, he definitely isn’t gonna say no. It’ll be the positon he’s the most vocal in for sure, whines and grunts tumbling out his lips as you use his dick to get off.

He’ll be grabbing everywhere and anywhere, needing to feel useful as you make his eyes roll back with pleasure. Grabbing handfuls of your ass or hips or chest or thighs. Anywhere.

If you hold his hands in this position his hips will twitch, breath shaky as he pleads with you to let him fuck up into you. The whines will just tumble from his mouth, the grip on your hands tight, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

Alternatively, if you’re wearing shorts…please let him hit it from the back. His favourite if you’re having a quickie before his show, pushing into you fast as you bend over his dressing table and present yourself for him. Or even against the door if you’re brave enough, both of you struggling to be quiet as his manager knocks on the wood and tells your boyfriend he’s due on stage in 5 minutes.

Genji:

Another man who loves you riding him. After becoming mostly cybernetic, he’s hyper aware of his own strength, as well as the way he looks now. You being on top allows him to peace of mind that he isn’t gonna accidentally hurt you, or crush you.

But also my god he loves watching the show. The way your hips move and circle to get the most pleasure, your hand gripping at his metal chest to steady yourself, the look on your face as the sensations build and build inside of you. He’ll instinctively go to hold your hips, perhaps accidentally holding that bit too tight so it leaves bruises.

But that position is perfect for praising him, telling him how good he feels, how beautiful you think he is. That’ll really make him whimper, audible over the soft plap of your thighs against him. Instinctively he’ll buck up at the praise, driving his cock deep inside you as he whines in embarrassment and pleasure at your complimentary words.

Hold his hands too, regardless of position he’d like for you to hold on to his hand or arms, makes him feel like you trust him, that you look to him for a source of comfort and security. He might even place something cozy and fuzzy on so you have a gentle fabric to hold.

Reinhardt:

Missionary, a classic position for a classic man. Loves how small you look under him, how his big arms practically dwarf your head as he braces himself above you. Sure he’s no spring chicken anymore, but he can still fuck you the way a pretty thing like you deserve.

And if you teasingly imply he can’t fuck you for too long, or suggest you can get on top instead? Well, that’s pretty much the only time his gentlemanly facade will crack, as he drives into you at a pace most young men wouldn’t dream of; his big cock filling you up so completely that your eyes will be rolling.

But most times he’s the epitome of a gentle giant, gently kissing you as he rocks slowly in and out of your smaller body, his beard gently tickling your neck and shoulder as he leaves small love bites on your skin.

But listen, if you’re with him you’re gonna most likely have a thing for his size and strength. So he will definitely pick you up while you guys are fucking if that’s what his sweetheart wants. With a firm grip on your hips he’ll encourage you to wrap your thighs around him so he can fuck you against the wall, your head against his scarred chest.

In that position, you’ll hear the rumbling in his chest as he moans, telling you how good you are, how stunning you are in his arms; it’s like you belong there. And if you’re fucking him after a mission, he’ll ramble about how he’s always gonna protect you, that it’s his duty to keep you safe and content as you cum around his big cock.

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spider-stark · 3 months ago

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SWORN PROTECTOR

Criston Cole x Targaryen!Reader

Summary - After sneaking back into the Keep from a night spent out in the city, you find your sworn protector, Ser Criston Cole, waiting for you in your room.

Warnings - fem!reader, targtower!reader, not edited, reader has mommy/daddy issues, duty turned devotion type bullshit, criston can't just guard a woman without falling in love ig, yearning

Word Count - 2k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Soft footfalls echo in the narrow corridor of Maegor’s passages. You keep a palm cupped around the candle in your other hand, protecting the flame so it won’t gutter out. Secret doors are scattered throughout the corridor, each leading into bedchambers or solars or other forgotten passages. Having already left your brother, Aegon, at the secret door leading to his room, you keep count of your steps.

One, two; seven, eight; thirteen, fourteen; twenty, twenty-one.

At just over twenty-five paces, the exact distance between his room and yours, you stop, turn to the left and blow your candle out, setting it on the ground for next time you go sneaking through to passages.

Cold stone bites at your palms as you press them against the aged door. You cringe with every scrape and groan as you push it open. When there’s a gap just wide-enough, you turn sideways and shimmy inside.

You’re greeted by warm light, candles flickering from all around your room, chasing the shadows of dusk into faraway corners. If you weren’t so preoccupied with heaving the door back into place, adjusting the tapestry that hides its seams from view, you may have noticed that there are more candles lit now than when you slipped out earlier, having abandoned the Keep in favor of a night spent in the city lying below Aegon’s High Hill.

When all is as it was, the secret door shut and covered, you turn around. Heaving a sigh, you shrug your cloak from your shoulders, letting it fall into a heap on the floor. Gooseflesh immediately forms along your arms, kissed by the chill breeze blowing in from the open balcony.

You walk to the vanity on the far side of your room, rolling your neck and shoulders, muscles sore from hours spent dancing among the smallfolk in a Flea Bottom tavern. Exhaustions made your bones weary, fantasies of crawling into warm sheets plague your mind. They tempt you, urging you to forego your nightly routine in favor of sweet, sweet sleep.

Your footsteps falter, casting a wistful glance down your shoulder to your bed when—

Seven Hells!

Your pulse jumps, a scream threatens to rip from your throat at the sight of a figure sat on the foot of your bed. You react quickly, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle any sound, not wanting to raise alarm amongst the guards. Recognition washes over you in a matter of seconds, taking them in one detail at a time: their weathered boots and polished armor, tanned skin and ever-present frown.

Lowering your hand, you have half a mind to curse Criston for frightening you like this, for not announcing himself as soon as you snuck in—

Rational thought trumps what remains of fear.

He had to have seen you—sneaking in from the passages, hiding the door upon entrance.

Fuck.

The air turns thick. Every breath is like sucking treacle into your lungs, slow and suffocating. Criston’s stare is heavy, his expression like weathered stone. Armor grinds against itself as his arms cross over his chest. “Where have you been?”

There’s some relief that he doesn’t first question you about the passages. Does he already know about them, you wonder? After all, before Criston became your protector, he was sworn to your half-sister, Rhaenyra—who, in your youth, was said to be quite rebellious.

A trait Criston finds to be alive and well within you.

You look away from him, continuing to your vanity. “I was out,” you answer, purposefully curt. “Obviously.”

Nudging the vanity stool with your foot, you take a seat upon its plush velvet cushion. Criston pushes off your bed, and you fight a smirk at the sound of his footfalls, heavy and fervent as he strides to your side.

“Out where?”

You pull your neatly plaited hair over your shoulder, watching yourself in the mirror as you untie the ribbon binding it. “In the city,” you tell him, tossing the scrap of silk onto the vanity top. “Where else would I go?”

“Were you alone?”

You reach for your brush, begin combing. “What does it matter?” Before he can answer, you catch his gaze in the reflection, eyes playfully narrowing as you ask, “If I said that I wasn’t, would you be jealous, Ser Criston?”

He certainly looks jealous.

The knight’s breathing is shallow, tanned cheeks flush with frustration. At your question, a muscle feathers in his jaw, clenched so tight that you can nearly hear his teeth grind together. There’s a dark gleam in his eyes, a shadow of rage—not at you, you don’t think. But at whoever may have been graced with your presence tonight, showered with your favor and affection.

“As your sworn protector,” Criston says, voice strained, “I have a right to ask if you were escorted by another member of the Kingsguard.”

There’s such emotion in it—the way he said: Your sworn protector. A trembling betrays his fraying restraint, revealing the raw nerve beneath and exposing Criston’s desperation, a desire to not only be sworn to you, but to be wholly possessed by you.

Your sworn protector—no longer a title, but an identity.

Your sworn protector—no longer an oath, but a sacred devotion.

You set your brush down, holding his stare with a faint smirk. “I’m afraid that doesn’t answer my question, Ser.”

Something snaps. His mouth twists into a scowl.

“Are you truly so thoughtless, princess?” Criston asks, his tone maintaining a delicate balance between respect and disappointment. “Do you understand it’s your very life you play with? And that it’s not only you who would suffer the consequences of this… this utter lack of duty! This wanton negligence!”

You could have him dismissed from the Kingsguard for this.

For speaking so freely. For interrogating a princess. For trespassing in your rooms.

Criston continues, “If something were to happen to you, my life is forfeit. The king would–”

He’s interrupted by wood screeching against stone, the vanity stool thrust back as you rise to your feet. You turn to stand toe-to-toe with the knight, chin tilted to lock eyes with him. “The king,” you hiss with a sickly smile, contradicting the venom in your voice, “would do nothing—just as he’s done all my life.”

The energy shifts. Criston’s scowl morphs to a pitying frown.

“He is your father,” his protest is a tentative breath, laced with underlying uncertainty, “if something happened to you, he would seek justice.”

You laugh, low and bitter. Shake your head and shove past the knight. “If he mistook me for Rhaenyra, perhaps,” you say, kicking off your shoes as you head to the wardrobe next to your bed. “If not, then I imagine he wouldn’t even notice I’m gone. My life—the lives of my siblings—has never meant anything to him.”

Criston redirects, facing you now. He argues, “It means something to your mother.”—And to me, he holds back.

A scoff, throwing the wardrobe open.

Your mother loves you, of course—but it’s the kind of love that hurts. It’s cold distance and piercing scrutiny, violent words and stinging cheeks. If you were to die, she would certainly mourn. But it won’t change that she failed you. It won’t make her a good mother.

When you don’t respond, mindlessly digging through a drawer of nightgowns, Criston knows better than to broach that particular topic any further.

With a hesitant breath, he says, “It’s my duty to protect you. To keep you safe.” He takes several steps, decreasing the distance between you by coming to stand at the foot of your bed. You stay facing the wardrobe. “It’s true that I cannot tell you what to do—if you wish to fraternize with common-men—” such distaste laces this word—“then that is your will.”

There’s a pause. Your hands falter, swathed in a mess of silky fabric as you wait for him to continue.

“I only ask that you heed caution, princess. For you to allow me to accompany you and do my job—to safeguard your life, your virtue-”

Genuine amusement floods your chest. It spills from your lips in a string of vivacious giggles. “Is that what this is about, Ser Criston? My virtue?” You settle on a nightgown, turn around and toss it onto your bed. You glance to the foot of it, at Criston and his ever-present frown. “You truly are a jealous man,” you muse, smiling, “aren’t you? Thinking I go into the city to fuck common-men.”

His fists tighten at his sides, the blatant mockery in your voice having invited a wave of embarrassment.

“It was not my intention to imply that—”

The words catch in Criston’s throat as you turn the opposite way, slip your shirt over your head and shimmy out of your trousers, leaving the smallclothes beneath. All he can see is your back—the smooth column of your spine, brushed by tendrils of long, silver hair—but that’s enough.

Enough to make his heart jolt, hammer against his ribcage. Enough to make his knees weak, threaten to buckle beneath his weight. Enough to light a fire inside him, flames licking at every inch of his skin.

Grasping at the final shreds of his restraint, Criston averts his gaze to the floor.

He swallows on a too-dry throat. “King’s Landing is full of vile men, princess,” he tells you, a sense of guilt pricking at his conscience. “And vile men are known to commit vile acts.”

You reach out an arm, grab the nightgown and pull it over your head. Silk glides over your skin, covering the exposed flesh that tempts the knight so.

Whirling to face him, you ask, “And what about you?”

Criston doesn’t answer, still studying the rug beneath his feet with a staggering intensity. You catch his brow furrow, though, a small wrinkle forming there. You elaborate on your question.

“You’re a man in King’s Landing,” you tell him, leisurely placing one foot in front of the other, gliding to where he stands at the end of your bed. “Are you as vile as the rest of them, Ser Criston?”

Again, only silence.

You take another step. Less than a foot of space separates you, close enough now to scent the earthy musk of his armor. “Some might think it vile,” you continue, taunting him, “for you to be here right now—hiding in my bedchambers well after dark.”

Criston stammers, his words broken-up by serrated breaths, “I merely wished to know that you were safe, princess.” Dark eyes flutter up from the floor, drawn to yours. “My intentions were pure.”

“Were?”

His blood thrums. His lungs ache.

You continue, “Do you mean your intentions have changed, Ser Criston?”

Criston tells the truth. “No.” With you, his intentions are always pure. It’s his desires that complicate things. “My intentions are the same,” he tells you, clearing his throat, “I only wish to know you’re safe. That you’re well-protected.”

Your mistrust in his answer is evident. Lips pursed, your eyes scan his face, searching for something. At this moment, he feels every bit like prey. A cornered animal trapped beneath the searing gaze of a dragon, left entirely at your mercy.

A part of him is terrified. Another, utterly entranced.

Finally, you click your tongue. Reaching out a hand, you place it against his chest. His gaze falls, staring at where your palm is pressed to his armor. He wonders how it might feel against his skin. “You’re an honorable knight, Ser Criston,” you tell him, smiling. “A good man, too.”

Criston doesn’t remember the need for oxygen until your touch falls away.

Turning your back to him again, you stride back around your bed, pull the blankets back, and sit on the edge of your mattress. His mind is still reeling when you next speak.

“I was with Aegon.”

Criston blinks. “What?”

“You asked if I was alone,” you say, reminiscing on his earlier question, “I wasn’t. I was with Aegon—who was accompanied by Ser Erryk.” Sliding your legs beneath the blankets, you lean back against a stack of plush pillows. “So I was well-protected from those vile men you speak of.” Chewing on your lip, fighting a wider grin, you add, “I just thought you might like to know—despite how unjealous you are.”

Criston’s own lips twitch, curving upwards.

“Good,” he says, a bit awkward. Then: “And about that secret door…”

You groan, tossing your head back against the pillows. Criston softly chuckle, another lecture already poised on the tip of his tongue.

It’s going to be a long night.

a/n - idk man. I randomly decided at 8pm that I needed to write 2k words about this man after never writing for him a day in my life, and this is the product of that. any and all feedback is welcome and much appreciated!

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monabee-draws · 4 months ago

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Dorian confessing his intention to return to Tevinter for good is so heartbreaking in the Tresspasser DLC. Because of course he does! It doesn't come out of nowhere, he tells the inquisitor as much before they even defeat Corypheus - he loves his home country and knows that he personally needs to be the one to fix it. Not any foreign power (including you and the Inquisition) but through internal change. And he's so blasé about it when he tells you, keeping his tone light, excited for his future work with Maevaris and the Lucerni! Of course, he didn't want you to find out like that but this is a good thing. He's happy! He's practically jovial!

And then you think about how familiar that tone of voice is. And remember his romance scene, and the nonchalant way he asks you if this whole relationship is just a one-time thing. And how he jokes and jibes with you in the bad-end future during In Hushed Whispers, to the point where Leliana calls him out on the obvious attempt at levity. Barring your brushes with his family, who elicit a kind of knee-jerk anger that cracks his usual mask, Dorian is very good at maintaining that emotional wall. So you listen as your heart breaks, as you consider how to respond to the lightness of him in this devastating moment, and you realise-

Dorian is terrified. The kind of scared where you can't really voice it, not in public, not even in private spaces when you aren't 100% in control. It's scary losing a parent, even one you're not quite reconciled with. To have to take his place and fill a role you've never fit, and somehow finally actually push forward with all the ideals you've been imagining to be so far away for many years. And to do all that on the opposite side of the world from the people who all made you finally believe it could be possible in the first place?

Dorian is so very used to being the brave one, the optimistically realistic one, that he can't possibly burden you - whose heart is breaking, whose Inquisition is failing, whose body is slowly killing them - with all of his own ugly fear. That wouldn't be very charming and dependable and Dorian of him, would it? More to the point, leaning on you would be both more burdensome to you and chafe against his own stubborn pride - not accepting favours is well-established during his romance-specific quest to retrieve his birthright. So instead of taking you aside somewhere quiet, consulting you about his final decision on the matter, and giving both of you the space to grieve, he...

Well he tells Varric. And Sera, and Bull, and Cole. Part of it is practice - how might they react? Part of it is in hope for advice on how to break the news. Varric and Bull are adept speakers. Cole's whole job is compassion. Even Sera's bluntness might help when you're chronically incapable of not sugarcoating things. But all it really does it make things worse, because its a distancing tactic. Nothing can truly prepare him for the crack in your voice, the sharp sting of your flinch and the perceived betrayal.

It's almost ironic, that his romantic lock-in asks you to decide if you're in for the long haul, when Dorian's entire arc is one that will inevitably draw him back to Tevinter. And specifically in such a way as to leave you. Because he does not want you tagging along (at least not now, not as the Inquisitor.) Dorian's fear in this moment is not fully centered on you, the man he loves, but there is certainly a part of him that is back in the Inquisitor's chambers on the opposite side of that question of 'do you want me to stay.'

Dorian Pavus' greatest fear is temptation, emblazoned on his tombstone in the Fade for all to see. And there you are, with your political power, ready to jump in and save the day once again on his behalf. And he's tempted. There you are with your familiarity and a space for him in the South that accepts him for who he is. And he's tempted.

There you are. Loving him. And well...

So he doesn't lower his voice to whisper to you, or hold you too close. He confesses in public where the crowds prohibit hysterics, he sips on precious wine, and he gifts you his sending stone. It is both distance and closeness all tied with a bow. A temptation that he can just about handle. Fear under wraps. Because if he lets you, you will - without even knowing - stop his entire life in its tracks. You represent everything he can never afford to lose to. And it is wretched how desperately he doesn't want to lose you.

#dorian pavus #dai #dragon age inquisition #dorian x inquisitor #dragon age meta #rambles #dorian crying out that he knew the inquisitor would break his heart #is such a beautifully bittersweet moment #because of course he will #but i get the sense that part of him cannot believe his absence #would ever break the inquisitor's heart in return #that his hope for just a little while longer #would truly be reciprocated #even if it can't happen #dorian pavus when i find the men who hurt you and toyed with your heart

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propheticbride · 4 months ago

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Lamb to Slaughter I

𐙚 Following Aegon's crowning of King, you attempt to settle into your new reality, with absolutely idea of what is happening around you. Your only company? The one eyed Prince himself.

𐙚 Aemond Targaryen x Reader (tw: manipulation, slight non-con, incest)

The nights following Aegon’s coronation were chaotic, whisperings of Rhaenyra’s claim lay about plainly as others argued the whore was not the rightful heir after all. Doors remained closed tight, no one talked too loud, servants kept to themselves. War was brewing, that was for certain.

You remembered the night your father died, your mother had snuck into your room and had gently woke you up. Cradled you as she gave you the news, you being the only Viserys doted on after Rhaenyra. And in some sick way, Alicent was sure you were her favorite too.

At first you did not comprehend how he was dead. He was not in good health, but to die so suddenly had left you confused.

‘My sweetling, he was not well. You saw. So weak, so poor in health.’ she spoke as she pet your hair.

Tears caked your face, hair matted to your skin, ‘I just don't understand.’

She sighed, ‘My poor girl.’

When Alicent had left that night, you had felt a void inside. Heartbroken and scared at the news. You found yourself in a familiar place, slipping out of your own chambers and into Aemonds. You wouldn't bother Aegon at that hour, him too drunk to even wake or want to comfort you. So instead you slipped into your more understanding brother’s space, the one who gently held you when you were scared and kissed you so gently.

But now, everyone's attention had been guided to Rhaenyra and her war. Everyone in the keep insisting she would come with fire and blood. And where you would seek Aegon’s affections, it would now be shunned upon. He was married after all, with two children and now king. He could no longer lie in bed and keep you entertained with his flea bottom stories.

✮⋆˙

“He's too busy now brother, too busy for me.” you complain, stitching at Aemond’s ripped attire. “He drinks a lot, I know this. But never stops by my chambers anymore. He must be so occupied with being king.”

Aemond doesn't reply, just makes an agreeing sound as his one eye watches you sew.

“How is Helaena? I know you two spend time together, she will not speak to me either. I wish she would, I get so lonely.”

“I talk to you.” Aemond reminds you.

You nod, giving him a gentle smile, “You’re always so good to me brother.”

His hand finds your arm, gently rubbing you to calm you.

“No one tells me anything. It’s…” tears form in your eyes.

“My love…”

“No!” you slam his arm away, getting up and begin to pace. “You are not to call me that! You are gone for days, on that beast you claim to be a dragon. Mother will not come visit me, Aegon has completely shunned me. Cole will not look at me and my dear sister will not speak to me. I am going insane in my room. Please. Please, what is happening?”

Aemond studies you for a moment, as if he were examining your outburst.

“I’ve never known you to yell. At all people, me.” he finally speaks.

It hurts you. The pain that settles in your chest after his words are enough to make you sick.

“I did not mean-” you return to him, placing your hand on his shoulder. “Please forgive me. I cannot stand if you are mad at me. I am losing my sanity. I'm so lonely.”

“Am I not enough to keep you happy?” he questions.

“I miss our mother, and our brother.” you admit. “When father was alive I wasn't so…lonely.”

“Because he kept you company.”

“I just want Aegon to visit again. Or mother. Or even Haelena. Please just ask them. Ser Kavvin does not let me leave ever. It’s like I am a prisoner.” it’s almost as if you were praying to the gods. Gentle and begging. Please please please.

Aemond is silent again, until he rises and kisses your head, “I’ll tell mother and brother to visit you my sweetling, it must be so awful for you to be cooped up in here, I am sorry Vhagar has my interests as of late. My priority has always been you.”

You beam at his words, the remembrance of your outburst a memory it seemed. Although the court was terrified of Aemond, you were not. Perhaps some of you was, but he was gentle and sweet to you, you almost had no reason to be scared. He took care of you, bringing you jewelry and new gowns, dining with you in place of your mother. He was the only human interaction you had gotten as of late, everyone else so preoccupied with Aegon.

“Is it?” you ask. Out of place, and you know it, but you cannot help yourself.

“I always thought we’d marry. Aegon had Haelena, but who has you, but me.” Aemond begins to cup your face. “I enjoy our time together, but there are matters I must attend to this afternoon. But don't worry, I will have mother or Aegon visit you.”

You struggle to understand his words, “What do you mean. Have me?”

He smiles and shakes his head, giving you a kiss on the lips before finding himself out of your chamber.

✮⋆˙

If anything Aemond does well, it's keep a promise. As he said, Alicent finds herself in your chambers a little after nightfall. She had maids run you a hot bath, your white hair gently slipping through her fingers as she brushed it.

“Why haven't you visited me?” you finally ask after too much silence.

“Aegon is being prepared to finally rule, I have been attending to it.” she says. “I am sorry, I haven't seen to you. I do feel bad.”

“Why must I be confined to my chambers.” you turn to her, violet eyes looking up at her.

“I do not trust…” she tries to collect her thoughts, not sure how to word it for you to understand best. “Aegon thinks it’s best if you are under protection. He thinks you might be a target for Rhaenyra’s anger.”

“Rhaenyra.” you say your sister’s name. “Rhaenyra is upset that father replaced her as heir?”

“Yes my sweet. She is upset that your father changed his mind about the succession. He decided he wanted Aegon on the throne after all.”

“I miss him.” you say after a while. “He was very sick…but he kept me company.”

“I am sorry, I am. I know it is no excuse but you must forgive and understand how daunting this has all been. So much has been done and needs to be done, the realm may be at war soon-”

“At war?” you interject, worry in your tone. “War? Why war?”

Alicent catches herself, she has slipped.

‘Do not mention the mess with Rhaenyra to her, I would not have her worry’ Aegon’s voice played in her head.

“No war my sweet, I only forget myself. I am sure Aegon will come to peace with Rhaenyra, and maybe she will even be seen back in the keep. You’d like that, right? I know you were fond of her son, Jacerys, I know you two were close.” Alicent goes back to braiding your hair, scared her words have put unrest in you. You did scare rather too easy.

“I don't want anyone at war.” you murmur.

“No war.” Alicent nods. “Aegon will be a good king, and make peace. I know it.”

✮⋆˙

If you were honest, you were close to Jacerys, spending time in the garden together and studying. Rhaenyra had taken a liking to you, mostly due to your shared father also taking a liking to you. You were not close with Lucerys, you did not know him well. You did not spend time with him nor were you very thoughtful towards him. No time truly spent between you.

So news of his death broke the in the red keep, you found yourself indifferent. No tears were shed, but your heart hurt for Jacerys.

Aemond had returned from dragon back, Aegon so delighted of his brother's victory, the murder of a child, that a feast was thrown. You were allowed in your finest green silk and finally allowed out of your chambers, where you sat among several counsel members and your family along with some court attendees. Aemond had been silent for most of the feast, ignoring the praise he had received, most of them insults for Rhaenyra. You watched him closely, hoping, begging he would make eye contact with you. But he did not.

For hours it went on like this, Aemond slowly sipping and eating at the feast presented in front of him, not truly present at the party that was all for him and his victory.

Aegon, ever drunk, was quite present. Too present.

“My sweet sister!” his voice calls, and you turn to him. “Where have you been hiding?”

“My chambers, on your ruling.” you murmur.

“My ruling? Why would I ever…” he hiccups and slams himself down in the chair beside you. “I have missed you soooo much. Your absence has been noted, why do you scorn me so?”

His words don't make sense to you. Your mother’s words and now his, dancing in your head. You hadn't noticed, not truly noticed, until you briefly look at him, that Aemond is staring at you. For the first time in the entire night, he simply stares. But his gaze is far from comforting.

“I’ve been in my chamber, lonely.” you admit, looking back at Aegon.

“Well…I have missed you my girl, so much. It's so lonely…” he whispers the next part, “my bed… has been rather lonely.”

Aemond stands, everyone quickly glancing at him. He excuses himself from the table, with Aegon’s hand on you all you truly can do is watch.

“He’s upset” you mention.

“Ah yes. He’s been so moody since that business with the dragons. Don't know why though. They're all traitors. I’ll have all of their heads.” Aegon smells like alcohol, a smell you’re familiar with but still sensitive to.

“Aegon!” your mother’s voice rings. “I do wish you would not speak of such things with her, you know better.”

Alicent attempts to pull Aegon up from beside you, but he is quick to shove her away. You stand, shocked at the whole ordeal.

“I think I will head to bed.” you insist.

“I think that would be best, sweetling.” Alicent nods.

When you enter your chambers, you don't notice Aemond at first. He's facing the bookshelf, one your late father filled with stories of old and history. The one thing you both bonded over.

When you do notice him, it’s when you're half naked, pulling your sleeping slip on.

“Your skin is always so beautiful.” his voice startles you.

“Aemond!” you jump, clinging to your fur blanket, attempting to cover yourself.

“I've seen you already, have you forgotten me already?” you're not sure if he's as drunk as your other brother was, but his voice is calm and almost soothing.

“You should be in bed, the hour is late and I know you are upset.” you try to reason with him, knowing that when he is upset he is easiest to get to.

“But you always grant me so much comfort.” Aemond steps towards you, allowing his hand to cup your face, thumb lining your lips. “Do you remember the night I lost my eye. I was in so much pain. And you found me, alerted the guards to me. And that night, before we left, you let me in your bed for the first time. And we laid there together in peace.”

You watch his face as he talks, there's always been a certain amount of devotion you showed Aemond. That night you had found your cousins and him, screaming at the top of your lungs that alerted the guards to the situation. And he was not wrong. That night Aemond had been restless, in pain over his lost eye. Where your mother usually slept beside you, she had taken a leave of absence from your bed that night, allowing Aemond to replace her.

“You were always so sweet to me, where they laughed, you had always welcomed me. For dolls, for tea…for anything. So gentle. So kind.” Aemond sounds breathless, like he was praying.

“Aemond-”

“Shhhhh.” he licks your closed lips, causing you to gasp.

Aemond was always strict with the affection he gave you; always keeping his hands to himself, always to be careful that your mother did not catch a glimpse of how hungrily he would stare at you. But never this brazen. You did not know what to make of it.

“Please.” you beg. “We can't-”

“Can't what. You have no husband, and I have no wife. This is right. We were born to be together.” Aemond presses his forehead towards you. “Ever since that night I lost my eye, and you welcomed me so warmly into your bed I have wanted you since. Why won't you let me take you?”

“We can't…Aegon…he-”

Aemond’s face twists in anger, “Don't mention him! Do not speak of him!”

The outburst scares you, taking a step back and clutching your fur tighter.

“Drop it.” his face changes, as does his voice. His entire demeanor shifts. He unclips his cloak from his armor, letting the fabric fall to your chamber floor. “I said…drop it”

You drop the fur immediately, standing there almost bare for him. He looks over body, with a hungry gaze and a curious eye. Your slip was a thin silk, something your mother would die if she ever found you dressed in. But the sun had been hot as of late, and her nightgowns were too heavy. The several slips had been a gift of Aemond, now you had known why.

“I have waited years for you. Years for you to come to your senses of what I am to you. What you are to me. I am sick of waiting my sweet, I need you now. And I will have you now.” Aemond’s hands gently pull your slip down, allowing your naked body to be in full view for him. “You’re mine. You always have been. I just need to prove it to you."

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