#the only time she lets it all down is in her personal chambers.

[bronzebtch]

it's the intimacy in little things: the way she takes her gloves off. the way she lets her full hair down. the way she asks you to join in her hunts.

[sluttysnowangel666]

His Second Wife - cregan stark x reader (request)

summary: two years following the death of cregan’s first wife, he accepts an undesired marriage proposal to rhaenyra targaryen’s daughter. rhaenyra’s daughter, who had loved cregan the moment she first met him as a young girl, immediately loves and accepts cregan’s first child as her own. yet it is still not enough for cregan to find his own love for his new wife.

cw: mean cregan😓, widow!cregan, targ!reader, loss of virginity(reader), rhaenyra’s daughter, angst to fluff, unrequited love, sex, happy ending

do yall notice i always post a long ass story usually around midnight or later ( i’m unwell)also this is long af soz it was a detailed request and I wanted it to be to a T. this is SOO long. i prolly should have done two parts… oh well @lillithsalvatore hope you enjoy it love ❤️

“How do you feel, my love?” Your mother asked, placing a warm and comforting hand on yours.

You sighed. “Nervous.”

She gave you that warm and sweet smile of hers. “I know. I hope you know this choice was not easy for me to make, as I know this was a hard task for me to place upon you.”

“I know, mother.” You say with forgiveness, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Had it been any other lord I would have surely declined but… Starks are the most honorable among men. I know your union will be blessed by the gods.”

You give her a smile, blindly trusting her words. You had met him once, and you knew he was kind. In fact, he had left a paw shaped imprint on your heart. You thought to yourself no union could be more suitable. You knew he had married once before out of a prior marital alliance, but the marriage had been short lived, lasting only a year before his first wife died in her birthing chambers.

It took more than four moons before you arrived at Winterfell, as if every power in the world was set on preventing it. You were not a superstitious person, so you simply thought all the bad things that happened prior to your marriage was coincidence.

Each time you went to leave, something prevented you. Your mother miscarried your baby sister, Lucerys was killed by Aemond, Daemon went silent at Harrenhall, Rhaena ran away and was lost in the eyrie before revealing she claimed Sheep-stealer.

You arrived in the dead of winter, and the journey had not been kind to you. You got a chill on the way up, causing you to stop at an inn for a few nights, you had came across raiders who killed one of the many men escorting you, and your clothes were ill suited for the weather.

You did eventually arrive at Winterfell thankfully, all in one piece.

You stepped out of the carriage cautiously, eyeing the snowy landscape surrounding you. It went as far as the eye could see. You held your hand out, letting the thick snowflakes fall and melt in your hand.

“My princess.” You turn to see Cregan, walking towards you. He bows, forcing a politeness. “Winterfell is yours.”

You bow in return, “No need for such formalities, Lord Stark. This is your home, and I am honored to have you welcome me here.”

He nods, choosing to say nothing else to you.

“Please show the princess to her chambers.” He says to one of the servants, then immediately turning on his heels to leave. Your jaw falls slightly, surprised at his curt demeanor.

You compose yourself, trying to hide the slight hurt in your features before making your way to your private chambers.

You bathed immediately, welcoming the hot water against your skin. No water could be hot enough for your dragon blood, but what they had drawn up for you would do nicely.

Your wedding was a week after your arrival, the lord having given you time to settle in. You had not seen him much during that week so you chose not to bother him, assuming he was busy with duties.

When you walked down that snowy path to the red weirwood, Cregan stole a glance at you. You looked beautiful, and he felt horribly guilty for thinking it. He felt like what he was doing was betraying her.

You said your vows, swearing your love before the old gods. You smiled at Cregan and he gave you a forced one in return. Guilt wracked his whole body. He felt guilty for you, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give you a union where you were loved, he felt guilty for liking your smile, he felt guilty for forgetting hers.

There was a feast following the ceremony, nothing large due to the pains of winter, but it didn’t bother you. The small gathering felt intimate, compared to southern weddings where lords and ladies travelled from all over the realm to witness it.

It was here you met Cregan’s son, Rickon.

“Hi, little one.” You said. He was only two, a fat little babe who looked just like Cregan.

“Rickon, this is my new wife.” Cregan said. The way he worded it made you twitch, it had sounded so strained. He didn’t even use your name. You told the boy the name he could call you, but he said nothing as he hid behind his father’s leg.

“I apologize.” Cregan said, his voice showing no sign that he actually was sorry.

“It is alright, my lord. He is just a babe. He and I will have time to get to know each other.” You said. Cregan tensed up, suddenly remembering again this union was forever.

“Excuse me, princess.” He said, turning and walking away with Rickon. Your heart sunk a bit. You could start to sense it now, Cregan was not in the slightest invested in your union together. You felt lost, out of place suddenly.

You sat back down at the high table, overwhelmed with nervousness. You bit at your nails and the skin around them, biting until they bled. You missed your mother dearly. Being here, in this room among strangers who didn’t care much for southerners to begin with, made you feel small.

You had sat there for an hour or two, not moving or eating once, save for your cuticles.

Cregan came to you, not noticing your nervous state. If he had noticed, he chose to ignore it. “I’ve put Rickon down… Would you please accompany me to my chambers?”

You looked at him, the nail bed of your thumb resting between your teeth. You nodded, standing and staring at the hall one last time. You locked eyes with a man, who noticed you both about to take your leave.

“Is it time for the bedding ceremony, Lord Stark?” The man asked, erupting a few cheers from the men mostly.

“No!” Cregan nearly barked the order. “There will be no bedding ceremony.”

The men in the crowd shuffled awkwardly at his outburst but accepted.

“Princess.” Cregan said, walking away and not waiting to see if you were following.

You did anyway, struggling to keep up with his quick pace. You had the sense he wanted this to be over with quickly.

He held the door as you both entered his chambers. You took in your surroundings. It was a clean and large kept room with a lit hearth and a large bed. A thought passed your mind, even though you tried to push it down.

Did he share these chambers with her?

Cregan began to take off his armor and furs, again not watching to see if you did the same, only assuming you were. If you weren’t, he didn’t care.

“Um, could you help, my lord?” You asked, referring to the laces of your white wedding dress.

He sighed, walking over to you as you turned your back to him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you tried to hide it.

His hands were gentle with the laces, not tugging at them as you expected him to. He obviously had experience doing this before.

He grew emotional as he undid your dress, but he hid it well. It was a weird sense of deja vu. Your hair looked like hers from the back and he felt like he was back at his first wedding.

You pushed the dress off, revealing the sheer linen soft dress underneath. He hadn’t moved from behind you, trying to maintain his composure. You walked away from him, lying on the bed and biting your nails again.

He finished disrobing besides his briefs, and you stole a glance at his back. It was huge, muscular and scarred.

He walked over to the bed, getting between your legs and pushing up your shift.

“Is this alright with you, princess?” He asks. “We need not consummate this if you are not ready.”

For the first time it seemed like he kinda cared about how you felt. His hand still had a hold of your shift, which was resting on your pelvic bone.

You nodded, “Is it alright with you, Lord Stark?”

He nodded, pushing your shift up the rest of the way to reveal your chest. He wanted to fall on his sword for the way he kept stealing glances at your breasts.

He pushed his briefs down, and you choked on your breath at the reveal of his length.

“Oh, gods.” You mumbled under your breath.

He rubbed himself against your slit, and your heart stilled for a minute. The feeling was foreign and intense.

He gently grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from your mouth. You hadn’t even realized you were still doing it, it was starting to become like breathing. A natural, unintentional habit.

Your hands fell to his biceps to steady yourself. You looked at him, but he did not meet your gaze. He instead bowed his head, watching himself enter inside you.

You dug your nails into his arm, gasping in shock. He gently shushed you, telling you it was okay.

“Please, please.” You said, not knowing what you were even pleading for.

“What?” He asked gently, his voice low and almost mimicking of your whining. It sent a shiver up your spine.

He was slow and gentle with you, not in it for any pleasure himself.

You touched his chest and his hair and his arms, and while he didn’t stop you he made no effort to touch you himself. His hands rested beside your head, holding up his weight.

Your hands found his arms again and you moaned softly, feeling your peak building in your stomach. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to his head, moaning as you spilled onto him. He closed his eyes as he felt it, and guilt wracked him again.

He gently pulled out of you and stood up, immediately dressing himself into his nightwear. You pushed your shift back down and pulled the linen covers over you, immediately going back to biting your nails at his reaction.

He laid beside you, not facing you and not saying anything.

You said nothing, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed how he intentionally avoided spilling himself into you.

———

It had been 3 months since your arrival to Winterfell, and you had adjusted as well as you could given the circumstances.

You did not often see your lord husband, but you were used to it. He spent a lot of his free time in the crypt where she was. It hurt, but you gave him his peace and he appreciated that you didn’t hover.

“Mummy!”

“Sh, sh, love.” You say as Rickon runs into your chambers.

Cregan did not like when Rickon called you his mother. He’d gotten upset with you a few times over it, and you assured him you would correct Rickon when it happened.

“Mummy.” He repeated. You giggled. pulling him into your lap. You shook your head and tapped his nose, saying, “Nooo. Not mummy.”

“Mummy.” He laughed, and you ran your fingers through his thick brown curls.

“What ever will we do with this mop on your head, my son?”

“He is not your son.” You turned to see Cregan standing in the door way. “And his hair is fine.”

“Apologies, my lord.” You said, curtly. He ignored your attitude.

“Come, Rickon.” He said, beckoning his son.

“No, mummy.” Rickon whined, holding you.

“Go see papa.” You told him, and with your blessing Rickon ran to Cregan.

Cregan gave you a cold stare as he left, and you returned the favor.

You were growing ever so agitated with your husband. He had welcomed you into Winterfell, but not his heart. The only time you both had shared a bed was the night of your wedding, to which Cregan had made sure not to give you an heir.

You had no one. Rickon had you, Cregan had you even if he did not want you, yet you were alone here in Winterfell.

You decided to write to your mother on Dragonstone, requesting for Jacaerys to pick you up on dragon back so you could visit your family and hopefully receive advice. You had left your dragon, Silverwing, at home. You did not want to disrespect the already hesitant northern people, and you did not want Silverwing to be cold or hungry.

That night when you were brushing your hair before bed, there was a knock on your door.

“Come in.” You looked in the mirror and saw Cregan’s half sister, Sara, enter.

“Hi, Sara.” You said. She came up behind you, taking the brush from your hand and slowly combing it through your hair. You two had formed a unique bond, given you were both considered outcasts in Winterfell. You were a southerner, she was a bastard. They were two sides of the same coin here in Winterfell.

“I heard what happened today.” She said, and you hummed mindlessly. “My brother can be a bastard.”

You smiled at her in the mirror. “Is that so?”

She nods. “I wish I knew what to do, Sara.”

“We northerners love hard, princess. We are unwaveringly loyal. The wound of losing Aly is still fresh in my brother’s heart. Give him time. He knows you love Rickon, and that scares him. I don’t know why.”

“Was Aly pretty?” You ask.

“You have a southern beauty we do not see often in the North. Aly was not a beautiful woman, but she was a fierce fighter. That is how history will remember her. She was born fighting, and she died fighting. I know you are a fierce fighter as well, princess. You are the blood of the dragon. Do not let the grief my brother holds make you feel small.” She kisses the back of your head. “Throw a fucking book at his head if he acts like that again.”

You laugh, her joke comforting you. She turns and leaves you alone, your head clouded with thoughts of Aly.

You heard back from Jacaerys within a few days that he would arrive shortly to bring you home. You had not yet told Cregan, as you knew he wouldn’t care anyway.

A few days following the letter from the raven, it was Sara’s name day. Cregan had decided to celebrate with a feast, one bigger than your wedding.

You all sat at the high table, your husband and sister in law drinking heavily. Although Cregan was a big man, the amount of ale he consumed that night seemed enough to kill a horse.

“My princess.” A servant rested her hand on your shoulder. You and Cregan both turned to look at her, and she grew nervous, not expecting Cregan to pay any attention or perhaps she would not have asked the princess the request. “Rickon has had a nightmare and wants no comfort of the maids. He is requesting you by name specifically, princess.”

You turn to look at Cregan for his approval. He gives a quick nod, which you hadn’t expected. Perhaps he only obliged since Rickon had requested you by your name, rather than requesting his “mother.”

You walked with the maid to his chambers, opening the door.

“Mummy.” He said through sniffles. You turned to face the maid.

“I thought he requested me by my name.” You said.

“That is your name, princess… to him.” The maid closed the door.

You turn to face Rickon with a gentle sigh. “You know papa doesn’t like that word.”

“Mummy.” He just says again. You walk to his bed, fitting yourself in to lay with him. He cuddles into your chest, and you play with his hair to help him sleep.

“Say it okay.” He says.

“Hm? What do you mean, child?” You ask.

“She say it okay to call you mummy.”

“Who?”

“Mummy did.”

“No, you have to call me my name, sweet boy.”

“Not you, mummy. My other mummy said it okay.”

“You confuse me, Rickon.”

“Mummy says ignore papa.” You chuckle softly.

“Sleep now, my love.” You say, and he slowly falls asleep while you hum him a soft song.

You rise, tucking him in and giving his head a kiss.

You open his door to return to the feast, and Cregan is there waiting.

You gasp, covering your mouth quickly to not wake Rickon.

“Gods, you scared me!” You whisper/yell at him. He says nothing, his eyes in a glossy and drunken haze.

You close the door, nearly standing chest to chest with him.

“I heard you sing to him.” He says softly. “Where did you learn that song?”

“He taught me it.” You say, as you go to step past him when he stops you.

“Cregan?” You say confused, turning to look up at him.

He takes your cheeks in your hands and slams his lips on yours. You freeze for a second in shock, before immediately returning the kiss. He presses you against the door, and you moan into him as you quickly grow wet with Cregan’s sudden change of behavior.

He moves to press gentle kisses on your neck, biting softly here and there. His fingers dig into your hips, grinding himself into you. You moan softly, trying not to cause too much noise against the door.

“Not here.” You moan. He avoids your eyes, taking your hand and pulling you further down the hall to his chambers. It was only your second time in his room. He lifted you into his strong arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing you against the wall.

You both hadn’t even undressed, but you loved the thrill. Your husband finally wanted you after three long grueling months. He pushed your dress up to your waist as you unlaced his breeches.

He took you there against the wall of his chambers, fucking you so sweetly, fucking you in a way that would surely produce an heir.

Your moans filled the halls, and the servants began to spread word that the lord had finally moved on from his first wife.

He carried you to the bed, placing you along the edge as he stood, fucking you with sloppy and drunken thrusts.

You moaned his name, both of you drawing so close to your peak as your hands rested against his stomach. He leaned closed to you as hand moved beside your head to hold his weight, and the other moved under your lower back to lift you slightly off the bed and pull you more into him. The angle sent you over the edge, crying and moaning his name.

Your moans pushed him over, but his next words made you sick.

“Fuck, Alysanne.” He groaned, burying his head in your neck and spilling his seed into you.

You gasped, not even sure you heard him right.

He kissed your neck a few times and then rolled off you, not noticing the look on your face.

You laid there unmoving, still in your dress which was now damp with sweat, and your thighs now sticky with Cregan.

He fell asleep the second his head hit his pillow, still in his clothes.

You choked back a sob, moving your hand to your mouth so he wouldn’t waken. In reality, you could’ve started screaming and he wouldn’t have woke, or even shuffled.

You exited his chambers, trying not to be sick on the way to yours.

“My sister!” Sara drunkenly yelled as she seen you in the hallway. She took notice of your disheveled dress and hair. “Oh my gods, did you and Cregan just…?”

You ignored her, but she noticed the tears on your face. “Wait, sister what is wrong? What happened?”

You slammed the door in her face, throwing yourself into your pillow and screaming.

—

“Mother would be furious if she knew you were sleeping this well past sunrise.”

You groaned, lifting your head from the pillow to find the voice in the room.

“Jacaerys?” You said, when your eyes landed on him.

“I take it the feast for Sara Snow was a success.” He says, making fun of you. Your hair was sticking to your face, wet with a mixture of tears and drool.

“I guess you could say that.” You said, wiping your hair to the side.

“You’re disgusting.” He says.

“Gods, five minutes you’ve been here and you already frustrate me! Get out!” You say, both of you immediately teasing and arguing like you had never left home.

You push him out of your room.

“Don’t touch me, wench!” He whines, smacking your arms.

“Piss off! Go harass the bloody Lord of Winterfell.”

“I’d rather harass the Lady.” You push him out of your doors, turning and pressing your back to slide down the wall.

You hear him knock again and you rise to your feet, angry. “Jace, I said-“

You don’t finish your sentence, since as you open the door it’s Sara.

“I wanna talk about last night.”

“I don’t.” You say, going to close the door on her before she pushes it back open.

“What happened?” She asks, angry. She closes the door behind her and follows you to the bed. You sit on the edge and rest your elbows on your thighs, burying your face in your hands.

“Did my brother hurt you?” She asks, worried.

“No, no.”

She rests on her knees in front of you, placing her hands on your knees. “Tell me what happened.”

You sigh, trying to hold back your tears, but you cannot. “We had sex.”

“Isn’t that good? What went wrong?”

“He called me Alysanne.” You sob out.

“Oh, no.” She says, moving to sit beside you and wrap her arms around you.

“I cannot stay here no longer, Sara. I am being haunted by Alysanne. I find letters she wrote to Cregan, her clothes, her weapons. Rickon thinks I am her and Cregan wishes I was.”

“I am sorry, princess.” She says, sadly. “I thought I knew my brother better than that… Perhaps, if you talk to him about these past few months things can be different. Just give it a try, yes? You have your brother here now. You can leave if things do not work and the marriage can be annulled.”

You did not even wish to think of that possibility. It would be so shameful for both of your houses. You would do everything in your power to make it work.

You cleaned yourself up and went to Cregan’s chambers, knowing he would be hungover.

And you were right.

You entered his room without knocking, finding him in a bath with a warm rag over his eyes. Three times now you’ve been in his chambers.

“You can set it on the table.” He says, not moving the rag.

“What?”

“Oh.” He says, his voice changing in tone. “I thought you were the maid.”

You say nothing, unsure of where to even begin.

“Can whatever you’ve barged into my chambers for wait until I am done.” He asks, only the question is more of a statement.

“No.” You say, angry. You walk over to him and pull the rag off his eyes. He squints at the brightness, then gagging on the air as if he might be sick. “We’re going to talk, Cregan. We’ve been married for months and I don’t think we’ve ever truly had a conversation once. It is all I am asking. You could at least give me that. You’ve given me the cold shoulder for three months, and I’m tired of it. I’ve helped raise your son, I’ve loved you and I’ve cared for you even when you didn’t want it. You owe this to me.”

He sighs, defeated. “You are right in that, my princess. I apologize. We can talk later, alright?”

“No, Cregan. We will talk now.”

“You wouldn’t rather talk when I am of a clear headspace?”

“No. Now.” You say. He sighs again.

“Say your piece.”

The words left your mind the second he said that. You had this conversation in your head many times before, but now it was here and you could not handle the heat of the moment.

He raised his eyebrow at you, as if you were dumb.

“Oh, do not do that. I thought you Starks were supposed to be the most honorable among men. This whole marriage I have been treated with everything but. You are a disrespectful man, Stark. I am truly sorry about Alysanne-“

“Do not speak to me about my wife, ever!” He yells, pointing at you.

“I am your wife!” You cry out. “You chose me, whether you were ready for another marriage or not! I left my home, my family, my dragon to be with you! If I cannot have your love, is it too much to ask for your fucking respect?!”

He goes quiet for a few moments, “You have always had my respect, princess… and I know I have erred in the way I’ve treated you these past moons. But this marriage is just a duty. Nothing more, nothing less. This marriage is not out of love… so do not expect me to love you back.”

You laugh, dryly. “You called me Alysanne last night… Do you remember that? No… I suppose you were too drunk. You never would have touched or cared for me like that sober.”

He says nothing, but his hands grip the side of the tub and his face is contorted with anger. You rise, hiding any sort of emotion on your face.

“The dead don’t need lovers. Only the living.” You said. He threw his rag at the door as you walked out, not even granting him a second glance.

The memories of last night flooded back to him, and he rested his face in his hands, crying at his behavior. He had let down Aly, his son, and you.

He did care about you, he did love you in his own way. He just didn’t know how to show it. He didn’t want to show it. If he had shown it, he only would have betrayed Aly even more.

You went down to the crypt, somewhere you had never gone before. You had no reason originally, no people to mourn.

You stood in front of her plot, staring at the statue of her. She had been a skinny girl, with long dark hair and ‘plain’ features. You thought she was a beauty in her own way. You saw why Cregan loved her.

You cried. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help him.”

Your hand touched her statue, then you stood and left the crypt.

You said goodbye to Rickon, Sara, and then you left with your brother on dragon back, ready to be home with your true family.

———

“You’re a fucking fool, brother.”

“You think I don’t know that? Gods.” Cregan rested his head in his hands. He had sent every raven in Winterfell to Dragonstone, yet not one had responded in the weeks since you’d left.

“We’ll be lucky if the bloody queen doesn’t declare war on us for you scorning her daughter.”

“I am trying here, Sara! I’ve sent my ravens, I’ve sent men to retrieve her. There is nothing more I can do!”

Sara slammed her hands on the table. “Go and get her your bloody self, Cregan. The trip to Dragonstone will give you plenty of time for reflection.”

Sara turned to leave, and Cregan knew it was his only option of getting you back here. He would go and get you and make things right. He had to.

You had your own time for reflection, riding home with Jacaerys made you realize how much you missed being on dragon back.

Your mother of course welcomed you with open arms, but was wracked with guilt that you and Cregan’s union was not working. You paid it no mind however, spending your days patrolling Dragonstone on Silverwing.

Cregan had taken his horse and a few men to retrieve you from Dragonstone. The trip by horse was long, more than several weeks.

The entire time he rode in silence he thought of you. He thought of your last conversation and the final words you had said to him. The dead don’t need lovers. And you were right. Alysanne would not have wished to see him treat you how he had, she would not have wanted Cregan to spend his time sulking or being angry. He only wished he had realized it before he left.

He loved you. If only it hadn’t taken you leaving for him to realize. You were kind, gentle, beautiful. Traits Alysanne didn’t have but it was what seperated you from her. It had been how he was able to find his own kind of love for you, even when he didn’t consciously realize it yet. His own bitterness from losing Aly had made forget his honor.

Cregan arrived about two moons after you had left. He was aching, frustrated, and desperate by the time he reached Dragonstone.

It was dark, pouring rain, and you were playing with your brothers Viserys and Aegon when he arrived.

“Your Grace!” A knight came into the room shouting. Your mother looked up from her book. “Cregan Stark of Winterfell has arrived and requests an immediate audience with you and the princess.”

Your mother looked at you, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Your heart sank and your face went pale, but you nodded.

You met him inside the council chambers with your mother and his men. He was soaked, shivering. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, that was how nervous you were.

“Cregan.” You said, walking towards him and pushing him by his arms to the hearth to warm him up. It was another thing he loved about you, your protective nature, so he said it.

“I love you.”

“Cregan…”

“Love her?” You both looked at your mother, whose face was angry. “You love my daughter?”

“Your Grace.” Cregan said, removing his sword and bending his knee. “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.”

She walked towards you both. “It is not mine you need to beg for… I sent my only daughter to you, and you spurn her for your dead wife?!”

“Mother!”

“You will not interrupt the Queen when she is speaking.” She commands you. “What do you have to say for yourself, Lord Stark?”

He stands. “I have nothing to say, Your Grace. You are right. My behavior was unacceptable. The princess deserved none of it.”

“Why are you here?” Your mother asks him.

“I’ve come to ask the princess to return home.” Your mother scoffs at him.

She looks at you, then back to him. “You are lucky it is not my decision to make.”

She turns and exits, leaving and commanding his men to wait outside the doors so you both could be alone.

You were even more nervous with just the two of you in there. It is silent for a few moments before you speak.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” You ask Cregan.

“It took you leaving for me to realize I love you.” He says, taking your hands in his. You roll your eyes, taking your hands back and stepping away.

“I can’t believe you.” You say, starting to sob.

“I know, I know.” He steps closer to you again, taking you in his arms as you cry into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“I loved you, Cregan.” You say, crying. “Since I was a girl I loved you. I thought you were different from other men. But, you’re just like the rest.”

Cregan cries into your hair. “I’m so sorry, my princess. I’m so, so sorry.”

You both stand there, holding each other and crying.

“Please come home.” He says. “Let me take you home.”

“Rickon misses his mother, Sara misses her sister… I miss you, you my wife.”

You pull away to look at him, trying to read his normally stoic features. You can see he means it.

“Okay.”

———

You returned to Winterfell on Silverwing, no longer having the strength to remain apart from your dragon.

Cregan had to endure another long and grueling trip back to Winterfell, which you enjoyed knowing he was suffering while you road through the skies.

Rickon had cried tears of joy when you returned, and a week later when Cregan arrived Rickon cried again.

You and Cregan had remained in seperated chambers while you still navigated your marriage, but Cregan made a point to spend every moment of his free time with you.

But you had been keeping a secret from him.

After you returned home to Dragonstone originally, your blood never arrived. The maester determined you were with a babe, which would arrive several moons away in the dead of winter.

Your thick furs and dresses made it easier to hide from Cregan, as you were not ready to tell him.

The babe had complicated things. If you had not been pregnant, you might not have returned to Winterfell when Cregan came for you. But you knew you had a duty, and you believed if Cregan could love you then you could fix your union.

Cregan had indeed put the work in the second he arrived home. He attended to you, conversed with you, ate with you, laughed with you, but gave you the space you needed and gave you the option to be intimate with him when you were ready.

It was strangely like falling in love all over again. You blushed around each other, got nervous and flushed, made each other’s hearts race, shared a first kiss when you were both ready.

Cregan had undoubtedly fallen madly in love with you, and he regretted not taking the time to do it sooner. He couldn’t make up the time he lost being afraid. All he could do now was love you without guilt, love you without fear, love you without shame.

Normally Cregan always knocked on your chamber doors before entering, but for some reason this time he hadn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t knock, he didn’t know if it happened unconsciously or if he was too busy wrapped up with his thoughts.

Either way, he entered without knocking and by that point the cat was out of the bag.

He said your name, greeting you with a smile, only for it to fall off his face as if it had never been there.

You were in the bath, relaxing in the burning water, but that wasn’t the problem. He’d seen you naked, although it hadn’t been for a few months by this point, but him accidentally invading your privacy wasn’t the problem either.

It was the bump in your belly that was a problem.

Your head turned sharply, covering your chest quickly. “Cregan!”

“Sorry.” He said quickly, turning around to avoid disrespecting you.

“It’s fine.” You said, dropping your arm from your chest. “You just gave me a fright.”

He said nothing for a moment, only continuing to face the wall.

“What is that?” He finally asked. You sighed, stepping out of the tub and into your robe.

You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face you now, and his eyes fell down to your other hand resting on the small bump in your stomach.

“Perhaps it’s time we talk.”

“You think?” He spits at you, immediately apologizing after. “I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to be cross with you.”

You said nothing, walking over to the seats by the hearth hoping he would follow.

He did, and he sat next to you, his eyes never leaving your belly.

“Can I?” He asked, gesturing to your stomach. You nodded, untying your robe so that you were bare. You grabbed his hand, bringing it to the small bump.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have accommodated for you, made sure you were comfortable.”

“Truth be told it’s been hard for me to accept I’m truly with a child.” You say, “The reality had not set in until… well until you just now found out... I am sorry, Cregan. I should not have kept it from you.”

He chokes back a sob. “Feels like just yesterday Alysanne had Rickon.”

“He will be overjoyed to know he will have a little brother or sister.” You tell him. He looks at you, his face full of emotion.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks and before you can even finish nodding your head, you’re already leaning in to kiss him.

“I love you. I love you so much, my wife.” He says in between kisses.

His hand did not move once from your stomach the whole night.

[strawberri-blonde]

Yours to Command - Jacaerys Velaryon

Summary: you don’t tolerate disrespect towards your betrothed and in return he shows you how much he appreciates it.

Warning: smuttttt also I used an app for the Valyrian so if it’s wrong my bad.

Masterlist

“He’s nothing but a bastard-.” The Lord couldn’t even finish his sentence as you drew your sword, crafted from the finest steel, and slashed him across the face from ear to lip.

The room erupted in gasps of horror and surprise as you cut into the man’s flesh. The Lord had been boasting to your stepmother, Queen Rhaenyra, and your father, Daemon, about how you should marry his eldest son, dismissing Jacaerys as an option because of his infamous brown hair. What the Lord didn’t know was that you loved Jacaerys' distinguished curls and his soft brown eyes.

“Watch your tongue as you speak of my betrothed.” Your sharp words echoed throughout the large hall as crimson dripped onto the floor and you approached the fear-stricken man. “For not only is he someone I hold dear to my heart, but he is also your Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and wields a sword better than I.”

“Y/n, that’s enough.” Queen Rhaenyra’s voice cut through your enraged fog, and you felt a familiar pair of hands grip your waist.

You leaned into Jace’s grasp and turned to the queen, who didn’t look angry. Her eyes had a smugness to them, but her face remained professional. Your father, on the other hand, couldn’t contain his smirk, proud of his eldest daughter.

“My queen, I hold you in the highest respect,” you announced, bowing your head to her, then turned back to the crowd of men. “But I don’t tolerate disrespect towards my beloved.” Your eyes narrowed like a viper's with a sharp tongue. “Let this fool be my last warning to you all. As his wound scars over, I want you all to see what the least I can do, because next time I’ll take a note from my father's book and let you keep your tongue.”

The room remained still and quiet as you made sure to look every person in the eye, asserting your seriousness. “Jacaerys, please take your betrothed to her chambers, and we’ll discuss her actions,” she spoke mainly to you, but the sparkle in her eyes told you she wasn’t mad. She was proud that someone stood up for her firstborn.

Jace pressed you against his front, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his scent washing over you and soothing your rage. “Come, my love,” he whispered softly, his voice calming you, though your hard exterior remained unmoved. Keeping a death stare fixed on the bloody face of the Lord, you allowed Jace to lead you out of the council chamber with a gentle hand on your lower back.

As you both walked down the hallway, silence enveloped you, broken only by the clicking of your shoes against the stone floor. Finally, you let out a loud sigh, releasing your frustrations, and glanced up at Jace, who was walking to your right. His attention was already on you, his lips curled into a knowing smile. He was used to your angry outbursts, especially since he knew he was one of the few (besides your late mother) who could calm you.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly as you both continued the long walk to your wing where your and your sisters' rooms were. “I know you can handle it yourself.” Your blood boiled as you thought of the way the older men looked at him, trying to offer their puny excuse of sons your way. “If I offended you, I apologize.”

A chuckle escaped from the Prince's mouth, making you pause in your step. With quick movements, Jace gently pushed you against the wall between two columns and pressed a heated kiss to your lips. You gasped, and he bit down on your parted bottom lip. “Please never apologize for caring for me,” he murmured, his lips barely leaving yours as his eyes bore into your own. “It doesn’t offend me knowing I have a strong woman by my side, willing to cut anyone down for speaking ill of my name.” Jace kissed you again, and you pressed your hands on his chest, gripping the black tunic with gold embroidery sewn into the fabric.

He pulled away to mumble, “I’m proud to be yours. And I can’t wait until you’re my wife.” His words made you melt like butter because you couldn’t wait either. You smiled up at him with sultry eyes.

“I can’t wait to call you husband.” Jace smiled brightly, pressing you back in for a kiss, making both of you smile into the act like grinning fools.

The kiss brought on a sense of excitement that sent chills down your spine, and a soft, almost imperceptible moan escaped your lips when his hands began to caress your waist.

Hearing your soft moans, Jacaerys dragged his tongue along your full bottom lip, making you part your mouth and allowing his tongue to slip in. Your moans grew embarrassingly louder, but they only drove the prince to kiss you harder.

His hands lowered to your hips, and without warning, he picked you up and pinned you to the wall. Your dress slid up to your thighs, allowing you to lock your ankles together, pulling him close until his groin matched your own. The stone wall was cold against your back, but with your betrothed pressing you against his hard, hot body, you had no complaints. Instead, you arched your back, making his stiffness rub against your core, leaving you craving more of this. More of him.

You could feel Jacaerys breath catch in his throat at the feeling of your body against his, and a small growl escaped his lips as his hips began to grind into yours, and his grip on your hips tightened as his eyes met yours, filled with desire.

“Y/n…we shouldn’t be doing this,” He murmured, but his body continued to betray his words, pressing against you more firmly. “Anyone could see us…”

You slipped a hand behind his head as heat pool in your abdomen and you tugged on his curls making his close his eyes in a short bliss. Your lips curled as you pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth bucking your hips to add friction while your mouth trailed down to his neck pressing mouth open kissed to his pearly skin. “Ivestragī zirȳ ūndegon skoros nykeā sīr called bastard iksos capable hen.” Let them see what a so called bastard is capable of.

A low, almost guttural growl escaped from the Prince’s lips. “Hang va issa, beloved.” Jace secured his grip on you while your hands wrapped around his shoulders, fists clinging to his curls for dear life. “Open,” he commanded. If it were anyone but him or the queen, you would’ve laughed in their face, but for Jacaerys, you’d gladly walk off a cliff if he so desired. Hang on my beloved.

"I'm yours to command, my prince," you responded, your voice low and breathless. You parted your lips, but Jace couldn't help himself and pressed his open mouth to yours. With one hand, he raised your dress higher, his fingers slightly grazing your covered heat before ripping your stockings and excusing your cotton underwear.

When he pulled away, you immediately whimpered but were silenced by his pointer and middle finger shoving their way into your mouth. Your eyes widened at first, but as his brown eyes bore into yours, you began to suck his digits and even swirled your tongue around them. "By the gods, you’re perfect," he began. "And you’re all mine."

He slowly pulled his hand away from your mouth, making sure to caress your bottom lip. With haste, he reached under your bunched-up fabric to tease you slightly by gliding his soaked fingers against the already wet fabric of your undergarments.

"My Prince, please." Jace kissed your lips, hushing you as he pulled your coverings aside and pressed against your mound, sliding into your slick folds. He caressed you up and down, teasing your clit down to your entrance. "Gods."

Your head tilted back, hitting the stone wall in ecstasy as his rough fingers began to circle around your pearl. This wasn’t the first time Jace had touched you there. You both hadn’t been all that patient with waiting until you were wed, but as the honorable gentleman that he is, you hadn’t consummated anything because Jace really wanted to wait until the wedding night. However, that didn’t stop you both from getting your pleasure from other things. If it were up to you, the dragon rider would’ve already had the best ride of his life.

"Jace." You moaned out as he began the motion of figure eights, making your legs shake in delight.

"I love you like this, Princess." His hot breath hit your face as he leaned over you and kissed your parted lips. "When we wed, I plan on taking you in every nook and corner of this palace until you're full of my seed." Your cunt pooled at his words, and Jace could feel how wet you were becoming by the slushing sound his fingers made against your throbbing nerve. "You want that, my beloved?"

Loud moans spilled from your swollen lips as you helplessly nodded, knowing that if you didn’t respond in some way, he’d stop. “Yes,” you managed to get out as your abdomen tightened and your breath hitched, feeling that familiar, eye-blinding sensation start to form. “I can’t wait to be full of your children, letting everyone know what you did to me.” Jace kissed down your neck and sucked on that one spot that made you weak in the knees. “And I want them all to know how much I liked it.”

The prince sucked harder, and without realizing it, you began to yank at his curls, making his desire burn more intensely, especially as your moans increased and became shorter, signaling your very close end. “Cum syt issa, issa jorrāelagon milk issa fingers rūsīr aōha sweetness nyke jaelagon naejot ūndegon ao withering isse pleasure.” Cum for me, my love milk my fingers with your sweetness I want to see you withering in pleasure.

As his fingers continued their steady pace, rubbing against your clit, and his mouth worked against your neck, your body tensed in delight as your orgasm washed over you like a dragon's fire. No words left your parted lips, and you were grateful that Jace pressed his against yours in a kiss, because after that intense pleasure, you just wanted to be engulfed by nothing but him.

"I love you," you whimpered, making his boyish grin return to his face as he slightly pulled his head back to look at you. His hand slipped out from your undergarments, and he pulled your dress back down to cover your exposed thighs, keeping your skin hidden from view.

He sucked his fingers clean before he spoke. “Issa prūmia exists outside issa chest kesrio syt nyke’ve given ziry naejot ao se moment nyke tegon issa laesi va ao.” The brightest smile spread across your face, and as the two of you kissed, engrossed in the love surrounding you, someone clearing their throat made you both pull away like two deer caught by dogs. My heart exists outside my chest because I’ve given it to you the moment I land my eyes on you.

“Aōha valyrīha emagon gotten rōvēgrior, nephew.” Jace's face turned crimson from embarrassment, unlike the oversized pig of a man who had insulted him earlier, whose face was red with blood. Your Valyrian has gotten excellent, nephew.

You glared at your father, Daemon, as the prince carefully set you back on your feet and stood in front of you, nudging you behind him, between the columns. "But could you not corrupt my daughter before the wedding ceremony?" His knowing smirk could be seen over your beloved's shoulder, and he stood tall with his hands laced in front of him.

“Daemon-“ Jace began but your father raised a hand to stop him.

"Please just take her to her chambers before the Queen decides not to marry you a week from today." This news had you clenching Jace's hand, and he smiled down at you because the date hadn't been set yet. "And act surprised when she announces the news to you both, and please, no public displays of your love at least until after the wedding." Daemon shot them a sinful grin before nodding them off and walking past them.

"A week," you whispered with excitement, pulling Jacaerys into a loving kiss, which he returned with just as much enthusiasm. He grabbed your waist, began to pull you from the wall, and spun you around, making both of you laugh with joy.

Hoped you all enjoyed it’s been a while since I’ve written anything but I’m in my Jace era and I’m truthfully scared to be in it because I know my hearts going to be ripped out of my chest.

~ Caroline

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

I have a request for Jacaerys Velaryon x reader. They have been married for some time, but Jace still had feelings for Baela. He has never cheated and was always respectful towards reader, though. Jacaerys and her performed their duties and eventually she got pregnant. The fact that reader is now carrying his child makes them grow closer and Jace starts to fall in love with his wife.

For this one, the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s children was called into question and there was no betrothals between Rhaenyra’s boys and Daemon’s twins.

Warnings: pregnancy (I don't like pregnancies when I read/write, but this one was okay and mostly a small part of the story)

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

—

When King Viserys fell, a prince showed up to your home and asked your mother, Jeyne Arryn, for her support to Princess — now Queen — Rhaenyra’s claim. In her message, Rhaenyra didn’t fail to mention her mother, Aemma of House Arryn, and remind Lady Jeyne that she shared Arryn blood through her. Your mother was hesitant, knowing her support would make Daemon Targaryen king consort, but she couldn’t give her support to the Greens. So, she agreed but demanded to get something in exchange: a husband for her only daughter.

You didn’t like the idea of being sold for politics, but according to your mother it was part of being a woman. 

Married life wasn’t bad like you thought. Jacaerys was a respectful and kind man, but there was one problem: he had feelings for another. 

You didn’t take long to notice that his heart was elsewhere. It was written in the silence. The way he looked at Baela, the way he smiled at her — a special smile he kept just for her. He had undeniable feelings for her. You begged for attention, time, acknowledgment, but Jacaerys was never fully with you. Him and Baela spent a lot of time together riding their dragons together or practicing High Valyrian in the great hall, which left you hurt and jealous. Other than the red gem on your finger that matched the one of his cloak-pin, you had nothing in common. 

Sitting in your chamber, you held a necklace of your house’s sigil. The gold was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth. You hadn't seen your mother since the beginning of the war and you missed her dearly. You exchanged messages by raven, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in person. 

A tear slipped down your cheek, wishing for this war to be over soon. 

The door of your chambers creaked open, snapping you out of your sorrowful reverie. You glanced over your shoulder and saw Jacaerys in his armor after a day spent teaching the dragonseeds. It was a smart idea to get more dragons and riders on their side, but also a lot of work. 

‘’What are you doing?’’ he asked, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity.  

‘’Missing home, that’s all,’’ you replied, quickly wiping the tear away and forcing a smile. The weight of the necklace seemed heavier than ever as you clutched it in your hand.

Jacaerys stepped further into the room, running a hand through his tousled hair. He crossed the space between you in a few strides, his expression softening. ‘’Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.’’ He wiped your tear and sat next to you. ‘’I’ll take you to the Vale when it’s safe,’’ Jacaerys promised, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. ‘’I would take you now if it wasn’t so dangerous to fly over Kingsroad. The Greens have taken Harrenhal and—’’ 

‘’Is my mother okay? You promised you would send a dragon to watch over my home.’’  

He nodded. ‘’Rhaena left this morning with Joffrey and three dragon eggs. They should hatch soon and assure more protection to the Vale.’’ 

You let out a shaky breath, the news offering a small measure of relief. 

A few moons later, you announced to Jacaerys that you were pregnant. It was a surprise as you only had the occasion to lay together two times, but it’s been two moons since you last bled and the maester confirmed your suspicions. You were with child. 

The timing was not ideal, but the Queen was beyond happy for you and Jacaerys. She hosted a small feast in your honor, and made everyone keep your pregnancy a secret. Jacaerys was her heir, making your baby his heir. If the news got to their ears, she feared you would become a target for the Greens.

At the table, Baela congratulated you with a smile. You thought she would be bitter, but she was genuinely happy for you. 

As the weeks went by, the walls that once stood between you began to crumble and you and Jacaerys started getting closer. He would spend more time in the evening in your chambers, talking by the hearth while eating lemon tarts. And ask how the baby was although your stomach was barely round every time he returned from teaching the dragonseeds. 

You’ll never forget the look on his face when felt the baby move for the first time. The stars of complete amazement. He kissed you that night — a real kiss. 

On the seventh moon, as you were getting ready for your bath, you felt blood dripping down your leg.  Terrified, you asked one of the servants to fetch the maester and the Queen. She had other — more pressing — business to take care of, but you needed the reassurance of a mother by your side.

The news ran through the castle and made it way to Jacaerys, who dropped everything he was doing and ran through the corridors of Dragonstone to get to you. 

His face pale with worry when he bursted in your chamber, thinking you were going to lose the baby like his mother did. An early bleeding was how it started. 

‘’I’m fine, Jace. Maester Gerardys said bleeding can happen,’’ you said, taking his hand and pressing it over your belly. ‘’Our baby is fine.’’

—

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[drunk-person]

Healing Kisses

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: After an injury on a normal day of training, Aemond Targaryen has difficulty understanding what it feels like to be cared for by his sweet wife, mainly because he is not used to receiving healing kisses.

WARNING: +18. Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and and a little bit of hot, Aemond trying to understand feelings, a bit of blood, basically a lot of softness, no description for the reader.

Word cont: 2.600 k

Author's note: Ok, I was minding my own business and this story just slipped my mind and ended up on my phone. I hope you guys like our guy trying to understand what love is hahaha 💕💕💕.

It had been about two months since Lady Y/n had gotten married, to Prince Aemond Targaryen. From the first day she saw him, she found him a disturbing man, with his silver hair, the black eye patch over one eye, the marked jaw that looked like it could cut the tips of her fragile fingers. He always seemed to be watching everything going on around him with trained eyes that she swore could see right through her.

Y/n's mother had prepared her her entire life for marriage, but not for a marriage with Aemond. Nothing was as she expected, since her husband seemed to have his own way of doing things, always silent and taciturn, just muttering from time to time, and most of the time she couldn't even decipher what he was saying, she didn't even know if he was speaking the same language as her at times.

The most unexpected thing of all, considering how reserved he normally behaved, was the fact that he liked to touch her when they were together in the martial chambers. Y/n felt her skin boiling every night with every touch he directed at her, sometimes harder, sometimes softer, but always firmly squeezing her waist, hips and breasts. Always doing things to her that Lady Y/n had not thought possible until marriage, and that just the mere thought of it made her blush and feel her skin heat up. The way he lay against her back after having poured himself inside her to the last drop and kept squeezing her breasts in a languid and soft way made her shiver.

But Y/n wasn't satisfied. She couldn't accept the fact that her Husband had such passionate touches for her at night, but didn't let her get close to him during the day, either physically or emotionally. Y/n respected him in that regard, aiming for nothing more than to be a good and obedient wife, but she wouldn't give up so easily. And with this in mind, she began to try to include herself in Aemond's daily activities and personal tastes.

Reading about the history of his ancestors, observing his favorite foods, sewing his clothes personally and even reading an old book she found in the library written by a maester who promised to teach Valyrian to even the most obtuse person. Which only made her feel even more foolish since she didn't understand a thing.

One of the best parts of trying to include herself in her husband's daily routine was watching his daily training, she usually did it in the morning after breakfast and even after a whole month watching him fight she still hadn't gotten used to the fact that he was so good, the sword seemed like an extension of his own arm and she had to restrain herself from sighing a few times while admiring him.

Until one particularly boring afternoon she decided to go down to the courtyard, since the library was very stuffy and she heard a maid saying that Aemond was fighting with Sir Criston Cole. As soon as she arrived, she leaned on the windowsill along with some other ladies, smiling as she watched her husband a little below, but the smile died on her lips a few minutes later when Aemond didn't dodge fast enough and Cole's blade wounded him in the left shoulder, drawing blood and staining the knight's sword.

Y/n's eyes widened when she saw her husband's blood and she felt her stomach churn. Aemond put his hand to his wounded shoulder and frowned, then returned to the fight furiously, disarming Cole, who apologized to the prince, but said that it wouldn't have happened if he had kept his guard up and focused.

Aemond just put away his own sword and walked with long strides into the Keep. Y/n could barely see what was in front of her, she just walked towards her husband with her eyes burning with concern.

-Husband! - She tried to reach him, but Aemond was walking too fast towards his own chambers. - Husband, please wait! Your arm is injured, you need to go see a maester!

Aemond entered the chambers, leaving the door open as he passed, as his wife followed closely behind.

-It was just a scratch, wife. - Aemond stated as she looked at him with tears in her eyes. - I'm going to be fine, it doesn't even hurt.

-Husband, if you're not going to let the maester look at this wound, at least let me take care of you! - She begged in a very worried voice, approaching him.

And with a snort, valuing his peace of mind, Aemond removed his doublet and undershirt, which had bloodstains at the site of the wound.

-By the gods, husband! - Y/n's eyes widened when she saw his shoulder. - How can you tell me this is just a scratch?

-Sit down here! - She pushed him down onto the chair with a very stern voice, and Aemond frowned - she had never used such a tone with him, always gentle and submissive to his wishes. - Don't move, I'll get hot water and an herbal ointment.

A little while later she returned with a basin full of water and a tray filled with things that a maid had brought. And Aemond watched with a very serious frown as she leaned over him with a clean, damp cloth, cleaning the coagulated blood with a very concentrated look on her face.

He barely realized that she had spoken to him, completely lost in what was happening.

- Husband? - She called him a little closer, stopping to clean the wound.

- Mmmm? - Aemond looked at her slightly confused when he finally realized that she was talking to him.

-I asked him if by chance it hurts. - She smiled, now using her usual sweet and gentle voice and Aemond didn't know why his belly warmed, but not with the excitement that had become so common in the last two months whenever he was near his wife, but with an unknown feeling.

- No. - He shook his head slowly as he answered. - I don't feel anything.

Nothing but a tingling where her warm and soft hand rested.

- Are you sure, husband? - Her look was doubtful as she frowned, Aemond just nodded and she continued her work. As soon as she finished cleaning the area, she left a few soft kisses on the wound and Aemond felt that a rope had pulled him through his navel at that moment.

-W-What are you doing? - He ended up stuttering unintentionally as he formed the sentence, feeling the skin where his wife was touching him warm as if she had touched him with a hot coal.

-Healing kisses. - She murmured simply against his heated and slightly reddened skin. - To help you heal faster.

Aemond frowned with his eyes slightly pressed together, enjoying that unfamiliar sensation in a strange way.

-And do they work? - He asked as if he suddenly had no control over his own tongue and felt very stupid for it as soon as he spoke.

-I believe so. - She smiled at him, leaving one last kiss at the end of the open wound, and Aemond felt less stupid for some reason after that.

-I'm going to apply the herbal ointment, okay? - She walked to the table, picking up one of the clay pots with a greenish, pasty mixture inside. - The maester said it should burn.

With a delicacy that Aemond had never felt in his entire life, she deposited the ointment on the open wound and gradually spread it with her fingertips, showing a look of implacable concentration on her face as if this were something of extreme importance.

Aemond hated wandering hands on him, hated receiving treatment from the maesters with their rough and hard touches, but with his wife it was different, the touches were so sweet and gentle that they were making him drowsy. And when she left more kisses after finishing applying the green ointment he thought that his mind had left his body and gone to another dimension.

-Mmmm.

-I hurt you? - She sounded very worried as she brought her right hand to the side of his face.

-Not at all. - He practically sighed, laying his head against her hand, and Y/n felt her heart warm when she had that reaction of familiarity from him.

-You need to take a bath, husband. - She stroked his cheek with her thumb, enjoying the moment where she was allowed to, smiling sweetly at him. - And after that I move on to another herb that the maester sent.

Aemond agreed, just nodding positively, feeling his whole body as if it were pleasantly numb as he walked towards the bathtub full of warm water on the other side of the rooms. And making him feel even lighter Y/n untied the front of his pants, blushing slightly as she helped him get completely undressed.

With a sideways smile at seeing his wife's reaction to his nudity, Aemond entered the bathtub, murmuring in satisfaction with the temperature of the water.

Y/n, her face still warm, knelt at the foot of the bathtub and gently massaged his uninjured shoulder, leaving sweet kisses there.

-This shoulder is not hurt. - Aemond spoke to her in a soft voice for the first time, making her smile against his damp skin.

-It must be at least sore from the effort. - She murmured very close to his neck, making him smile even though she couldn't see it.

-Join me, wife. - He turned his head back, watching her with a calm gaze.

And with a shy and very happy smile, Y/n removed her own clothes under the watchful eye of Aemond, who sighed when she was completely naked and embarrassed in front of him. The prince always found it sweet how she had not yet lost her shyness when being naked in front of him in these two months of marriage.

Y/n entered the bathtub and before she could sit on the other end of the bathtub he pulled her to sit on his thighs, leaving his wife very close to him, making her sigh.

-Are you sure it doesn't hurt at all, husband? - She gently ran her fingertips over the injured area.

-Mmmm. - He shook his head. - But I could use more kisses.

And with butterflies in her stomach Y/n did so, leaving sweet and moist kisses around her husband's shoulder who just laid his head back in contentment.

-You know if I had an injury like that I would be in a lot of pain. - She looked at him from under her eyelashes. - You are so strong husband.

Aemond had never felt so imposing in his entire life as when he heard his wife saying in that sweet and soft voice how strong he was, while looking at him from under her eyelashes sitting naked on his cock.

-I haven’t felt so much pain since I lost my eye. - Aemond didn't know where that had come from, he felt so relaxed at that moment that the words just flowed through his tongue with ease in a strange way. - It seems that I have become a little insensitive to slight pain.

Y/n gently ran her hand over his face where the eye patch was still firmly in place even during the bath. And after taking a deep breath fearing rejection after a day with so many advances she asked.

-Can I see husband?

Aemond automatically looked away, staring at his wife's breasts while his hands firmly locked on her waist.

-You don't want to see that, wife. - He muttered through his teeth. - It's not pleasant to look at.

-I think everything about you is pleasing to the eye, husband. - She tried to encourage him by stroking the scarred cheek below the eye patch, but still feeling afraid that he would push her away from him. - I would appreciate it very much if you let me see all of you.

And even fearful of his wife's reaction, taken by that strange and unfamiliar feeling in the midst of that moment of softness, Aemond removed the eye patch and dropped it on the floor next to the bathtub without looking her in the eyes.

Aemond's stomach turned as much as it had flown for the first time on Vhagar when he felt his wife's soft lips placing a gentle kiss against the deformed skin where his eye had once been.

-Gavy. (Gevie -Beautiful) - Her voice sounded like a very poor attempt at High Valyrian and Aemond's eyebrows arched.

-Where did you learn that?

-I read it in a book in the library. - She lowered her eyes in embarrassment. - Was the pronunciation bad?

-It was perfect. - He murmured with his eyes closed, lost in those sensations as he felt her sweet kisses against his face.

And with redoubled affection Y/n washed the herbs from Aemond's body and with a smile noticed that the redness had divided quite a bit, as well as the bleeding.

-After the bath I need to apply another ointment to you according to the maester, husband. - She smiled completely happy with her husband's moment of confidence. - To help it heal, he said.

-Mmm. - Aemond would let her do anything about him, as long as he could feel the softness of his wife's touch and her care and concern directed at him.

And with a sigh he trailed kisses down her soft neck, drawing low sighs and gasps from those gentle lips.

-I want you to be the one to take care of me from now on, wife. - He continued kissing her, and with a smile of pure contentment Y/n nodded positively to her husband.

-It is a pleasure for me to take care of you, husband. - She sighed at him in joy, making Aemond's heart accelerate in a strange way that made him want to vomit. He didn't understand what it was, it wasn't desire, something he was very familiar with as he desired his wife constantly, yes he was hard against her wet intimacy, but there was more.

There was something strange consuming him inside without explanation and he felt that even if he took her at that moment he wouldn't be close enough to her. And as he slid into her warm and receptive intimacy, he could feel his wife's arms hugging him tightly and pulling him closer and closer to her while she left kisses on his shoulders and face, making him lose himself inside her, feeling more and more of that sensation as strong as the pleasure of spilling his own seed inside his wife.

And letting himself be carried away by that moment, Aemond kissed her sweetly on the lips, almost a soft caress, while he felt her entangle her hands in his hair, caressing it in a way so gentle that it didn't seem intended for sex, but rather for something more delicate that the prince couldn't say the name.

-Skoros issi ao naejot issa? (What are you doing to me?) - He muttered between sighs, and Y/n had no idea what he had said, but chose to think it was something good.

All those unknown emotions, feelings and sensations were too much for Aemond, tearing from him an unparalleled pleasure that he had never felt in his entire life, and he poured himself deep inside his wife while hugging her tightly to his chest with a poignant need to feel her as close to him as possible.

And when Y/n came in his arms soon after, looking into his eyes without a hint of repulsion for his missing eye, but rather kissing him again while admiring him with pure devotion, Aemond knew. His wife's healing kisses might not help his wounded skin heal any faster, nor would they even bring back the eye that had been ripped out, but perhaps little by little they could help him heal much deeper wounds.

[manhandlememando]

i’ll beg whatever gods i need to. | cregan stark

cregan stark x f!wife!reader

format: one-shot

tw: MDNI warning (oh boy here we go) in depth descriptions of gore and bodily injury, blood, ANGST, cregan crying and in pain, mentions of religion and praying, hurt/comfort, more angst, angry cregan, insecure!cregan, unprotected piv, oral (both receiving), face riding, cowgirl, breeding kink (duh he’s a stark), uncut cregan. (written in 3rd person POV) (she/ her pronouns)

word count: 5,539

excerpt: Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging anyone who could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

- or -

cregan gets mauled by a direwolf.

song inspirations: youth by Daughter, human by Daughter, i gave you all by Mumford & Sons, heavy in your arms by Florence and The Machine, i found by Amber Run, roslyn by Bon Iver and St. Vincent, work song by Hozier, family tree by Ethel Cain, in the woods somewhere by Hozier, glory by Dermot Kennedy

The hour of the owl came passing over Castle Black, and still Cregan had not returned from his patrol of the Wall. Her worry had grown tenfold, the knot in her stomach was now a heavy stone. She knew something was amiss. Moving from their shared chambers to the corridors of the small castle, she decided a short walk may alleviate some of her anxiety, allowing her to clear her head.

However after only several minutes of beginning to wander, she heard commotion coming from the direction of the courtyard. Yelling and shrieking, men could be heard barking orders at each other, calls for the maester were loud, but the one thing that rose above it all was the most blood curdling roar she’d ever heard. Not wasting any time, she ran through the narrow hallways towards the source of the noise, only to come to a dead stop, the beating of her heart doing the same.

There he lay on a gurney in the middle of the courtyard, thrashing against the hands trying to hold him still. Crying out in agony as the maester tried his best to assess the situation at hand.

“Oh gods…” she gasped when the source of his pain became clear to her. His armor was covered in deep crimson streaks of blood, the leather ripped to shreds revealing the metal beneath. His face, contorted in pain, bore two long gashes from above his right eyebrow and trailing down his temple into his hairline. It seemed as if a deep crimson curtain had been pulled over half of his face as the blood seeped from the deep, jagged cuts. However the worst of his injuries were to his left shoulder, which seemed to be attached only by the grace of the gods. It was so gruesome she began to feel ill. The bone of his upper bicep was exposed, the flesh hanging from it. Blood seeping profusely from the wounds, teeth marks littered his forearm and hands. The fabric of his pants torn and she could see more crescent shaped puncture wounds littered across his legs, and his right ankle was bent at a sickening angle. They were large, belonging to something much bigger than anything she had seen in the North. A direwolf.

A young knight was holding the Stark ancestral sword, Ice, which was now covered tip to hilt in blood. Another man standing next to the knight who bore her husbands sword, stepped towards her.

“My Lady you mustn’t be here, you should not witness this,” he said, trying to block her view of her husband.

“No! No, I must be with him,” she rushed forward, only to be stopped by the strong arms of the guard holding her back.

“Please! He’s my husband, I have to -,” she began to plead with the man keeping her in her place before Cregan’s loud yell stopped her sentence short. The maester and his assistant were beginning to pack his wounds with whatever clean cloth the other men could find, Cregan seemed as if he was trying to pull away. Arching at the contact to his arm and shoulder, neck straining and face red as another scream erupting from deep within him. Tears were streaming down his face as it crumpled into an expression she never thought she’d see from him; fear.

It took two full grown men to hold him still, even in his weakened state, as they began to move him from the damp ground. Although, consequently the motion caused his body to shift and in turn sent him into another fit of agony.

At the sounds of his screams getting even more broken and strangled, her knees fell weak, slumping into the man’s hold as the air left her lungs.

He could die, the thought crossed her mind when she caught a glimpse of the expanse of blood leftover on the muddy ground.

————————————————————————

They had placed him in their bedchamber and the maester had since given Cregan milk of the poppy to calm him. He had been cleaned up and mended as best as the maester and his assistant could manage. They had also taken measures to prevent infection, although they informed her that it wasn’t fail safe and to be prepared for any outcome.

“He will have an incredibly long recovery period… if he survives,” the maester said to her as he wiped his hands of her husbands blood, his voice lowering as he spoke of his Lord’s possible death. She only nodded, eyes wide, feeling as if she was submerged in water. All the words being said to her were muffled and distorted. Some of the men from the Watch had tried to pull her from the bedchambers when they had first begun to work on him, whispering false reassurances and pleading with her to not witness this.

She couldn’t look away from his limp form laying on their shared bed, smothered in white bandages that were slowly blossoming red. However, his torso was somewhat unmarked by the direwolf’s teeth and claws (save for several deep purple bruises beginning to show their full form) due to the steel armored chest piece he had adorned upon her request, just before leaving for his patrol.

This might be his deathbed, she thought to herself. Tears beginning to pool on her lashes.

“I shall leave you. I will return in several hours to replenish the milk of the poppy… if he wakes again,” the maester looked down at the floor in despair. Exiting the room, the maester bid his condolences.

Nearing the bed, she knelt down and lightly took his hand in hers, brushing her lips over his bandaged knuckles and letting out a shaky breath.

“Please, my love you must wake up. Heal well and return to me, do not leave me in this world without you,” she pleaded with the unmoving form in front of her. The tears beginning to fall as she placed her head upon the bed next to their interlocked hands.

She did not pray, she never had found an interest in paying much attention to the new gods or the old. But in this moment she found herself reaching out for guidance as she called upon the gods to help him. Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging any god that could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

————————————————————————

The night dragged on, as if time had been weighed down by the gravity of the situation, and on its continued trek forward it somehow had slowed.

The maester had come and gone twice before, but Cregan had not woken yet. She refused to move from his side the entire time, having wept for hours she now felt empty and void of anything at all.

“My Lady you must eat,” a guard had come in, trying his best to persuade his Lady of the North to eat something or else she would fall ill.

“I am not hungry,” she flatly responded to the young man, whose face fell as he nodded and exited the room.

It was several more hours before Cregan awoke, he was still deep within the fog of the poppy’s milk but he was whispering something. His mouth barely moving, the sound coming out more like a silent prayer than a word.

He spoke her name, breathed it more like. But still, through all the hell he had been through in the last several hours, his mind only fell upon her.

“My love,” she said softly, lifting his hand to her lips once more. “My love, can you hear me?” She asked, but was met with nothing. Cregan drifting back into sleep, leaving her in the silence once again.

He woke like this periodically over the next several days, the maesters visiting every couple of hours to assess his wounds and change his bandages. Still all the while providing him with an ample amount of milk of the poppy to ward off his pain. They were somehow successful in warding off any major infections to the wounds, which was nothing short of a miracle. They had spent hours on different herbal remedies to help the Lord of the North heal without a fever.

As the days passed, she still refused to leave his side. Six days had passed by the time Cregan finally gained enough consciousness to express his pain level.

She had been napping in a chair next to the bed where he lay. Waking suddenly to the sound of a loud, pained groan.

“Cregan!” She gasped, his eyes opened just slightly, and she saw they were bloodshot but open nonetheless. He hissed in pain as she touched his hand.

“What’s happened?” He asks weakly, looking down at the bandages still covering most of his body.

“There was an incident beyond the Wall when you went to patrol the perimeter several days ago. They say you and the men were attacked by a direwolf.” She explains softly. His face drops, his eyes going wide at the memory. With some effort he tried to look down at his left shoulder, and when met with the sight of layers and layers of white bandages, he grimaced.

“I remember,” he whispers. His eyes closing as he inhales deeply, wincing again at the movement. When he opens his eyes again she can see the tears gathered within them.

“I - I cannot feel my hand,” he said, his voice breaking as he looked down at his left hand once again, his dominant hand.

“I will fetch the maester, it must just be a symptom of the damage caused. They will mend it though, as they have everything else,” she reassured him and stood to leave and get the maester, but they both know her reassurance was empty of any fact.

Worry gripped at her stomach again as the maesters words rang within her ears; “he will have an incredibly long recovery period”.

But what if there was no recovering fully from this? What if he would never be able to wield a sword again? Or walk properly? The thoughts swam in her mind, each drowning out the other.

She returned shortly with the maester, who breathed a sign of relief at the sight of Cregan fully awake.

He tried to offer Cregan more milk of the poppy before he began assessing the healing progression of his injuries, but Cregan refused.

“My Lord, I do not wish to see you in pain. But I must remove the bandages -,” the older man tried to explain, but Cregan cut him off curtly.

“Then do it,” he said, his face stern.

“Cregan, please listen to the maester, this is going to be more painful than you think,” she tried to reason with him, but his jaw was set and so was his mind.

“As you wish, my Lord,” the old healer nodded solemnly, moving to remove the first bandage. Upon contact with his arm Cregan did not grimace or contort in pain, his brows furrowed as if confused.

“I cannot feel it,” he said, his voice sounding far away, as if was in shock at the realization finally setting in.

“What, my love?” She inquired, looking at his arm as the maester began to unwrap more of the white fabric. The stitches were surrounded by bruised skin, what couldn’t be stitched back together was healing under a protective salve the maester had prepared. It will scar badly, but it didn’t matter, they were able to save his arm when she was more than certain he would lose it. As the maester lifted his arm Cregan had no reaction, just staring blankly into space. She was sure he must be in pain but he wasn’t reacting to what the maester was doing whatsoever.

“My darling, are you alright?” She asked him quietly, placing a hand under his chin to turn him to face her.

“I cannot feel anything,” he said, still his voice was hollow.

“What do you mean?” She questioned, not fully understanding what he meant by that.

“In my arm, it does not hurt because I cannot feel it,” he explained finally meeting her eyes. That was where she saw the flicker of fear again come across his face, worry painting his features.

“This is my dominant hand, I must be able to use it whenever necessary. It is the hand with which I wield Ice. But now I am not even able to move it. I am no longer a sufficient warrior… or man,” he said, his voice shaking as tears came to his eyes. The maester gave Cregan a pitiful look that just upset the Lord more.

“No, no that is not true my love,” she rushed to comfort him, cradling his face, making sure to avoid the stitches on his brow and temple.

“Do not do this to yourself, my darling. Do you understand what you have survived? You were attacked by a direwolf, Cregan… and you survived. That is next to impossible, but here you are,” she said, her voice soft and dripping in empathy. Brushing a tear from just under his eye as it began to fall. He shifted his gaze away from her, his eyes hardening again.

“But what good is survival if I am no longer able to live how I am meant to?” He said, still not meeting her eyes.

“It will take some adjustment, but we will get through this. You will get through this,” she assured him.

“Cregan… look at me,” she says quietly, trying to get him to connect with her again and not sink deeper into his darkening thoughts.

“Look at me, now,” she commanded in a more firm tone, which caused him to finally look at her once more, a sheepish expression in his eyes.

“Stop this at once,” she said, still holding her firm tone. He nodded and sighed, knowing he would not win this one. But as he cast his eyes downwards and frowned slightly, she knew he couldn’t be swayed in this moment from the doubt that was consuming him.

This will be a long recovery indeed, she thought to herself.

————————————————————————

About thirteen moons after Cregan had been nearly killed by the direworf, the head of which now hung in the council room, he had recovered quite well by what the maesters had told her.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell had since moved back from their residence at Castle Black when Cregan was finally well enough to travel. Although his body was healing well with time, his mind only sunk deeper into the belief he was now not worthy of his station as Warden of The North and the Lord of Winterfell. He had become easily irritated and many days she wished to not spend time with him, however she understood this too shall pass. She had sworn to him in her marriage vows to be by his side through sickness and in health, and she had no intention of breaking those vows in her lifetime.

As the Winter continued on, and as Cregan's strength grew back and the feeling began to make its way back into his limb, he was insistent on beginning his sword work training. She understood his urgency, finally having hope after such a long time of uncertainty was an addicting sort of feeling. It was hard for Cregan to accept that he would have to relearn how to use a sword with this new complication, and not train as he once did, as if nothing had happened.

Once the maester overseeing the Lord's care had cleared him to begin his lessons, she asked him if she would be able to accompany him. He agreed instantaneously, he was going to ask her anyways, feeling much better in her presence than anyone elses.

She busied herself with a book, perching upon several barrels of wine that sat on the edge of the courtyard, waiting to be taken to the cellars. Cregan had begun his lessons, and within minutes was already frustrated at the difficulty he had with even just handling the sword, let alone swinging it. She watched from the distance with a frown painting her face as he continued to struggle and bark at the knight he was sparring when he would try to offer his help. After much protest, Cregan finally gave into the offers to get him a wooden sword to wield instead. It was easier for him to handle, however his skill had rusted over with time and lack of use. His frustration became paramount when the young man bested him again, Cregan threw down his sword and stepped forward, grabbing his opponent by the collar.

"Do you wish to humiliate your Liege Lord?! Get out of my sight at once!" he roared in the mans face, causing him to stumble back and retreat from Cregan as quickly as possible.

She sat watching the scene as her own anger began to surface, standing and coming towards Cregan once he'd let the other man go, still breathing heavily and fuming.

"Come with me, now," she growled as she wrapped a firm hand around his good wrist, pulling him along behind her like a toddler being scolded and hauled off for punishment. She thought it best to bring him to their bedchambers as the conversation they needed to have was private.

Once they had entered their shared chambers Cregan immediately started in on his defense, to which she put up a silent palm in his direction, causing his sentence to halt before it finished.

"I can not do this anymore," she said softly, trying to keep her voice level, but to no avail. Placing a hand over her mouth as she began to silently weep, still refusing to look at him.

He softened immediately at the sight of her tears, hating desperately to make her upset. He took a step forward and brought his hand to her cheek, getting her to turn to him. She did not lift her gaze from the floor, sniffling lightly and trying to keep her tears from cascading and overflowing.

"You cannot do what anymore, love?" Cregan asked gently, moving his right hand to place at the back of her neck, and the other moving under her chin. His fingers intertwined into her hair at the back of her head as he tipped her head back slightly using the finger beneath her chin to raise her face to his. Taking another step closer to her he engulfed her in his size, pressed against her body, in complete control. Cradling her head completely in his hands, he moves the hand below her chin to place on her cheek once more.

"What was it, hmm?" he hummed to her, bringing his lips to brush against hers. She had become putty to mold as he wished, letting out a small sigh as he continued to tease the possibility of a kiss.

But in that moment she remembered her anger and could not let the lust for her husband overpower something that was becoming a serious issue between him and the rest of the world. She pushes away suddenly, putting space between them again. Cregan lets out an exasperated sigh as his hands fall to his sides.

"I can not possibly understand the stress you are under, and the constant unease you must feel within yourself. But I can understand how that affects me, and how that has affected our staff and those on your court. You were not slain, Cregan! You still have so much to live for, even if it means you cannot see battle again. That is what your army is for. Your value lies more in your character and not your physical form. Allowing that of which keeps you on solid ground to be the demise of what lies within your head, when you are so intelligent, and kind, and humorous. That is a sin, and the more treacherous of fates to befall a Warden of the North, even more so than a direwolf." She said, silence filled the room as Cregan realized he had no rebuttal. She was right after all, he could have been killed, and the fact he is allowing his mind to destroy what a direwolf couldn't, well it just seemed downright mad.

"I am so sorry, I never saw it that way," he responded softly, his heart feeling some what heavy in his chest as he felt the onslaught of emotion begin to creep up his throat. He had repressed so much in wanting to keep a certain image, and with his own wife being able to see through his facade so clearly, he realized how much pain he was really holding in. With that thought the dam broke as he let out a choked sob, leaning on the back of a chair closest to him he began to fall weak to his emotions.

At the sound of his whimper she turned around again, seeing him holding the bridge of his nose as he wept uncontrollably. Barely keeping himself upright with the back of the chair next to him.

"Oh, my darling," she went to him, quickly gathering him into her arms and bringing him down to kneel on the ground as she sat in the chair he was using for support. With his head tucked to her breast and his arms tightly wound around her body, hands finding purchase in her hair, he finally began to rack with sobs. She just let him collapse into her, stroking the hair from his face, tracing the scar on his temple and kissing his hairline. All the while cooing sweet reassurances into his ear.

"I have you my love, I have you," she whispered into his hair as he began to regain his breath. Not letting her go in the slightest, but relaxing nonetheless, Cregan began to breathe normally again, silent tears still coming from his eyes every now and then.

But he knew he was safe, and above all, he knew he was loved unconditionally.

————————————————————————

“Cregan, we cannot you aren’t healed properly yet,” she breathed out in a sigh as his lips traced the column of her throat.

“Your shoulder… and your ankle, it is too risky,” she tried to protest but the affect he had over her was undeniable.

“I am fine, my love. I am in need of my wife. It has been many moons and I cannot refrain any longer, injuries be damned,” he said, scoffing at the last part of his statement. Her skin was set alight with his touch as she leaned into him more. Laying in their bed, beneath a mountain of furs, he began to move atop of her, but she stopped him.

“If we are to do this, you will not lift a finger, is that clear?” She said firmly, and Cregan’s eyebrows rose in surprise at his wife’s sudden dominance, his cock twitching within his small clothes. He nodded quickly as he moved to lay back against the many pillows, eyes darkening as she rose from the bed to lean back on her heals. Very slowly she removed her shift, revealing the whole of her body to him.

“It is as if you are a goddess yourself, there is no need for religion when you are the alter I pray at, and the deity I pray to,” he whispered as he took in the sight. His mind putting to memory every curve, every inch of skin he laid his eyes on. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before, but after such restraint it is like they are newlyweds once again. With her help he removed his tunic and small clothes, breath shaky as he looked down upon her naked form crawling up his body.

She was gentle with her touch, ghosting it over the small scars that now cover each of his legs. He shivers at the contact but does not pull away, allowing the sensitivity to wash over him and settle within his groin. He reaches with his good arm to touch her face, but she retracts to his disappointment.

“No touching,” she said with a small smirk forming at the corner of her lips. The mischievous look in her eyes was enough for him to understand it would be better to not protest. Leaning down she places soft kisses across his thighs, moving closer to his stiff member, his hips buck involuntarily as she finally takes his tip into her mouth. Swirling her tongue around the top just before pulling down his foreskin to lick at his sensitive slit.

A groan erupted from deep within his chest, wavering at the end as he gasped and sputtered. She had taken him fully into her mouth at this point, beginning to move up and down his length in a rhythmic motion.

His chest flexed as he threw his head back, his right hand hovering just next to her jaw. Knowing she would stop if he disobeyed her direct instructions, he held himself back from caressing her face. Broken gasps and whimpers were falling unabashedly from the Warden of the North’s lips, his strong, muscled body molding into putty in her hands.

Suddenly she rose and removed her mouth from him, to his disappointment. Breathing hard he kept his eyes on hers as she began to move even further up his body. His brows knitting into one another as he wondered what exactly she was doing, until it clicked, and the biggest smile graced his handsome features. He understood and shifted himself to be fully lying down, moving down the bed slightly to give her room as she moved to take her rightful place on his face. He hummed happily at the sweet taste of her on his tongue once again, having not indulged in his most favorite delicacy in far too long. She let out a sharp gasp as his lips wrapped themselves around her sensitive pearl, sucking lightly before exploring her deeper. She looked down to see his eyes closed and the most blissfully content look upon his face as he continued to ravage her with just tongue. Switching between broad strokes of his tongue along her cunt to small kitten licks upon her clit that had her panting and grinding her hips down onto him. The scruff on his unshaven face added to the sensational feeling against her as he sank his tongue within her finally. Moaning uncontrollably and quite loudly, she found herself leaning against the headboard for support as her body began to give into the pleasure he was bringing her.

“That’s it, my darling. Fall apart for me, I have you,” he coaxed, breath hitting her clit, causing her to groan, which shortly turned into the most obscenely moan. He hooked his left arm around her waist and continued to guide her to completion. With his tongue in her cunt and his nose teasing her clit, she came apart with nothing short of a scream of his name. Throwing her head back as she felt her muscles go limp from the intensity of her orgasm.

“So perfect for me,” he whispers to her, kissing the inside of her thighs softly.

She smiled and breathed out a sigh of relief as she had been just as pent up as he’s been, and finally getting some form of release was euphoric to say the least.

As she moved from his face she could see the way his lips shown with the remnants of her. She looked down to see his cock almost impossibly bigger than when she had first taken him into her mouth. She couldn’t wait any longer, and neither could he. Grabbing ahold of her hips he quickly shifts her down his body back to his waist. The tip catching at her entrance ever so slightly and they both moaned loudly in unison.

With his right hand having an iron grip on her hip, he helped her position her on top of him. As she began to sink down on his length it was as if all the air in the room had suddenly been removed. The sensation punching the air out of her lungs.

Cregan thought he was seeing the gods, his vision almost going completely white as he feels her tight, hot cunt envelope him. Arching his spine while his eyes roll to the back of his head as soon as she is fully seated on him. Staying still for a second to give them both a minute to catch their breath, she regains her strength and begins to shift her hips.

“Touch me,” she commanded softly, he didn’t need to be told twice. He moved to sit up, his forehead resting on her sternum, placing open mouthed kisses between the valley of her breasts before taking one into his mouth. His left arm secures her hips in his hold while the other hand snakes its way into her hair. Grabbing at the roots he tugs her head back to expose more of her neck to him. Laying hot, wet kisses upon any expanse of skin he could reach. As his grip around her waist tightened slightly, he kept guiding her to ride his cock slowly, thrusting up every so often causing her to choke on a moan.

“Cregan…,” she moaned his name, groans continuing to slip from her mouth as he moved to suck on her other breast. Gently lapping at the nipple as she whimpered.

“So gorgeous, my love. So good for me. Taking me so - nnnggh - well,” he grunted out, groaning when she squeezed him as his words sent a shock wave to her core. She threaded her fingers into his chocolate strands, pulling slightly earning another pleased noise from her husband.

“I’ve missed this, I’ve missed us,” she pants, looking down at his face. As he looks up, her breath catches at the sight of her fucked-out husband and his pink cheeks and kiss swollen lips.

“I know, me too,” he responds breathlessly, she cups his face and brings her lips to his. It’s messy, he crushes his mouth to hers and suddenly begins thrusting upwards, hitting that one spot deep within her.

Her gasp causes him to pull away from the kiss, but not from her. Their mouths still close, breathing in each others air as he continues to thrust into her. Tipping his head back as his face scrunches in pleasure and groaning loudly, he then ducks his head into the curve of her neck as his thrusts get more and more sloppy. His right arm still snaked up her back and his hand tangled in her hair to keep her close. She was reaching the precipice of heaven for the second time that evening, and he could tell. The way she began to squeeze him, how she fluttered around him, he knew.

“I know, my love. Give yourself to me,” he begged, whispering the pleas in her ear before kissing the shell of it. With several more thrusts she was coming undone around him, moaning and gasping as she collapses into him. With only several more thrust he too was coming undone in the most beautiful way. Flushed and groaning, he is the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Only moments afterwards, still basking in their post-coital glow, he lays back against the pillows once more. Placing a hand directly over her womb, he mutters something about “seeing her round with child in several moons” and she felt his cock jump within her as he continues to cradle his hands around her lower stomach.

“I can’t wait for you to bare my children, my love,” he states, looking into her eyes with such adoration. Resting her hands atop his she nods.

“I can’t wait to be the mother of your children, I’m sure I will be soon,” she responds, equal adoration radiating off her.

————————————————————————

She missed her moon’s blood the following month, and he was the happiest he had been in a very long time.

Although the feeling never fully returned in his left arm and hand, he had re-learned how to wield Ice with just as much skill as he did before the incident. His ankle and legs did recover after more than a year of rehabilitation, but eventually he no longer walked with a limp.

The gratitude which he felt was immeasurable. Thinking about how many ways his life could have been different if he didn’t have her to keep him sane through the most difficult thing he had ever faced; losing his physical strength and health. Most days feeling as if he couldn’t go on, but then she would be at his side to aid him in whatever he needed. Never wavering in her love or loyalty to him.

He woke every day from then on thanking the old gods and the new for sparing one of their angels to be his wife.

[miirohs]

adore you [k.s]

pairing: Ken Sato x Fem!Reader wc: 1.0k cw: n/a an: this was messy 3 am thoughts... bare with me pls my thoughts can be coherent if i try. lso not proofread tee hee. man i have too much free time wtf.

You knew Ken was lofty in his other form, for a lack of better words, but you had severely underestimated how tall he could truly get.

He was barely avoiding hitting the ceilings from the look of it, left awkwardly kneeling on the cold metal floor as Emi ran laps around him. You watched it go down from the safety of being near the elevator, wincing as he tousled with Emi, long arms outstretched in an attempt to grab her once again.

“Ken?” It was supposed to be a lot softer than it sounded, but the room was like an echo chamber, voice warping around the room rather loudly.

He immediately turned to you, bright pupils widening in recognition. Even Emi stopped, distracted by you as she hit and slid down Ken’s leg.

“Hi baby, when’d you get down here?” He moved a little closer, one hand on the floor and the other on his knee as he towered over you.

“Oh! It was only a couple moments ago, I just…” You faltered, your eyes meeting his glowing ones. You could’ve sworn he was further from you a moment ago.

You still weren’t used to his other form, rare occasions where you’d see it in person. He was much smaller and lithe on screen, but in real life it was so much more menacing. You tried not to shudder at the cold air drafting towards you.

“I just missed you, that’s all.” You placed a hand on the space between his eyes, petting the smooth metal. “It’s a bit stuffy up there, isn’t it?”

He didn’t respond to you or the concerned chirps from Emi as she moved closer to get a better look at you. It was only as Emi reached out to grab you that he pushed her back, unfurling his previously fisted hand in front of you.

“C’mere.”

“What?” You blinked, shying away a little as he pushed his open palm closer to you.

“I said c’mere baby,” He stated, tone rather teasing as he beckoned you forward, “Emi’s probably gonna get scared because she’s not that familiar with you, she might stomp you by accident if I leave you on the ground sitting around like that.”

Your heart raced a bit as you opened your mouth, drawing a blank as you reached out a hand and drew it back.

“Is this really safe?” He nodded earnestly, chuckling under his breath as he mimicked your question.

“Hey! I can still hear you y’know!” You fumed. He rolled his eyes, pushing the tip of his finger under your hand. “I know, but you ought to trust me more, don’t you think? I’m Ultraman and your boyfriend!” 

You groaned, swayed by his playful persistence. "Fine… I’ll do it." you relented, warmth from his teasing spreading to your ears and neck.

“Come on, trust me, I promise I won't let anything happen to you," he reassured as you gingerly hauled yourself into his hand, wobbling for a couple moments on the uneven surface before you fell flat on his palm.

His pupils softened, surprisingly gentle as he held you, fingers closing on you slightly as he brought you closer to his face. That didn’t stop you from digging your nails into his relatively warm skin, breathing unevenly.

"There you go, attagirl," he murmured, unfurling his fingers for you to get a better view of everything. "See? ‘S perfectly safe. Nothing’s gonna happen if you move."

You couldn’t really bring yourself to move, instead choosing to cling to one of his fingers, halfheartedly eyeing the gap through which you could see Emi playing with one of his cars. He was clearly getting a kick out of it, pupils glowing in the dim light as he poked a finger at you affectionately.

“I don’t know how anyone can do this so easily,” You sighed, pushing the tip of his finger to the as he giggled at your predicament, “This makes me lowkey nauseous, everything looks so small from up here.”

“Everything seems small from up here baby,” He replied. You could almost imagine the face he was making under the mask. Smirking, perhaps, but still as charming as the day you met him.

“Maybe it’s just you getting big,” You shot back playfully, a smirk tugging at your lips as you teased him. Ken’s laugh shook you, and you fell down again with an umph.

“Watch it,” he retorted with mock seriousness, “I might just have to charge you for the free ride you just caught with me.” You rolled your eyes. “Oh please,” you snarked, feigning offense at the suggestion as you pushed yourself back up, “You’d end up paying for that one way or another.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” He flirted back, and the edge you’d been on slowly melted away as he laughed. He leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing. "In fact, I'd gladly pay the price for having you close to me like this."

“Uh uh,” You cackled, interrupting him by landing a kiss on his cheek, “Getting a little suspicious there, Ultraman, keep it pg! There’s a child in the room!”

"You're too much," He murmured, “Too much, baby.”

"Can't help it," you replied, leaning back against his finger for support, “You’re just so unserious sometimes.”

“It's a talent," He shrugged, "But seriously, are you okay up here? Not too dizzy? I’ll bring you back down if you want."

You nodded, feeling more settled now. "I'm good, it’s not so drafty up here."

“You know, I like having you in my hand like this. You’re like a speck of dust, feels like you’ll basically disappear any second now." He cocked his head, the look of a lost puppy ever clearer in his eyes.

“Don’t worry cowboy,” You patted his thumb affectionately, watching as Emi clambered up his leg and failed, only to try again. “You’d make a pretty good giant, if I do say so myself. I wouldn’t mind hanging out more with you like this."

“Is this a date?” He asked, obviously surprised by the move you made on him.

“If you want it to be.” You answered distractedly, clapping as Emi tried to show you the car in her hand.

“I think i’d like that,” He replied back quietly, even if you hadn’t heard him, distracted by the baby. “I’d think so, baby.”

[sillygoosealert]

Weird thought, but imagine being Sukuna's favorite person/concubine once but someday he brings someone home or replace you, so then you die(obviously, your human) so then sukuna kinda felt heartbroken.

Now let's travel back to current timeline where sukuna is in yuji's body, Gojo decided to let his students meet his fiancee only for sukuna to be shocked cause it's reader reincarnated.

Once more to see you

Not a weird thought at all, silly ❤️

Sukuna x AFAB reader (for like a paragraph or two) Satoru Gojo x reader

pregnant! Reader, stress, suicidal thoughts, thoughts of self-mutilation, body issues, big BIG warning for pregnancy and dying and so many other things just be cautious, please. Angst NO COMFORT ‼️, uhh unless you take the whole lobotomy route as comfort then yeah happy ending or wtv

Loud moans and barbaric grunts echo through the castle- originating from Sukuna’s chamber

All you can do is sit outside the door and listen as you wait to see him

The newest concubine is with him as of now

She looked similar to you- but much thinner, almost how you looked before

Her face emits a sense of pure life and hope, a rare find

Your bulging stomach is more than noticeable, as you are now 4 months pregnant

Thinking of having a baby with him is a terrifying thought- for so many reasons

Whether he will continue to keep you after you give birth

If you will live after you give birth

The baby is massive so far, much bigger than any human child

You aren't even sure if your body can continue to manage nurturing the baby much further past this point

Sitting outside the door quickly became too much and standing was out of the question

It was best to just find a better time later to talk, he doesn't prioritize you over..anything if you think about it

In fact, Sukuna wouldn’t gaze in your direction even if you were to bleed out and slowly die, so, you go to your separate bathroom to start a bath

The thought of laying face first in the water and drowning yourself crosses your mind, but it goes away as you really think about it

If it didn't work, the punishment of living would be much too severe for it to be worth anything

The thought of living also crosses your mind, would it really be worth it?

To carry his child, and then to watch as he becomes his father?

If you didn't lose the weight would he be disgusted with you?

Just as you are about to leave for your room, he comes out, interrupting your thoughts

The woman is beside him, and he guides her with a hand on the small of her back

It's not rough nor gentle, the hand that pushes you out of the way as they walk down the hall

But the mental feel of it is excruciating

Your vision is blurred as you drag your feet to your bathroom

Your body is weak and malnourished

Then you trip over the decorative rug in the middle of the too-clean room

But you make no move to get up

The floor envelopes you as something hot and wet fills your underwear

This was bound to happen

You knew it, but you also knew you could only sit and wait as there was no way you could give birth to his child

It hurts, so bad

But that reminds you how real you are, that you feel things just like others

Maybe you didn't deserve to be ignored by the man who impregnated you

Perhaps you didn't deserve this life

All the bad things that happened aren't because you're a bad person, it has nothing to do with you

This was never meant to be your life, something more pure was

And as your consciousness slips away, a better feeling welcomes you

A better life waits ahead

And this one finally ends

Humans were like pets to Ryomen Sukuna. His servants took up such a little present of his life- but he took up almost all of theirs.

But you? You took up his everything. Late in the night after you were found lifeless in your separate bedroom- something he regrets making you have, he felt a change that night. Disappointment was a distinct feel, but there was something else. Hurt.

Possibly because this was something he now had no control over. Or maybe he was attached used to you.

None of that mattered in the end. You were no more. And as of now, so was he.

Originally split into 20 fingers- he now is trapped in the body of a high schooler.

He knows what he’s waiting for. More specifically, who- Satoru Gojo.

His body shakes with excitement as he thinks of all the ways he could kill him, threaten him, scare him into submission.

But that doesn't happen; not today at least.

Instead, he sees a much too-familiar face..but he doesn't immediately recognize who you are.

But as you come into view, arms interlocked with Satoru’s, greeting his students, he becomes filled with the need to switch.

When he heard you call out to the students, a realization washed over him.

That was his girl his concubine wrapped around Satoru Gojo

He knows it's you, it has to be. But he also knows his options are limited

He could call out your name- if it hadn't changed, or he could watch as you genuinely smile next to another man

If you had remembered him you wouldn't be with someone else, he knows that for a fact- right?

But you don't, he doesn't think you do at least

There's nothing he can do to remind you of all the nights you spent together

There's nothing he can do about it.

There's nothing he can do.

There's nothing.

.

This was going to take such a different route LOL. You were going to be eaten by either him or curses. The thought of going into more detail on the whole malnutrition path because of the baby also crossed my mind. It was going to be a DDDNE path. But no one would want that so I didn't <|3 Js did something short and sweet because I spent too much time making it ;( sorry about that, I love you all soooooooo much ✋ 🤚 (that much) ❤️

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Better when you're here ⭑

Masterlist

Pairing: Sad!king!aegon x sister!reader

A/N: #needthat

Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, pure filth, aegon whines so much I lost count, heavy mommy kink, sub aegon, fingering, piv sex, slight handjob, titty sucking (yes again), sad aegon.

Summary: Sad and needy Aegon just needs mummy to make him feel better :((((

Word count: 2.2k (pretty short blurb)

The gardens were your favourite place in the Red Keep, it was often quiet. And not to mention the beautiful view of the sea. You sat at one of the table’s in an alcove, it was nice and tucked away, giving you your own private space.

You read some book for a while and enjoyed your wine and lemoncakes. Because you never knew when it would be the last time you could sit here. You had been of age for two years now, and even though you have avoided marriage for quite a while, you never knew what your grandsire Otto Hightower had in mind. 

Now you had at least some security since your eldest brother Aegon was now king and everyone was distracted by the war that loomed over Westeros like a black cloud. Only a few more drops of rain to form before the whole thing came crashing down. 

Frustration and anxiety filled everyone's hearts and it was hard to pretend nothing was wrong. But the person you feared most right now was Aemond, he seemed to lose control everyday and he shocked the realm when he killed his own fourteen year old nephew at Storm’s End. However he was now to marry too, to some Baratheon girl and you knew that soon they would use you too, to make alliances with houses. Binded by a meaningless marriage.

You felt like it was all you were good for, and you saw how it affected Helaena and Aegon. Your heart broke for her, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone and live in peace, yet she must be queen. Aegon was of course also affected by this, ever since he became king he drank more than ever before and had even grown a bit of a belly. Still he remained of a nice physique. 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you rode your dragons with him. He didn’t have much of a relationship with Helaena, seeing her more as his quiet sister than his wife and queen and for some reason it seemed better that way. She would be left alone more. 

But you and Aegon were a different story, you liked to sneak around and have fun with him. He might not be a great king or a good man but he was a good brother to you. And you saw things in him that no one else seemed to. The crown seemed to only stress him out and you knew that he just wanted to live out his days drinking wine and relaxing but your mother and grandsire had other plans. 

As of late you couldn’t see him much, council meetings took a great part of the day and he would always hide in his chambers afterwards. Your mother seemed to keep you away from him, for what reason you didn’t know. Your days went from watching Aemond train, flying around KIng’s Landing with Aegon and running around the Red Keep with friends to praying at the Sept, locked inside your chamber or helping Helaena with embroidery. That is why the gardens offered a nice escape.

Soon you would pay a visit to your elder sister and her twins. After a morning at the sept with your mother and sister you needed some alone time. But Helaena was always a calming and nice presence and it was good to keep her company.

After reading the last sentence of a chapter you closed the book, and decided it would be nice to sow with Helaena. As you walked through the halls of the red keep numerous ‘your grace’ and ‘princes’ surrounded you, staff getting out of your way. You ascended the stairs in the throne room, it was empty. Soon it would be supper time but there was enough time.

When you reached Helaena’s door you could already hear your niece and nephew playing, which put a smile on your face. You knocked twice and a handmaiden opened, letting you inside. Helaena was sitting on some blankets and pillows, already embroidering what looked like a blanket. She looked up and slightly smiled when you joined her side, children playing on their own blanket. 

Getting handed some thread, a needle and a new fabric, as was the routine, you began to work on something for Aegon and if you worked hard enough you could bring it to him tonight. When you were about finished, a servant came in to fetch you and Helaena for supper with the family.

But when you arrived only Aemond, Alicent and Otto were there, Aegon’s seat was empty. Silently you both joined them and began eating without him. Supper was tense and silent as it had been for about a month now. When you had finished, you excused yourself and fetched the doublet you had finished before supper, wanting to bring a gift to your brother. 

When you had fetched it you hurriedly made your way up to the king's bedchambers, you knew something was wrong with Aegon, all the stress had probably gotten to him. When you had almost reached the door Ser Criston Cole stood guard there. He bowed his head before he spoke; “Princess, the king does not wish to be disturbed right now.” He said politely. 

“I understand, but I have something to cheer him up, so please, let me enter.” Ser Criston seemed to think about it, before releasing a sigh and opening the door for you, very softly as to not disturb his grace. You stepped inside and Cole just as softly as he opened the door, closed it again. It was now dark and Aegon’s fire was lit as he sat in a chair in front of it, you could hear the sobs coming from him. It broke your heart. 

You quietly made your way towards him. “Aegon?” You called out. He didn’t lift his head. You walked around him so you were standing in front of him, he looked up with red stained cheeks, and red, tear filled eyes. “Oh Aeg- what happened?” You asked him, instead of answering he buried his head into your stomach, his hand gripping your dress as he sobbed into it. The doublet falling on the ground.

You caressed his messy short silver locks and he continued to sob for a while, in your embrace. Then he seemed to speak up; “They- don’t care about- me-” He choked against you in between sobs. “Who doesn’t care about you?” You were confused but he lifted his head from your now tear stained dress. “The- the- council- mother- my own hand- they don’t- care-!” He sobbed as he looked at you desperately. 

But to your surprise he pulled you in his lap as his hands were still clinging to your dress. You gasped as you landed on his thighs, he buried his face in your chest instead and continued to cry, the doublet on the ground, forgotten. “Aegon they do care, especially mother, they just want the best for you. To help guide you since they have knowledge of war-” “No! They all hate me- everyone of them!” His breath on your skin gave you goosebumps. His hand now rested on your hip, keeping you in place. 

“You’re the only one who loves me- I see that now- my beautiful smart sister.” He seemed to have exhausted his tears as they now stopped, he breathed heavily against your chest, nuzzling his face against your breasts. He must have had wine. “You love me? Right sister?” He mumbled against your breasts. “Of course I do, so incredibly much. I would do anything for you.” You soothed him, hand still grazing through his silver locks. His purple eyes stared up at you and he smiled slightly.

“Anything?” He asked softly. “Of course, you are not only my brother but my king.” You smiled, placing a kiss on his forehead. This stirred something in him and he breathed heavier again. His face and especially his nose grazed your neck and jaw, lips ghosting over the warm skin. Your own breath hitched in your throat at the feeling. “Aeg-” He ignored you and started to kiss and nip at the soft skin. You lightly gasped at the feeling, and then you felt something hard against your thigh. 

“Brother I don’t think we should-” He stopped and looked at you with teary eyes. “I need this- I need you. Please- just- just let me make you feel good. To thank you. Please mummy.” That last part was whined against your chest where he let his hand graze the low neckline of your dress. Since it was warm earlier, it was quite thin and loose. Your body felt hot at his words, your lower stomach filled with an ache you didn’t understand.

His hand started then at the bottom of your leg, underneath your dress, as he caressed your leg moving up and up where you didn’t know you needed him. “I’m so hard for you mummy. All because of you.” He whined. His hand had finally reached your core, two of his fingers rubbing over your smallclothes, which were already wet with your slick. “Aegon-” You moaned, sparks went off in your body at his touch, you had no idea what he was doing to you but seven hells did it feel good. You hoped he would never stop, but still it felt wrong and guilt consumed you. Yet you didn’t stop him.

His other hand that didn’t tease your clothed clit was still busy with your neckline. The dress was loose enough for him to pull it down so your tits would fall out. He wasted no time in sucking on them. The feeling of his warm wet tongue sucking on your nipple made you release a moan. It felt way too good, it had to be a sin. Aegon himself moaned around your breast, bucking his hips up in need for friction. All your will to stop him had left you. Desire clouding your mind. You moved so that both of your legs were now on either side of his lap, the chair was big and comfortable enough to allow this. 

Aegon released your nipple but never moved his hand from teasing you. But when you sat down, his hand trapped, he removed it and pulled at your dress, eager to remove it. You didn’t know why you did it, but you needed him. You helped him remove your dress and shimmied out of your small clothes as well. “Need to be inside you mummy.” You gasped at his fingers sliding through your now bare slit. His fingers then stimulating your clit. Your breath hitched when he put a finger inside you, going deeper until he found that spot that would make you see stars. He stretched you out a bit for a while until he got too impatient and grabbed your hand to place between you, over his bulge. 

You instinctively squeezed it making him gasp. He moved your hand and quickly undid his breeches himself. He then reached for your hand again and helped you stroke his thick veiny cock. Pre cum started to dribble out over both your hands. And Aegon groaned at the sight. When he was almost about to cum for your hand alone, he removed it, as he did, he removed his fingers inside your cunt as well. Grabbing your hips instead, his cock was so hard it hurt and the feeling of his tip hitting your warm slick entrance almost made him cry out. He used one hand to guide his cock better inside you and you winced in pain. “It’ll be better soon, I promise.” He said softly. 

You whispered okay and he buried himself deeper inside until he was fully sheathed inside you. Your clit hit his pelvic bone and a bolt of pleasure shot through you. You felt so sensitive and weak. When you felt like the pain went away you slowly started to grind and bounce on his cock, testing the waters. He whimpered in response, it just felt so good for him. He held on to your hips so you could start a steady rhythm and he knew he wouldn't last long. “So tight mummy- feels so good.” He sobbed. Squelching and slapping noises filled the room and you both forgot all about a certain guard outside. 

Both of your moans filled each other's mouths as you held on tight to each other. Lost in pleasure you chase your release and started riding him faster, Aegon started to fuck up into you in response chasing his own high. “Mummy- I-I’m close- please- gonna fill you so good.” Aegon whined. This only spurred you on and soon you clenched down on his cock, fire striking through you, you had never felt such insane pleasure in your life. Aegon did not stop fucking into you though and only moments later he cried out as his warm seed filled you. He squeezed you against him tightly to hold you in place. 

He came so much it started to drip out along his shaft, onto his balls and some drops even landed on the floor. You both caught your breath and Aegon didn’t let go of you. But after a few moments his grip loosened and you winced when his softening cock left you. He whined at your warm body getting up but you soothed him, just getting the rest of his clothes off and helping him to the bed. You laid down as well and he immediately crawled up against your chest. “Thank you mummy.”

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴅ ʀ ᴀ ɢ ᴏ ɴ ᴋ ɴ ɪ ɢ ʜ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Dark Aemon Targaryen x Fem Reader

Summary: Aemon was sworn to the Kingsguard, bound by vows to serve the realm. But his heart, his mind, and his soul belonged to one person: You.

Warning: Obsession, Targcest, Abuse.

Notes: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Y/N was born screaming, a tiny bundle with silver-gold hair and violet eyes, so much like his own. Aemon had stood by the door of their mother's chambers, watching through the crack as maesters and midwives bustled around. When the first wails reached his ears, a peculiar emotion lodged itself in his chest—something fierce and consuming.

As they grew, Aemon shadowed her every step. In the gardens, he held her hand to keep her from tripping over roots. In the halls, he stood between her and the brash court boys who sought her attention. When she cried, he was the one who wiped her tears and whispered soft promises of safety.

He was her knight, even before he swore the oaths.

“Stay with me,” she’d whisper during storms, her tiny fingers clutching his. “Don’t leave me alone.”

And he never did. Not when their father looked to wed her off, not when their elder brother Aegon sneered at her defiance.

When Y/N fell from a tree at the age of six, breaking her arm, it was Aemon who carried her all the way back to the Red Keep, tears streaming down his face as he whispered over and over, "I’ll never let you get hurt again."

While their elder brother, Aegon, taunted her and treated her with disdain, Aemon stood by her side, always her shield. To him, she was the only thing in the world worth protecting, the only light in the grim reality of court life.

But with time, his devotion deepened into something darker. Aemon began to watch her in ways he shouldn’t. When she laughed with other boys, his hands clenched into fists. When she danced in the Great Hall, her skirts spinning, he felt a possessive pang in his chest. He told himself it was just brotherly love, but in the quiet hours of the night, he couldn’t lie.

When Aemon took his Kingsguard vows, Y/N thought it would grant her some freedom. Surely now, as a sworn brother, he would focus on his duty and leave her be. But instead, his obsession deepened.

She could have ignored it, chalked it up to his overbearing nature, but a part of her—curious, wicked, and far too aware of her own power—began to toy with him.

At first, it was subtle: a brush of her hand against his arm, a smile that lingered a moment too long. But as the years passed, she pushed further. She let her gowns dip lower, allowed her laughter to ring louder, and relished the way his fists clenched and his jaw tightened.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that, Aemon,” she whispered once, leaning closer than propriety allowed. “It’s unbecoming of a knight.”

He stiffened, his cheeks coloring, but his voice was firm. “You’re my sister. My duty.”

“And yet,” she murmured, her lips grazing his ear, “you burn for me, don’t you?”

Aemon rationalized it as chivalry. He wasn’t breaking his vows, he told himself. He was merely protecting her virtue, her honor. When men looked at her too long, he would make them regret it. Sometimes with a glare. Other times with blood.

He began to visit her chambers late at night, his armor clinking softly in the darkness. He never touched her—not at first. He simply sat by her bedside, watching her sleep.

One night, when she was fast asleep, her lips slightly parted, Aemon found himself by her bedside. The moonlight spilled over her face, highlighting her beauty, her perfection. His heart thudded painfully as he leaned closer, so close he could feel the faint warmth of her breath. He lowered his lips to hers in a featherlight kiss. It was fleeting, but the taste of her lingered, burning into his soul.

“You’re too beautiful for this world,” he would murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “The gods made you to torment me.”

Y/N was sixteen when her marriage was announced—a political alliance to a powerful lord with no love for the Targaryens.

He stormed into the royal solar, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and demanded the match be annulled.

“She belongs here, with her family, your grace.” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Aegon laughed cruelly, mocking him for his attachment. “Perhaps you’d like to take her to your bed instead, little brother? The Kingsguard vows be damned?”

The words hung heavy in the air. Aemon’s knuckles turned white around his sword hilt, but he said nothing.

On the eve of her wedding, Aemon found Y/N in her chambers, staring at the gown laid out for her. She turned to him, tears glistening in her violet eyes.

“I don’t want this,” she whispered. “But what choice do I have?”

Aemon stepped closer, his gloved hands trembling as he reached for her. “You always have a choice,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Come with me. We can leave this place. We can ran away and never look back.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she shook her head. “You know we can’t...”

And then he left without another word. Because she was right. They couldn't.

He watched her walk down the aisle in a gown of silver and gold, her face pale but resolute. Her new husband was tall, brutish, and unkind.

Aemon stood by as they exchanged vows, his chest tight with rage and despair. When her husband kissed her, Aemon turned his head away, his fists trembling.

The first time he saw her bruises was a week after the wedding. She wore long sleeves to hide them, but Aemon caught a glimpse when she reached for her goblet at dinner. His stomach churned. That night, he cried silently, helplessness consuming him.

When the tournament was announced, Aemon saw his chance. Disguised as the Knight of Tears, he won every bout with ferocious determination. When the time came to crown the queen of love and beauty, he rode to Y/N and placed the crown of winter roses in her lap, their eyes met, and for a moment, the world stood still. It was a silent promise—a vow unspoken but understood.

“You shouldn’t have,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the roses as she tear up.

“I would do it a thousand times,” he replied.

Her husband was furious, but Aemon didn’t care. In that moment, she was his.

“He is not worthy of you,” he said once, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. “He don’t see you as I do. He never will.”

She laughed sadly. “And what do you see, brother?”

“My world.” he answered, his tone so soft it made her heart skip.

One night, Y/N came to him, her face streaked with tears. Her husband had accused her of barrenness, blaming her for their lack of an heir, though she confided in Aemon that he had been unable to perform most nights. He had beaten her so badly she could hardly stand.

Aemon held her with trembling hands, his tears falling silently onto her blood-matted hair as she wept. “He said it’s my fault,” she whispered. “That I’m barren.”

Aemon’s jaw clenched, the flames of rage barely contained within him. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he simply wiped her tears away, his touch as gentle as a prayer.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Make me feel something other than this pain.”

That night, his vows shattered like glass. He touched her with reverence, his hands tracing every bruise, every scar, as though he could erase them. Her moans were soft, broken things, and tears streaked his face as he worshipped her. “Forgive me,” he whispered over and over, though he wasn’t sure if he was begging her or the gods.

After that night, there was no going back. They met in secret, stealing moments between court duties and battles. Aemon would ride to her chambers under the cover of darkness, shedding his white cloak at her feet as he sank to his knees before her.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he murmured one night, his forehead pressed against her stomach as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Then die for me,” she replied.

And he would have. Without hesitation.

When Y/N bore a son, his son, Aemon’s heart swelled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. The boy looked so much like him that it was impossible to deny the truth, though no one dared to speak it. Aemon spent every possible moment with them, pretending they were a family. He taught his son to wield a wooden sword, read him tales of noble knights, and watched as Y/N smiled at the boy with a love so pure it made his heart ache.

But their happiness was fleeting.

Her husband found out. The confrontation was brutal. Aemon returned from a ride to find the halls silent, too silent. Servants cowered as he passed, their eyes avoiding his.

He arrived just in time to see the man toss something onto the cold stone floor—a child’s head, small and unmistakable.

“He cried for you,” the man spat, smirking. “Just like his whore of a mother.”

The world turned red.

Aemon didn’t remember unsheathing his sword. He didn’t remember the screams or the sickening crunch of bone as he hacked the man to pieces. When it was over, he stood in a pool of blood, his chest heaving, his vision blurred by rage and tears.

He ran to Y/N’s chamber, desperate to find her alive, to cling to the hope that she had survived. “She’s alive,” he muttered to himself as he stumbled toward her chambers. “He was lying.” But when he found her, he fell to his knees. Her body was unrecognizable, broken beyond repair. The monster had robbed her of her beauty, her light, and her life.

“No,” Aemon whispered, his voice cracking as he crawled to her. “It’s not you. It can’t be you.” He cradled her lifeless body, rocking back and forth as the weight of his grief crushed him.

“This isn’t real,” he whispered. “It’s a trick. You’ll wake up.”

But she didn’t.

He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t live in a world where she no longer was alive.

Aemon pressed a final kiss to her cold lips, his tears falling onto her bruised skin. “Wait for me,” he whispered. “In the next life, wait for me.”

He drew his dagger and plunged it into his chest, collapsing beside her. His last breath escaped in a whisper of her name, and when the servants found them the next morning, they were entwined in death, their silver hair mingling like threads of moonlight.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[highvern]

Steam II

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

Genre: ATLA au, enemies(?) to lovers, forbidden romance, royalty au

General Warnings: violence (bending fights), injuries (mentions of broken bones, burns, blood, bruises), alcohol consumption, mentions of prostitutionSmut Warnings: multiple smut scenes, fingering, dry humping, slight exhibitionism, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, handjob, hair pulling, marking, virgin!reader, wonwoo has a tiny bit of a corruption kink

Length: ~16.4k | Fic Length: ~64k

Credits: banner: @caelesjjk and @shadowkoo | betas: @tomodachiii @miniseokminnies @gyuswhore @haologram and @wqnwoos

Note: part 2 is here! pls reblog and lmk what you think. also! the poem mentioned near the end. part 3 will be up friday because wednesday is reserved for a very special bday fic for one of my favorite people.

summary: Wonwoo is the best fire bender in Capitol City. Or he is. But a water bender he's never seen before changes everything.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Wonwoo’s first day as your personal guard was a case study in public humiliation.

Your grandmother sat high on her dais in the council debate hall with you seated on a slightly lower platform at her side, stiff as a board. The meeting had already taken hours. Councilmen and nobles argued back and forth across the aisle, every topic of debate hammered into the ground for them to ultimately agree to the same terms the proposed at the beginning of the discussion. It was a waste of time and energy to argue superfluous details but it kept them content which was a priceless luxury. Better to let men yell their silly insults across the debate chamber than across the battlefield.

Their raucous chatter served another purpose: preventing you from falling asleep. When that stopped working, your nails stung into your palms and you pinched your thighs, hands hidden beneath the sleeves of your gown.

Wonwoo moved into the servant’s quarters of your apartment last night and you hadn’t slept a wink, tossing and turning all night. He’d arrived and disappeared into his new room without so much as a glance in your direction. It shouldn’t have confused you as much as it did. Nothing could ever happen but it didn’t stop the tension from thundering through the entire suite; knowing you fantasized about having him in your room only for him to actually be there. 

Then that morning when you rose, servants and lady's maids fluttering about to prepare you for the day, you felt his judgment even though he never vocalized it; a heavy weight around your neck. Face hot, you shoved the new found shame down as far as you could and tried to ignore it.

The burden didn’t lighten as he followed a pace behind you throughout the day, to every appointment and lesson. He watched in somber silence as the royal jeweler presented fine gems set into crowns, necklaces, and rings. He stared at his shoes while your seamstress pinned and unpinned in a new dress. And now, he hovered somewhere behind you in the very meeting you wished would end.

“And now our last order of business,” Chancellor Dak started, scanning the long document before him. “Lord Belaor, you have the floor.”

Lord Belaor rose from his seat at the end of the chamber and approached the wide center aisle. The billowed sleeves of his robes resembled a peacock. He was dramatic as ever, demanding full attention for whatever gripe possessed him.

“As we all know, it is customary that the 25th birthday of an heir to the United Islands’ throne is a matter of great significance. It—” 

“‘It signifies that this heir is eligible to assume the throne’,” Chancellor Dak finished. “Of course we are aware of this Lord Belaor, but Princess Y/N and Her Majesty agreed she would delay her ascension until she felt comfortable assuming the throne. This has been long discussed.”

Murmurs of agreement whispered across the chamber, nobles and councilmen rolling their eyes.

“It is not Princess Y/N to whom I was referring,” Lord Belaor said. “Last month, on the occasion of his twenty-fifth birthday, my nephew, Duke Tsao, became eligible to assume the throne.”

A terrible silence filled the room. Nobles and councilmen gaped like fish as what their peer suggested: treason.

“I beg your pardon?” you gasped.

Belaor turned his head not towards you, but your grandmother. “My nephew is ready to take his place as United Island’s rightful king.”

Your jaw clenched so tight your teeth threatened to crack. Tsao, that bumbling idiot, wasn’t fit to pour water in a bucket without supervision, couldn’t bend to save his life. Tsao flaunted his mistresses without shame and starved his tenants with burdensome taxes to fund his affairs. He’d get the throne over your dead body.

“Princess Y/N is the first in line for the throne, a direct descendent of royalty. Are you challenging the line of succession, Lord Belaor?” Lord Gaha asked. Of all the nobles, he maintained the most influence and he didn’t seem sold on the idea Belaor presented.

“I am simply providing a potential consideration given that Princess Y/N is of age and yet remains unmarried. Not all of the council is completely confident she is the most suitable choice to govern our great nation with that information in mind.”

Freezing Belaor and his Spirits forsaken nephew until their hearts stopped became more and more appealing. If that didn’t work then drowning was another solid option; however, it’d require far more work. Murdering a noble would be frowned upon but Lord Belaor, frozen to the far wall, bloody and bruised from your fists was a satisfying image. He probably hadn’t considered that outcome before opening his mouth.

Your grandmother appraised Lord Belaor, a look you were familiar with. “We have never required princesses to marry in order to rule our country and I will not start now.”

“Of course not, Your Majesty. But my nephew is already married with several children. His line is secured in the event something unfortunate happens. Can we say the same of our dear princess? Spirits protect her, but we must prepare for the worst possible outcomes.”

He didn’t mention that six of Tsao’s ten children were bastards with rumors of more.

“I will take your concerns under consideration, Lord Belaor. You are all dismissed.”

Chancellor Dak echoed your grandmother’s sentiment and followed your grandmother to her private office, whispering urgently. 

Princesses did not rush, or stomp. They did not slouch or shrug. They did not fantasize of murder no matter how righteous. But of all the things you were not allowed to do, you refused to break in front of self important nobles.

You marched through the palace, pulse hammering in your ears with each step. If you were born with your mother’s fire instead of the late king’s water, then the palace would’ve crumbled to cinders. But you were in control. You just needed to get to the private pavilion at the edge of the gardens and then—

Your attendant, Lin, struggled to match your pace. “Your Highness, you have a tsungi horn lesson with—”

“Cancel it. Clear my schedule for the rest of the day.”

“But!” Lin objected but you already turned the corner before she could attempt to argue.

Wonwoo watched you destroy the training pavilion in fury. Targets exploded like fireworks from ice blades the size of his torso. When there were none left you bent ice into the shape of what looked suspiciously similar to the noble from earlier and started destroying those as well.

He was…terrified. You were not the poised princess he met at the barracks, nor the crafty opponent he met in the warehouse. This was something new. Something volatile. The leash of carefully crafted control slipped from the typhoon that waited beneath the surface. You held back all those times he watched you bend. Were all princesses trained to be so deadly?

A small part of him, a piece he didn’t know existed, felt relief when the nobles revealed you were unwed. He wasn’t a part of some grand betrayal. His only crime was being overly friendly with a woman above his station which shouldn’t really be considered a crime. Wonwoo hadn’t compromised you no more than you compromised him. 

“AH!” you screamed and the remaining effigies shattered into a million pieces. 

Despite the noise, no one came. This far edge of the gardens, so far from the palace that the hedges blocked the spires, seemed to be the one place not crowded with servants. 

Wonwoo remained in agonizing solitude as you collapsed on the ground, closed your eyes, and huffed like a toddler. You looked so similar in the orange and pinks of sunset as you did in moonlight and yet nothing was the same. The eerie calm you maintained during a fight, the confident sureness you’d win, had waned into whatever he had just witnessed.

You made a disgusted noise and rose to your feet, surveying the damage. When you finally turned, you gazed at him as if you forgot he existed. “Can you go away?”

“I’m doing my job.”

“Then do you have to be so loud about it?”

“I haven’t spoken to you since I got here.” 

Here as in the palace, simply because he hadn’t known what to say last night and chose to hide in his room instead. A room larger than any he had before, even those he shared with others. It was all so new and strange. He imagined you alone in your room, just down the hall. The benign realization that he was effectively alone with you returned those horribly vivid memories; the feelings of longing. 

Wonwoo kept his mouth shut because he wasn’t sure what would come out. Another teasing jab, or something more damning. Now with witnesses in every corner and maids who liked to barge in without a care, he couldn’t afford to slip.

You glided across the pavilion where there was a stack of towels and began wiping away the dirt and sweat clinging to your face. “Yeah, well, I can feel you judging me.”

“I’m not judging you,” Wonwoo sputtered. 

“Yes, you are!” you argued.

Wonwoo really wanted to say he was judging those old men and their unabashed scheming. He knew Lord Tsao, or of him. Knew he wasn’t fit to rule a pile of dirt let alone a kingdom; heard the stories of his tenants going hungry season after season to pay the lord’s gambling debts. 

But Wonwoo did not say those things. He doubted fanning the flame of your ire would have much benefit other than more destruction of more unfortunate targets and he’d prefer not to become one. Besides, he really does not want to talk about politics and marriage; he wants to go back to your apartment and take a long bath and try to find the sleep that evaded him last night.

“I’m just not used to having servants do everything for me,” he said.

“They’re doing their jobs,” you snapped before mumbling, “We’re all just doing our jobs.”

With the sun sinking below the line of the hedges, the pavilion cast in deep shadows. 

“Can you at least tell them not to be so thorough? One of them offered to help me bathe last night.”

“That's Han’s attempt at flirting. She thinks you’re handsome.” A blip of amusement crossed your face, so brief it could have been imagination but he savors it all the same.

“Glad I’m making a good impression,” Wonwoo said. He looked to the sky above, the stars already dappling the sky. They’re more visible here than in the city. “So if you’re old enough to be queen, why aren’t you?”

You deflated and Wonwoo instantly regretted the question. “All I’ve done since I was a child was learn what it was to be queen. I’ve studied history, war strategy, tax reforms. I’ve attended council meetings since I was twelve. It is all I am, all I have been raised to do from the second I was born. And yet… there is so much I do not know.”

“So you sneak out of the palace?”

“Partially,” You admitted, taking a seat on a nearby bench. “If I told them I wanted to see the city it would take days of planning, countless staff and guards. A full royal procession. Even then I’d only be allowed to see what's considered ‘proper’ which excludes pretty much everything. I wouldn’t have known there were places like the Red Lanterns or the homeless encampments near the warehouses. They all pretend those issues don’t exist so they can spend money on stupid parties or whatever else they want.”

“So you want to be a queen of the people.”

“My decisions affect those people. They are my people. Every war we enter, every tax collected, they pay for it while I sit on a throne behind ivory walls and treat them as numbers on a page. I will not let those arrogant old ass holes run my country into the ground while people suffer.”

“Such language from a princess,” Wonwoo gasped in mock shock.

“Shut up, before I freeze you to a wall.”

“How scandalous!”

You looked genuinely thrilled at the idea of sticking him to a wall and leaving him there until morning. 

“So what are you going to do?” he asked.

“I am going pray there is at least one suitable man at next week's festivities and marry him. My grandmother won’t make me but I know it’s why she’s decided to host every single dignitary, ambassador, and wealthy noble she could find. I have a stack of dossiers back in my apartment to review before bed.”

In his world, marriage was for love. Sometimes duty if there was a kid involved but mostly love. Two people choosing each other above all others, for the rest of their lives. That did not appear to be the case for royalty. Marriage was another political decision, picking someone from a catalog after ensuring they checked whatever important boxes.

“Oh. That’s…a good idea.”

“Yes,” you huffed like a petulant child refusing to eat their vegetables. “I can’t wait to have some random spoiled prince try and boss me around my own kingdom.”

“Then don’t marry a prince, I guess.” Wonwoo shrugged. “Or just make him watch your attack some targets again, he’ll be too busy pissing himself to think about telling you what to do.”

“Or I could freeze him to a wall,” you said but when Wonwoo risked a look at your face all he could see was sadness and defeat.

He didn’t like it. Defeat fit you like a jacket six sizes too small. Wonwoo didn’t have words of comfort, what could he say? But when words failed him, he had action.

“Alright, get up. Enough moping.”

“I’m not moping!” you argued, eyes locked on his with defiance.

Good. 

Wonwoo strode to the center of the pavilion without looking back, smiling at the click of footsteps following. “You are and it’s freaking me out.”

“Well, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you.”

“You’re a bad liar, Your Highness.”

You fumed, “I told you not to call me that.”

“And just what are you gonna do about it?” Wonwoo tensed, already prepared for the hit of ice against his skin. It felt good. Familiar. If you were fighting him then he knew what to do instead of feeling that odd desperation to make you smile. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

Two hours later, the pavilion was covered in soot and ice. The ground was scorched in some places and flooded in others. You finally tired and called for a truce that Wonwoo eagerly agreed to. How intimidating it must have been for the princess and her personal guard to limp back to your apartment together, covered in sweat and filth. 

Wonwoo slept like a baby.

The welcoming procession lasted hours. All manner of speeches, gifts, and presentations from the different delegations blended together into a dull thrum. 

Cheeks sore from smiling and butt numb from your perch on your throne, you thanked Prince Bavruq for the abalone chest filled with jewels that reflected light like the sea; greens, blues, and whites projected across the throne room as sun filtered in from the large windows. They were truly beautiful. Just like the other chest of rubies and diamonds from Admiral Gyan or the ensemble of lapis carvings from Senator Maoki. Or any of the other gaudish presents serving as a means to impress you and your grandmother and soften your opinion towards one of them. 

Perhaps you would have been impressed if your neck didn’t ache from the heavy combs of silver and gemstones littering your hair. 

Dinner was an entirely different fiasco.

A feast in the name of camaraderie served as an opportunity for all the guests to appraise and gawk at you like a prized komodo horse. It wasn’t unusual or new sans for the unabashed way they all seemed to be sizing each other up as well. There had been a stand off for the seats directly across and beside you; grown men acting like children wanting first turn with their favorite toy as they shouldered one another and mumbled threats under their breath. 

Your wine glass sat empty before the first course ever arrived.

“Your Highness, I hear you are partial to the tsungi horn. I would be honored to play for you.” A man beside you, dressed in a fine coat that clung to his broad shoulders, said. His golden eyes gleamed like a falcon’s.

“That would be lovely, Lord Char. Thank you.” You lifted your spoon once again from the full bowl of cold soup. Everyone else at the table had nearly finished but your guests insisted on keeping you occupied with conversation rather than eating.

“Princess!” called another man across the table. “I’m not as skilled on the tsungi horn, but perhaps I could play the dramyin for you?”

“I would be delighted, Commander Raza.”

You hated the dramyin.

Someone else began speaking and the edges of your bowl frosted, ice crystals floating across the oily surface as you tried to gain composure. A servant intervened before you could follow through on the idea of throwing it at the scraggly bearded noble boasting his accomplishments in poetry. Princesses did not launch their meals at unsuspecting men. 

Others began clearing the remaining dishes before new plates arrived with thick slices of meat covered in peppered sauce and vinegared vegetables. You were quick to take a bite before someone new could interrupt to discuss another dreadful instrument.

“We shall make an event of it,” your grandmother clapped from the head of the table. “A night to display the unique talents of your kingdoms. My granddaughter is partial to cultural affairs.”

“What a lovely idea but I don’t believe we have the time with—”

“Nonsense! Night after next we shall have a splendid performance,” she gazed at you with a bright smile as if to say deal with it. “But tonight, we will eat.”

You bit your tongue until dessert came. A terrible coincidence that the moon peach tarts with cream were your favorite. Maybe Han can bring some up to your room. A servant passed by, filling Lord Char’s glass. You waited with both hands tucked beneath the edge of the table for Lord Char to grab for his cup. When he did, you tugged at the blood in his veins, barely enough to make the muscles jump.

“My dress!” you gasped.

The few people who had not been watching you like a petting zoo animal whipped around, mouths open in horror.

“Your Highness, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean…Let me help you!” Lord Char stammered, the contents of his drink puddled across the table and your lap. He grabbed for his napkin but floundered with the realization he couldn’t touch you.

“I believe you have done enough, Your Grace,” you bit out. Wine stained the front of your gown in large splotches, the blue of the fabric mixing with red to resemble a giant ugly bruise. A true shame, to destroy such fine silks. But ruining a brand new dress was worth escaping the evening. “Excuse me.”

You ignored the silent reprimand blooming on your grandmother’s face, allowing servants to crowd you with towels as they led you from the dining room swiftly. Her ire would be dealt with later when the voices of whiny nobles no longer rattled through your ears.

Lord Char followed spouting more apologies. “Princess Y/N, my hand slipped! I would never mean to—”

“Excuse me, Lord Char. I find myself needing to change out of my favorite gown since it is ruined.” 

He deflated and stepped aside as you continued on your path.

“I am fine.” You brushed away the servants once the heavy doors shut, dismissing them back to their posts. “I will be retiring early this evening.”

Bending the liquid soaking your gown into a potted plant, you continued to your room with a pair of footsteps echoing behind.

Wonwoo watched the skyline of the city glow with light from your bedroom window while you…did whatever you did with your lady’s maids in your bathroom. 

Logically, he knew but refused to dwell on such things. He had plenty of knowledge of what you looked like naked and soaking wet, at least from the waist up. And plenty of imaginations of the rest. There was no reason to add to his suffering by ruminating the gentle splashes echoing through the door.

Or the…giggling.

How many times had you looked at this same view? Watched a city you never experienced right at your feet thrum to life every night while you remained out of sight? Locked away in your tower night after night, wallowing and alone after your staff retired for the evening; imagination running wild with all sorts of activities might be taking place and wanting a slice for yourself.

And then you did just that. An incredibly foolish endeavor but his chest warmed with fond pride. He imagined what you would say if presented with that fact.

Only foolish if I was caught. 

Wonwoo hadn’t considered the trouble you went through to sneak out the palace and down into the Middle district. It was at least an hour on foot assuming you didn’t encounter any delays, probably more since there was never a word of suspicious activity taking place in the Nobles Quarter. Foolish but not foolish at all.

Then he thought, how many nights had he paced the same streets just outside the palace walls, completely unaware that you were locked in this tower. That you ran straight across his path while he remained none the wiser. The night after he met you in the market, when he wandered the streets during his rounds consumed with thoughts of you; only for you to be right here.

Two people so close yet worlds apart.

After what felt like hours, your maids, Han and Sami, filed out to prepare your room, turning down the bed and stoking the dwindling fire.

Sami fed the flames another log and looked at him. “Mind helping?” 

“I’m not a butler,” Wonwoo said but manipulated the dying flame until Sami waved him away.

Technically, Wonwoo was allowed to retire to his rooms now. He’d swept the windows and building tops for potential threats and found none (he never did). But Han and Sami were good company despite their constant teasing. It felt good to talk to someone other than you or Mingyu. 

“So what did you think?”

“Of what?”

Han rolled her eyes as if he was an idiot to not understand exactly what she meant. “The suitors.”

Wonwoo could have said a great many opinions. Lord Char smelled like a brothel and Senator Maoki’s carvings looked rather phallic to be the sea serpents and lion turtles they were meant to be. Prince Jao’s singing made him want to jump off a building but not before pushing the man off first. Wonwoo especially didn’t care for the way they leered at you like starved wolves.

But his opinions did not matter.

“I’m not a matchmaker either,” he huffed.

“Men really undervalue the fun of good gossip.”

“What did you think then?” he asked, arms crossed. 

“Prince Bavruq is so dreamy,” Sami crooned.

“He’s forty!” Han laughed.

“I’ve always liked an older man. He’s so…dignified.”

“Then maybe he’ll take you back to the North Pole with him,” Wonwoo added. It felt good to be a part of something again. In the barracks they played games and joked every night. He didn’t realize how much he missed it until now.

“A flower is only as good as its petals and my petals are too delicate to be locked away in the North Pole!”

Han snorted from across the room. “You’re as delicate as those rocks Chancellor Kabaar gifted her.”

“Now talk about a man,” Sami swooned.

You entered the room wrapped in a thick robe. “You are dismissed.”

Han and Sami bowed out but not before giggling again. When your face soured it only grew louder.

“Something funny?” he asked, watching the maids leaving through the door as they cackled to themselves.

You sat on the chair next to the window – eyes on the same sights Wonwoo watched earlier – and blew out a disgruntled breath.“Besides the fact that I was doused with wine in front of a hundred people?”

“Yeah, considering you did that to yourself.”

You raised an eyebrow. It was difficult to keep track of the masks you wore: a proper princess in front of others, the confident siren of the field, the force of nature from the training pavilion. They all slipped and rose so swiftly Wonwoo couldn’t keep track. “You dare suggest that I would purposefully sabotage dinner?”

“Based on past experience I can empathize with Lord Char on being made a fool at your hand.”

“Save your sympathies for someone more deserving than him. He is a terrible flirt with a gambling addiction which I supposed would be less of an issue if he ever actually won,” you said sourly. 

At least he had a concrete reason to dislike Char besides his smell.

“So you admit you did it on purpose?”

“Of course I did it on purpose but if you want to go rejoin them then by all means. Jao is probably performing some of those Earth Kingdom poems still.”

“Are they always so self important?”

“They are princelings from the richest and most powerful families in the world. Usually they’re worse.” 

You passed Wonwoo a tea cup, and without thought he warmed it between his palms until it was steaming before handing it back. “Hard to imagine that.”

“At my eighteenth birthday party a game of ice marbles turned into a wrestling match and they destroyed the south courtyard.”

“Well then,” he clapped. “At least the talent show will be interesting.” 

Wonwoo turned to leave, the sound of your amused snort tugging at that warm place in his heart carved just for you.

If someone asked what he thought a princess’ day looked like before he came to the palace, he would have assumed it was days full of tea parties and mindless chatter. An easy life filled with nothing but comfort and luxury.

But the more time Wonwoo spent attending meetings and meals, the more he realized the palace was a viper pit covered in the finest lace and gold.

Meetings upon meetings upon meetings left his head swimming. Every conversation was layered with double meaning, from chatter on tea selection to the actual topics. It seemed like a knot that only became more tangled as he focused on unraveling it. 

You seemed to navigate it easily though, the eerie mask of diplomacy firmly in place. 

“Admiral Gyan, I understand that we have trade agreements,” you said, face smooth as a pearl but your eyes gleamed like you had your boot on his throat. “However, it is in the best interest of both of our people to make amends to terms that predate our births.”

Gyan picked at the spread of tea cakes and snacks, ignoring you completely in favor of snagging the last sweet bun. “All this talk of trade is rather tiresome, don’t you think? Tell me Princess, what is your favorite flower?”

Wonwoo watched you shut your eyes with a deep silent breath. 

He prepared to intervene if needed; however, the admiral deserved to be knocked around a bit. An hour long discussion and all he asked was about your favorite sweets and candies (his were cherry nut tarts and jennamite), if you preferred the summer to winter (he liked summers), and your opinion on whether the Royal Theater’s production of Love amongst the Dragons outdid The Lost Slipper (nothing compared to The Echoes of Spirits).

Wonwoo made the mistake of implying the need for a chaperone for these meetings, considering most verged on courting rather than business, and he knew most guards waited outside the door during private meetings. Wonwoo was mortified to learn he was not only a guard but a nanny as well. 

“Two birds one stone,” you said as Han smoothed the creases from your robe. “I need a guard and chaperone, and most leaders do not want to talk business with too many prying ears.”

The unsaid parts were clear; Wonwoo was a servant. Wonwoo was nobody next to these men who demanded respect for simply being born to the right people. The more appointments he attended, the more his resentment boiled. It was no different then the hundreds of times he stepped aside for men of higher status in the Nobles Quarter or the barracks. He never thought much of it before, it was simply something he’d been trained to do for years. So why did it bother him now?

Each dignitaries had done quite the same as Gyan, only perhaps a touch subtler; at least their attempts at flattery were related to trade agreements. Every asinine inquiry They were eager to make up for time missed at dinner the previous night, and your absence at breakfast this morning. Every single one began their time with a high chin and starry eyes, only to leave disillusioned from your insistence to discuss policy and finance. To their knowledge you were not officially seeking marriage, they were simply hopeful for the inevitable day you did. 

How unaware they were of how soon that day came. Wonwoo read the dossiers; scanned them for anything of consequence: questionable relations, suspicious behaviors. For security purposes, of course. But one was the same as the last. Second borns never trained to take their own crowns who liked to spend their days indulging in hunting or drinking. Or, sons of rich families with strategic influence and holdings dating back centuries. And then, there were the well off military figures with armies more loyal to them than their nation.

Admiral Gyan happened to be all three. 

“Ice lilies,” you sighed. “As I was saying—”

Gyan picked at some invisible lint at his sleeve. From his position against the wall, Wonwoo could see the way Gyan stared wistfully out the window instead of the papers you presented across the table. Not that Gyan could see them if he looked, his snacking left them covered in powdered sugar. Your attempt at serious political engagements turned into a place setting. 

Wonwoo focused back on one of the paintings across the room. It wasn’t his concern and yet, despite everything, he’d begun to consider you a friend, or at the very least an acquaintance; someone he felt familiar enough with to feel annoyed on their behalf. But Wonwoo didn’t need much familiarity for the way these men talked down and disregarded your words to leave ash in his mouth.

“I’m allergic to ice lilies,” Gyan said pensively.

You blinked. “How unfortunate. Again, these trade—”

“If your husband did not like something you preferred, what would you do?”

“Not marry a man allergic to my favorite flower.” You stiffened, realizing the error of your ways. Then you dipped your chin and whispered. “However, a man that helps my country would be far more valuable as a husband than a man who can tolerate my…floral preference. Would you agree?”

Admiral Gyan studied for a long moment before speaking again.

The ink of the new agreements dried by that afternoon.

A long day of discussions left you irritable. It would have been different if any of the lordlings you met argued their terms on tariffs and trade, or introduced their own nation’s concerns. But no. They’d rather interrogate you on asinine details like your favorite teas and opinions on Earth Kingdom literature. 

Perhaps that would be important after you officially took suitors into consideration but presently, they were invited with the intent of international diplomatic cooperation. Not eat all your food and ruin court records.

Dinner continued in the same fashion as the night before: too little eating and too much chatter. And since you couldn’t get away with bowing out early again, you were forced to remain through the entire ordeal. You managed a few bites between their lengthy monologues but after the meal you left with a grumbling stomach and a thunderous headache.

Back in your apartments, you fell into deep thought while Han and Sami flurried around as they pulled away your outer layers and plucked out the jewels in your hair. 

“Any interesting developments today? Men declaring their undying devotion?” Han asked as she untied your slippers.

“Prince Bravruq promised he would perform some water tribe dance tomorrow night…shirtless.” You smiled at Sami’s reddening face. “But other than that, thankfully, no.”

“Not even our favorite broody guard?”

“For the last time, Wonwoo is simply doing his duty. He does not have…feelings.”

“I don’t know,” Sami sang. “He seemed upset when we asked him about all your new suitors last night. And after the council meeting? He is rather handsome when he’s all roughed up.”

“I think he’s handsome all the time,” Han said.

“Even if he did like me, nothing could come of it,” you reminded yourself. 

“How many stories do you know where a princess falls in love with a commoner and they live happily ever after?”

“And how many do the princess and commoner lose their heads?”

“You’re always so serious. It’s not good for your complexion.”

“Well why didn’t you say that earlier?” you gasped. “There is nothing between Wonwoo and I. We are… friends. Maybe. But that's it.”

Sensing the end of the conversation, they drew your bath before you waved a dismissive hand. 

The hot water soothed away your anger from the day, softening the tense muscles of your shoulders and back. Your eyes slipped shut as you sunk further into the tub, head resting back on the rim of the tub. Events of the day replayed, your mind sorting successes and failures, what agreements remained unsigned and how to do so. And then there was the matter of courting. Your intent to marry was barely a whispered rumor amongst staff and yet these men tripped over themselves like bumbling idiots.

But you no longer wished to think of business and wedding bells. You’d rather indulge in more relaxing imaginations.

At first there was nothing at all, just the lap of hot water at your throat sending prickles along your flesh. The water was adorned with different oils and soaps and felt like liquid silk. It allowed your hands to glide without friction, teasing drags of fingers against your sides until your nipples tightened. You remembered what it was like when Wonwoo touched them, first his hands, then his mouth, then the satisfying sting of his teeth. The times you tried to imitate those sensations only left you wanting.

Memories of the encounters had brought little satisfaction. Recalling how it felt was nowhere near as good as it actually had been, never brought the same pleasurable ending. And yet you tortured yourself with trying.

He really was handsome. Not just in the narrow cut of his uniform that clung to his shoulders, or when he removed his outer layers to reveal what hid beneath. He was most handsome when he didn’t realize you were looking. When whatever lordling tried to win your favor with overzealous compliments, Wonwoo couldn’t help rolling his eyes and biting back a laugh.

Or when his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked through a particularly challenging form, muscles flexing and bunching; sweat gleaming off his skin, sticking his hair down. 

Your hand ventured lower, a tease between your thighs, fingers soft against your clit just how he touched you. The bathroom is quiet sans your breath; miniscule sighs breaking through your lips as candles flickered around the room. It’d do nothing to think about the field but maybe what you needed was a new fantasy.

With firmer pressure, you imagined Wonwoo walking in, finding you touching yourself and offering to help; taking advantage of the slick glide between your legs, filling that horrible emptiness with the warmth of his hand. The tub was large enough for him to join. You could plant in his lap and ride his fingers like last time or, he could sit behind you, the heat of his chest firm against your back as he left those maddening kisses against your neck again. 

You slipped a finger in, the tight squeeze nothing next to the desperation for more. The water muffled the sound of depravity as you fucked yourself timidly, only gentle splashes betraying movement and mute whines. Your chin tipped back as your hips rose in search of more. Rocking into the heel of your hand, you bit back a moan. The Wonwoo of your fantasy dragged you out of the tub and into bed, spread you beneath him to use his mouth against your core; kissing and sucking the same place you desperately touched. He teased how badly you needed him, eyes trained on your reactions from between your legs.

“Oh!” you exclaimed. Your muscles twitched again, clenching around your fingers, pretending they were his until your back arched and then—

The walls of the tub proved far too slippery as you thrashed into an orgasm, sinking beneath the surface unexpectedly.

You gasped for breath once surfacing again, flailing and splashing water onto the floor loudly. The bath had run cold in your mentally wandering and jolted you back to your senses. The delirious lull in your muscles fled as you kicked off from the bottom of the pool sized tub and back to your perch. 

Wonwoo chose that moment to barge in. 

He slammed the door open, rushing in and eyes scanning the room. “Is everything okay? I heard—”

“I’m fine!” you shouted, face heating as your voice bounced around the room. “I slipped.”

Wonwoo looked like he didn’t believe it. A waterbender having trouble in the bath? Unlikely. But he accepted it without question and straightened before asking, “Where are Han and Sami?”

Whatever warmth and longing rooted in your chest moments ago fizzled at his question. “Do you think I’m incapable of bathing on my own?”

“No, I…”

At that moment, Wonwoo recognized your state, eyes tracing the slope of your neck down, down, down until the surface of the water obstructed his view. The bubbles from earlier had fizzled to nothing, fine as sea foam and scattered like wispy clouds. If he stepped closer then everything would be visible. You were torn between sinking deeper and rising up, revealing your bare chest for his gaze. What would he do?

There was no one to interrupt, servants gone and the day done until sunrise. Wonwoo could touch you. You’d let him for as long as he liked, as many times as it took for that terrible clawing, demanding need to cease. You could drag him into the water and make every horrible dream and intoxicating fantasy plaguing you for weeks a reality.

But Wonwoo did nothing, simply stood there blankly, eyes trained on your throat. The warm light from dozens of candles danced over his face, flickering wildly but not revealing what was brewing beneath the surface of his glazed stare. You had an idea from the way his breath became labored and his fingers flexed but he didn’t move a muscle.

And then he promptly turned on his heel and strode back towards the door. 

“Wait,” you called, startled by your own voice. What were you doing? “Can you warm this for me?”

Wonwoo stopped immediately. You watched his shoulders tense, slowly rising to his reddening ears before he responded, “Your bath?”

The candles around the room grew for a moment. But he didn’t turn around, instead he looked over his shoulder and pinned you with an expectant look. You began to speak, a dismissal at the tip of your tongue, but ultimately nodded. Silently, he approached, eyes glued to your face. A jolt of heat cracked through your veins. Ears ringing, your breath grew stunted with every step that brought him closer. 

Wonwoo loomed over you, shrugging off his uniform jacket, still maintaining eye contact as each button loosed beneath his fingers. Your own twitched in response, aching to return between your legs for him to watch. He pushed the sleeves of his undershirt up to his elbows. He only broke eye contact to perch at the edge of the tub, back facing you. His hand sunk just past his wrist beneath the surface of the water. He grazed your knee and jerked away with a splash. You bit your tongue to stop from pushing your knee against him again.

His hand bunched into a fist, heat blooming through the water until steam rose from its surface. The contrast of his skin next to your beneath the water made your mouth water as he forced out more heat. 

As his hand rose once again, rivulets clinged to sinew and ligaments in his arm. You remembered how he looked in that field, soaked to the bone in the moonlight. The cling of his pants revealing the muscles below. Every ripple of those muscles when he moved, when he rolled into your grip on his cock.

“And this.” You nudged his hand with your wash rag, swallowing thickly when he accepted it. Again, Wownoo refused to look as his fingers flexed around the fabric, veins rising from the force of his grip, more of those tempting drops of water clinging to his skin. The strangest urge to suck them from his fingers rooted in your head. Steam rose from the cloth and he passed it back, hot and dripping.

“Anything else?” His hand remained floating between you. How badly you wanted to slide your fingers between his and tug until he found the arousal between your legs.

Now reach back into this tub and warm me, you thought.

“That–” you stuttered. “That's all. Thank you.”

Wonwoo left and the candles returned to their dim flutter.

After scrubbing your skin raw, you exited the bath. Despite your earlier fatigue, you knew there was no point in trying to sleep now. You’d only lay awake, tempted by the idea of sneaking down the hall to Wonwoo’s room and making your imaginations reality. There was no point sitting in your room, tossing and turning and itching and pining for something else. You could have slipped out your window and hid in the gardens, burn the restlessness in the training pavilion until exhaustion took over. 

But Wonwoo would find you. You knew he would; he managed to do so repeatedly. When you refused to retire for the evening he would offer to train with you. And then it was back to square one, the same tension from the close quarters of the bathroom, except with the bloodrush of bending and memories of the last time you both fought beneath the moonlight. 

The thick stack of papers balanced on your bed table; treaties and amendments forged during the day, signed in your own blood, sweat, and tears. Additionally reports from different advisors shuffled through the stack. If you couldn’t sleep then getting work done for tomorrow was the only solution. 

In the dining room, you rung a servant to bring leftovers from dinner you never ate. They returned with a spread of stuffed cabbage rolls, salted meats, and other dishes. Far more piled on the table than you could ever hope to eat, despite your ravenous appetite. Without the pretense of formal dining, you nibbled and read a new batch of reports from Lord Gilen about the Lower Block hospital you’d invested in since the spring. The numbers provided little distraction as you heard Wonwoo move around the apartment like a ghost.

“Sorry, I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Can’t.” You flashed the papers in his direction and went back to reading. You couldn’t look at him. Not sitting there in a robe and nightgown, skin still warm from the bath. He could part it easily, reach inside and—

He remained in the doorway, gaze like a heavy weight on your shoulders. 

“Eat. It’ll go to waste if you don’t.”

Wonwoo hesitated but then shuffled forward and took a seat at the opposite end before piling a plate with food. Still, your eyes remained glued to another row of swirled ink that turned illegible to your distracted mind as he slurped and grunted. More horribly tempting thoughts seeded as he continued.

Appetite vanishing with your sanity, you focused on carefully sipping your cold tea and read on. Lord Gilen’s missive was long and detailed and a perfectly appropriate distraction from the fact Wonwoo hadn’t put his jacket back on. 

“What are you reading?” Wonwoo asked.

“Reports for a hospital in the Lower Block I’ve been funding. Lord Gilen has been handling it for me.”

You continued reading. The lapse in judgment in the bathroom was just that, a mistake. You were a princess and needed to act like one; not some bumbling infatuated maiden. 

Still, you wanted to snag the pitcher from the table and hurl it at the wall.

“A hospital in the Lower Block? Yeah, sure,” he snorted. 

Your head snapped up. “I have the documents right here.”

“I’m telling you, there is no hospital in the Lower Block.”

“Look for yourself.”

Wonwoo scanned the pages, brows furrowed. A bit of sugar from the coconut puffs clung to his lip. You wanted to lick it off.

“I walked this street every time I went from the barracks to the warehouse. Unless he somehow demolished a condemned burnt out building and built a brand new one in its place in the time I’ve been here, then it doesn’t exist.”

The poise you’d painstakingly clung to since exiting the bath dissolved. If what Wonwoo said was true then Gilen was a liar. If the hospital didn’t exist then over twenty thousand gold marks were unaccounted for; twenty thousand gold marks vanished into nothing, and Lord Gilen was to blame. Lord Gilen who’d been in court since you were a baby, a favorite advisor of your grandmother’s, a close confidant. It was impossible.

Stacks of falsified documents with forged signatures, counterfeit invoices for materials to rebuild and train healers. Sketches and blueprints of the building. Patient records for people who didn’t exist. If Gilen was embezzling the money there was a paper trail of his misdeeds a mile long. 

But he had encouraged your investments; presented multiple projects of his own design, touting the needs of the people with zeal. Managed the entire process with assiduity and constant progress reports down to the last detail. Gilen wouldn’t conspire a tangled plot like this. It only took a gentle tug at a loose end and the entire tapestry of his scheming unraveled.

And yet, Wonwoo never provided a reason not to trust him.

Whatever simpering girl you’d been in the bathroom holed up behind a hard mask of anger. “Show me.”

“What?”

Brushing the papers aside, you rose. “I’m going to the Lower Block and you’re going to show me.”

You didn’t wait for him to follow, blinded by rage. The rest of the apartment was empty of servants as you paced the seating area. 

You ripped the overstuffed couches to shreds.

You screamed until your throat bled.

You stood in frozen silence and did nothing but stare blankly ahead.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“If you think I’m going to sneak you out of the palace you’re out of your mind.” Wonwoo said as he entered the room.

You turned towards him and stared for a moment. “Then I’ll go by myself.”

“You’re not going to the city this late at night, it’s at least—”

You rounded on him, until you were toe to toe with a finger digging into his chest. “You do not tell me what to do. I’m the princess and you are my glorified nanny.”

Wonwoo glared down at your hand twisted in his shirt. You began to withdraw it, realizing your mistake, but he snatched it with a firm grip and kept it between your bodies and met your gaze.

“I’m not one of your little lordlings you can push around and make agree just because you bat your eyes. Go to the city, and I will walk out that door and tell everyone.”

It wasn’t fitting for a woman of your age and rank to stomp and huff like a begrudged child but you did it anyway.

“Why don’t you just chain me to the bed and leave me until morning!” you sneered but faltered at the spark in his gaze.

“If you give me no other choice, I will.”

Yanking your hand back, you retreated to your room. “You are so infuriating!”

Wonwoo didn’t know how you got into the city. He didn’t know the passage in your office or the labyrinth beneath the gardens that lead outside the palace walls. Sneaking out your window was less convenient but no one knew the gardens better than you. If he chased, you’d lose him and he could only reveal your location by admitting he failed his one job. 

You blew out the candles and sat in the dark for a long moment as the moon rose outside your window. Shedding your robe and nightgown, you donned the servants clothes and cloak you stole long ago then stuffed the robe and some pillows beneath the covers in the shape of a body. 

Careful of the squeaky hinges, you cracked the window open slowly with baited breath. 

“Going somewhere?” Wonwoo asked from the doorway.

You stiffened. “If you must know, I was feeling a bit stifled and thought a breeze would be nice.”

“And the breeze gave you a chill so you got dressed?”

“Is that so difficult to believe?”

He entered your room and dragged the covers back with a quirked brow as if to say ‘Do you think I’m that dumb?’

“If you recall, I’ve done this countless times without you and never been caught.”

“There's a line between bravery and stupidity.”

“Are you calling me stupid?” you gasped, even in the dark you could see the exhaustion on his face.

“I’m calling you heedless. You can’t just run down to the Lower Block on a whim. It’s dangerous,” Wonwoo said, voice thin. “Where Galin says the hospital is is no place for—”

“For a princess?”

“For anyone to go alone. I wouldn’t go there alone because I know what happens on those streets. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into and you don’t care.”

In your haste safety seemed like a minor concern. You held your own enough times and this would be no different. Wonwoo didn’t seem to understand this wasn’t a matter of pride, it was principal. You weren’t a puppet that nobles could tug at your strings however they pleased. And if Galin, trusted and venerated Galin, was playing you a fool then there was no telling what the other, less favored, nobles did in the dark. 

Treachery was an infection in the open wound of your trust and you needed to amputate the limb before it could spread. But not without proof.

“I am being made a fool of by my own councilman,” you started. “He is stealing from me and thinks he can get away with it, that I would have no way of knowing because I’m kept under lock and key here. I need to see it with my own eyes. You do not have to come with me but you cannot honestly expect me to stay here."

Wonwoo watched for a long moment then stormed out of the room without response. You feared he ran to tell someone of your plan and raced to open the window.

“If we get caught I swear—”

You whipped around at the sound of his voice. Wonwoo strode in dressed in casual clothes similar to yours; trousers and a long sleeved tunic, a hood to conceal his face. 

“You’re coming with me?”

“Of course I’m coming with you. Knowing you, you’ll blast some poor drunk with a canon unprovoked and we both know how that turned out. Let's go.”

You silently led Wonwoo through a secret door in your private office, down, down, down until the walls transformed from the stone of the palace to dirt with wooden slats supporting the structure. There were no lanterns so he kept a small flame alive in his palm. He tried to keep his bearings through each twist and turn but soon failed. He figured the walk had been long enough to be far outside the palace grounds but each switch back left him more unsure.

Suddenly, the dirt floor turned into cobblestone and the walls followed soon after and then an iron ladder leading up appeared from nowhere. 

“This lets out beneath the crystal elephant statue in Emerald Park,” you said before climbing.

Wonwoo walked the perimeter of Emerald Park hundreds of times; circled the statue dozens of times and never realized there was a secret passage in all this time. He knew there were secrets the Nobles Quarter kept from him but not a path into the palace right under his nose.

The park was empty. Fountains bubbled and frogs croaked, the low light of gas street lamps providing enough cover to reach the southern exit towards the Middle District gates.

The shuffle of feet alerted him to a patrol up ahead. It was only another block to the gates leading into the Middle District and yet, he found himself having to crouch in an alley while a few guards walked past. You hid somewhere behind him. Truly, it was the last place he wanted to be with you after the incident in the bath.

He should have said no; refused to come anywhere near you while you were undressed. But he couldn’t help it. It was as if you were a siren singing straight to his blood. When you asked him to come closer, he tried not to look beneath the surface of the water but it was in vain. Even in his peripheral he saw the slope of your breasts, the pinch of your nipples. It hadn’t been better to look at your face. Your dilated pupils and flushed cheeks, bitten lips. Just like the night in the field.

It took all his willpower not to drag you from the tub, spread you on the bed, and taste you until all he heard were hoarse cries of his name; begging, praising, even a reprimand. He wanted them all and he half expected you to ask for them when he took his coat off; prepared to unbutton his trousers as well. A single glance would have told you everything, the tightness of his pants unbearable. But you asked him to heat your water and your rag and then dismissed him without another word. 

When he heard you pattering about the dining room, he planned to ask just what game you were playing but you pretended nothing happened. 

Now, he was hidden in the shadows of an alley with you less than a foot away and rather than worry about guards catching him, all Wonwoo’s thoughts were captured by images of you pressed between his body and the wall.

The patrol passed by without suspicion. Wonwoo signaled you to follow once again. The sooner you saw the imaginary hospital in the Lower Block, the sooner he’d be free to lock himself away until sunrise. 

As the gates came into view, you tugged Wonwoo’s sleeve and directed him off the main road, through narrow side streets and more alleys until the stone wall separating the Nobles Quarter and the Middle District came into view. Here, there were no guards and Wonwoo didn’t remember ever circling this area during his years of patrols. Another secret.

The wall was a foot taller than him so he hoisted you up before following. Restaurants and shops backed up to the wall on the Middle District side. This late, few were open, most windows and open doors framed employees sweeping or cleaning up the last bits of mess. None looked up from their work as you both snuck past.

Wonwoo’s feet pounded against the cobblestone as he darted down the street, you behind him, footsteps echoing loudly. Physical exhaustion felt good. His lungs burned and muscles strained but it gave him something to think about other than the heat of your chest against his body when dipping into an alcove to hide from a passing group. Most of the streets this far out were still crowded with late night partiers.

“Take off your hood,” he commanded, removing his own.

“Why?”

“Because we look like thieves. No one will recognize you out here and it’ll be easier to get through.”

Your hood came off, and Wonwoo was struck by how similar you looked to the night at the market. Hair fluffed around your face, the sheen of perspiration for the balmy night. He wanted to kiss you.

He stepped out from hiding and started down the street. 

“I’ve never been this way before,” you shared. The crowd grew thicker and forced you to remain tight to his side or risk drifting away. 

“You have. Down that street,” he gestured, “are the Red Lanterns.”

In all fairness, Wonwoo wouldn’t have known about the seedy avenue unless he stumbled on it as a teenager. It was the first time he saw…many things and he’d avoided it ever since. They were not memories he ever thought of voluntarily. 

The crowd flowed further away from the palace, until the stacked buildings of Merchant’s Row transformed into warehouses and empty lots. The people changed too. No longer did couples of all ages and children flitter about, gone were poets and musicians and artists busking on the corners. The only light came from the waxing moon and windows, not the gas street lamps up the block.

The Lower Block was a slum.

Wonwoo kept walking as you looked  around as if the street was a zoo full of exotics; eyes wide and shining in the light like coins. The streets used to be pristine, organized chaos at all hours. Guards, manufacturers, and merchants would weave between the buildings like armies of ants, raw materials pouring in from carts and goods immediately replacing them for transport. The Lower Block used to be pristine.

Now, old men crouched around overturned crates as they played cards and drank from green glass bottles; wiry kids chased stray dogs across the poorly paved street; vendors hawked fruits and vegetables more rotten than fresh, cloying the air with sickening sweetness. Uneven cobblestones hosted potholes large enough to bath in when it rained.

Luckily, no one paid much attention to a couple stumbling about like drunkards, they were all too absorbed in themselves. However, one glance and the entire charade would unravel. Your posture was straight as a razor edge, chin tipped back; as if you owned the world. You did, Wonwoo guessed. Everything – from the smallest pebble to the gigantic steamers in the western harbor – was yours. 

Wine houses lined the street, dirty alleys wedge between. Wonwoo knew the wine houses well enough; where other fighters from the warehouse went after matches to find another conquest for the night or drink themselves numb. He’d done both enough times to fear being recognized.

“Come here,” he commanded. You gave in easily when he hid his face in the curve of your neck. The scent of wildflowers and soap tickled his senses, and Wonwoo barely contained himself from pressing his nose more firmly beneath your jaw.

“What are you doing?” you murmured but didn’t push him away.

“Hiding.”

“What for?”

“Not all of us have the benefit of being anonymous.”

“You’ve been to these places?” you said. Wonwoo followed your gaze to a brothel, scantily clad women and men lounging around the wide porches, attempting to lure passersby. 

He didn’t answer.

“Is that why you said I’d be a bad prostitute? Speaking from experience?”

“I never paid anyone,” he argued.

“It’s okay if you did,” you laughed. “Not everyone can be so lucky with women.”

Even through his frustration, Wonwoo wanted to bottle the sound of your laughter; taste it on his tongue, feel it against his lips. He wanted to push you back into the darkness of the alleyway and remind you just how lucky he’d been not so long ago. He wanted to rip his hair out because agreeing to spend more time with you tonight was a horrible idea. 

At the next intersection, Wonwoo turned you down a narrow street. The lively crowd’s absence left a hollow silence. A handful of people milled about, shifting through the shadows like sharks. The warehouse Lord Gilen posed as a hospital stood halfway down the block. Covered in rotten boards and rusted chains, there was no trace that anyone had been near it in years. 

You pulled away from Wonwoo as you approached the ransacked building. “You’re sure this is it?”

“Even if I wasn’t, do any buildings here look like a hospital to you?”

Your fist clenched and he stepped back slightly. Wonwoo expected tangible anger like in the training pavilion; icicles the size of a human, a flood pulled from the humid air of the night. But you stood silently, unmoving. If your anger in the pavilion was a storm, Wonwoo felt as if he was in the eye of a hurricane. 

Hurricanes always brought wreckage.

You drew some water from a pouch at your hip, weaving it into the lock before it cracked and the chains slouched. Wonwoo didn’t wait for an invitation to follow you inside. 

There was no light inside, the windows were caked in thick dust. He lit a flame in his hand but there wasn’t much to see. An empty warehouse full of garbage: broken machines, rotten newspapers, broken crates. Something rustled beneath a heap in the corner. A fat elephant rat scurried out and darted out of sight.

Again, you stood still like a statue, soaking in the realities. Silence spread into the warehouse like an ink stain.

“Let's go.”

The walk back to the palace was in thick silence; not the silence of before when Wonwoo couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss you or turn around and renounce his assignment for the sake of his sanity. It was the unnerving silence just before something went horribly wrong. 

You kept ahead, shoulders square, head high. It wasn’t the performance you gave nobles, or the wildness from when bent your element. This was a new mask Wonwoo couldn’t decipher. 

In your apartment, you walked straight to your room and Wonwoo watched as the door shut with a quiet click.

Wonwoo woke covered in sweat. Even hidden behind a curtain of dark clouds he could feel the sun just peaking above the horizon. 

He wasn’t sure what the day held but he showered and put on his uniform like every other morning. When he exited his room, maids and footmen fluttered about like every other morning, you at the center of the storm. You acted the same as every other morning as well, sipping your tea and scanning a stack of documents.

Wonwoo hovered in the hall entrance, unsure of what to do. The anger charged atmosphere of last night vanished from the sitting room though that might be due to the presence of others than anything else. Displays of emotion were reserved for private, when no one but Wonwoo paid witness. Your face was impassive in the early dawn light, completely unperturbed. Unlike other mornings, he noticed the usual jewels pinned in your hair and clinging to your throat were absent. Only a pale ribbon tied around your neck. Your dress was a modest lavender, no flashy embroidery or outlandish cuts; but it was more to do with the woman wearing it than the dress itself. He didn’t know when he started paying attention to such things. But the first lesson you taught him was looks can be deceiving and you would bank on that fact.

“Stop hiding in the shadows like a ghost, it's off putting,” Sami said as she strode by him.

“I’m not hiding,” Wonwoo argued. If he was hiding it was for good reason; a man never knew he stepped foot into a riptide until it was too late.

“Like a little boy afraid Koh is hiding under his bed,” she teased.

“Leave him alone, Sami,” you called from the table. 

Sami turned and stuck her tongue out at him. This must be what it was like to have sisters.

“Everything in the Solarium is set and this,” Sami placed an envelope on the table in front of you. “Han is making copies of the records now.”

“After she’s done, Mingyu is to escort her to the archives after the meeting. Make sure people see them.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Finally, you looked at Wonwoo. “Let’s go.”

You glided through the palace hallways, greeting everyone who crossed your path. Again, just like every other day. The longer you pretended last night didn’t bother you the more unnerved he became.

He’d never been in the Solarium and wouldn’t soon return back if it could be helped. It was a spectacular enclosed glass structure on a terrace overhanging the gardens. That was not the problem. The Solarium was a greenhouse turned into a meeting room with a low table in the center surrounded by cushions, with a tier of teacakes and pitchers precariously placed. Gigantic plants with leaves the size of dinner plates crowded so thickly around the walls it was like entering a forest. Blossoms in shades of red and blue and white and yellow peppered throughout, their floral scent thickening the air like a putrid perfume. There was no wind to move the smell, it stagnated in the humidity as fountains bubbled cheerfully in the background.

“What are we doing here?”

You ignored the question. “Can you firebend in here?”

Wonwoo conjured a small flame in his palm but with the abundance of moisture it swiftly began to choke and flicker. “You came to a greenhouse for what exactly?”

You started to answer but a knock at the door interrupted.

As the footman entered to announce Lord Galin’s arrival, Wonwoo moved towards the wall next to the door; his station where he oversaw your meetings time and time again. Best to play his part even if you refused to share the script you were operating from.

“Lord Galin,” you smiled in greeting. Every inch of you reverted back into the meekness Wonwoo witnessed that first day in the barracks. A delicate flower, so beautiful you forgot it’s filled with poison.

“Your Highness,” the old man bowed deeply. “You look more radiant than the last time I saw you.”

“I apologize we couldn’t meet in the Azure Chamber. It flooded sometime last night.”

Whatever happened in the chamber last night, Wonwoo figured you fashioned it somehow.

“No apologies necessary, the Solarium is just as magnificent though it is quite humid here.”

“I forget not everyone is as unbothered by it as I am.” You led Galin to the table, taking the far seat so you faced Wonwoo. He kept his gaze trained on the back of Galin’s head.

“Let us eat first and then we shall talk business, yes?” You sat and plucked a slice of pear from a serving plate. “How are your grandsons?”

“Citree just began his tutoring. He’s a very gifted firebender.”

You glanced at Wonwoo over the man's shoulder. “Like his grandfather.”

The puzzle pieces clicked into place in Wonwoo’s head. This was where you’d confront Galin, it’s why you chose a room so humid no flame could survive or thrive in its cradle. You wanted to ensure if Galin thought to retaliate, he’d have no ability to do so. Wonwoo rested a hand on the pommel of the blade at his hip and titled his chin in understanding.

“You flatter me, Your Highness,” Galin hummed.

You continued to chatter about all matters; Galin’s other committees, his wife’s health, the plum orchard on his property in the East. The man talked about himself too eagerly; bumbling through long anecdotes that made Wonwoo’s eyes glaze but you kept a warm smile on your face the entire time. 

A knock interrupted and Sami entered with a new plate of desserts and a wink at Wonwoo. 

“Your Highness, Your Grace,” she bowed and placed the treats in the center of the table. Wonwoo noticed she slipped something from her pocket into your hand.

But Galin didn’t seem to notice, too entranced by the pastries placed before him. “You remembered my favorite!”

“Of course, my Lord. My cook was worried they wouldn’t come out in time but it seems she is a miracle worker.”

You did not eat and Wonwoo wondered if you had them poisoned. 

“Fickle thing, star lace. You can spend all the time and money on the best ingredients, preparing them just right, but if the cook isn’t careful to see the process through then the entire thing is for naught. And then, you have hungry people who are only able to eat their disappointment.”

Wonwoo couldn’t see Galin’s face but his body tensed. He wasn’t sure what new role he was playing in your game. Not a chaperone and certainly not a protector. A witness? An insurance policy? 

You continued, “And if those people were royals, princesses perhaps with the ability to make assassinations look like accidents, well it wouldn’t be very wise of a cook to disappoint her, would it?”

“I have no idea—“

“I’ve heard recent reports of wildfires in the northern provinces. Uncommon but not exactly rare I suppose. How unfortunate would it be for one of those fires to consume the temple Citree is studying at?”

Despite sitting, it was as if you grew an inch taller with each word. Staring down your nose at Galin, Wonwoo wondered how anyone doubted that you were born to rule.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Lord Galin,” you cooed. “I’m only speaking in hypotheticals. However, I suppose that if someone decided to steal twenty thousand gold marks from the crown and leave a trail of evidence, then I’d be left with few options. Strip him of his title, take everything he values…really the possibilities are only as limited as my imagination.”

“What do you want?”

“Forty thousand gold marks and the names of any other nobles who have been cheating the crown.“

“Fort—forty thousand?” he sputtered. “I haven’t got forty thousand gold marks.”

“How unfortunate. You know what I’ve got? A condemned building in the Lower Block and months of documents pretending it’s not. So find forty thousand gold marks by tomorrow evening or you will find yourself mourning your grandsons by the next day.”

So this was diplomacy. Wonwoo’s skin prickled at the realization. It was as if he was witnessing a tsunami preparing to crash into land, taking everything and leaving nothing behind in its wake. Unforgiving. Ruthless. Brutal. Wonwoo softened towards Lord Galin but swiftly remembered the only reason the noble became the target of your rage were his own deeds. Galin was a thief and a liar. This was justice.

“You haven’t told Her Majesty about my deeds, have you?”

“No. I am offering you my mercy but if you prefer to beg for hers then so be it.”

“Fine, but I have no names. I don’t know the other ministers’ deeds.”

Wonwoo doubted that. Where one went, the rest followed. How many other projects were nothing more than shams to line their own pockets?

“Forty thousand gold marks returned to my coffers and a list of names with proof of crimes. Or is there a price too high for your family’s safety?”

Galin tensed, hands flexing at his sides. You warned him Galin was a firebender and Wonwoo recognized the signs of his element. He stepped forward to intervene but found your eyes over the old man's shoulders, a single look and he knew you didn’t need his help. The temperature in the room dropped until his breath puffed in a foggy cloud. Wonwoo didn’t need to see the tea cups to know they were frozen too; the glass walls and ceilings frosted despite the harsh sun beating down outside. The fountains silenced, and the plants twisted like snakes poised to strike. Wonwoo had been terrified of you before, but now he found himself too impressed to think beyond the fact you could send an ice blade through Galin’s throat before either of them realized what happened.

“You will sign these confessions,” you said, passing over the papers Sami slipped you earlier. “In the case you do what is required, then no one will ever discover them. But if you don’t…then I’m sorry for your loss.”

The plants relaxed and the fountains began bubbling enthusiastically once more. Frost receded, and you sat primly, plucking a fig from the tray of fruits as if you were discussing the weather. You wore as many masks as Wonwoo had teeth and the ever shuffling nature unnerved him.

Lord Galin glowered, “I was unaware royalty resorted to blackmail these days.”

“I won’t fault you for it, you don’t seem to be aware of much these days but I’m honored to bring you up to speed.”

After signing the confessions and sealing them, you dismissed Galin, face smooth, the wave threatening to destroy everything in its path receding beneath the surface without a ripple. As if it never existed to begin with.

Galin rose to his feet, wrinkled face red as rose petals, ink staining his fingers. His mouth opened to say more but shut when you raised a brow in question. Wonwoo became a new victim to his indignation.

“Filth!” Galin spat, chest puffed. “Get out of my way!”

You didn’t rise from your seat, or shout, or freeze the air again. Your voice was unnervingly calm, gaze as cold as ice. “Lord Galin.”

“Yes, Your Highness?” he bit without turning back.

To Wonwoo’s horror, your fingers bent at a rigid angle and Galin jerked to face you like a grotesque puppet.

Bloodbending.

It didn’t matter if Galin could bend or even if he had a knife hidden in his pocket. A flick of your wrist turned him into a living marionette, doomed to do whatever crossed your mind.

Wonwoo’s stomach sank. 

One hand held steady and you poured yourself a cup of tea with the other, spoon scraping the bottom of the porcelain cup when you added sugar. “I’ve heard the strangest tales of people drowning on dry land in the Umber Islands. It might do well to warn your daughters of such a phenomenon. They’ll be celebrating the festival there this year, won't they? I’d hate for anything unfortunate to happen to them.”

Galin’s eyes widened with horror and Wonwoo knew his face must have looked the same but you remained unaffected; sipping from your cup. 

“Thank you for sharing, Your Highness.”

“You may go,” you said, hand dropping to snag one of the pastries and pop it in your mouth with a pleased hum.

Galin scurried from the chamber and Wonwoo nearly followed. 

Wonwoo realized, among a great many things, that your threat to Galin is on his behalf; you’d go to the same lengths to get your money back as you would to settle an insult against him. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it’s a drop in the bucket of your ire at the noble, at everyone, at circumstance. Maybe you’d been looking for an excuse to put Galin in his place, flex your power over him completely. 

Wonwoo didn’t need anger on his behalf.

But he also realized he’d like if you were.

In the garden, the scent of honey suckles and damp earth perfumed the air. The clipped bushes and hedges stood proud, like rows of miniature soldiers as they carved a maze towards the ornamental pond bustling with turtleducks. You sat in silence with Wonwoo, pretending to read a novel by a new poet while he actually read his own. It felt odd to have him stand at attention while you relaxed, same as when Han or Sami or Mingyu hung around waiting for some task to do when all you craved was company; more friend than servant but Wonwoo felt more something than friend.

You weren’t sure what he’d think of the ruthlessness you wielded in the Solarium, and a part of you wilted at the idea that you cared so much for his opinion. It’s what had to be done. 

It didn’t stop the sick satisfaction knowing Galin wet himself when you yanked him around by his veins.

Han and Mingyu ensured Galin’s footman witnessed them delivering the fake confession envelopes to the archives while Sami hid the real ones throughout the palace. When Galin visited the archives that night hoping to destroy evidence against, he’d realize the fool he thought you to be was a grave miscalculation. And when he sent a messenger to ensure his grandsons’ safety, you had a spy set to follow; same with his daughters. He’d play right into your web just as you had his but this time you’d win; it was up to Galin to define what that meant.

Wonwoo had not spoken to you since leaving the Solarium and you wondered if it had been worth it. You felt like a child playing pretend; the first trial of being queen, what it would take to keep the nobles in line. You could have turned over his confession to your grandmother and been done with the entire ordeal but you wanted to beat Galin on your own; needed to outmaneuver him without her help.

Only time would tell if you had.

Now, you sat in the gardens and tried to carry on as normal as if you didn’t owe this success to your guard. You trusted him. Not just to protect you if someone should attack, Wonwoo would do that for anyone. You were sure of it. Even with Sami and Han’s constant teasing he would protect them if needed. But it was beyond expecting him to do his duty. He gave you proof, put himself at risk of getting into trouble if you were caught together. He helped you in a way no one else ever could.

You’d have to find a way to thank him later, when the rush of the day wore off and you didn’t replay the hundreds of things you could have done differently.

You knew he wouldn’t appreciate the money from Lord Galin, he’d insist it went back to the people. He liked to read, you knew that much. Maybe a book? But that didn’t feel grand enough to convey the level of your gratitude. Recommend him to Aiko for a promotion? You’d have to ask him.

There were other things you could do for him. Indulge in the urges that plagued you since you spotted him the first night at the warehouses; let him touch and taste and tease as much as he wanted; finish what started against that wall in the market and rekindled last night. It’d be an entirely inappropriate reward but you wanted him and it was a convenient excuse to let him have you.

Wonwoo interrupted your spiral. “You’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

For a moment you thought he meant the fantasies flashing in your head. Yes. Without question. Wanna run to the gardener's shed right now? But when you looked away from your book and towards his face, something unfamiliar clouded his face. Something like awe and fear and disbelief morphed into one.

He meant Galin.

“Yes.”

“Is it that easy?”

You shut your book with a snap; no point in saving the page, you’d have to start from the beginning anyway. “It's not easy.”

Galin’s daughters had been your playmates as a child, before they married and went with their husbands. You attended Citree’s and his brothers’ first birthdays, sent gifts for the Winter Fete every year. It was not easy but Galin made it necessary. Wonwoo didn’t understand. He never would.

Rising with the intent of excusing yourself to somewhere he couldn’t follow, you found one of your guests approaching.

“Your Highness,” Senator Maoki bowed. “I apologize for interrupting you but I was hoping I may accompany you on a walk through the gardens? I’m told you know them best and I’d be honored with a tour.” 

I would rather hang upside down completely naked and recite my family lineage back fifteen generations. 

Senator Maoki was several inches shorter than you with a boyish face, baby fat firmly in place despite his age. He didn’t look old enough to drink let alone wed, and he wouldn’t; not to you at least. But Maoki could serve a purpose now.

You smoothed a hand down your skirt. “That would be lovely.”

He trailed behind as you swept towards the arch leading back to the palace; a short tour through the more impressive parts of the garden, then you could hide away in your room until night came.

“I’ve been trying to introduce myself but your schedule is so packed, Your Highness,” Maoki huffed.

“Lots to do when running a country.”

“It’ll be grand when you're married,” Maoki said. “then you won't have to worry about such things.”

You stopped abruptly. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean to say,” Maoki stammered, “you’ll be busy raising your children so your husband would naturally step in as king.”

“The man I marry would be Prince Consort, not King.” 

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Maoki must have sensed your discontent and scrambled to change the subject. He looked over his shoulder and turned back to say, “Does he follow you everywhere?”

You continued down the pebbled pathway, flowers exploding in the greenery like vibrant fireworks, Maoki and Wonwoo on your heels. “He’s my guard, it’s his duty to protect me.”

“I could protect you, Your Highness.”

You couldn’t protect a block of ice in the South Pole.

Maoki puffed up his chest but looked more like an baby otter penguin than something intimidating. There was a noise behind you that sounded suspiciously like a snort. At least Wonwoo found him entertaining.

“I’m sure you’re very capable,” you dipped your chin to the orange blossoms, their sweet scent offsetting the sour taste of that lie. 

“I’ve never understood women’s affinity for flowers. They’re just silly flowers.”

You drew back to full height, your chin an inch or so higher than the top of Maoki’s hair. “These flowers will become fruit that will feed everyone at the palace. That hardly seems silly to me.”

His eyes rolled. “I guess but not all flowers turn into something useful.”

“So you only see value in things that may be of use to you.”

“No! I mean, yes, but I wouldn’t—”

“Some things’ only use is the comfort they bring by having them near.” Like Wonwoo. The realization jumped at you like a bolt of lightning in broad daylight; you shove it away before thinking too much of it. “Did you not have a favorite toy or blanket as a child?”

“I had a rock.” Maoki declared proudly.

“A…rock?” 

“My favorite rock, come I’ll show you.”

Maoki trudged past, leaving you and Wonwoo alone for a moment. When you look up at him he’s smiling; an amused twist on his lip like he too can’t believe Maoki cuddled with a rock as a child. 

That comfort you described crept up, the warmth in your chest, the knots in your muscles loosening. All by just standing there with him as the birds chirped and the breeze rustled the leaves and swirled the scent of fresh rain and the blooms. You knew the want he brought with him; the urge to touch and be touched, to be pressed into the wall and drag him against you. But this was different. A new urge to stand in silence, knowing Wonwoo stood only a few inches away, and enjoy the gardens in soft silence; share looks you both understood without speaking; laugh at nothing and everything and look to see if he was laughing too. 

“Your Highness?” Maoki called.

“Coming.”

Next to the fountain, Maoki held a stone the size of a fist. “A good rock is a lot like a woman. Some may be unassuming from the outside, but, if you take the time to look at what's within, it can dazzle. Look.” He cracked the stone open and the inside glittered in the afternoon light like a thousand stars captured together.

“That’s beautiful.” If you didn’t have hundreds of things that sparkled then you might have been more sincere in your compliments. You might have bitten your tongue. “Does your rock do anything?”

Maoki frowned. “No, Your Highness. It’s meant to be admired for simply existing, a thing of great beauty and great value that lasts far longer than flowers.”

“But it doesn’t smell as nice as flowers,” you sniffed.

“No, I think flowers might have the advantage there,” he joked back. “Shall we walk some more?”

Walking the gardens is nice even if you’ve traced the same paths so many times there are permanent footsteps to follow. It’s the time of year the grass is as soft as feathers and you wish to toss away your shoes and to feel it beneath your feet; you would if Maoki wasn’t there and it was just Wonwoo.

Another fountain came into view; water trickling down the many tiers in thick sheets to the basin where turtleducks paddled across the surface and fish swam just beneath. Maoki led you around the edge and the turtleducks and fish followed close, expecting the treats you frequently spoiled them with. You focused on ignoring whatever Maoki rambles about, thinking through meetings and to do lists. 

That’s when something crashed into the water behind you.

“Wha—” you gasped. 

Wonwoo sat in the fountain, soaked from head to toe, the fabric of his uniform dark and clinging like a second skin. His eyes blazed, trained on Maoki. “I tripped.”

“You should go change, Captain Jeon. Wouldn’t want you dripping all over the gardens.” Maoki straightened, back rigid as if he was sizing up Wonwoo. A ridiculous sight; like a puppy sizing up a wolf.

The birds no longer sang, and the wind held its breath.

“Are you alright?” you asked, extending a hand.

Wonwoo ignored it, rising to his feet. “I’m fine, Your Highness.” 

The correction is on the tip of your tongue but you bite it back. The last person needing to witness your familiarity with him was Maoki, the horrible gossip. You wanted to laugh; you would have if Wonwoo didn’t look so vicious and Maoki’s face didn’t burn red with fear. 

You tried not to stare as he tugged off his soaked coat, revealing the fabric of his undershirt nearly translucent from the water. Tried as did, you failed spectacularly. What was a woman to do when a man as handsome and defined as Wonwoo stood in front of her practically naked from the waist up? It wasn’t fair to expect anything other than gawking and imaginations.

You could have bent the water from his uniform and left him perfectly dry, continuing your walk with the senator as if nothing happened. You could have turned around and left Wonwoo standing there to dry his uniform with his own body heat. Of the many things you could have done, you decided to leave Maoki to his rocks and give yourself privacy before you scandalized the rose bushes.

“I think I’ll retire with Captain Jeon, I must prepare for tonight's festivities anyway,” you said. 

“But, Your Highness!”

You turned on your heel, a soaking wet bodyguard following behind. What you didn’t see was Maoki and Wonwoo sneering at one another but you guessed as much. You hid your satisfied smile in your sleeve.

Wonwoo soaked in the tub for what felt like hours but knew the sun barely began to set when he returned to his room. You had been whisked into your room by Han and Sami for last minute alterations with the Royal Seamstress and he was clearly not invited by the door slamming in his face. Fair enough, he didn’t need to see you naked. Not after what happened in the bath.

He didn’t have many possessions in his room: a few books, his clothes, a framed picture of his family. It’s why he noticed someone left something on the unused desk in the corner so quickly.

A pristine copy of The Pearls of Drak sat on his desk; not the one ruined by the fountain or more specifically Maiko. The pages were aged and the cover softened, but far nicer than the one Wonwoo owned. 

He brought his books from the barracks with the assumption he’d have a little free time, not realizing he’d need to ration their entertainment. Wonwoo had nothing but time these days. Mornings started late, and you seemed to prefer ending the evening early – at least publicly. He couldn’t sleep well knowing you were just down the hall, or the nights he heard you pacing in the sitting room.

There was another book beneath it. Poems of Stars. The title had faded to the point it was nearly illegible, the leather cover worn to the point it thinned around the edge. Many of the pages were nicked or ripped at the corners, and as he flipped through he found stains from tea cups and smudged ink, the spine creased and broken that it laid flat on almost any page.

He never read it before but someone clearly loved it, poured over the text over and over again. As excited as he was about the books, his heart squeezed at the orange blossom, petals dried and browned, pressed between the pages. 

Some things’ only use is the comfort they bring by having them near…

He knew they were both from you. Were these gifts or loans? Wonwoo needed to ask. The poems were well loved and he doubted you part with it but the fact you left it to him at all, even only temporarily, made him flush.

One second you were asking him to heat the bath you sat in, the next threatening nobles on his behalf, and now you gifted him something you held dearly. Wonwoo couldn’t begin to think what any of it meant.

The idea of you in his room made him nervous, seeing the few things that belonged to him in the space that certainly wasn’t his own. What did you think of it? Of him? How little he had in comparison to you? 

Maybe if he had the money to study he’d be at a university and not in the palace; and if he was at university then he’d never be guard, and if he had that kind of money he’d never have stumbled into the warehouse that one night to fight and lose. He’d never have gone back to fight and win. Never would have fought and lost against you, never would have found you again in that field. 

There was no point in obsessing over what ifs or hypotheticals. But if Wonwoo had, then he supposed if none of this happened, he’d never have a book with a silly flower with no use at all other than the comfort that it came from you.

He dressed and left his room, entering the hive of the main apartment buzzing much like the morning. You were tucked away in your room, out of sight but not for long.

You came out in pink silks, so pale they looked white, and the jewels absent from this morning were back in place, woven intricately through your hair.

Wonwoo found comfort in the fact he wasn’t required to speak, he had no idea what would have come out of his mouth if he did. You didn’t seem in the mood to talk either. After this morning he couldn't blame you.

Rows of chairs filled the Grand Room, a makeshift stage at the front for each man to present his talent. Most of the seats were already full but two upfront were left empty for you and the Queen. 

Servants wove through the clusters of nobles and dignitaries with trays of lemonade and wine, others with plates of cookies. 

Wonwoo stationed himself against the wall at the side of the room, a clear view of you and the performances from the shadows. He didn’t want to miss the bumbling fools embarrassing themselves; it was too good an opportunity to pass up. 

It started innocently enough. Lord Char played a ballad on tsungi horn; Admiral Gyan recited a long winded ode from Poems of Laghima and ended up making up the latter half after he clearly forgot the words; Commander Raza’s dramyin performance was loud and off beat, impressive given he performed solo. Maoki turned a rock into a turtleduck figurine which was almost realistic if the turtleduck’s body had been flattened but its head enlarged.

You accepted it with a tight smile and a small dip of your chin. Someone else would have thought it modest but Wonwoo caught the shake in your shoulders, and the clench of your jaw.

More followed with less than impressive routines: hoop rolling, card tricks, and slight of hand that wouldn’t impress a toddler. Polite claps filled the hall after each stint. 

The entire time Wonwoo cut glances at your face, waiting for flashes of amusement or confusion to match his own. Admiral Gyan danced on clunky feet without music and you hid a smile in a glass of wine, a private smile you look at Wonwoo to share and he’s happy for the shadows because he’s gnawing on his lip to keep from reciprocating. Prince Jao sang, loudly and off key, the look that passed between you and Wonwoo nearly ended with you both in tears of laughter.

Then, Prince Bavruq’s turn came around.

Sami would be disappointed to miss the man shirtless, chest obviously oiled. You peaked back at Wonwoo with an arched brow as if to say ‘Seriously?’

Bavruq flexed and stretched through different tumbles, commanding the water from two large barrels rolled in for his performance. Wonwoo watched with admiration. Obviously the man was a skilled bender but he couldn’t help thinking you were better. Bavruq dropped into a low stance, two arches of water spiraling overhead, and your head tilted in interest. In the light of the candle chandeliers, the water glittered much like the stone Maoki presented in the garden. 

Your eyelids dropped, head tilted in thought. If he didn’t know better then it’d appear you were enamored with Bavruq but Wonwoo saw the challenge. You were sizing Bavruq up, like a predator assessed potential prey. If it came to it, Wonwoo bet on you.

Bavruq froze the water in a spectacular arch, bowing for applause. You clapped politely and Bavruq left the stage. The dread of Sami’s comments later tonight started to root in Wonwoo’s stomach.

“Wonderful!” the Queen turned towards you, her next exclamation echoing through the hall. “You are all so impressive, I don’t know how you will choose a husband.”

Your eyes widened as you floundered. Wonwoo couldn’t believe it himself but he knew this was the plan from the start; however, the Queen clearly desired to speed the entire thing along. All the men that just performed swooped to surround you like moths to a flame, you sneered something to your grandmother before looking at Wonwoo with pleading eyes.

It wasn’t his place to intervene, even if you wanted him to, even if he wanted to. Standing on the sidelines, Wonwoo watched you navigate the viper pit as your grandmother smiled boldly.

Another hour passed before the swarm dissipated. Your smile remained fixed the entire time but Wonwoo noticed the strain in your cheeks, the dull glaze cast over your eyes, the clench of your jaw. When you were finally able to get away, he followed you back to your suite ten paces behind like he always did.

Back in your apartment, you dismissed Wonwoo and others with a wave of your hand, locking yourself in your room without a word. 

In his own room, try as he might, sleep evaded him. Every time he came close Maoki’s sniveling face flashed in his mind, or the panicked look on your face in the crowd of hungry suitors. Or the way you looked at him in the garden, like there was a joke just for you two. 

He couldn’t sleep and he refused to call the kitchens for tea to help so Wonwoo decided to read. He read The Pearls of Drak enough to recite the entire thing in his sleep so he grabbed the new book and flipped through the pages until his eyes caught on “The Belle Dame.”

I met a lady in the meads,  Full beautiful—a spirit’s child,  Her hair was long, her foot was light,  And her eyes were wild. 

Well that certainly sounded familary.

Wonwoo scoured page after page of the poem. How the man yearned for a woman he couldn’t have, enchanted by her to the point of despair. Wonwoo’s chest ached as he read on, hoping for some happy ending. And then the poem ended; no happiness, no peace. The man woke up on the hillside – alone – wandering in ruins forever looking for the woman he loved who will never be found. 

Wonwoo read over and over again, obsessed in his own way, trying to work out a new angle, some way to spin the story into one he’d be satisfied with. But finding that ending proved as easy as finding sleep. After the tenth time, Wonwoo snapped the book closed and shoved it beneath his bed.

He didn’t sleep very well. Every time he verged just on the seam of sleep, a pair of wild eyes stared back at him.

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[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - I Love You, It's Ruining My Life

Summary - Caught between her lover's acceptance and her brothers' relentless cruelty, she struggles to reconcile her intense love with the torment it brings. The boundary between love and pain blurs, leaving her to confront a relationship that both saves and destroys her.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!), mild language, violence (very slight)

Word count - 2360

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

I love you, it's ruining my life, I love you, it's ruining my life.

Being the sister to brothers like Aegon and Aemond was increasingly frustrating, especially with the way they acted towards the only person who provided me comfort in our train wreck of a family. 

Their constant belittling and antagonising of Jace drove me to the brink of despair.

"Bastard," Aemond murmured, laughing quietly. I sighed in frustration, a sense of nervousness and fear settling in my stomach.

"Do tell me why you spend so much time with him?" he continued, sitting down opposite Jace and me in the library. 

Our comforting silence was shattered the moment my two miserable brothers stumbled in.

"Why are you always with him, sister?" Aegon taunted, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "Isn't our company good enough for you?"

"Leave it alone, Aegon," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just go."

"Not until you answer me," Aegon insisted, stepping closer. "Why him?"

"Because he's kind to me," I replied, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and desperation. "Something neither of you seem capable of."

Aemond chuckled darkly, leaning forward. "Kindness? Is that what you call it? He's a bastard, unworthy of your time or affection."

"Shut up, Aemond," I snapped, my patience wearing thin. "You know nothing about him."

Their words cut deep, and their mocking laughter echoed around us. I felt a surge of anger as they continued to hurl insults and call me names for choosing to spend my time with Jace. 

Things escalated quickly, Aemond's sneers turned to taunts, and the tension in the room became unbearable.

"You're nothing but a disgrace," Aemond spat, his eyes filled with contempt.

My patience snapped. Before I knew it, my hand flew across his face with a resounding slap. Aegon's reaction was immediate and violent. He slapped me back, the force of it stinging my cheek and bringing tears to my eyes.

"You dare hit him?" Aegon growled, his face contorted with rage.

"You dare hit me?" I retorted, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and pain.

Jace, seeing red, moved to retaliate, but I grabbed his arm. "Don't, Jace," I pleaded, my voice urgent. "It's not worth it."

"But they can't treat you like this," Jace argued, his eyes blazing with fury.

"I know," I said, my voice softer now, filled with pain. "But please, let's just go."

Aegon sneered. "Running away? How typical. Always hiding behind your bastard."

Aegon’s smirk twisted into something more sinister, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer. "You think this ends with just words, sister? You have no idea how far we'll go to protect what's ours."

Jace took a step forward, his fists clenched. "Say that again, Aegon. I dare you."

Aemond stood, a malicious grin spreading across his face. "This is entertaining but remember, sister, you chose this path."

"I chose to be happy," I shot back. "Something neither of you will ever understand."

I dragged Jace away, my heart pounding in my chest. As we walked, the reality of the situation weighed heavily on me.

By the time we reached his chambers, Jace was seething with anger. He slammed the door behind us, pacing the room with clenched fists. I stood by the window, watching him, feeling the intensity of his emotions radiate through the room.

"They have no right to treat you like that," Jace fumed, his voice low and dangerous. "No right at all."

"I know," I said quietly, my own anger simmering beneath the surface. "But what can we do? They won't change."

Jace stopped pacing and looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and something else, something darker, more possessive. "I won't let them hurt you," he said, his voice rough.

Before I could respond, he crossed the room in a few quick strides and grabbed me by the shoulders, his grip firm but not painful. "I can't stand seeing them treat you like this," he said, his voice intense. "I can't stand it."

His words were a mixture of fury and desperation, and I felt a surge of emotion rise within me. "Jace," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"I know," he said, his grip tightening. "But I can't let you go. I need you."

His words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I looked into his eyes, seeing the storm of emotions swirling there, and felt my own resolve crumble. 

"I need you too," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

Without another word, he pulled me into a fierce, possessive kiss. The anger and frustration of the evening spilled over, turning into a desperate, consuming need. His hands roamed over my body, rough and demanding, and I responded in kind, matching his intensity.

As his lips traced the curve of my neck, a tear slipped down my cheek, lost in the frenzy of our passion. 

I wanted to hold onto him, to lose myself in his touch, but a part of me was screaming to stop, to pull away before I lost everything I had left.

We moved towards the bed in a blur of motion. His touch was both comforting and maddening, a reminder of the love that bound us and the pain that came with it.

Jace practically ripped off my clothes, the fabric tearing in his hands as he exposed my skin to the cool air. There was a wild, almost primal urgency in his movements that I had never seen before, and it ignited something deep within me. 

His kisses were fierce and demanding, his hands exploring every inch of my body with a hunger that left me breathless.

He pushed me down onto the bed, his eyes dark with desire and anger. There was no tenderness, no hesitation, just a raw, powerful need that drove him forward. He entered me with a force that made me gasp, the intensity of his thrusts taking me by surprise. 

"Jace," I breathed my voice a mix of pain and pleasure. "Oh, gods, Jace."

"You're mine," he growled, his voice low and rough. "No one else gets to have you."

It was unlike anything we had ever shared before, a blend of fury and passion that left me trembling beneath him. His thrusts were brutal, each movement more intense than the last. I clung to him, my nails digging into his back, leaving marks on his skin.

The bed creaked heavily under us, each thrust sending it closer to the breaking point. My hands clawed at the sheets, trying to find some anchor in the storm of sensation. His pace was relentless, his thrusts deep and powerful, and I found myself revelling in the intensity of it all. 

It was as if we were trying to exorcise the demons that plagued us, using our bodies to find release from the torment of our lives.

"I can't take it," I gasped, my voice strained from the intensity.

"Yes, you can," he muttered, his breath hot against my ear. "You can take it. You're mine."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, the possessiveness in his tone sparking something wild within me. He grabbed my throat, his fingers tight but not painful, forcing me to look at him. His thumb slipped into my mouth, pressing down on my tongue, making me feel completely at his mercy.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough and authoritative. "I want to see you."

I obeyed, my eyes locking onto his, the intensity of his gaze making my pulse quicken even more. The tension within me built to a fever pitch, a fiery knot of pleasure that grew tighter with each passing second.

Without warning, Jace shifted his position, pulling out of me roughly. I gasped at the sudden emptiness before he guided me onto my hands and knees, the shift in position making my heart race even faster. 

He held my hair in a tight grip, pulling my head back slightly so I had no choice but to look at him over my shoulder.

The angle made each thrust feel even deeper, the intensity of his movements sending shockwaves of pleasure and pain through my body.

"Take it," he growled, his voice harsh and filled with a raw, primal edge. "You're mine, and you will take every bit of me."

I moaned, my voice muffled as I buried my face in the sheets. The sensation of him taking me from behind was overwhelming, his thrusts driving me to the brink of madness. My hands clawed at the sheets, trying to hold on as he continued to pound into me with a brutal intensity.

"Jace, please," I begged, my voice a desperate whisper. "I need you."

"Need me?" he growled, his pace never faltering. "You need me to claim you, to make sure everyone knows you're mine."

His words, combined with the force of his thrusts, pushed me to the edge. Each movement was a fierce assertion of dominance and desire, and I found myself lost in the chaos of it all. My body shook with each powerful thrust, my moans filling the room as the intensity built to an unbearable peak.

"I love you," I gasped, the words escaping from me in a desperate, trembling cry. "Even if it's destroying me."

"I love you too," Jace murmured, his voice rough but filled with a fierce tenderness. "And I'll keep you, no matter what."

I stared at him, my heart aching with a mix of love and dread. 

"Every time I look at you, I feel this unbearable weight on my chest. I love you so much, but it's like a poison, slowly consuming everything I once was. Every smile, every touch, is a reminder that I'm losing myself in you."

His eyes searched mine, the intensity of his gaze softening for just a moment. "But I can't let you go," he said, his grip tightening as if afraid I'd slip away. "I need you."

With a sudden, firm motion, Jace flipped me onto my back. I gasped in surprise, my body exposed and vulnerable. He hovered above me, his eyes intense with a mix of anger and desire. 

His hands were assertive as he began to trace my skin with his lips, leaving marks on my neck and chest.

"You're mine," he said, his voice a low growl as he pressed a hard kiss against my collarbone, sending a shiver through me.

His lips moved downward, exploring the curve of my breasts. His touch was rough, his hands squeezing and pinching, eliciting gasps from me.

"Jace, please," I moaned, my voice trembling with the combined intensity of his actions. "It's too much."

"Too much?" he snarled, his grip on my breasts tightening. "You can take it. You're strong enough."

He continued his actions, his mouth and hands marking and claiming me with an almost frantic urgency. His touch was brutal, each kiss and bite a declaration of his possession. 

The bed creaked violently beneath us, and I felt every jolt of his thrusts reverberate through my body.

The pleasure was overwhelming, a tangled mess of pain and ecstasy. I clung to him, my breathing ragged and uneven. The intensity of his actions drove me to the brink, and I could feel the tension within me reaching its peak.

As we reached the climax, the intensity of our connection reached a fever pitch. The room was filled with the sounds of our desperate, frantic union, the walls echoing with our cries and groans. 

We were lost in a storm of passion, our bodies entwined in a chaotic dance of need and desire.

Finally, as the waves of pleasure subsided, Jace collapsed beside me, his breathing heavy and laboured. He pulled me close, his grip tender yet still possessive as if trying to ground us both in the aftermath of our intense connection. 

The outside world felt distant and unreal, leaving only the two of us entwined.

In the silence that followed, the room felt colder, emptier. I traced the marks he left on my skin, wondering how much longer I could endure this... how much longer I could pretend that our love wasn’t tearing me apart from the inside.

"I'll never let you go," Jace murmured, his voice a tender promise against my ear. "We'll face everything together."

I nodded, my heart still racing, and clung to him with a mixture of desperation and relief. The raw intensity of our moment left me shaken, yet comforted by his presence.

As he held me close, whispering promises of never letting go, a shiver of dread settled in my bones. I knew, deep down, that this love was a ticking time bomb, and when it exploded, it would obliterate everything in its path, including us.

"I love you," I whispered, my voice trembling with a bittersweet edge. "I love you, but it's ruining my life."

Jace's expression shifted, a pained look crossing his face as he processed my confession. His eyes softened, reflecting the turmoil that mirrored my own.

"Being with you makes everything else fade away," I continued, my voice breaking. "But it also makes everything so much harder."

Jace searched my face with a level of tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of our earlier moments.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly. "Did I push you too far?"

I looked up at him, my eyes brimming with a mix of relief and lingering confusion. "I'm alright," I assured him, though my voice wavered.

Jace's brow furrowed as he gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch soothing. "I never wanted to hurt you. I need to know you're alright."

"I'm alright," I repeated, struggling to steady my voice. "Just... a little overwhelmed."

He sighed, his expression softening as he pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. "I apologise if I pushed you too hard."

The warmth of his embrace was a balm to my troubled thoughts, but the complexities of our love remained. Even as I held onto him, the echo of our conflicting reality lingered, a constant reminder of the dual nature of our bond.

Our love was both a sanctuary from the chaos and a source of pain. In a world rife with cruelty and turmoil, our connection was both a refuge and a curse.

"I love you," I said again, my voice breaking under the weight of my emotions. "I love you, and it's ruining my life."

A/n - If the title didn't give it away, yes, this one is indeed inspired by Taylor's song and I promise I've got some Jace fluff written too, some sweetness to balance out all this intense drama.

[moobell55]

His Lady's Love

~Lord Benjicot Blackwood returns home from a border skirmish to his lovely lady~

Trigger Warnings~Description of blood and wounds, reference to battle, Bracken hate, mentions of sex and pregnancy, reader is simply referred to as Lady Blackwood, her features are as you wish but longer hair is mentioned, angst, comfort, and fluff, They're in love your Honor~

The air in Blackwood Castle smelled of rains and unforeseen troubles as the darkness of the evening slowly overcame the Riverlands. The sun had made its way across the sky as a strong storm had formed around the castle; one almost as strong as the Young Lord making his way to his chambers.

The young Lord's dark clothes were stained with blood, the same blood that covered his face in a mockery of freckles and sunspots. His tunic sleeve was ripped open exposing a detestable wound, the sticky blood clinging to his skin like a lover would. His boots stunk of mud and the Bracken's cow field.

But with his head held high with victory the Young Benjicot quickly made his way to his chambers; paying no attention to the filth or blood that dripped upon the ancient stone floors. The Raven Haired Lord only had one thing on his battle worn mind, only one person worth seeing in this forsaken realm.

And so the Young Benjicot hastily burst into his chambers, and his bloodied gaze quickly set upon the Lady of His Heart. She sat in front of the dying fire, the dancing flames shone upon her hair as it cascaded around her. His lady was clad in a smooth night dress, the dress going to great lengths to hide his wife's growing body.

At the sound of the grand door opening she quickly pivoted her head around to be met with the sight of her blood soaked husband. A smile quickly fell from her face as she harshly stood up to meet him but not before Benjicot quickly made his way towards his beloved.

"Benji," her voice was filled with concern as her injured husband quickly but carefully forced her to sit back down.

Her Lord Husband quickly cut her questions off, "The maesters have said that you need to rest my Lady," his eyes filled with nothing but affection for his lady.

Lady Blackwood's eyes narrowed at her husband's mothering tendencies, all the while his arm gaped open and he was stained with blood.

She scoffed, "I could rest if my Lord Husband was not constantly getting into tussles with the Brackens over cattle." Her words spoke of anger but Benjicot could see a hint of fear within his wife's face.

Being neither a Blackwood or Bracken by birth his wife often found the bickering between the two houses to be a great sense of mirth, but this was the first time her Lord Husband had ever been injured.

His lips quivered into a smile, "My lady mustn't worry about me, a Bracken foal stands no chance against the Lord of Raventree," he carefully removed a blood stained glove and stroked his beloved's cheek.

"You are injured, Benjicot," she said as she held his wounded arm. "How can I rest when I know my husband is roaming the Riverlands like a feral mongrel?"

Her gaze fell down to her covered stomach, the evidence of their love showing through the night dress. She tenderly grabbed his clean hand and placed it on her swollen stomach, her eyes once again meeting his.

"I cannot rest knowing that my husband might not one day come back," her eyes glazed over and tears began to form, "that he would leave me a Widow and our child fatherless, all for an endless feud that harms us all."

His lady's words stung more than any wound ever could. Benjicot Blackwood was an honorable and proud man, he sent fear across battlefields, but he never wanted to send fear into his own home let alone his beloved wife.

Benjicot had never been gifted in his skills with words let alone comfort, but the tears that dripped onto his Lady's soft cheeks seemed to jar something from his spirit.

His shaky hands intertwined with his wife over her stomach, his unbloodied hand gently caressing her smooth fingers.

"When I swore to you under our Weirwood Tree I promised I would remain by your side to my final breath, that you would be my Lady until I depart this world," silent tears fell onto her Lady's cheeks as he spoke of their blissful day.

"I should've proclaimed that I will not depart this world without you, that I will grow old with my Lady, that together our children will know peace in the realm," he smiled softly, "that their father will always come home to them, and that his beloved would never fear her husband was lying dead on the border."

A kind smile graced his wife's face and his heart fluttered at the sight, two years into their binding and she still sent tremors through the Young Lord's soul.

He wiped a tear with his unbloodied hand and spoke boldly, "I love you like I love no other, and I promise to honor you for the rest of my life; I cannot promise to end the feud but I will always come home to my Lady and our children." 

Lady Blackwood simply smiled and to Benjicots surprise quickly drew Benji into a loving embrace; his Lady not seeming to mind the filth he was covered in. As his sweet wife embraced the blood soaked man, it felt as if his soul had been cleaned of the lives he had taken. A man as battle hardened as Benjicot knew he did not deserve such a gift, but maybe he’d one day become worthy of such a gift. For his unborn babe that rested within his beloved's Womb, and for the beloved Lady that rested within Lord Benjicot Blackwood's arms. 

As Lady Blackwood was held in her husband's arms she placed a kiss over his clothed heart, it seemed to be the only place on his tunic that wasn’t stained with blood. Tenderly she pulled off his other bloodied glove and brought both hands into a kiss. Soft tears filled her Lord's mossy eyes at the sight, but Benjicot could not find words worth speaking at the gesture. 

“I love you my Benjicot, my sweet protector and my beloved husband; your battle worn hands do not scare me and they never will, and I know you shall always come home to us, but a wife will worry.” Understanding filled Lady Blackwood's eyes, and Benji felt as if he had seen her for the first time like he did under the Weirwood tree years ago.

A teasing smile flicked across her face, “You are filthy Benji, and you have ruined my gown,” her words were not harsh but seemed playful to the blushing Benjicot who now seemed red in the face with his own blood. Realizing him she placed a hand on her stomach and carefully guided Benji into their shared bath chambers, where a filled bronze tub steamed away in the corner. A smirk fell upon Benji's face showing off a hint of his crooked teeth and pulled at the dried blood on his face. 

“Did my beloved know I would return home filthy?” His voice was teasing, as a small blush appeared on his Lady's face.

An equally roguish smirk appeared on her face and it sent Benji's heart ablaze, “Maybe a wife just wishes to bathe with her beloved Husband.” 

Lord Benjicot could do nothing but laugh and pull his beloved lady closer to him and press a soft kiss against her forehead. 

And soon the Lord and Lady of Raventree washed the blood of their bodies together, as a silent promise thicker than the grime on Benjicot filled their hearts. A promise of love and peacefulness for their people and the Babe growing in his dearest wifes womb.

(I hope y'all enjoyed this, I haven't written in a very long time and this is my first House of the Dragon Fic, I've been obsessed with Benjicot Blackwood lately and I hope to write more works for fim :) I'm always taking writing suggestions and Fic requests so if you have any ideas please let me know! )

[mythicmanuscripts]

(Also, Aemond is also a biter but that’s exclusively during sex when he’s completely overwhelmed and he bites hard enough to bruise. He always feels terrible afterwards but you think it’s a small price to pay to see him completely broken down by pleasure)

Hello sir/ma’am/gender neutral term to show respect, I have the physical need to hear further thoughts about this.

Maybe about the first time Aemond does this? And he’s a bit ashamed and all apologetic (he might even cry a little) because he didn’t mean to hurt reader!! But reader just felt so good, and he was so overwhelmed. And aftercare of course because our boi deserves it all

Of course! I’m utterly obsessed with anything to do with Aemond losing control and just letting himself feel.

Subby NSFW Aemond below the cut! It starts out a bit angsty but I promise it ends well.

So to start, Aemond prides himself on being put together and composed. He’s not his brother. No one will ever find him stumbling out of pubs and brothels in the early hours of the morning, nor will he ever make a fool of himself in court through a lack of knowledge. He is good, he is prepared, and he prides himself on his composure.

Except no one ever told him that falling in love can make a person lose all that composure. Perhaps if his first time wasn’t that brothel worker and he didn’t have such a screwed idea of sex that he wouldn’t touch another woman until his marriage, then perhaps he would have expected this. But of course that didn’t happen.

I also think a large part of his poor outlook on marriage would be from witnessing his parents' marriage? Anyone with eyes can see that Alicent is not even slightly in love and just doing what she thinks is best to gain power for herself and her children.

Aemond may avoid sexual contact after that brothel incident, but that's not to say he's naive in any way. He knows the guards would summon Alicent to Viserys's chambers where she would be forced to lay with him before returning to her own bed.

This, he believed, was what marriage meant for noble arranged couples. There was never intimacy or care or warmth, only ever duty and thinly veiled resentment.

So when he meets you for the first time and Alicent says you're to be his wife, he doesn't quite know what to expect but he certainly doesn't expect how reasonable you are? He never expected a friendship to form never mind a relationship and yet he found himself searching for you in crowded rooms before he had even said his vows.

You and Aemond get along better than anyone ever expected and well, Aemond has no fucking idea what to do now.

Pretty quickly you realise Aemond seems to have two states? He’s either cool and calm and very collected, every word he speaks is carefully chosen and no one can get under his skin or get him to reveal anything about himself. Or he’ll be very flustered and whiney and he can’t even string a sentence together, he’ll end up clingy and unsettled, shaking until you pull him into your arms and then only settling when he can hold onto you.

There is no in between. Aemond has never found an in between because he’s never been anything other than composed until you come along and suddenly he’s feeling a whole new range of emotions and for the first time he actually doesn’t want to be closed off?

(Sidenote: the single most important realisation Aemond has is when he realises he actually wants you to see that side of him? He loves you, and you love him, and you’re the one who has made him feel so warm and soft and so… so loved and he realises that he actually wants you to see that? You did that to him, you deserve to see how you effect him)

Anyway, let’s address the actual point now.

The first time things get really intense between the two of you is a few weeks into the marriage, once you're regularly kissing and cuddling and Aemond is beginning to rely on your touches and confidence. Maybe Aemond had even eaten you out a few times. It takes a while of Aemond refusing to let you reciprocate before he finally feels safe enough to let you touch him properly.

The first time you do, you end up stroking him while straddling his thighs. What really ruins him about this is how it goes against everything he ever expected? He's sitting in a comfortable chair besides the fireplace in your shared chambers, he's warm and safe and he feels so... at ease? There is none of the horrid vulnerability he experienced at the brothel but also now of the sterile nature he came to expect as a result of Alicent and Viserys.

Instead it's just... good? That't it. There's nothing complicated or hidden or anything. That's what makes him completely unravel, this unparalleled safety and love that just lets him let go.

He whines and cries and bucks his hips without any care for how pathetic he probably looks. He can't help it, especially not when you're smiling down at him and calling him pretty and stroking his cock.

When he gets close, he warns you and just tell him to let go.

He ends up gripping your hips hard and burying his head in your shoulder as he rides out an orgasm that takes his breath away. He doesn't even realise it until he pulls away, but he bit your shoulder pretty hard when he came.

You felt it of course, and it wasnt exactly pleasant, but the way he smiled at you once he recovered enough and slouches back against the chair without an ounce of tension in his body made it well worth it. He can bite you as many times as he likes if it means you get to see him like this.

He, of course, absolutely panics when he realises. He sees how your shoulder is already turning red and the only reason he hasn't ran out the room is that you're literally on his lap.

You try to reassure him that you arent upset, but your words seem to fall on deaf ears. In the end you have to grab the hair at the bottom his neck and tug hard enough that he stops speaking and gasps as his head gets pulled back. You keep him like that, keeping your grip on his hair tight, as you tell him that you arent upset, not at all. You tell him that you know it wasnt meant to hurt you, and also that you're fine. You arent upset, he's still so good for you.

He calms down enough then to be led to bed.

But the next morning is when a rather interesting development occurs. You wake up to discover a dark purple bruise on your shoulder in the shape of a bite mark. You can see exactly where his teeth were. You touch it and it stings, but you arent upset about it.

What really shocks you though is how when Aemond wakes and sees it, he kinda loses his mind? Not because he thinks he's hurt you, but because you have a mark from him. You've literally got his bite mark on your shoulder how the fuck is he supposed to function now??

[dippedinmelancholy]

I’m back on my bullshit thinking about ACOSF again.

Comparing Nesta and Feyre’s journeys is just so . . .wrong. Regardless of who you like more, when you take the time to reflect on how both of their love stories “end”, objectively, one is at best an abuse victim, at worst a horror story.

Feyre gets everything she ever wanted, absurdly quickly. Five homes, endless power, a baby boy within a couple years of her marriage when many fae try for hundreds of years. Her mate/husband is a piece of shit, but she forgives and loves him regardless. All of the most powerful people in the Night Court, and not a single one who will ever be anything less than an echo chamber for Feyre.

Nesta is berated like a dog for all of ACOSF. She is trapped, only let out to complete tasks, her own body’s abilities hidden away from her, and used as a sexual object to control a man. She is emotionally berated by her jailer while he continues to fuck her. All of her sharp edges are filed down until she is acceptable. When she steps out of line, she is then physically abused via the hike, forced to carry more than her body is meant to endure. The abuse continues mentally, despite the man she is with knowing she is suicidal.

Yet, Nesta endures. She does as she is expected. She breaks. Against all odds, she survives the Blood Rite, despite no one in the Inner Circle caring to try and help her.

She saves the entire Night Court royal family. High Lord, High Lady, son.

By the end, mere months after Nyx’s birth, Nesta still has no place in the Night Court. She is emotionally abused, still. She exists to serve. Her te refuses to defend her, even when her life is threatened. The only home she has is very nearly trapped inside of, being forced to other perform extreme physical activity, or ask another person to let her leave her own house.

Nesta is an abuse victim. I honestly do not care what mean things she’s said to Feyre when they were literal children. I do not care that the “cruel” voice in Feyre’s head is Nesta’s. That does not justify or excuse that Nesta is trapped and emotionally and mentally abused on her best of days. She has nothing in this new life that is hers. Everything is held within the palm of Rhysand’s hand.

Feyre has gotten everything she ever wanted. She has faced no consequences for the hundreds of lives she’s utterly ruined. For the theft or laws she broke. She is loved, cherished, protected, adored.

Nesta is eternally paying the price for childhood sins. She is trapped, violated, and has become the thing her mother wanted her to be. A woman taking the abuse men offer, all for the sake of her family.

Nesta will never see the world. She will never know what the world has to offer for a woman with a good name and coin to spare. Nesta is a horror story.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Taste of depravity. // DARK!Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon (Cole)!Reader (Criston's daughter.)

MDNI, reader discretion is advised.

Summary: Aemond knows he shouldn't want you, especially after finding out you that were Criston's daughter, who was his father figure his entire life, yet he can't help himself but to crave the sweet taste of sinfulness.

A/N: y'all he's dark but not the usual dark, he's just psychotic(?) Idk. No noncon, but he's extremely obsessive towards her, and criston is stressed tf out. // divider credit: @cafekitsune

WARNINGS: dark!aemond, p in v sex, unprotected sex, biting, breeding kink, humiliation, dacryphilia, overstimulation, fingering, virginity loss, tiddy sucking, oral (f. receiving), face sitting, manhandling, profanity, reader is a bastard, aemond insults reader for being a bastard, he gets off of her suffering, he's insane, stressed dad criston, traumatic encounters by criston, dilemma, angst(?), fluff, reader is described to resemble criston so she has dark hair and eyes but no color is explicitly stated, + not proofread.

WC: 7k

Criston walked through the hallways of the red keep, armour clinking against each other as he walked towards a person's chamber who he swore to never involve himself with again.

Rhaenyra.

It wasn't the sudden love for her that made him do this, no, in fact he never even loved her, he had only realised after whatever happened on the ship with her.

It was guilt.

Guilt that he had stained his white cloak, guilt that he wasn't able to refuse, because the power imbalance between them was way too high, he couldn't risk it, burning all his efforts just because of refusing a princess.

He couldn't say no.

He was disgusted with himself afterwards.

He tried to pretend it was love to no avail, convincing himself that Rhaenyra didn't just use him for sexual pleasure, that he wasn't just an object or someone to discard, he believed that she loved him.

But none of that was true.

The events that followed along were obvious, she was married off to Laenor, and recently returned to the keep, pregnant with her fourth child.

It was only then Criston noticed the eldest child.

You.

He tried to think you were the same as Jacaerys and Lucerys, a rumoured bastard born to Ser Harwin Strong, Anyone can easily mistake you for his child itself, but not Criston.

The timing did not add up.

And neither did your features resemble Harwin Strong's.

Dark hair and dark eyes.

Features of him.

There was only one answer, and he wanted to be sure himself.

Which is what led him to visit Rhaenyra, something he would've never done in a thousand years to come.

He sighed heavily, knocking on the door, the guard allotted to her chamber looked at him suspiciously before announcing his presence, to say Rhaenyra was shocked is an understatement, she immediately opened the door, a hand resting on her stomach.

“Ser Criston.”

“Princess.” he greets her by bowing his head.

“Princess- I must speak with you, if you'll allow it.” his tone told her everything, and she looked around, before signalling Laenor, who was in the room, to take the boys to the training yard while she let him in.

He tried not to remember the last time, of what happened when he was with her.

“What is the issue?” she asks him, not wasting anymore time.

“Might I speak plainly, princess?” he asks, face stoic, he looks at him for a moment before nodding, and he takes a deep breath.

“Is she mine?”

Silence falls in between both of them, the way she clenches her jaw doesn't go unnoticed by him, and he clenches his teeth as he swallows thickly, bracing himself for the answer.

He already knew it.

He just needed confirmation.

“Yes.”

And that was enough to send all the waves crashing down on him, he stood there, breathing heavily, it felt as though there had been even more weight placed upon him, more than before.

He looks down, and bows.

“Thank you for your honesty, princess.” He says, “Ser Criston, please do not let this get out.” she pleads to him and he thinks for a moment. “Rest assured princess, I will not speak of this to anyone, for it will sully my reputation as it will do yours.” he says sternly and turns on his feet to leave.

His walk down to the training yard was swift, he was behind his allotted time to train the young princes due to this ordeal, yet he couldn't bring himself to care, all he could think about was you.

He stopped in his tracks down the stairs when he spotted you with your younger brothers, playing around with the wooden sword, they were clearly not training since he was their main instructor, just playing around.

He noticed how you smiled brightly, pretending to stab Jace and he fell, committing to his act of being stabbed by you, “Oh no more princess! I beg your mercy.” he played pretend, which made you giggle.

Then you heard a scoff.

You turned to see who it was, only to find your uncle, Aemond, looking at you with raised eyebrows as if he was judging you.

He was.

“Girls aren't allowed to train here.” he simply says, shifting his weight onto his right leg as he relaxes his grip on the sword before holding it placed down in front of him, leaning both his hands against it.

You furrow your brows, opening your mouth to speak up and reply to him but you are immediately cut off by Criston cole.

“Don't stand too upright my prince, you'll get knocked down.” he interferes with an advice for him, and you close your mouth before giving the wooden sword to Jacaerys.

“Ser Criston, May I stay and watch?” You ask him, eyes wide and pleading.

Normally he would refuse.

Normally.

But this situation was anything but normal.

“I already told you, girls are not allowed here–”

“Yes you may, princess.” He cuts Aemond off, and Aemond rolls his eyes while you smile widely at Criston, “But for your safety, please stand far away.” He tells you and you nod, immediately standing as far as possible.

Criston sighs before beginning the training for the boys.

It has almost become a routine for you, watching them train, Criston allowed you to stay and watch, much to everyone's surprise.

You had been hanging out with the boys, using the excuse of keeping a watch over your younger brothers as an excuse, Aemond did not like this however.

This obviously meant you were spending more time with Criston, it was fun being around him, when the boys would warm up for their training he would occasionally tell you about his achievements.

He has no idea why he's doing all of that, he could just ignore you, but he couldn't bring himself to.

It was a fine day, you were in the dragonpit with your brothers and uncles, Jace was learning new commands for his dragon, and you watched boredly, not understanding the obsession with dragons, you did not have one of your own, but you did not care.

Everything was going well, till you noticed Aemond, looking annoyed and wanting to be anywhere else but here, you obviously knew about his obsessions with wanting a dragon, it wasn't unknown.

The young prince's egg never hatched, leaving him without a dragon. You felt bad, knowing it must be tough to be the only one who has no dragon to ride, except you, but you had long given up the idea of wanting a dragon and accepted that you might not ever have one.

His public interest and the desire for always wanting a dragon so badly was what led to this moment, which altered him forever.

Aegon, Jace and Luke decided that it would be funny to mock him.

So they dressed up a pig and presented it to him, pretending it is a dragon while laughing loudly.

You did not find the situation funny at all, your brothers both laughed cruelly, along with Aegon who made the pig noises, you couldn't even bring yourself to let out an awkward chuckle, because you knew how this situation was incredibly mean.

Aemond obviously wasn't laughing, instead he stared at the pig before swallowing thickly, blinking rapidly, you remained silent, observing him. Prince Aegon left whilst mocking him, laughing along with your brothers and exiting the pit while you stayed back, and watched Aemond, who just seemed to be staring at the pig.

“Uncle? I-”

“Don't.” He cuts you off, his voice trembling, as if he was moments away from crying.

He was.

“Aemond.” You stand next to him, you watch as he shoots a glare at you, gritting his teeth.

“Are you here to rub salt on the wound?” His voice was laced with venom and hatred even though it was trembling.

“Why are you always speaking to me like that? I've never been anything but nice to you. Let me guess, you are going to assume that it was I who planned this as well?” You snap, words spilling out of your mouth before you could stop them, his eyes widened.

“I wouldn't be surprised if it was you, after all, it would be your way of getting back at me.” He shakes his head.

“I would never do that to you.” you mumble, which causes his eyebrows to raise slightly in surprise, “I know- well at least I think I do know- what it feels like to not have a dragon, mine didn't hatch either, Aemond.” you try to comfort him.

“It is just that, I simply do not care, I've accepted it.” You shrug, and he scoffs, “A true Targaryen is to have a dragon, I can understand why it wouldn't hatch for you- cause you're... plain.” He stops himself mid sentence, clearing his throat. You look down, fidgeting with your fingers as the air turns awkward, you expected Aemond to leave but he instead stays.

“I- I did not mean it that way, I simply meant that we are both different individuals, not having a dragon might not bother you, but it bothers me, it is a big deal for me, especially if even someone who is a wastrel like my brother has one.” He speaks up and you look at him, maintaining eye contact with him.

You don't know what came over you, but you suddenly grab his hands and hold them tight, “You will have a dragon one day.” you reassure him and he looks down, “You think so?” He asks and you nod, “I'm sure of it.” You smile but he doesn't return that smile.

He simply grabs your hand before turning around and leaving the dragonpit.

To say things changed between you and Aemond since that day would be an overstatement, his behaviour towards you remained the same, except this time it feels as though he is purposefully saying hurtful things, to get a reaction from you.

Is this what you get for being kind?

Yes.

But something did slightly change.

It was the way Aemond looked at you.

He might be mean, but he immediately comes to your defence when it is not him who is doing the mockery.

You learnt it when Aegon was mocking you and Aemond stepped in, defending you, same with your brothers, who would sometimes crack jokes that would be way too over the line, only to have Aemond shut them down.

You had mixed feelings about this.

It was a normal training day, you watched as Criston trained the boys, deciding to focus more on Aegon and Aemond instead of Jace and Luke, but it didn't matter since they were also learning along.

Until a certain presence had come in.

Harwin Strong.

You watched the interaction happen, the air became intense as Criston felt insulted, not wishing to take any criticism from someone from city watch.

Then they fought, Harwin threw punches at Cristons face until he was stopped by the guards, “You act as if you're any better, your attention towards the princess is also quite the unique thing.” Is what Harwin slowly said on top of him, but everyone was too scared and focused on the fight to stop to even care.

Things started to go downhill from then onwards.

Aemond and you have gotten slightly closer and things seemed to be less intense between you both, that was until your mother whisked you and your siblings away to dragonstone.

Criston was devastated, angry but he couldn't do anything about it, nor stop it.

Until driftmark.

He got to see you again, you stood there beside rhaenyra and your siblings watching as the funeral progressed, and clearly understanding the venomous words Vaemond aimed at your family.

Criston fought the urge to leave Alicents side and instead spend it with you, he wants to be closer to you, he wants you to remember him, maybe one day you'll even find out that he is your father, and when you do, he doesn't want you to be disappointed in him.

He made many plans, that if everything went well then your family would visit the keep often.

Of course until Lucerys took Aemond's eye.

He knew the drift between both sides of the family was clearer than ever, especially after Alicent lunged at Rhaenyra in anger with a knife.

Aemond did his best to interfere.

To everyone's surprise, when you came to realise what happened, you immediately sped to Aemond's side, and looked at his face before wincing at the raw sight, he was holding his mother before he turned and his gaze fell upon you.

Your lips trembled slightly as you looked at him softly and with pity, but he didn't return anything back, not even a scowl.

And that would be your last interaction with Aemond, or anyone on that side of that family at all.

Up until years later.

Many years have passed, and Criston tried to forget about everything, but he couldn't. Instead, as the years went by, he grew more worried but curious, he wondered if you'd grown into a woman, he wondered if you look even more like him now.

Luckily all his questions would be answered when he found out that your family would be returning to the keep, as Vaemond had made a petition against Lucerys.

Aemond was far too excited to see you too again, he remembers taking nothing but pleasure in the expressions you'd make when he'd be mean to you, they were forever etched into his memory.

Since the incident from the driftmark, Aemond grew into a much more calculated yet even more mean of a person, his words would be laced towards venom against the ones he despised, dripping ever so sweetly from his tongue.

Your arrival was anticipated by both the men patiently.

And day had arrived just like they hoped, you stepped into the walls of the red keep once again, yet everything seemed to lose its familiarity with the family sigils being replaced to that of the seven.

You did not come across both of them till the next day, until you went into the training yard with your brothers, you watched as they reminisced and smiled, you looked over the spot you always stood whenever you would watch them train, the spot looking smaller since you've grown in height.

However you felt the stares of the people prod at your back and you looked at them to see all of them whispering about your and your siblings obviously non valyrian features.

You try not to let it get to you, and distract Luke from the judgemental gazes, considering how he's already been feeling insecure due to the petition.

That was until you heard a noise in the background, and watched as the people gathered in a shape resembling a circle, you quickly patted Jace and Luke and gestured to them to come with you to watch what was going on.

You immediately spotted the familiar face of Ser Criston Cole, making a wide smile appear on your face as you watched him sway his weapon against who you weren't sure was Aegon or Aemond as the back was turned.

Ser Criston hasn't changed since the last time you saw him, you watch as he swung his weapon towards the Prince, and he countered that attack and blocked it with his sword, causing Criston to withdraw his weapon and take the Prince's previous spot, which lead to the Prince now facing you.

You immediately recognized him the moment you spotted that eyepatch, sitting snugly over his left eye.

Aemond.

Something about seeing him like that made heat travel down your body, is this what they call desire? You swallow thickly. He has indeed grown into a very handsome man, the loss of his did nothing but elevate his looks even further.

The trial match soon came to an end, with Aemond's blade pointing towards Criston's collarbones.

“Well done my Prince, you'll be winning tourneys in no time.” Criston praises, “I don't give a shit about tourneys.” Aemond answers while regulating his breathing, his grip loosens on the sword as his eye lands on you and your siblings, “Nephews,” the sword in his hand is spun slightly as he lowers it, “'Have you come to train?” he asks and that's when Criston's attention turns towards you and his eyes widens.

Jace's throat tightens as he tries to form a reply, not expecting Aemond to be this well trained over the years.

“Niece.” Aemond addresses you next and you look at him, “It has been a while.” He comments, his eye scanning your figure from toe to head, before his lips twitch, forming into a smirk.

“It has, Aem— Uncle.” you reply, cutting yourself off before you spoke his name.

“Princess.” Criston greets you and you smile, “Ser Criston, It is a pleasure to see you again.” you tell him and he nods, giving you a tight lipped smile. He's noticed how you resemble him even more now, which makes him happy but also fear.

“OPEN THE GATES!” you hear a distant voice yell and watch as the gates open.

Vaemond Velaryon enters the premises with guards around him, the chatter and everything falls to silence as the only noise now that can be heard are the footsteps of the guards as they accompany him.

The way he looks at Luke doesn't go unnoticed, causing already shaken up Luke to shiver further in fear, but you hold his hand, reassuring him.

You travel to your chambers patiently and prepare yourselves for the court hearing that would likely be held in a few hours, you sit down and pace around the chambers that were given to you when you had arrived here.

You hear the sound of a stone sliding in your chambers and you turn around to see none other than your uncle aemond emerging from behind a tapestry in the chamber.

“Aemond? What are you doing here? You shouldn't enter a lady's room like that.” You question him, calling him by his name instead of uncle like you did earlier.

He makes his way over to you, his presence was intimidating as he looked over to you. “Pardon my rudeness but how can I contain myself when my niece, who I haven't seen for the past few years appears in front of me?” He quirks up an eyebrow, his eye scans your figure once again, but this time, his gaze lingering more on your breasts before he meets your eyes once again.

“Especially when she's all grown?”

“When the object of both my desire and ire is right in front of me, how can I not?” His hands rest on your hips, and your mouth falls open.

“You are being inappropriate-” You protest.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you did not feel something when you first saw me.”

Fuck.

You thought you covered it well.

“What? Did I catch the cat in the act?” He mocks you and you glare at him, one of his hands travels to your cheek, tilting your head upwards before he descends his lips on your own.

You're shocked at what he's doing, but you don't protest, your mind becomes hazy as he continues kissing you, lips moving against yours in a rhythm, he swipes his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for entrance and to your own surprise, you allow him to by slightly parting your lips open.

The kiss elevates further from there, his tongue fighting against yours as you kiss him back, your hands grip his shoulders as leverage while his own grab your waist pulling you close, it gets rougher, hungrier but more passionate.

He pulls away for air looking at you while breathing heavily, you hold him by the face and pull him into a kiss again and he returns it immediately.

Your head spins as Aemond walks you backward until your back comes in contact with a wall, his grip tightens on you further, he pins your hands above your head as pulls away, and you look at him with pleading eyes, your lips swollen from the kiss.

“Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful for a bastard.” He comments and you frown, “Everyone knows, they just don't say it in front of you.” He says meanly, “I could have your tongue for that.” You threaten him but he smirks, “Hmm? Really?” He mockingly questions and you try to glare at him, but it doesn't seem much threatening.

His free hand hikes your skirts up, and travels upwards to your cunt, you gasp when you feel his cool fingers press up against your clit, then travel slightly downwards where your wetness was beginning to leak from.

“Don't fucking tell me you're getting wet all because I called you a bastard?” He questions, and you try to deny it but your body betrays you by making you clench your thighs together in arousal, he chuckles meanly and you bite your lip to try and fight the humiliation you are feeling.

“You seem to like it when I'm fucking mean to you, don't you? Seriously, you're getting wet from this.” You heave when you feel him pinch your clit, pulling on it meanly, causing you to squirm.

“Yes, yes you fucking do.” He growls.

“Aemond-” You choke out his name and he replies with a hum, “Hm?” He peppers kisses against your neck as you try to form sentences but you cannot seem to do so because of the way his fingers are rubbing small circles onto your clitoris.

“We s-shouldn't— it's unseemly of us oh–? ahh—! fuck.” You throw your head back against the wall when you feel him insert a finger into your awaiting entrance, He slowly moves it in and out, he lets go of your hands which were pinned to the wall, causing them to immediately fall on his shoulders in an attempt to balance yourself.

His free hand trails down to your bodice, he pulls the material down, freeing your breasts, he mutters a curse before peppering kisses to the flesh, and biting harshly which chokes out a whine from your throat. He pulls away and watches as the shape of his teeth get imprinted into the flesh of your breast, marking you.

His mouth then descends onto your nipple, you let out a loud and a lewd moan when you feel his finger curl up and hit the sweet spot inside of you while simultaneously his tongue flicks and plays with your bud.

He inserts another finger inside slowly, stretching you on them and your grip on his shoulder tightens, nails digging into the material of his clothes.

“Are you a maiden?” He asks you suddenly, pulling away from your nipple and you look at him for a second, processing what he said before nodding shyly, which causes him to smirk. “No wonder why you are clenching around my fingers so tightly, Relax.”

He speeds up his pace, hitting the sweet spot over and over again, you clench your eyes shut when you feel a type of tightening begin to form into your lower abdomen.

“Open your eyes.” He commands, you obey and look him directly in the eye, “Good, I want you to look at me when you peak.” He kisses your cheek, and as if right on cue, your orgasm hits you like a sudden storm.

Everything around you feels hot as the pleasure ripples through your entire being, making you moan his name out loud.

He slowly pumps his fingers in and out, letting you ride your orgasm out before placing a kiss to your lips and pulling his fingers out, letting your skirts fall back to place again, and puts the same fingers in his mouth, licking up the evidence of your essence, a satisfactory hum leaves his mouth.

Before he could advance any further, there is a knock on your chamber door, before he watches it slightly open, quick on his feet, he swiftly leaves your chambers through the secret passageway, and you try to fix your clothing, pulling up the material back up to your breasts and patting down your hair.

You watch as the knight enters your chamber and bows to you, “Princess, the court session is about to take place, your presence has been requested.” he tells you and nods, clearing your throat, “I shall be there.” He bows his head before leaving the room and you quickly fix up your appearances before leaving your chambers.

Heart racing at the thought that you both would've been caught if you hadn't reacted quickly.

Aemond, in an attempt to move to his chambers quickly, accidentally took the wrong route and ended up on the path to the small council room, which he figured out when he heard the voices of his mother and Ser criston.

“What do you mean by this criston?” He was about to turn back but halts when he hears his mother talk. “I have noticed your attention on the eldest daughter of rhaenyra, are you infatuated with her?” Alicent asks plainly, voice laced with concern. “No- my queen, she-” Aemond hears Criston sigh, “I suppose I cannot hide it any longer.” This makes Aemond grit his teeth, did Criston actually like you? He couldn't let Criston have you.

“She is my daughter.”

“What?”

What?

Aemond's eye widens as he hears those words leave his mouth, and Alicent is shocked as well. “How long have you known this for?” Alicent questions, “For many years, few months before driftmark.” He tells her, “I apologise my queen, I should've told you it immediately but- I was concerned for her safety.” He confesses and bows his head in shame.

“All is forgiven Ser Criston, Was this from the time you had laid with rhaenyra?” She continues to ask and he nods, “I am glad it is just that, because I plan to betroth Aemond to her, and with what you've just revealed to me, I think I can confidently go through with this.” She tells Criston of her plans, and this satisfies Aemond very much, but there is the fact that he cannot look at you the same anymore, for you were the daughter of someone who was his father figure his entire life.

Besides, he wondered what would Cristons reaction be if he found out what Aemond actually did to you mere moments ago.

“Prince Aemond? Your grace, I do not question your decision, but they don't seem very close, from what I remember, he had always seemed quite rude towards her.” Criston speaks up, he tries not to show the distaste for the choice as he has no say in this, because he cannot rightfully claim you as his daughter. “They will make up eventually, they're both grown ups now, I'm sure they'd put their childish quarrels aside.” Alicent answers him, Criston bites his lip, preventing himself from saying anything. “Besides, she is next in line to the throne, I know there will be complications if we crowned aegon, so we'll retreat and let Rhaenyra rule, after that, Y/N will ascend, at first I was reluctant to have a bastard on the throne, but I changed my mind after your confession.” Alicent reveals her true motives to him which makes Criston internally punch himself for revealing that, he still thinks Aemond isn't the right man for you.

“It is not uncommon knowing that after their marriage- she will eventually give birth to Aemond's children, his heirs, our blood, and they will definitely inherit the throne right after her, putting our blood on the throne.” Criston nods as he listens to Alicent speak.

They fall silent for a bit thinking through it.

“My Queen, the court session is starting.” A guard comes inside the council to inform her, Aemond immediately goes back to his room before cleaning and composing himself and then making his way to the throne room.

The court session was progressing, with Vaemond backing up his reasons to sign a petition against Lucerys, and everyone in court listened intently.

But Aemond's attention is somewhere else, on you, who is currently squirming under his gaze, trying to avoid it, this makes Aemond smirk a little, with all he had overheard from his mother, he could only think of one thing.

You bearing his heirs.

How amazing you'd look with your stomach swollen, carrying his seed deep inside you, this thought alone makes his cock ache.

It was one boring session, until Viserys arrived, and knowing Vaemond had nothing to lose anymore, considering he already lost, he chose to direct vile insults towards you, your brothers and your mother, which led to Vaemond's head partially being cut off by Daemon.

This shocked everyone and Viserys fell weakly onto the chair.

“And one more final— hh. thing.” He wheezes out, “The queen- has proposed a. be- be-brothal between Aemond and Y/N, w-w-which. i. hh accept, it is a perfect way to reunite our drifted houses.” He manages to get the words out. Your gaze turns towards Aemond whose smile just got bigger and you look away immediately blush creeping up your cheeks, frankly, all you could think about was his fingers inside you.

Viserys ends up having a coughing fit, which causes Alicent to panic and scream for the maesters.

Viserys doesn't seem to have left more than a few moons to survive, so they plan a wedding in one moons time, to have the king witness it before he dies, and also so that Rhaenyra can't go back and change her decision.

Dinner that night went peacefully, with Aemond right beside you, Aemond was too focused on you to the point he didn't notice how Lucerys chuckled when the pig had come in, you did, so you shot him a stern but warning gaze, which made him shut up.

You were back in your chambers again, the maids undid your hair, letting it fall freely and got you ready into your bed clothes, you decided to sit by the fire and read a book when you heard the familiar sound of a stone sliding again.

You lifted your head and found Aemond, also in his bed clothes who was coming towards where you sat, “What are you reading?” He asks and before you can close the book, he snatches it from you and views it.

“A caution for young girls?” The name alone is enough to make blush creep up your cheeks, “If I remember correctly, isn't this book forbidden?” He teases and you get up from your seat and grab the book from his hand, turning away from him before placing it on the table.

“What do you want?” You ask, not bothering to turn back.

His arms snake around your waist and wrapping them around it, he nuzzles his nose into the back of your neck and places kisses on it, “I think you know what I want very well.” He mutters, still kissing your neck.

“I'm afraid I don't.” You try to play clueless, not wanting to react to what he's saying but all of that comes crumbling down when he gropes your breast before squeezing it tightly. “Don't you?” He questions and turns you to make you face him.

His hand moves to your cheek, “You want me to remind you? Where we left off?” He asks and you stare into his eye, not speaking anything, trying to deny him. That doesn't last long when he presses his lips against yours, and once again you're kissing him back, he is just so addictive.

He suddenly pulls away, and throws you over his shoulder, catching you off guard and makes his way towards your bed before throwing you on it, causing you to bounce slightly.

“I cannot hold back anymore.” He hovers over your form, trying to contain himself, “Don't.” that one singular word leaving his mouth was enough to break his restraint, and before you know it, he's on top of you kissing your face, neck, breasts as he paws at your nightgown, trying to remove it off you.

Frustrated, he tears it off your body, ripping it into shreds before throwing the fallen pieces away.

Your body is in full view to him now, you feel so vulnerable yet aroused, you rub your thighs together to soothe the ache forming in between them. “Spread them.” He speaks and you're confused until you realise he means your legs, you feel ashamed to do so. “Did you not hear me? Spread those fucking legs.” His voice becomes impatient now, causing you to spread your legs.

You lay there, humiliation poking every inch of your body as he remains silent, staring at your cunt, you shiver when you feel the cold breeze hit your core, and then suddenly Aemond moves swiftly, giving you not enough time to realise what he was doing.

“Wha—” your question is cut off short when you feel his warm mouth on your sex, making you shriek in surprise when his tongue laps at your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves up and down, “Seven fucking hells, you taste divine.” he mutters against your cunt before devouring it once more, his tongue prods at your entrance, before entering inside you, whenever he moved, his nose would bump against your clit causing stimulation.

He suddenly pulls away and lays down next to you before pulling you on top of him, you end up straddling his waist and lay your arms on his chest as support. “Sit on my face.” He demands, “But-”

“Did I fucking stutter? Sit. On. My. Face.” He growls and cuts you off, making you shiver and you obey him changing positions to where your cunt is hovering right above his mouth, his warm breath hitting it.

He grabs your thighs harshly, annoyed at your reluctance and pushes your cunt into his mouth before lapping at it like a man starved, you throw your head back at the pleasure.

You move your hips unknowingly to aid your building pleasure, and it is when he nips at your clit that you feel your peak coursing through your lower body, you choke out a moan of his name.

He once again changes position by laying you on your back and moving up a little, his lips meet yours again, and you wince at the tangy taste of your own juices.

Aemond pulls away, “Gosh, I can't believe a bastard like you has me fucking cunt struck.” He whispers in your ear, “D-don't call me that.” you tell him, “But you seemed to to fucking like it earlier.” You stay quiet to that, not wanting to admit it.

“I know of your tastes my lovely niece, do you even know who your father is?” He asks and you shake your head no, “It's Ser Criston Cole.” He tells you and you look at him shocked, “I overheard him talking to my mother earlier, how does it feel? Lady Cole?” and you remain quiet.

Ser Criston Cole was your father?

It all made sense now.

“But enough of that, your attention should be on me.” He grabs you by your cheeks, squeezing them, “My dirty little whore of a bastard, with a cunt so divine that it puts gods to shame.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, letting me do all of this to you, do you have no dignity? you're crumbling the moment I try to do something.” He says meanly and tears prick at the corner of your eyes, it wasn't anything new, he had always been this way, ever since he was young, you knew this was humiliating, you knew this was insulting, seven hells, you're even almost crying at his words, yet you can't help but get wet at everything he's saying.

“You're mine, you have always been mine, got it? mine to mock, push you around, fuck, breed and do whatever as I please.” He growls, you lay there and nod, “Gods, it feels so good to be so mean to you, I hate to admit it, but I love seeing you cry.” He wipes the tear that has escaped your eye with his thumb before putting the very same thumb into his mouth and tasting it.

He pushes you further up the bed, before he sits back, he undoes his breeches, and pulls it off along with his tunic, leaving him bare just like you, and you swore that the gods favoured him much more than others, his body seemed as if it was sculpted and moulded personally by the smith himself.

He spreads your legs wide before placing himself between them, his cock rubbing against your folds, “Do you want my cock so bad? Your cunt is fucking weeping for it.” He questions and you nod, “Use your words.” He orders you, and you swallow, “I want your cock.” You speak slowly.

“Beg for it.” He smirks when he sees your eyes widen, and you take a deep breath, trying to form words, he taps your clit with his cock causing you to squirm, “Please-” You managed to choke out. “Please what?”

“Please—! Please I want your cock inside me so fucking badly.” You say, and that is enough for Aemond before he positions his tip at your entrance. “This is going to hurt okay?” He tells you, and you nod.

And gods did it hurt.

His cock was too big, the stretch was unbearably painful, yet Aemond was patient, pushing in slowly and slowly until he was fully sheathed, it took him every grain of control to not start ramming into you like a wild beast, especially the way your cunt was clenching around him, he breathed heavily, letting you relax and adjust to him.

“I'm going to move, stop me if it's too painful.” He tells you and you stare at him, “I thought you found joy in my pain.” you mutter which makes him chuckle, “I do, but even i have my limits, and this is where I draw the line.” He tells you, which makes you smile, “You can move now, Uncle.” you tease and he grits his teeth before drawing his hips back and thrusting into you harshly, you wince as the first few thrusts cause you slight pain, until you relax and eventually get used to it, and slowly get pleasure from it.

But this pace wasn't enough.

“Faster- Aemond–” You heave out as your body jerks up and down beneath, and just like you pleaded, he swiftly increases the speed. “You're a filthy fucking bastard, you know that?” Aemond sneers at you, grabbing you by the cheeks as he brutally thrusts into you. “Answer me.” he groans into your ear and you nod, earning a light slap from him on your cheeks, “With words.” he growls.

“Yes, I- know!” you moan when you feel the tip of his cock hit the sweet spot, hands gripping the linen sheets tightly as he bullies your hole. “And who does this filthy bastard belong to?” He asks, sickeningly sweet, hands leaving your cheek to grip at your breast, twirling your nipple in between his thumb and index finger.

“Y-You.” You gasp when you feel his hand trail down to your cunt and press up against your bundle of nerves before rubbing small and gentle circles on it, elevating your pleasure. “Good girl, you're so good for me, aren't you? Good for your uncle, you'll let me breed you right?”

“Hmm–! Yes! I'll let you breed me– oh fuck right there– yes–” You throw your head back against the bed as you feel him hitting and ramming into your sweet spot again and again and before you know it, your peak is ripped through you brutally, causing you to clench around his cock, making him moan loudly.

“Fuck-” and with a gasp, Aemond finishes inside you, his hot spend coating your inner walls, creating a warm feeling, he slowly rides his orgasm out, staying in until his cock begins to soften.

“You'll look so beautiful with my children, your breasts will swell with milk, and I'll indulge myself in them, because you're mine, you belong to me and I shall do as I please with you, and you'll let me right?” He asks and you nod, “Such a fucking pretty bastard, and my soon to be wife.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

He pulls you into his arms and you both fall asleep, too tired to even clean up because of the eventful day.

A month later.

To say Criston was disappointed would be an understatement, he didn't hate Aemond, but he didn't like him to the point where he would watch his only child, that too who he cannot claim openly, be wedded off to him.

But at least you look happy and content with him.

After the vows were said and you were officially declared as Aemond's wife, Criston left the scene not being able to control his emotions, he stood at the very same place where he almost took his life, gazing up into the sky, “Ser Criston?” He heard your voice and immediately turned to you, “Princess.” He bows, “You can drop the formalities.” You tell him with a smile and he looks at you questioningly, “Fathers shouldn't be formal with their daughters after all.” You explain and his eye widens before he looks around to see if anyone heard that.

“You- know it?” He chokes, not being able to hold back his tears anymore. You nod “Aemond told me.” You tell him, and he immediately hugs you and you return the hug, “I am sorry, I failed you, but I had my own reasons, even then, I still apologise, I wish I had been there for you more.” He cries and you pull away from the hug, “It is fine, I can understand.” you reassure him and he smiles at you.

Everything seemed to have ended happily.

Though there was that one thought which Criston had that was immediately forgotten when you pulled him back to the wedding.

How did Aemond even come to know of it?

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡