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lovebugism · 2 months

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✶ ┄ PAIR OF WINGS, GENTLY USED !

part one | part two

summary: following the aftermath of rook's rest, aemond struggles to convince you of his innocence while aegon struggles to stay alive. the three of you come to the striking realization that love is not always soft – sometimes it feels like dragonfire. (12k)

pairing: aemond targaryen / f!reader / aegon targaryen

contents: established realtionship(s), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of gore and violence, swearing, cheating, smut 18+, threesome (sorta? but not really?), cuckholding, exhibitionism & voyeurism (aegon likes to watch)

The battle waging across the sea startles you from sleep. You rouse before sunset to your heart unfurling behind your ribcage, pierced and bleeding out, as though you were one of the many soldiers reaching their end on the battlefield.

You wake from the nightmare only to enter the next — a raven, sent at dawn, from an allied house along the bay. Written in splattered ink along the worn parchment is a report of injuries sustained by the king. Alicent reads them aloud to you and Helaena, with shaking hands and a trembling voice. Your heart’s beating too loudly in your ears to understand her.

“His Grace fell violently from many leagues above the ground,” she managed to recite through choked-back cries. “Riddled with dragonflame, His Grace’s armor has melted heartily to his flesh—”

You find yourself planted firmly on the steps of the Dragonpit without a clue of how you got there, dressed only in your thin nightgown and thinner slippers. You suppose it was muscle memory that carried you there. You think it must be muscle memory, still, that has kept you standing in the same place — unmoving as the lilac sunrise turns sickly grey with rainclouds, without any food or drink offered by the handmaidens you have since sent away.

It is a profound and heavy thing, you realize, to be alive in the fresh early morning, when the world is so broken and ending for so many. The thought of Aegon dying in the sweetness of late summer makes you weep. You choke back burning tears in wait for his brother’s return — Aemond Targaryen, your husband, your wound — from which there has been no word.

A black, ponderous cloud of worry fogs your mind. You can see it all so vividly; feel it all as if you lived it — a death so horrid and beyond your comprehension. You wait and ache while your brain hums with madness.

You hear Vhagar before you see her.

The great beast shifts storm clouds with its leviathan wings, shaking the ground with each slow and heavy flutter as she nears the ground. Even from here, you can see the holes piercing her thin, satiny skin.

Your racing heart drops to your swirling stomach at the thought of Aegon falling from such a height — still saddled to a dying Sunfyre, looking directly at a certain death, unable to stop its coming. The thought of Aemond being with him during what the survivors of Rook’s Rest are calling The Night of A Thousand Suns fills you with agony.

Your worry for each of them pricks your skin, from the tips of your fingers to the bottoms of your feet. The entirety of your grief consumes you.

The ground trembles when Vhagar lands in the depths of Dragonpit, just barely fitting within the stone confines of her stable. The beast stills long enough for Aemond to unclip himself from her saddle and slide off her back. Then she’s off again, to the northernmost forest of King’s Landing, to heal by herself in the nest she made a century or so ago.

The gust of wind from her wings takes your breath away. Or perhaps it’s just the sight of Aemond, in the flesh, seemingly unharmed despite the worries that had been plaguing you all morning. Your mind swirls with deeper concerns instead, with horrid thoughts you’ve been choking back like bile since the Raven arrived.

You stand in place on the top step while Aemond stalks towards you. He peels off his leather gloves and dismisses the dragonkeepers with a wave of his pale hand. You feel like your heart’s in your throat when he stands before you, two steps downward, and of nearly equal height to you.

You grip his sharp jaw between your fingers, wild eyes darting over his face in search of any sign of harm. Aemond lets you observe him. He knows you need it.

“I’m alright,” he promises in a soft monotone.

You take hold of both his arms then, despite his assurances, like you have to see them for yourself. Your gaze falls up and down his form as you hunt for remains of an injury — a scrape on his skin, a tear in his leather garb, a smear of ash from a dragon’s flame.

You find nothing.

It is hard to be relieved by such a notion when his brother verges on death at this very moment.

“I am alright, my love,” Aemond repeats, firmer now, as if it’ll lessen the leaden weight in your chest.

He lifts his lanky fingers and wraps them around your wrist, guiding your hand away from his jaw when your nails start to dig unknowingly into his skin.

He peers at you with his lone eye and waits for you to kiss him — or to hug him, perhaps — something overtly affectionate that comes so naturally to you that has hitherto been very foreign to him. He expects you to be gladdened by his presence after such a tumultuous battle, of which he presumed would bring you closer.

With his brother now mutilated by dragon flame, Aemond flew back to the Red Keep with the understanding that there would be a bed and a throne for him — both empty and cold, waiting to be warmed with you by his side.

They said love was intensified by absence, but your face crumples under the weight of your emotion instead. Glassy tears fill your eyes, which squint with something short of fear as you turn away from him. Your hand slips from his without a single word uttered from you.

A very distant ache twists somewhere deep in his chest. A wildfire burns in the ether behind his ribcage, far away but scorching all the same. Watching you leave is a fate far worse than the hell his dead or dying brother must be facing at this very moment — hidden in a box somewhere in a throwaway carriage.

Aemond chokes down his jealousy like bile. He’s spent his whole life wishing he and Aegon could trade places, and now isn’t any different.

Even as his brother languishes in a mangled, bloodied, and ashened pile of flesh, it is he you still long for. Aemond still cannot compete with him — not even as your husband, not even as a living-breathing thing standing before you.

Because you would always be searching for Aegon. Even in his death. Even in yours.

“Behold! The traitor dragon Meleys!” a knight bellows beneath the sounds of a tolling bell and trumpeting horns.

The Kingsguard marches into the city with a beheaded dragon carted behind them. The smallfolk fall silent at the sight of the majestic beast, slaughtered from its scarlet body. You can’t remember a time when King’s Landing was ever so quiet. Something about it feels ghostlike.

“Slain at Rook’s Rest, by your king!” the man shouts, raising his fist in triumph. “To Aegon!”

You can barely hear any of it from here, where you stand at the highest balcony of the Red Keep, which overlooks the entire city — but the hushed silence is deafening, and the fear is achingly palpable.

Aemond stands just beside you, between you and his mother, with several inches of cautious space between you. He curls his pale hands around the railing and leans over the parapet. A late summer breeze ripples through his silver hair and leather jacket as he tilts his chin to peer at the crowd from the bridge of his nose — looking like he could swallow the whole of the King’s Landing if he wanted.

“Do they not realize we won the battle?” he wonders quietly.

“I don’t believe there are any winners here,” Alicent murmurs after a few long moments, oddly steady despite the worry that threatens to strangle her completely. “This is no victory, Aemond.”

You shake your head in agreement as burning tears gather at your waterline. “No. This is a dark, dark omen.”

You sniffle once, then exhale a shuddering breath from your mouth. Your hand reaches for your tightening chest to curl your fingers around the dainty necklace between your collarbones. A gift Aemond had made upon your betrothal — a golden rose to match the sigil of your old house, with an emerald sitting in the center to represent the one you married into.

Alicent looks past Aemond and over to you. Her wide brown eyes flit back and forth from your teary features to your tremoring fingers. She squints and tucks a rogue auburn curl behind her ear when it billows in her face. “How do you mean?”

“Growing up, I was taught that dragons were gods,” you confess, voice wet with unshed tears. “And this… This is not a victory march, Your Grace. This is an abomination.”

Your words hang heavy over the three of you for several long moments. The weight of them is palpable, like a pillow to the face. They force the breath from your lungs and demand to be acknowledged. And as the rest of the city recoils in fright, bowing their heads as though this was a funeral procession, the truth behind your words becomes indisputable.

Behind the beheaded Meleys is a cart carrying an unmarked box. There is no fanfare surrounding it, no horses or knights or signs of life. It is hardly more than a grim crate blanketed by a few tattered rags. A casket, perhaps.

“Is that him?” you try to ask, though the words get stuck in your throat. You clear it and try again. “Is— Is that Aegon?”

Alicent blinks back tears and nods until she chokes them down again. “’Tis likely,” she answers plainly.

“Do they know if he’s still alive in there?”

The mother thinks for a moment. Her tongue darts across her bottom lip, feeling the ridges where she’s nipped at them from anxiety, before shaking her head in a wordless response.

You spare one last look at the maimed Meleys and the casket trailing behind her as the soldiers march closer to the Red Keep. The sight grows blurry with burning tears, like pastel watercolors all bleeding together. You step back from the balcony with a shuddering breath and scurry off without another word.

Aemond watches you disappear in the corner of his eye but makes no move to stop you. He’d sooner cut off his hand than profess his need for you. It’d be easier, anyway.

You rush down the twisting stone steps of the Red Keep with the skirt of your dress in your hands. As your pretty pink gown flows behind you, you can hear your racing heart in your ears — a vigorous woosh, woosh, wooshing as your adrenaline spikes and pricks at your skin like flames.

You can hear Ser Branton Selmy’s armor clinking behind you, too, as your personal protector rushes to keep up with your rapid strides in such heavy garb.

You run into Criston Cole when you reach the west wing. Beside him is a nameless face you only vaguely recognize. He’s a Hightower, no doubt, so you figure he must be Gwayne. The pretty man looks strikingly similar to his sister, the Queen Dowager. And he has all the hardened features of his father.

You vaguely notice the horrors of war etched onto their otherwise handsome faces just before your eyes look past them — to the white cloaks heaving a wooden box down the corridor.

“Where are they taking him?” you ask with bated breath, fists tremoring where they clench the tulle of your skirt.

Ser Gwanye runs a pale hand through his auburn locks, pushing the long strands over his forehead. Both his hair and his hands are stained with bits of blood and dirt. “The far west end, princess,” he answers politely. “That is as much as I’ve heard, anyway.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Our bedroom?” you wonder aloud before you mean to, eyes wide and full of apprehension.

Gwayne, too, looks on in shock. He blinks at you for a moment, before turning to Ser Criston for a surer answer.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard (and, most recently, the Lord Hand) peers at you with a sympathetic gaze. He ducks his scruffy chin to his chest as his dark eyes swim with apology.

“It is the closest bedroom to the Maester’s quarters, princess,” Criston tells you. “And right now, His Grace needs all the help he can get.”

You hurry to the furthest end of the Red Keep, knowing its only importance before now was being the outermost point from the bedroom you shared with Aemond. It was a very intentional decision you made when Aegon insisted the two of you share a room like any true couple would. (You figured if you were going to fuck his brother, it’d be polite if you didn’t make him bear witness to it.)

You stand in the doorway while the knights lift Aegon’s body from the crate, all wrapped in a burlap sack, as though he was presumed to die on the way home from battle. They lie him tenderly in the center of your shared bed. His blood stains the silk where you have laughed and cried and pleasured each other.

He’s still in his armor, though half of it is singed and nearly melted, and the maesters make quick work of tending to his fragile body. You can hardly see him now, with all the people rushing about, but you think perhaps it’s best that way. You know if you saw him in such a state, you’d never be able to forget it — and if Aegon was going to die today, he didn’t deserve to be remembered that way.

“Is he alive?” you gasp quietly into the chaos.

“His Grace remains with us,” Maester Orwyle answers carefully, dark eyes meeting yours from across the room. “For the moment.”

He’s still breathing, is what he’s really saying. But who knows for how long?

When the maesters start to peel the armor from the boy’s burned body, you feel a warm hand on your shoulder.

Ser Branton appears suddenly behind you and comforts you with a weathered touch, which is not typically permitted for knights. Touching the nobility was strictly off-limits unless completely necessary, and Ser Branton knows it. He’s been a member of the Kingsguard since before you were born. Long enough to earn the name Branton the Brave. But he figures this moment is as necessary as any other.

“Best look away, princess,” he advises in a gruff and gentle voice. “Let me escort you back to your chambers until the work is done.”

You will yourself to answer him, to let him whisk you away completely, to let him take you on a horse ride outside the city walls — anything to get you away from the unsightly horrors before you. But you remain still and silent despite yourself, watching the skin of your first love come off in melted strings as the maesters peel his armor away.

The smell of burnt flesh fills the room, along with the coppery tang of blood.

A pair of hurried footsteps sound behind you as Alicent rushes into the room. “Is he breathing?” she frets as she migrates to her eldest boy’s bedside, trying to peer past the bustling bodies for a glimpse of him. Her breath hitches at the sight of his charred chest, rising and falling with shallow and uneven breaths.

“Is my son going to die?” the mother rephrases with her hand to her mouth.

“I’m afraid I cannot say,” Maester Orwyle answers. He works with steady enough hands, but the waver in his voice is not reassuring. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, these next hours are most critical.”

Alicent nods and takes a stumbling step back. “Of course,” she murmurs inaudibly.

You gravitate closer to the foot of the bed with wide and glazed-over eyes, perceiving nothing and everything all at once. You feel a bit like you’re dreaming, or like you’re underwater — like none of this is real.

But you still flinch at the sharp click of his broken bone being snapped back into place. And your chest still aches at the sound of his raspy breaths as he fights hard for each one of them.

You don’t notice Aemond entering the room until he caresses you with an icy hand. You fight back a shiver under his touch. His fingers are oddly gentle as they curl around the back of your neck, like he’s comforting you and reminding you to whom you belong simultaneously.

“He’s alive,” he observes indifferently.

“For now,” Alicent nods from the other side of the bed.

“By the grace of the Gods, no doubt,” Aemond monotones. He smooths his thumb over your skin in a reassuring pet as he looks past you to his mother. “But still… Someone will have to rule in his stead.”

For the first time in several minutes, your eyes part from Aegon’s body to glare at the boy beside you. Your gaze turns glassy as it swims with newfound tears. They burn at your waterline — not with grief now, but with anger.

You say nothing as you swat his hand away, turning on your heel and storming out of the room with Ser Branton close behind. Your hands ball into trembling fists at your sides. Your nails bite into the soft skin of your palm as you struggle to breathe through your rage.

The people have called you the Rose of King’s Landing since you first arrived to the city, some years ago now. You were as pretty and as delicate as they come — at least, that’s what they told you. But as your fury builds like bile in your throat, you no longer feel as fragile as a flower. You feel like Wildfire, green and flammable and volatile, moments away from being set ablaze.

Rain beats in fat droplets against the stained glass windows of the Sept. The wild cadence of the brewing storm mixes with the crackling of lit candles — the only two sounds filling the silent church. Lightning flashes and basks the expansive room in vivid purple hues for a moment before darkness returns again.

Aemond watches the flickering amber flames paint you in shades of gold as you kneel before them.

Your hands are entwined, but he knows you’re not praying. You haven’t prayed since you arrived to the city, as far as he understands it. You confessed to him, once, that you lost the need for all that when you lost your home.

He surmises that you came all this way to escape him — or, perhaps, the Red Keep in its entirety. The smell of death has overtaken the castle. The chaos within it has similarly refused to cease. Though he does not blame you for running, he cannot abide by your attempts to elude him.

His boots scuff the stone as he walks further into the Sept. The soft sound echoes through the quiet church. Your head whips over your shoulder in its direction.

Aemond swipes his rain-soaked hood from his silver head. The candlelight dances over his narrow features, softening the sharpened edges of them.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” he confesses as he stalks closer to you, hands clasped behind his back, hidden beneath his heavy cloak. “I’ve been searching all over for you, to be sure.”

“Have you?” you hum unenthusiastically, rising to full height and smoothing the skirt of your dress. You tilt your chin to follow Aemond’s eyes when he towers over your smaller form.

“Normally, when you’re absent, I find you with the king. But considering my brother’s… current predicament…” he lilts cautiously, though the words spill from his mouth with a very intentional venom. “I struggled to place your whereabouts. I was moments away from sending the gold cloaks after you.”

You would be touched by his worry if you believed it to be true.

Your husband has always been intrinsically difficult to read, but you feel like you no longer know him now. As he looms before you — a pretty boy who always thought himself too ugly to be loved — he becomes an unrecognizable thing. Your stomach swirls at the uncanny feeling.

“I didn’t mean to worry you, husband,” you say with a pretty smile that verges on cynical. “I know you have much on your plate at the moment. What with trying to find a regent to take Aegon’s place and all.”

The banter is familiar, though it’s not typically so weighty — so backhanded and so filled with unspoken rage. The two of you fake smiles at each other while simultaneously biting your tongues so hard that blood pools in your mouths.

You take slow and unsure steps towards him, until your wringing hands brush his clothed torso. You peer up at him from beneath your lashes in a suddenly solemn look, which sparkles with hope and fear and dread.

“Can you tell me what happened to him? Please,” you murmur sheepishly, all but begging him now. “So I can stop imagining it.”

Aemond hums to himself, tilting his head curiously to the side. “And what are you imagining in that pretty little head of yours, hm?”

You avert your gaze to your fidgeting hands, where your fingers wring themselves into knots. Your tongue grazes your anxiety-bitten lip as you inhale a shaking breath, fighting for the courage to answer.

“Before your mother told me of the raven we’d received… About Aegon’s health, I was having… the most awful dream,” you confess for the first time aloud. “A nightmare— about you and Aegon flying together on dragonback. Aegon was… struggling to take on Meleys while you…”

Aemond waits with bated breath as you trail off. “While I what?” he presses.

“Watched,” you agonize, face twisted as you recall the vivid dream that feels like a memory now. “You set Vhagar on him, and you watched.”

“Hm,” Aemond hums apathetically. “A nightmare indeed.”

You meet his flat face with teary eyes. “So tell me what happened to him,”you repeat, firmer now. “Please.”

“I’m afraid it is quite boring— talk of war,” the boy lilts as he walks past you and toward the burning candles. “But, if you must know, we took the castle at the cost of… some nine hundred men.”

“And what of Aegon?”

Aemond lays his palm flat over a flickering flame and looks at you over his shoulder, like he doesn’t feel any of it — or, at the very least, like he wants you to think he doesn’t.

“His Grace fought valiantly. But he was drunk when he mounted Sunfyre, and Rhaenys... She was no stranger to battle. Aegon was long in the dying, I’m afraid— the outcome was surely inevitable.”

“And where were you?” you blurt with the courage strikes you suddenly. “What was your part in all this?”

Something in Aemond’s eyes flickers, as though in surprise of your subtle accusation. Though, perhaps it’s only the candlelight.

“I set Vhaghar on The Queen Who Never Was,” he shrugs plainly. “I distracted her from my brother, and slaughtered her dragon.”

You muster a wavering grin. “What a heroic tale.”

“I wouldn’t wish such a sight on my worst enemy,” Aemond tells you solemnly as he swipes ash from his calloused palms. He thinks for a moment, then corrects himself. “Well… Perhaps I would…”

The edges of his lips lift in a barely-there smirk. The one you give him in return is weighed down with an obvious emotion, which is etched now across your delicate features.

“I want to believe you had no part in this, Aemond… But my mind refuses to relent on the matter.”

Aemond’s face hardens. Lightning flashes in violet hues and casts daunting shadows over the sharp edges of his face. His words are accompanied by rolling thunder that trembles the earth under your feet. “I loved my brother—”

“I think someone like you can care a lot about a person and still be able to kill them,” you confess, so gently it feels like a proclamation of love.

“Maybe so,” he hums indifferently.

His apathy is unsurprising, but it doesn’t hurt you any less. The familiarity of it pierces you like a dagger and presses its lips to your forehead like a kiss all at once. There is intimacy, hidden somewhere in his detachment — and if it’s all because he loves you, does it matter if it hurts?

“I used to love you, Aemond,” you tell him because it feels necessary now, considering you can’t get anything tangible out of him. “Even when you didn’t believe I did. Especially when you didn’t believe I did.”

The blatant use of the past tense feels like a cold hand wrapped around his throat. “What changed?”

“You did.”

“No,” Aemond insists with a stubborn shake of his head as he closes the distance between you. His footsteps are as light and as measured as the late-summer rain raging outside. “I’m the same as I ever was… You only see me completely now. That’s all.”

He curls his cold hands around your waist to pull you closer. His touch is familiar in a way that makes your stomach ache — like an old house that used to be yours, but isn’t anymore; like a place that you should remember, but barely can.

Your breath catches in your throat because his words feel like a confession.

The corner of his mouth quirks in a proud smile because he is confessing, and you’re still letting him hold you.

“We have seen the worst parts of each other, have we not? And yet…” Aemond trails off, ducking softly down like he intends to kiss you. Your lips part in wait for his despite yourself. He trails the tip of his chiseled nose over the bridge of yours instead. “We understand each other in our bones. We cannot help but to live inside of one another, like… A snake… doomed to swallow its own tail.”

His chapped lips duck to graze your pulse point. You exhale a trembling breath as your hands ball into fists at your sides. You make no attempt to stop him, however, as though paralyzed by your deep-rooted affection for him.

“Or a fish hook… into an open eye,” Aemond continues cynically, breath fanning warm over your collarbones. Chill bumps pebble over your delicate skin in his wake. The sight makes him swell with pride. “Or a decaying corpse and its maggots… Mutual destruction—”

He rises again to kiss you, mouth parted like he plans to swallow you whole.

Your senses return, and you pull back from him — just enough for your lips to graze but not fully meet. You realize, then, that you’re holding your breath. You exhale a wavering sigh as you stand obediently ahead of him. Nose to nose, chest to chest, heartbeart to heartbeat.

“You’re a nightmare,” you pant against his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as you raise a hand to his face. The pad of your thumb smooths over the marred skin beneath his patched eye. “There is deeply wrong with you, Aemond. And I think whatever is… is wrong with me also.”

Lightning strikes with a resounding crack some leagues away — or, perhaps, in his own chest, which warms at the thought of being understood by you.

He kisses you with the fire behind his ribcage, breathes the smoke from his lungs into yours. The Kinslayer licks into your mouth, and you let him.

You’re doomed to it, you realize — doomed to acknowledging the very worst parts of him and never being able to abandon him. To spending a lifetime unwrapping his misdeeds and kissing them away like a baby with a scraped knee.

You will spend the rest of your life holding his darkened soul up to the light and trying hard to understand him. And as Aemond kisses the breath from your lungs in the middle of the candlelit Sept, in the epicenter of a raging summer storm, you think it must be better than not having him at all.

The days anticipating Aegon’s waking are ruthless and bloodstained.

You don’t need sleep for many of them, and you only part from his bedside long enough to tend to your wifely duties. The castle sees little of you otherwise. You become a ghostly thing instead — a phantom of your own regret, a shadow of all your sins.

And even when it’s full of so much love, all a ghost can do is haunt. You idle at Aegon’s bedside accordingly. Solemnly, silently, softly. While melancholy stains your hands like blood.

You feel as though you’re cleansing your impure touch every time you dip your hands into the steaming bowl of water at your side. You soak Aegon’s bandages in its medicinal contents until it burns your skin raw. Until you find repentance in the ache. And then you smooth them carefully over his raging wounds the way Maester Orwyle taught you.

Your unworthy hands run gently over his lithe, burnt, and death-touched body, finding holiness in his pale skin. You kneel at his side and hold his unhurt hand in both of yours — not to pray, but to atone.

“If you’re going to die here, in our bed, I hope very much that you intend to haunt me,” you whisper through tears, bringing his hand to your mouth and running your lips over the grooves of his knuckles. “I would much rather you drive me mad from the spiritual plane than go where I cannot follow you.”

Your handmaiden knocks softly on the door, then. She peeks just enough inside to tell you the high council meeting has finished — the council of which your husband now sits at the head.

Aemond, crowned newly regent, wears the weight of kinghood like he was always meant to do it. You hate how well it fits him. You hate what lengths he’s gone to steal a crown that no person should ever aspire to possess.

Still, though, you part from Aegon with a kiss to his unburnt cheek and walk to the other side of the castle to tend to your husband — like a sheep led to slaughter.

“Dove?” Aegon calls in a raspy voice, the name like gravel in his throat, when he feels you disappear from his side.

You do not hear him.

Aegon slips back into the lonely abyss.

You retire the following morning to the Godswood — the only place in King’s Landing where you’re free from pitied glances and words of sympathy. You sit against the white bark of the old weirwood tree with a heavy book propped on your knees. The rising sun filters in golden rays through the orange leaves, which rustle in time with a calm summer wind.

Aemond finds you there when you don’t arrive to break your fast. Something about the sight of you forces him back into childhood — all bathed in the late morning sun, in a pretty pink dress that sits in a perfect circle around you, like a painting that breathes with life.

In that moment, he’s a kid who still has both his eyes — who doesn’t startle people when he looks at them — who hasn’t hurt anyone yet because no one’s yet hurt him. For a flicker of a moment, the two of you are strangers. Strangers who haven’t ruined each other by being together.

Aemond chokes down the nostalgia and strangles it in a clenched fist. “The table is set,” he calls to you, in place of any real greeting.

You don’t look up from your book as you flip the page. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten in days,” the boy tells you, trying hard to bite back his misplaced anger. “You’ll soon be withering away with my brother if you aren’t careful.”

“I’d rather,” you murmur cynically as your chin tilts to meet his eyes.

You don’t mean to glare at him the way you do, but it’s hard to look at the mirror of yourself any other way. A part of him slipped into you that night at the Sept, like lightning through the stained glass windows, and now it’s hard to stomach the sight of him.

“What are you reading?” Aemond asks, changing the subject entirely, as he nods to the heavy book covering the expanse of your lap.

You avert your gaze then, like you’re ashamed of the answer. He walks closer to peek at the thick parchment pages and finds a hand-drawn diagram of a maimed body with increasing levels of burnt skin. His chest pinches as he seethes.

“Even in death, my brother is still the one you want,” Aemond scoffs a bitter laugh. “He is always where your loyalties will lie— ”

“Well, Aegon is not dead,” you correct with an eerily steady voice as your eyes hardened into an unwavering squint. “Though I know how much it must pain you.”

“You’re meaning eludes me, I’m afraid. You’ll have to speak more plainly.”

“You are easily the smartest man I have ever met,” you confess with a gentle smile. “So please do not patronize me by playing the fool.”

Aemond opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He is, instead, interrupted by hurried footsteps that crunch crunch crunch atop the falling leaves. “We’re busy,” he snaps as he whips his head over his shoulder.

Maester Orwyle cowers. His chain rattles as he bows his bald head in apology. “Excuse me, Prince Regent— Princess— But I am happy to report that His Grace, The King has regained consciousness this morning.”

Your heart lurches into your throat, making it very suddenly hard to breathe. Your feet scramble for purchase on the ground as you stand to full height again. Dirt stains your hands as you clutch the heavy book between them.

“Only for a few moments,” the man amends before he overexcites you.

“But he is awake?” you press with bated breath.

The Maester nods. “He is.”

“I knew it,” you say, laughing giddily to yourself. “I knew his breath was coming easier to him.”

Maester Orwyle struggles to keep his emotions at bay with your infectious excitement. “Aye. The King is much stronger than I gave him credit for,” the man nods, hands clasped as though in prayer. “He may yet live— thank the Gods.”

“What happy news,” Aemond hums when he realizes he hasn’t yet said anything.

His thin lips purse in a quiet smile as his glacial gaze flits over to you. He stares mostly from the side of his patched eye, so ardently it feels like he’s looking at you through the covered sapphire hidden behind it.

“Perhaps you should accompany Maester Orwyle to my brother’s chambers. I will inform the family as we break our fast,” the boy tells you with purely selfish intent.

He figures it’ll be easier to watch you rush back into Aegon’s arms if he’s commanding it of you. His chest threatens to swirl with warmth, however, at the relieved look you give him.

Your eyes soften for the first time since he returned from Rook’s Rest. You don’t care whether he’s holding an olive branch in his hand or a dagger. You’re thankful for it, either way.

“Of course, Your Grace,” you say with an obedient bow of your head.

You go to kiss his cheek before you part from him, if only to maintain appearances in front of the Maester.“Thank you,” Aemond hears you whisper before your mouth meets his skin. The plush of your lips grazes the pink scar beneath his eye in a softer touch than he expects, in a softer touch than he deserves.

You burst through the ornate double doors of the west-end bedroom like a million glittering sun rays.

Aegon can only see you through the bleary haze of his one good eye, but he knows you put The Night of a Thousand Suns to shame. He’s seen dragonfire closer than most people have, and not even that can rival the vividity of his glittering Dove.

The bustling maesters part wordlessly for you like breaking rain clouds. You rush like sunshine past them and straight to his bedside. “Aegon!” you call, teary-eyed and giggling at the sight of his woken state.

He expects you to flinch when you’re closer to him, to recoil at the sight of his melted flesh. He wouldn’t blame you for it — it’d hurt, of course, but he wouldn’t blame you. It shocks him most when you bend at the waist to kiss him instead.

Your lips graze the unburnt skin of his right cheek. Aegon can smell rose petals in your hair and lavender on your skin when you lean over him. It smells like home when everything around him reeks of death.

“I’m surprised you still recognize me—” Aegon jokes dryly, then drags in a ragged breath when his lungs start screaming. The inhale rattles through his bare chest, covered partially in the bandages you helped dress before break of day. “—After all this.”

You sit at his side and smile so hard your eyes squint at the edges. “Don’t be absurd. I was born knowing you, Aegon,” you argue with his jaw cradled in a gentle hand. You look over your shoulder to the nearest maester and request, “Can you fetch me some marigolds? And dandelion, please? Oh! And a pot of hot water to make tea in?”

The older man bows his head obediently and asks no question as he stalks out of the room.

You turn back to Aegon. “I hear it may help treat your burns. It’ll at least ease the pain of them, I’m sure.”

The boy shifts in a feeble attempt to get comfortable, which is an impossible feat considering his current state — with half of his body riddled with oozing burns and an elevated leg, shattered and likely never the same again. The only comfort he finds is your warm hand on his cheek. He leans into it like a sunflower to sunshine.

“How do you know all that?” he rasps.

“I read it in a book.”

His remaining eye flits to the edge of the bed, where you’ve laid a thick volume at his feet. He scoffs at the sight of it, then coughs when his lungs burn (which, of course, only adds to the sting.)

“A boring book,” the boy insists as you ease a cup of water to his dry mouth, cupping his chin to catch the dribble.

“Only slightly,” you joke with a quiet smile. “But I fear I was quite motivated in learning how to treat you.”

Aegon smacks his chapped lips when you pull away, watching attentively as you sit the chalice back at his bedside. His chest blooms with something warm: his affection for you, perhaps, or maybe the lingering ash in his lungs.

“You’re slaving over the Grand Maester’s books—” He inhales a wheezing breath that leaves in a rattling exhale. “—To learn how to take care of me?”

“Yes.”

“What wretched work.”

“Not to me,” you insist with a blossoming grin. “Not if it’s you.”

Aegon’s ocean eye goes glassy with burning tears he tries hard to blink away. A furrow forms in the marred skin of his forehead as his brows pinch together — one singed off and the other half gone. His features crumple as he forces himself to choke down his emotion like bile.

He hasn’t cried about it yet. About any of it. His manhood has already been stripped from him — he’s scared that if he cries about it now, it’ll be like admitting some kind of defeat.

You seem to know this without words. Like you can read it all in his very expressive face, which he knows is so much different now than the one you fell in love with. You don’t look at him like he’s any different, though, and something about it makes his head spin.

“Will you lay with me?”

“I can’t, Aegon— I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” he wheezes. “You can’t.”

Despite your better judgment, you round the mattress to lay at his unburnt side. The muscle memory that carries you there feels strange. You’ve been rounding this very bed to lay to the right of him for many moons now — a side you claimed wordlessly as your own, as Aegon did with the left. Nothing has changed. Only, at the same time, everything has changed.

You recline gingerly along the feathered mattress, careful not to jostle the boy too much. When you turn to rest on your side, Aegon shifts on the mattress to be level with you. He doesn’t get too far, what with his elevated leg and the rest of him much too stiff. He turns his chin to his shoulder to face you instead. His eyes flutter shut when you lift your hand to his face, tracing the edges of his bandages with a featherlight touch.

“How can you still look at me like that?” Aegon croaks as your pointer finger trails down the slope of his nose.

“Like what?” you murmur distantly.

“I don’t know,” he answers before a wheeze racks through his chest. “Like you still love me.”

His words hit you like a fist to the stomach. Something about them makes your throat tighten with a welling emotion.

“Because I do love you, Aegon,” you answer through a teary giggle, resting a very delicate hand over his bandaged jaw. “I can’t help it. I knew I was doomed to it since I was ten-and-three— when you told me you were betrothed to Helaena, and yet I was still searching for you in all the eyes of my potential suitors.”

“Do you search for me now?” he mumbles with a hopeful gleam in his remaining eye.

Your smile widens. “I search for you always.”

“Even now?”

“Always,” you repeat.

“What if I…” he trails off, smacking his dry mouth and averting his gaze.

He looks, instead, at the green silk draping the ceiling — where he insisted a mirror be hung some days ago. He said he wanted to see you from every angle when you were riding him, said that was of utmost importance. All that feels pretty moot now, though, and the notion makes his chest ache.

“What if I’m different after this?” he wonders through the ash trapped in his lungs. You know it must hurt for him to talk, so you grimace when he continues. “What if I’m immobile? What if I— I can’t pleasure you anymore?”

A giggle sputters past your lips. Aegon flinches. He doesn’t know what he expected you to say to that, but he hadn’t expected you to laugh.

“If you think I am only at your side because of my… carnal urges,” you lilt teasingly, rising on your elbow to peer down at him with sparkling eyes. “Then you are sadly mistaken, my king. Surely, you’re forgetting the many, many years it took you to learn my body… wherein your rendered services were, perhaps, less than pleasurable.”

Aegon tries to laugh until his chest stings. The air rushes suddenly from his lungs and leaves a burning sensation in its wake — drier than the sands of Dorne, hotter than dragonfire.

He grimaces and struggles to catch his breath. He’s only able to relax when you lay your hand over the right side of his chest, where his skin is pale and supple and still normal.

“Meaning no offense, of course,” you continue with a lazy smile. “You’ve undoubtedly become an expert of me over the years.”

Aegon tries not to cower under the sincerity twinkling in your eyes. He can’t tell if you’re just ignoring his freakish nature, or if you’ve already adjusted to it entirely. He prays for the latter. He’s grateful, however, for either.

“Will you kiss me?” he rasps in a breathy whisper.

You don’t answer with words. You only lean forward and press your lips to the flushed apple of his cheek, lingering there for several long moments. The foreign act of tenderness makes him sigh hard through his nose.

You part from him to find his lips quirked in a very distant smile. It isn’t nearly as bright as you’re used to — not as pink or as mischievous — but you can see it still, beneath the layers of bandages and marred skin.

“Not there,” he jokes with a rattling breath.

Your hand lifts to caress his cheek. Your thumb grazes the grooves of the plaster sticking to his skin there. Your eyes flit from his sparkling gaze to his parted lips. You lean down and kiss him gently — enough for him to feel you, but not enough to feel the ache on his burnt side.

And even as you’re kissing him, and Aegon’s kissing you back, you can’t help but wish that you were kissing him still.

Aemond sits alone at the head of an ornate dining table and glares at the ghost of you across the room. Past the flickering candles, and the goblets of wine, and the trays of your most favorite desserts — to where an empty chair waits for a body that’s never coming to fill it.

It’s his fault, he knows. He’s the one who refused to summon you for supper, yet he still finds himself blaming you for your absence. As the blade of self-made solitude pierces his sternum, he imagines it’s your pretty hand twisting the dagger. The plates before him remain untouched and go slowly cold as the wound bleeds out.

The thought of supping without you makes him too sick to eat. His empty stomach swirls with the waves of his grief.

Aemond knew that, were his brother to ever wake, he would be left with only the barest scraps of you. He thought he was used to picking at the flesh and bones of your affection like a vulture to decaying flesh, but he feels the lack of you most ardently now. To the point where he’s made a weapon of your leaving.

He sends you away most nights, when you part finally from Aegon’s bedside to attend to your wifely duties. It was easier to wave a dismissive hand while you undressed for him — to tell you that he had war plans to discuss with Ser Criston or whores at the brothel awaiting his arrival. The former was sometimes true, the latter almost never. Never ever, to be exact.

You’d re-tie the lace of your slip, covering the petaled skin you were baring for him, and muster a wavering smile to cover up your aching. And though Aemond wasn’t entirely fond of hurting you, there was a certain gratification in making you feel an ounce of the heartache he was drowning in.

But the cycle of woe continues on, and he finds himself floundering for you all over again.

He spares one last glare at the empty seat reserved for his wife — who, like her love, would never truly be there — and rises abruptly from the table. The legs of his wooden chair scrape the cobbled floors. The harsh sound echoes through the empty throne room.

“What shall we do with the food, my pri— Your Grace?” a servant boy stammers when Aemond walks by.

“Feed it to the hounds,” the boy monotones.

Aemond just barely manages to keep his head above water long enough to find you. He storms to the west wing of the Red Keep and bursts through the double doors of the bedroom you and Aegon share. He feels like he’s been set aflame every time he passes the threshold. He figures he belongs here about as much as a demon at a Holy Sept.

He finds you, unsurprisingly, tending to the sleeping king at his bedside. You dip a thin cloth into a steaming bowl, soaking it in the aromatic medicinal bath, before smoothing it over his burns with a practiced touch.

Aegon’s left side is not nearly as raw and raging as it was some weeks ago, perhaps because of your gentle hands. His skin is still marred, though — features gnarled and blurred and disfigured. Half of his hair has been singed off, along with his ear and most of his eye. He’s a monster on all accounts, but you tend to him with loving hands anyway.

Your head whips over your shoulder at the sudden intrusion. You find Aemond lingering at the doorway; fists balled at his sides, chest heaving with panted breaths. Your brows raise expectantly, and Aemond searches for something to say.

“The table is set for supper,” he blurts.

“Alright,” you hum in a quiet voice. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

You turn away, and the thin fabric of your nightgown flows behind you. It’s made of a pale pink cotton, with long sheer sleeves, and a tie at the chest that reveals a sliver of your skin.

You’re typically only so casually dressed with him. It’s almost like you’ve trained him to salivate at the sight, knowing you’d be taking it off for him under any other circumstance. His hunger for you builds despite himself.

“Will you?” he presses, feigning indifference, as he saunters into the room with his hands behind his back. “You’ve hardly left this room, I’ve heard.”

“Well, I heard that you’ve spent the entire day in council meetings,” you argue while wringing damp plaster between your fists. Hot water trickles back into the bowl, stirring now with golden petals and dandelion fluff. You glance back at him, this time with something mischievous twinkling in your eyes. “What would have me to do, hm? Wait for you well into the twilight hour until you decide you have enough time for me? With my legs spread for you like a common whore?”

“You used to,” Aemond quips as he stills at the foot of the bed.

You scoff and turn away again, laying the moist cloth over Aegon’s bare chest and smoothing it flat until it seals to his skin.

“You’ve never been this gentle with me,” the boy observes, mostly light-hearted, though the words come out too deadpan to be as playful as he means them.

A smile hints at the corner of your mouth. “You never wanted me to be this gentle with you, Your Grace.”

The title falls from your mouth like sweetened venom. Aemond feels it sparkling in his veins as he rounds the bed to be nearer to you.

“Hm. Maybe so,” he murmurs with a wide hand pressed to your lower back. You feel his fingers fist the delicate fabric of your nightgown as he whispers, “But His Grace has needs.”

“Well, His Grace has whores,” you spit back, chin tilted defiantly.

“Careful,” Aemond lilts with his lips pursed in a nearly undetectable smirk. “I’d start to think you were jealous.”

You only shrug in response, hoping your envy isn’t as obvious as it feels. “I have naught to be jealous of… Not when your cock tastes of my cunt—”

“Mm. Such vulgar words from such a pristine girl.”

Aemond ducks down like he intends to kiss you, but stops short with his nose pressed to the side of yours — willing you to make the first move.

You smirk against his mouth, refusing to give him the satisfaction, as you grip his leather jacket in your fists. “If you think I’m pristine… Then you obviously haven’t been paying attention.”

The boy’s mouth parts to swallow you whole. You almost let him — until the bed behind you creaks with movement, and you jerk suddenly back from him.

Aegon smacks his lips as he stirs from sleep. He shifts on the mattress, then grimaces at the harsh reminder of his current state. “Don’t stop on my account,” he mumbles, less raspy than before, but still gravelly in speech.

“We were just leaving,” Aemond insists as his long fingers curl around your wrist.

You try to snatch yourself out of his grip and fail. “The Prince Regent was just leaving,” you correct.

Aegon tries to smile. It feels like he is, anyway, though it looks more like a wince beneath his burns and bandages. “Perhaps you should both stay… I was growing quite fond of the show, actually.”

“I’m sure you were,” Aemond scoffs, peering down at the boy from the bridge of his nose. “But I’m afraid you’ll get nothing here.”

When he tugs you away from Aegon’s bedside, you have little choice but to follow him. He’s much too strong for you to fight — though you try, still, to pry his taut grip with your free hand.

“He’s lying, you know?” the king croaks from behind you. “About the whores.”

Aemond stops in his tracks at the doorframe. You stumble over your feet behind him. When neither of you says anything, Aegon continues.

“I tried to take him to a brothel once. Some days after he was betrothed to you, I believe…” he trails off to take a ragged breath. “He nearly keeled over when he passed the threshold. He’s much more dutiful to you than he’d have you believe… Unfortunately.”

Your wide eyes flit from the bedridden boy to the one towering over you. “Is that true, husband?” you murmur.

Aemond falters for a moment. “The king is obviously half-cut. The Milk of the Poppy’s warped his mind, no doubt—”

“I am perfectly temperate, brother.”

“My sincerest apologies, Your Grace.”

“Well, when the Dove gives orders, I am not inclined to disobey,” Aegon quips and tries to smile, though the expression is only audible in his voice.

Aemond’s stoic eyes flit back to you. “Giving orders to the king now, are you?”

“Aye. I am,” you answer, trying to fight back a smirk and failing. “And his regent, perhaps. Though he is much less acquiescent than his brother.”

“Is that so?” Aemond hums with his chin tilted upward, amusement glittering in his otherwise hardened gaze.

Your smile sits lazy and lopsided on your mouth. You look once to Aegon, whose one-eyed stare is expectant and unwavering, and then back to your husband. “Haply,” you shrug with your chin to your shoulder, peering through your lashes with the whole universe in your eyes.

“Kiss me,” you command.

The words fall over Aemond like stars.

He cradles the back of your neck and licks into your mouth without warning. Your head tips back as he pries through your lips with his tongue. His chiseled nose smushes into the side of yours while he steals the breath from your lungs.

Aegon watches from afar and writhes pathetically on the mattress across the room. His chapped mouth parts in time with yours, tongue lolling in his mouth as he tries to remember what it felt like to kiss you. His hands curl into fists under the weight of his yearning — the ache in his healing left-hand goes unnoticed over his much louder desire for you.

“Closer,” he calls in a gravelly voice, then clears his throat when the word gets stuck there. “Come closer.”

Your lips part with an audible click. A string of saliva threatens to keep the two of you connected, glimmering faintly in the candlelight. A whine sounds in Aegon’s throat at the sight of it.

Aemond wipes his chin with the back of his hand, mouth rosy and shining with your spit. “Surely you aren’t so desperate, brother… You’ll be parading ‘round the brothels in no time, I’m sure.”

Aegon does not admit aloud that his intermittent pleasure house visits were hardly for his own urges. He enjoyed the smells more than anything, of primal pleasure and cheap wine — and the feeling of pride as he introduced new squires to the most skillful madames. He’s watched many boys become men through an opened curtain with a belly full of ale.

He corrects, instead, “Did the maesters not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“My cock was burnt like a sausage on a spit,” Aegon admits with a clenched jaw. “I can hardly piss without it trickling down my leg—”

“An unfortunate circumstance, indeed,” Aemond hums.

“A circumstance you ought to atone for,” Aegon sneers.

The calloused palm cradling your neck slips away as the youngest brother turns to face the eldest. Candlelight flickers over the sharpened edges of his face like hellfire. “I thought you recalled none of it,” he murmurs with a knowing squint in his lone eye.

“Perhaps my memory serves me now,” Aegon retorts, wincing as he sits further up on the pillows. It’s much easier now, without his leg tied and elevated, but the ache there makes every movement impossible. He talks through heaving pants when the breath leaves him suddenly. “Perhaps— Perhaps I am in need of something to ease my mind.”

Silence slips into the room like moonlight through the opened window. Your eyes flit back and forth between the two men, narrowed softly in confusion. The two of them seem to speak in riddles, in remnants of a conversation you weren’t there to witness.

“Mm. Perhaps,” Aemond concludes emotionlessly. “But I don’t believe it is up to me.”

His head turns slowly to you, and your heart lurches into your throat. Your hands shake with the sudden power placed within them.

Fingers trembling, you reach wordlessly for the lace at your chest. You tug at the ends of it until the knot loosens entirely. The top of your gown slacks to reveal the peaks of your pillowy breasts. Aemond’s mouth parts with the want to kiss them as he migrates behind you to work at the tie along your back.

“Take it off,” Aegon tells you through heavy breaths. “All of it.”

You feel Aemond’s hands smooth under your untied nightgown, cold and calloused along your warm and supple skin. He urges the fabric off your body as you slip the sheer sleeves down your arms.

The delicate cotton pools around your feet. The evening breeze brushes your bare body like satin. The unabashed leers from the silver-haired boys create pebbling goosebumps on your skin.

Aegon swallows through a dry throat. His trembling hands flex to pierce through the weight of his longing. “Come closer,” he commands. Though, when his voice breaks halfway through, it sounds more like a plea.

Your bare feet pad along the cobbles in slow and hesitant steps. You stop at the foot of the bed and try not to fidget too much as Aegon’s remaining eye rakes over your body.

The sight of you before him — your naked breasts begging to be kissed, your soft stomach waiting to be caressed, your plush thighs begging to be clutched — makes a sigh rattle in his chest.

“Closer.”

“How much closer can I get, Your Grace?” you ask him, giggling when Aemond presses his clothed body flush against your back. The tip of his nose traces the shell of your ear as he cradles your hips between calloused palms. His breath fans warm over your neck, and you fight back a shiver.

“Crawl,” Aegon answers as he shifts on the mattress, raising his chin like he means to beckon you forward. “Crawl to me.”

You feel Aemond’s thin lips curl into a smile as he mouths at your pulse. “And here I thought you were the one giving orders,” he quips against your skin.

“She is no stranger to my direction, brother. I assure you,” Aegon rasps. His gaze pauses its trek down your naked form and hardens when it meets your eyes again. “Crawl,” he repeats.

Your body seems to move on its own accord. You blink, and your palms are pressed suddenly to the silk blanket — knees digging into the downy mattress to push you closer to the bedridden king.

Aegon’s unscarred hand cradles the back of your head when you’re finally in reach. You straddle his thighs, careful to avoid the healing bone in his left leg, as he urges you further into him. Your mouth parts for a kiss. A whimper sounds in your throat when his lips lock on your pulse point instead — feeling too unworthy to kiss something as pretty as you with such a sullied mouth.

His lips are chapped, but his tongue is warm and smooth against your skin. The contrast between the two is dizzying.

Aegon’s teeth graze your throat as his hand falls to your chest. He cups your breast in his palm, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your pebbled nipple. He knows how sensitive you are there — he’d always remember your body, even in death.

Your moan echoes through the silent room, as silky as the moonlight streaming in rays through the window. You feel the effects of his touch in a shiver down your spine — in a warm feeling that pools in the pit of your stomach.

Aemond only watches for a moment, motionless and observant. He can’t see your face from here, but he can see each of your reactions to Aegon’s subtle touches. Your cunt drools with neglect, begging to be touched and fluttering every time the boy pinches your taut nipples.

Aegon ducks down for your chest just as the command to do so sits on Aemond’s tongue. The older boy mouths sloppily at your tits, slurping audibly at your plush skin and licking over the fleeting bites he scatters there.

You cradle the back of his head and whimper at the feeling of his tongue. Your pussy weeps for more just as you do, leaking a glimmering honey that shines on your thighs when it catches the candlelight.

Aemond’s mouth waters for a taste of you. His pale hands begin working at the buckles of his leather jacket, steady but unusually hasteful as he rushes to fuck you.

Aegon catches sight of him and smirks into your breasts. He pulls off of you with an audible smack, licking his lips like he can still taste you on them. His cheeky smile is somewhat hidden in the burns on his left cheek, but you can hear it in his voice.

“That is very presumptuous of you, brother,” the boy rasps.

Finally freed from his jacket, Aemond shrugs off his undershirt and works at the buttons of his pants. “Well, someone has to fuck her,” he murmurs mindlessly before flashing a mischievous glare with his lone eye. “And I hear your cock was burnt like a sausage on a spit—”

“You’re doing it again,” you lilt in annoyance, only partially playful, as you glance at him over your shoulder. Your stomach swirls when you find Aemond already leering at you. You smile and arch your back, making an utter show of it. “I can hear you, you know?”

Aemond smirks and drops his breeches. The thick fabric falls heavily to the floor to reveal the expanse of his milky white legs and the half-hard cock hanging between them, glowing red at the tip with need. He wraps the stiffening limb in his fist and works it harder for you.

“I’m glad for it,” the boy insists as he kneels on the bed behind you. The mattress creaks and dips under his weight. “It only means you can hear everything I intend to do to you—”

“Use your fingers on her first,” Aegon blurts, made impatient with desire and the lack of your attention. “Get her ready for it— It drives her mad.”

Words of protest turn to dust on your tongue when Aemond’s fingers migrate immediately to your weeping cunt. He runs his middle and ring finger between your velvet lips, coating them in your honey before sticking the former inside you. An airy sigh spills from your open mouth at the feeling. Aemond snarls when your pussy tightens around him, all but swallowing his finger.

You accept a second one with ease — hardly noticing another when Aegon slips his right hand between your thighs. He massages your clit with the pads of his fingers, much softer in comparison to his brother’s. He rubs you there rapidly and with very little rhythm while Aemond fucks his fingers into you with languid strokes.

The variation between the two makes you keen.

“Well, I do believe she’s ready enough,” Aemond quips in a monotone as your honey runs down his wrist. “Feel her— She’s practically weeping for it.”

Aegon’s hand dips instantly, shoving his brother’s out of the way. He shifts on the mattress and grimaces softly at the strain on his bandaged side. The pain, however, goes largely unnoticed as he slips his fingers into you. A groan rumbles in his throat when your eager cunt takes both of his fingers with little effort.

The feeling of your silky walls wrapped around him — the notion that he will never again feel you on his cock — makes him grieve. His marred features twist with something hard and soft, with grief and anger maybe, before he pulls out of you again.

“Fuck her,” Aegon commands like a true king, before inhaling a rattling breath. “Fuck her now— Make her scream.”

Aemond chuckles at his brother’s enthusiasm, of which he often has too much. He wraps his hand around his stiff cock, now ardently wet with you, and uses his sticky fingers to lubricate himself.

“As you wish, your grace,” he murmurs quietly to himself.

Your chin tilts to your shoulder to look back at him. You whimper when the head of his cock presses itself at your entrance — smooth and warm and leaking with precum. Aegon’s fingers grip suddenly at your jaw. The tips of them dig aggressively into the skin there as he forces you to look at him. Despite his hardened features, his eyes gleam with something more pleading.

“Say my name while he fucks you,” he commands, begs, through gritted teeth. “Pretend it’s my cock inside you.”

You nod rapidly into his hand. Your eyes remain locked with his while Aemond slips into your waiting pussy. Your mouth falls softly agape as he fills you. A moan spills from your lips when he buries himself to the hilt. Aegon’s bandaged head tilts back against the pillow, jaw clenched, like your pleasure is his own.

“Does that feel good?” the king asks.

You nod again into his hand, whimpering when Aemond pulls all the way out only to thrust completely back into you again. Your body jerks on top of Aegon’s like you’re riding him — only his cock is hardly more than mangled skin now, which buzzes faintly with a desire he’ll never be able to give you.

Aemond curls a calloused hand around your shoulder to steady you while your hands fist at the pillow on either side of Aegon’s head.

“Tell me.”

Your lips open to make out the words, though only moans fall from them. It takes much more effort to speak than usual, with Aemond punching the breath from your lungs with his expert thrusts. “I— It feels so good, Aegon—” you manage through labored breaths just before a whimper sounds in your throat.

His hand leaves your face to trek down the length of your body. He finds your clit more swollen now — and more sensitive, it seems, when his touch makes you instantly squeal. Your eyes squeeze shut as your head tosses back, mouth parted in a silent moan while both boys work at the most sensitive parts of you.

Your pussy flutters around Aemond’s cock. Honey seeps from your cunt as you grow impossibly tighter around him. He braces his hands on your hip and shoulder, squeezing you there just as you squeeze him. His silver hair falls around his face when he drops his head forward to rumble a deep groan. It sounds like thunder in his throat.

A foreign sense of pride swells in Aegon’s chest at the sounds of your entwining pleasures — which he feels as though he’s orchestrating, despite his misbegotten impotence.

“My Dove is so needy for it, isn’t she?” Aegon coos when your thighs start to tremble.

“You should feel her, brother,” Aemond says, though the words are choppy as they leave his mouth. “She’s so tight— I can barely move—”

Grief sparks in his chest at the bitter reminder that he will never again have you the way his brother has you now. His throat tightens with an emotion he forces himself to choke down. “What does she feel like?” he murmurs pitifully when he struggles to remember.

“Like velvet,” the younger boy answers, punctuated by the dull clapping of his hips meeting your ass. “Like honey. Like sin—” Aemond angles his hips to pierce you deeper. You whine when his thrusts reach an impossible depth.

“How poetic,” Aegon sneers.

“How shall I say it in your language, then, hm?” Aemond manages to tease despite his looming pleasure, which threatens now to strangle him. He tries to keep his face steady despite that as he glares at his brother with his remaining eye, never wavering in his assault on your throbbing pussy. “Her cunt’s milking me dry,” he spits. “I may just breed her yet.”

You’d scold him for speaking over you as if you weren’t there, but you’re much too far gone for that now. His thrusts are steady and measured and merciless. The bulbous head of his cock hits relentlessly at a spongy depth inside you until you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Despite Aegon’s largely bedridden state, he pleasures you with an expert hand just as he always has. His ruthless fingers press hard at your delicate clit until a scream wells in your throat. You grit your teeth to fight it back, but it leaves in a feeble cry anyway.

“Aegon!” you gasp.

“Aw, I know, sweet thing,” Aegon coos. “It’s far too much for you, isn’t it?”

You nod rapidly, with a pout pinching your pretty face. You grip the pillow with one trembling hand and bring the other to his unscarred cheek, cradling him gently there despite the aggressive way Aemond’s fucking you on top of him.

Despite his burns and his bandages and his disfigured features, you look at him the way you always have — like you’ve loved him forever, like you’ve spent entire lifetimes studying his face. The softness in your gaze makes his chest warm like he might cry.

“Do you love me, Dove?” Aegon murmurs.

You nod again, without an ounce of hesitation.

“Then prove it to me,” he whispers, fingers caging your swollen clit. “Make a mess on his cock for me.”

Your orgasm rushes over your body like the waves of a Dornish sea. Like a riptide that pulls you under and under and under. You bury your face in Aegon’s neck while you tremble on top of him, forced to ride through each merciless rush of pleasure.

“Good girl,” you hear Aegon praise with a laugh in your ear, though he sounds much further away than that. “Always so good for me, aren’t you, Dove?”

Aemond can feel every ruthless aftershock as it racks through your body. Your pussy flutters with each of them and leaks more honey that makes his cock glitter in the candlelight. It forces an orgasm from his body despite the heartache ripping through his chest.

He watches you and Aegon share a moment of bone-crushing intimacy while he impales you with his cock. Even while you fuck another, even with the silent understanding that Aegon with never again have you this way, you’re able to share something much deeper than sex.

Despite Aemond’s distant worry that he’ll never understand you in the same way, his orgasm tears through his body.

His hips stutter against your thighs as his cock jerks within your throbbing confines. He thrusts into you once, hard, and then stills against your hips, groaning with each load of cum your velvety cunt milks from him.

Aemond slumps when his cock begins to soften. You rise from Aegon’s neck to sit upright, cupping his cheek in a steady palm while the boy holds your hips in both of his — one smooth and the other scarred.

Aemond’s heaving chest twists with the dagger of self-loathing until you reach blindly for him, too.

Your free hand cradles his marred cheek and urges him closer. He noses at your neck while your mouth grazes his temple — a moment of connection that feels somehow more intimate than his flesh melting with yours.

The three of you bask silently in the honey-lit room, breathing harmoniously together, with candle-like souls that will forever set each other aflame.

Mutual Destruction.

#published by bug #house of the dragon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aegon targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aemond x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd x reader #hotd oneshot

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bucknastysbabe · 5 months

Text

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW//age gap, grooming, manipulation, no one is properly nice, Criston being crazy, Targtower!reader, canon era, anxiety and panic attacks, sibling strife, Alicent is tired, isolation, angst, sad ending, innocence/corruption kink, slight religious kink, v!fingering, oral, frottage, pnv!sex, lots of tears, I was emo okay and no I did not rush the ending no I did not-

WC: 9.5k (idk what happened oops)

Taglist: @arcielee @bambitas @aemonds-holy-milk @lovelykhaleesiii @starogeorgina @fallingintoyourlilaceyes @sugarpoppss2 @fairysluna @jamespotterismydaddy @elaratyrell

Being Alicent’s second daughter, the third of Viserys, your political pawn status was minimal in youth. You minded your own and listened, a constant shadow behind your mother. The queen was your idol— she was strong, devout, and loved deeply. It was your siblings who were willful, dragon blood coursing through their veins that made her fraught.

Somehow it felt you didn’t get any dragon blood. Your egg had refused to hatch, your eyes an ugly dark purple. The worst was that you had red hair. The hair of the Hightowers. You'd been born too late and too plain it seemed. The feeling of being strange led to shyness plaguing you. Hence why you’d clung to your mother’s skirts, she made you feel safe and beloved. Any closeness with your siblings dissolved as time wore on. Alicent apparently didn't mind, even if her child was manufacturing her own isolation.

Aemond devoted himself to scholarly learning, training in the yard, and flying on Vhagar. Helaena seemed to rather keep to herself, stitching beautiful works and catching her lovely insects. Aegon— he embraced hedonism and you’d leave it at that. You had been close with Daeron when he was a babe, loving on your little brother. Then Alicent sent him to Oldtown.

Ser Criston and your mother seemed to be the only presence you were around most of your childhood. You loved the white knight dearly, he’d bring you little gifts and swing you around as Alicent prattled on about something. He was so handsome and chivalrous, always a kind word upon his lips. Just the thought of the oath-sworn knight made you grow flushed and giddy.

You’d hide behind Ser Criston's white cloak when your father occasionally took interest. Viserys seemed annoyed at your shy demeanor, asking Criston to bring you to him. It was dreadful, he was decaying and his rotten smile was frightful. You would weep and shake, turning toward your mother or Criston. Looking for an escape.

The king would frown. He sniffed, “Here Cole, take the girl, Hightower as they come hm?”

Criston’s jaw clenched before he sighed, “Come on princess, we have appointments to keep.” You had grabbed his hand and left— ignoring Viserys' muttering. It brought a feeling of uselessness to your young heart. At least Daeron was bettering himself in Oldtown. The Kingsguard scoffed, “I wouldn’t appreciate sitting in his lap either. He will always have eyes for your half-sister, do remember that. Your mother has your interests in mind.”

“I understand, Ser Criston."

When Alicent was sleeping or tending to the matters of the realm, you oft sat with Ser Criston as he guarded the queen. He would tell you about his youth in the Dornish Marches, harrowing tales of battle and blood. One time as a child you grew so frightened you hopped in his arms. He laughed and petted your hair, “You’re alright, no vulture kings shall get you. Not with me here.” His smile was bright, and his brown eyes lit with humor.

You hid a picture you’d drawn of you all grown up, a beautiful maiden holding hands with Ser Criston. A dragon would be there too. Fantasies plagued your innocent mind, courtly love between a princess and her loyal white knight. Nothing like the isolation and tension that brought strife to your family. Everything was perfect and happy. Everyone loved each other. Stupid, stupid, silly you.

As you matured into the early stages of womanhood, your shyness and frayed nerves did not abate. In fact, fits of crying and shaking began to afflict you. Tourneys, balls, and weddings made your stomach turn and hands grow clammy. The Maester had given a tincture for fits and fears such as these, citing a ‘hysterical disposition.' The tincture was diluted milk of the poppy.

You were half-dazed and daft but no longer weeping through an entire feast. Small victories.

At three-and-ten you visited Dragonstone, bonding with the gorgeous Silverwing. As you flew around the island, tears streamed down your face. It was beautiful, so very beautiful. When you landed, your white knight and mother clapped, proud of their favorite princess. Even Aemond gave a word of applause. Rhaenyra watched with a strange look, further back. You refused to acknowledge her, you had heard all you needed to know about your elder sister.

Later, Aegon had japed with a sloshing goblet, “Ah, I was beginning to think you were a bastard dear sister. Maybe a lord will take an interest now.” Ser Criston had cuffed the lad on the ear at that, Aegon squeaking an apology.

The knight consoled you afterward, gloved hand tilting your chin up. His dark orbs bore into your own, his thumb swiping your tears. He stated intently, “Never, never for a second think you are not true-born. My princess, you are just beginning to blossom, you’re Targaryen as they come. I will defend that claim until my death.”

Your heart skipped a beat, tears welling up as you hugged the older man, thanking Ser Criston for his kindness. He was stiff at first, then gloved hands came to rest at your shoulders. He called you blossom after that, the pet name never failed to make your cheeks flush. Alicent took great pleasure that you had kept to their sides instead of wandering off to find whatever to abate the stress of being Royal. She would sniff occasionally, "Do remember what white signals, virtue."

Ser Criston named you the Queen of Love and Beauty at six and ten, a tourney Otto and Alicent schemed for you to get a suitor. Although the suitors were cracked in the helm and knocked on their ass. Criston was rather vicious this tourney, winning the melee and joust. You chose not to dwell on the blood splattered on his shiny armor, for it caused wicked thoughts. He grinned with red lips, offering the crown.

Aegon rolled his eyes, quipping something foul as he guzzled his wine. Viserys had apparently glared at the knight, mouth twisting. You smiled and blushed, feeling like a silly child again. The handsome marcher was consuming you more and more. Eyes that saw you wholly, his little blossom.

Later in the evening, many lords or heirs were at the feast for your sake. They did not seem interested, casting wary looks. You decided it was partly your nerves and shy nature, the glaring knight at arm's length was no benefit. You made one connection that night with a son of the Arbor, a sweet-faced Redwyne lad. His name was Meryn, that was the extent you knew. Grandsire seemed to be pleased with your choice. Criston's dark eyes lingered in your mind. Meryn had dark green eyes and straw-blonde hair. He would be alright if you had to, Meryn was courteous. You swallowed down bile at the thought of living so far away.

You’d become so struck with Cole you had begun to lie awake at night, purposely ignoring the desire that coursed through blue veins. He had said that a true, chaste maiden did not give in to carnal pleasures. Your mother said that self-pleasure was sinful and wicked. You'd read the Seven-Pointed Star, the Stranger would fondly take fornicators down to the seven hells.

You agreed, feeling sinful if your womanhood ever throbbed. Innocence remained a quality of yours, Viserys liked to call you his Septa daughter to Daemon. You’d rather be a Septa than a whore. Aegon had doomed himself already. You hated when he spoke so vulgar at the table, you had to look away in disgust.

Aegon crushed your entire world, in fact. The pair of you had ridden to the Dragonpit to ride Sunfyre and Silverwing. You rode in silence, Ser Arryk and Erryk behind on guard. The stilted awkward air between Aegon and you seemed to thicken as the Dragonpit loomed closer. Your elder brother blurted “Are you still infatuated with that preening peacock Cole?”

You stiffened and stared, aghast, mouth agape.

Aegon’s full lips smirked. He laughed “Oh, you still are. I forget you follow him and mother around the keep like a shadow. You’re six and ten, you don’t want to fuck a lordling? Or are you saving it for Ser Cole?”

“Stop it, he’s kind and a good knight. You should respect our Kingsguard, he keeps mother safe.”

Hot tears began springing at your eyes as Aegon laughed harder, that horrid shrieking giggle. One of the Cargyll’s snorted. Aegon always made you feel so silly and childish. You sniffed angrily “What are you getting at Aegon?”

“Sorry sister, sorry, it’s just- hah! It’s just your white knight’s cloak has been likely been dirtied since I was born. You do know the rumor don’t you?”

Your heart began to patter uncomfortably against your chest. Ser Erryk always carried your medicine— you did not wish to take it as you were trying to fly. Aegon leered with a grin. He spoke in a low murmur, “He hates our dear half-sister so, we know that. Rumor has it Cole sullied his oath as he took her maidenhead. She spurned him later. Then your ‘white knight’ beat Laenor’s fop lover’s face in wrath at her wedding.”

Your legs and hands began to grow numb from sheer panic. You cried, “No, you are lying! Why would you say such dreadful things?” Shakes began, as tears leaked down your red cheeks. The prince noticed your state and sighed, “No one knows if he truly did. 'Tis not strange he became mother’s sworn sword after one night hm?”

Your vision swam. No, no, no— you couldn’t believe that. Ser Erryk rode up next to you, beckoning you to open your mouth. He yanked you onto his horse, chiding Aegon, “Shut your mouth about that, you know how she gets. I have to return all the way to the keep!”

The prince shrugged, offering a weak apology, face a rude smirk.

Ser Erryk sighed, “He’s a prick. Talk to your mother about Ser Criston. Back to the keep we go, just relax.” You felt like your chest had compressed into a tiny box, shaking and panting. It couldn’t be true. You would speak to your mother immediately. The tincture began to soften your muscles, eyes lolling as you slumped onto the Cargyll twin. Erryk murmured, “Can’t wait for this shite show with the marcher.”

You were still in a hazy lull, the movement of the horse and Ser Erryk’s familiar lilt leaving you in a poppy-laden stupor. He’d ridden into the courtyard, carrying your limp frame into the castle, barking at a squire to take his horse. You mumbled, “Mother, need her.”

“I know, princess.”

Ser Criston’s voice made your poppy laden eyes flick upwards. The knight demanded, “What the hell is this? Did you dose her with the entire phial? Where’s Prince Aegon? Give her to me.”

Ser Erryk bit back, “She asked for the Queen, Ser Criston. Not you.”

You nodded softly, Ser Criston’s brows pinching together, his lips thinning in anger. He snapped, “I’ll take her to the Queen, give me the princess. Seems you can’t follow the maester’s directions, Ser Erryk.”

“No. Trust me when I say this Cole, Aegon brought this on. He was telling your ‘blossom’ all about,” the man whispered something to the marcher. Criston’s face paled, a stricken look over his features.

The door opened without further protest, Ser Erryk laying you upon the plush settee, curtly nodding. He exchanged words with the Queen. Criston remained outside the door, dark gaze peering from afar. Your mother’s wide eyes and familiar green dress hovered in your vision. She stroked your hair and sighed, “Dear girl, what did Aegon say?”

Your sluggish hand gripped her own, glazed eyes meeting brown. You whimpered “Tell me he was lying. Just tell me Aegon was lying about him.”

Alicent’s lips pursed, turning to gaze at the lingering Cole. She ordered, “Ser Criston, please shut the door.” Even through the medicinal haze, the man looked downright fearful. The door shut with a soft click. Your mother’s attention was back on you, kissing your forehead.

“About who? Take your time.”

You moaned in anguish, “Ser Criston. He broke his oath to be with her?,” you sobbed, “He lies, he can’t, mother please!”

Alicent’s eyes flicked to the door once more. She bundled your frame into her arms, lifting your limp body up. Her soothing voice murmured, “Ser Criston is a good man. He loves us dearly. He is sworn and would die for us, my dear.”

You wept, “Tell me the truth.”

“He had a moment of weakness. Ser Criston was merely a few years older than I and Rhaenyra. She manipulated his good heart and bewitched him. That is all. He did not break his oath.”

You stared at your mother, unsure if she was lying while the pristine image of Criston darkened. Was it hurt? Jealousy? Childish affection gone wrong? There was nothing to do but softly weep in your mother’s arms before sleep took you. Supper was provided when you awoke, only Alicent caring for you.

She never lied to you before. Your mother cherished you too much to lie.

Right?

You faced Ser Criston again. The ache in your chest throbbed— but you would give him grace. He was devoted and good to you. His worried look made the apprehension die down. The knight grabbed your shoulders, eyes piercing as he frantically spoke, “Blossom, my princess, please. I have been distraught for days. What can I do?”

You stared at him, mind conjuring a response, feeling like a bratty child overreacting. His leather gloves squeezed again to draw your attention. It took everything in your weak heart not to babble and weep. This man was sworn to chastity and the Faith, yet you craved him like nothing else.

“Aegon just shocked me. This is a lot to process. I-I didn’t know anything about that, oh, ordeal.”

He seemed to sag, guilt wracking his handsome features. Ser Criston pulled your small form inward, chin atop your head. He murmured, “It is a stain that shall never be washed. Your mother saved me. I grew stronger from the failure. It pains me more now that you have learned the truth after so long. I should have let you know.”

You nodded against the steel plate of his chest, resigned.

You let him hold you— unsure of your intense feelings. The Red Keep was a web spun of lies. Even Ser Criston was caught in the horrid trap. You would remain to trust him, his affair with Rhaenyra was before you were even a thought. Still, your gut churned with uncertainty.

Criston murmured, "I shall never fail you again, sweet blossom."

You had distanced yourself from Ser Cole, protecting your own heart selfishly. He was upset and had been striving to gain your once devoted affection. It wasn’t hard to avoid him as war came in on Dragonback. They plotted and planned, too busy for Helaena to mourn. Aegon was raging at all times. You remained in your rooms, nervously awaiting Syrax or Caraxes to show on the horizon. Dracarys. Dracarys, the voices sang in your head.

They were always in the Council Chambers.

You’d been in your room, feeling madness creep at the edges of your mind. Shadows in the corners, fire on the horizon. A knight stood guard outside day and night, sometimes your mother would come sup with you. All she could do was tiredly ramble and apologize. You held her softly one night as she cried, how alone and useless she felt. You could empathize with that. At least in your room, you were safe from those fits. Sometimes.

Then your grandfather left. Criston was now Lord Commander and Hand of the King. A small ceremony was held in the throne room, Aegon strutting around like a peacock. You knew he was as scared as the rest of the Keep. Alicent sighed to you, “My darling, stay strong, you must.”

The man you had grown up with, the fancy of your girlhood, looked frightening with his chain of gold hands, lips curled up in pleasure. His eyes flicked toward you, entrancing. The newly appointed hand smiled with pride. You looked down and away, shaking hands clasped together. There was no reason for tears about this. Yet, the titles muddled and twisted your preferred concept of the loyal white knight.

War had truly begun with armies on the move around the realm. Criston, Aegon, and Aemond set off to Lord Staunton at Rook's Rest.

After the incident at Rook’s Rest, Criston returned colder, Aemond with the crown, and Aegon charred half to death. The now powerful marcher was paired with his protege, they could conquer and perhaps win this war. You were frightfully alone again, Alicent moved into Aegon’s chambers. Nothing new you supposed, yet your heart hurt.

About a week after the return, you were summoned to the Hand’s Tower. Criston sat at the desk, war plans drawn up. His hair was shorn, a beard grown in. The soft part of you ached at his bruised and nicked face. You awkwardly curtsied and murmured, “Lord Hand.”

“Don’t call me that, Ser Criston is fine,” he said, a hint of aggravation to his hoarse voice.

“Sorry, Ser Criston,” you apologized. He seemed like a different person sitting where your grandsire once sat. He beckoned you over, closer and closer until you were at the edge of the desk. He looked tired, sad, and beleaguered by his position. You murmured, “You requested me Ser?”

He sighed, leaning back in the supple leather chair. Criston’s eyes were achingly wet as he stated, “Do you still despise me so? All I think about is you, your safety, and how I can keep my blossom alive and well. After Rook's Rest, I began to remember my priorities."

You whimpered softly, the months of being alone and overlooked had taken their toll. You missed him dearly. Taking a few sighs, mouth quivering, you whispered. Whispered only so you may not sob. Your dress was bunched up by your distraught hands. Inwardly, you cursed yourself for being weak.

"I have been so…isolated. I don’t leave my room and all I can do is stare at the window and...and and hope I don’t!”

You clamped your jaw shut as your voice grew higher with emotions. Hot tears ran down your cheeks now— brought on by the outburst. Criston made a soft noise, pleading, “Blossom, come here. To me. You know how I hate to see your tears.”

It embarrassed you how fast you climbed into his lap and wrapped your arms around his shiny armor. The man cooed, cradling your frame and nuzzling your hair. His hands gripped into your curled legs— you didn’t care. It felt so good to be with him.

“There we are, poor princess, why are you crying blossom?”

His dark brows were pinched in concern, gaze quizzical in nature. You refrained from staring at his lips. One of his warm hands pressed into your back, rubbing up and down. You focused on that, tucking your face against the warm crook of his neck.

“Take your time princess, I’ve got you. Too sweet for this dreadful world.”

Ser Criston’s soothing words and hands, his gentle tone could almost lull you to sleep. It felt like an hour had passed, soaking in the moment. You blinked a bit, feeling syrupy sweet in his arms. He asked “Blossom, are you feeling better?” A soft little jerk of your head was the response before you pulled back to look at him.

“I feel better, thank you Ser Criston. I grow fearful,” you frowned at your words, “More fearful than usual.”

He cocked his head, seeming to mull over the words. The man sighed, “I haven’t done a good job of prioritizing your protection. These are arduous times.” Criston thumbed your cheek, sliding down to tilt your chin up. He murmured, “Tell me the truth. I feel a piece of me has returned. You cannot spurn me again, I need you my blossom, more than anything to keep going.”

His agonized eyes and the tiniest little warble at the end of his sentence melted your fears. This was Ser Criston— he’d done right by you, only second to your mother. Even then, he knew you in a way others didn’t. Something behind the mad little princess who cried at feasts. Criston saw qualities none seemed to perceive.

Making eye contact you admitted, “I missed you too. I- I had a hard time coming to terms. I was sickened with envy, picturing that…my sister, having Ser Cole’s heart,” you placed a hand over the white cloak on his shoulder, “I know it was a mistake now. I grew up thinking you were, Gods, the knight out of tales. Gallant and true. It was swept out from under me and I behaved as a child. You're only human.”

Criston’s jaw gritted, frustration crossing his features. He hissed, “If I could take my honor back from that viper I would. But I chose to be fooled, a young idiot. I know what it feels like to be truly loved now. Unconditionally.”

He licked his lips, “Knowing that I hurt you, hurt me. I prayed and prayed. I don’t know if I can be that knight for you, my dear blossom. But I can be the knight that gives his life for you, his heart and soul. You were merely hurt, I can understand why. But the Seven answered my prayers," he beamed, "You’re still here, with me. As it should be.”

Unconditional. He wasn’t wrong. You’d love Criston even if his cloak was stained black. He loved you. Only you. Prayed for you. Your heart swelled, pumping with excitement. At least that's what it seemed he said.

“Oh, Ser Criston, I, I love you.”

His face morphed into a pleasant look, eyes alight with happiness. You moved to straddle him, pressing yourself closer, your cheek pressed to Criston’s dark stubbled one. The knight rumbled, “I love you, innocent love for my little bud, now a blossoming young woman. You’re mine, to cherish and to love. Understand that. Just us.”

He squeezed your waist as you sighed, “Yes, yes Ser Cole, I am yours.”

“My perfect little Princess, the Gods are smiling upon us.”

You nodded along, smiling helplessly, more tears welling as your lips pecked his cheek. Criston turned his head to gently capture your lips, a chaste little peck. You shivered in his embrace, smiling as your noses nuzzled. He was chivalrous was he not?

Soon after you had spoken your feelings for Ser Criston, he wanted you moved into the Hand’s quarters. Said it was safer and you wouldn’t have to stare at the dreaded horizon that brought many a nightmare and fumbling for your tinctures.

It was done quickly, your garments and belongings now intertwined into the man’s quarters. He had the Lord Commander’s room too and pledged to sleep there for your comfort and honor. The knight was sweet and kind, letting you sit upon his lap as he wrote letters, amended decrees, and even kept you there when Aemond arrived to discuss battle.

Your brother looked shocked at your presence, a thin brow arching. He huffed, “Sister, I believe it would be best if you left us to the battle plans.” You nodded, the ingrained behaviors to follow orders hadn’t dissipated. Criston held you tight on his lap, remarking “She’s family. You think your sister to be a turn cloak?”

Aemond grimaced and sat down, his hair swinging as he glared. The crown of the Conqueror laid upon his brow. The crown that belonged to ailing Aegon. Criston poured some wine and handed it to the stiffened Prince Regent, opening the discussion.

You merely sat back and listened, your knight occasionally asking for your opinion. “I don’t know why you would not seek the high ground there,” you offered while pointing to the Westermen’s location. Jason Lannister would be slaughtered. You read up on historical battles now and then.

Aemond’s scoff and Criston’s noise of contemplation shut you up. You knew you were here to please your knight. Make him feel comfortable and less alone. You padded off toward the bed as they talked into the night, ignoring Aemond’s sharp questioning.

A kiss on your lips awoke you, blinking the sleep out of your eyes. The marcher seemed irritated and sleepy, now clad in a white shirt and thin breeches. He sat upon the downy bed to pet your hair, muttering, “Ignore your brother. He thinks he is the king right now, is all. But the hand pulls the strings.”

You shrugged, “He sees me as a distraction I suppose.”

Criston nodded, dark eyes rolling as he gruffed, “You are my motivation, blossom. He will learn to embrace your presence. Now, I have had a long day. I wish to hold you,” his face grew soft, “Is that okay with you dearest? Say no and I shall leave.”

Scooting over you pulled back the warm blankets, Criston crawling in with a sigh. You cuddled into his frame, the marcher flipping you around so he could press the length of his body to your own. He sighed in your ear, “Much better. Soft and sweet. Thank you for trusting me." He placed his chin on your shoulder, humming in contentment, tanned arm wrapped around your stomach.

The voices of the past screamed at you. So be it.

Criston now laid by your side every night, gentle and kind. He'd awaken you with a kiss and that saccharine smile. You fell deeper and deeper in love. His touches grew more frequent, keeping you by his side around the keep. Any snide comment was met with an equally acrid reply.

You'd been invited to sit in at council meets. Your mother seemed surprised, rushing to you, hands clamping down on your arms. She whispered, "What are you doing here? You should not listen to this, it shall give you a fit." You indicated the satchel at your hip and replied, "Ser Criston said I could come along, since I am able of mind and body I should have a say. He has stuck up for a Princess when everyone else has discarded me."

You did not mean to come off as harsh. Ser Criston's affections had bolstered you as of late. The dowager queen's eyebrows raised as her lips turned into a pursed frown. Alicent bit out, "Are you his kept woman now? I raised you better than this." Your mother drew closer to hiss, “Ser Cole loves you. Ser Cole is overstepping his boundaries as the Lord Commander. Lord Hand Criston sees you as his pretty little pet. Do take heed, princess.”

You frowned, chest tight with hurt, childishly scoffing, “Ser Criston cares for me. You’d rather sit and plot than visit your daughter? I’d like to visit Helaena with you, mayhaps Aegon. Don’t lecture me, your grace.”

Aemond called the council, breaking up the heated moment between you and the green queen. You took a seat to the side, watching and listening raptly. Alicent’s eyes flickered between you and Ser Criston, displeasure upon her pursed lips. He eyed her back, furrowing his brows. They had known each other so long the pair could speak without saying a word. Aemond and Lord Lannister prattled on. Worry began to pool in your belly, a shaky hand shifting to the pouch on your waist for comfort.

You could glean the wracked state of the Realm from the terse meeting. Daemon was at Harrenhal and men were gathering. The Hightower host led by a relative and Daeron approached from the south. Cregan Stark’s winter wolves were coming with a cold vengeance and desire to die in glory, grizzled grey beards that they were. You swallowed, mind a bit scattered pulling the pieces together. A crazed Greyjoy was on the loose and the Triarch had been called in. All-out war.

The meeting was adjourned. Aemond would leave soon for Harrenhal. Criston would join him later, much to your fear. Your white knight immediately came to your side, holding your elbow tenderly, “I must have…some words…with her grace. I’ll see you back in the tower?” You nodded, eyes panning toward Aemond getting an earful from your mother. Nerves began to prick— you kissed Ser Cole’s cheek and nodded. He smiled softly, gloved hand caressing your cheek as he murmured, “Sweet girl, relax, it will be fine.”

You may have dropped some of the diluted milk into your wine, hands shaky. You were going mad waiting, waiting, waiting. Mind-spinning rationalizations appeared to ease the rising panic. Your mother had no say anymore, it was Aemond and Criston in charge. If Aegon wasn’t bedridden he likely would not care. Ser Criston would not leave you, he loved you, yes.

The door swung open, clattering against some furniture, startling you upon the settee. Criston was pissed, anyone could see as much as the vetted knight masked his emotions. His eyes were dark, jaw clenched and his teeth audibly ground. He stopped in his tracks, running a hand through shorn hair. You warbled “Criston?”

His furrowed brow and wide eyes turned to you, sighing and stalking forward. The knight dropped to his knees, hands cradling your cheeks. Criston fumed, urgency to his tone, "You’re mine. You shall do as you please. I shall do as I please. I have the right, I'll leave my position as Kingsguard if the oaths are displeasing, you understand sweet girl? I need you to understand you’re my Princess.”

You held his gauntlets to nod, eyes wide upon his visage.

“Say it for me. Say it so I know it to be true. Now.”

Your eyes glossed over with tears. He was in quite the mood. Criston's dark eyes were wet, and desperation laced his roughed voice. Your hands curled around that cold chain of hands, lips frantically moving, “I am yours. Your princess. Nothing shall change that. I swear it on the Seven. I swear it on my heart.”

“I godsdamn love you blossom,” he growled, taking your lips roughly. Criston pressed himself into you, dominating the kiss. His hands moved down to your rear, jerking your hips flush to his own. You cried out, the dark-haired man swallowing the noise, tongue lapping against yours. His lips were insistent, and needy, leaving you breathless. You'd never felt Ser Criston so rough with you, it was intoxicating.

Shivering at his gruff words, you could not help from sliding your arms around his plated neck to moan. Criston pulled back, murmuring, “No one shall keep you from me, I’ll fucking kill them. I may do as I please now.” His lips trailed down your cheek, jaw, to your neck. All you could do was whine as he sucked and nipped little marks, big hands massaging the flesh of your ass. He nosed further down to your décolletage; greedy hands pausing at the neckline.

Lust-blown eyes met your own. You nodded, panting, “Please. Please. Take me as you wish.” His eyes scrunched shut, mouth swollen and wet as those covetous hands of his jerked your dress down, carelessly tearing the silky fabric. You yelped, never having been exposed like this, nerves sparking like wildfire. Criston’s lashes fluttered as he groaned throatily.

“Oh- fucking seven hells, precious girl,” he almost whined, nuzzling into your breasts. You seized up, unused to the carnal touches. Criston yanked off his black gloves to grab handfuls of the tender flesh, still on his knees for you. That seemed to abate the ever-looming presence of your neuroticism. He was submitting, lavishing lush kisses on your fiery skin.

You tightened your legs around his armored waist and cried out when calloused thumbs began to tenderly circle around your budded nipples. He watched your face, lips curled and eyes ever hungry. Criston murmured, “Sweetling, so responsive. Never had your pretty teats touched. Good, good, only me.”

You nodded in haphazard jerks, Criston pulling at one nipple and playing around with your other breast, big hand massaging. His kissing grew closer to the darker skin, lips closing around the bud. You mewled and squirmed, head thrown back to moan. He hummed around your nipple, flicking his tongue across the peak. Criston grew rougher, nipping before pulling off with a lurid pop.

The knight growled, moving onto your other breast. A shiver wracked your frame, your swollen peaks exposed to the chilly air felt like a white-hot line of arousal bolting down between your legs— throbbing and uncomfortably slick. You babbled, “Ser, Criston, Criston, wha-what?”

He chucked darkly, suckling a mark on your sternum. Criston hummed “You like that? Little princess needy for her knight?”

“Love, oh, love it, thank you,” you simpered.

He rasped, nose nuzzling into yours, “Of course…I take care of my blossom don’t I? Sweeter than sin.” His hands placed themselves atop your smaller ones, brown eyes begging. Criston breathed "Blossom- wanna feel you, help me out of this dreadful cage?" Once again mute- you began to unbuckle straps and buttons, exposing more and more skin.

"So good to me. Divine, ah, don't know how I was blessed with an angel."

You helped him out of the chest plate, leaving Criston to undo his white and gray gambeson. You were carefully putting the pieces on his armor stand, the man humming your name. Looking back, Criston smiled softly, his scarred and tanned torso exposed. He beckoned you over, cocking his head in surprise when you dropped to your knees.

“What are you doing, your grace?” Criston's lips curled up in amusement, dark orbs searching your serious expression.

Holding those inky eyes, you helped his boots and thick socks off. Criston threw his padded tunic to the side, cheeks growing flushed. He softly murmured, “Answer me, a Princess should not be on her knees like this.” His hand cupped your cheek, a smirk mirroring your own. You quipped, “Is it bad to be on my knees for you? I am merely serving an important man to the realm.”

You watched his face darken, eyes catching a glint to them. He swallowed, hand on your face tightening. Criston rasped “Is that it? Just merely service? Dirtying your knees like a woman of the night. Does my blossom want to be bad? Behave wanton and licentious so? Forget your maiden's day vow, hm?"

His words made your face grow warm. It was as if he was speaking your fantasies aloud. For once to not be the strange princess— nervous, wrong shade of hair, and overtly pious. No, you wanted to let go. No more being held back by others and your own swirling fears. Ser Cole soothed those aches. You wanted the keep to whisper more about how the littlest one was openly Ser Cole’s pretty blossom, driven from her mother’s teat at last.

“I- I want to make you feel good,” you murmured with blotchy cheeks. It was not necessarily a lie, but if you began to ramble about the lustful feelings you feared you may not stop or disgust the man. That simply couldn’t happen. Not after how far you have come with him.

“You lie to me blossom,” he teased, “I know exactly what you want. What you crave. To think the old king thought you to be a Septa. C’mere then, no more games”

You watched him unlace his light breeches, exposing his dark curls and full prick. A moan slipped from your lips at the sight, lust pounding your body in waves. The knight's cock was heavy and flush, the dark tip weeping. You squeezed your thighs in excitement, licking your lips. Criston’s tan hand jerked at the taught flesh, rumbling, “Needy little blossom.” It was almost funny how he stated it like a simple fact, yet you were on the edge of combustion.

“Y-yes! Please, want it so, want to be your bad girl, the bad princess…please,” you grew shy again after blurting out, “I- in m-my mouth Ser.”

Criston’s expression changed from playful to predatory, dark eyes narrowing a bit. He rasped, “Mhm, filthy little thing. I shouldn’t encourage this behavior. Especially as your protector.” As you shuffled forward to grab the thick flesh he stopped your hand, his amusement facing heady desire. You sulked, “Wanna learn so I can please you Ser.”

Ser Cole seemed content, enough to lean back on one arm, eyes roving to your tits and wide eyes. His other hand stroked himself one more time before shoving two fingers to your lips. You opened dutifully for the intrusion, eyes rolling back in bliss.

Criston’s princess was a dream, a godsdamn dream. He pressed the pads of his fingers down on her tongue, watching her shiver and whine. He soothed, “Settle now, I’ll teach you how. But I need my sweet girl to settle down. Focus on my fingers. Nothing else.” She nodded, wet lashes upon her cheeks now. Her hands were neatly placed in her lap.

He took the still moment to reflect, idly rubbing his cock. She was well trained. Helaena was the same in her mannerisms unless she grew distracted. Before Criston even remotely began to have romantic feelings, his blossom had always held him ensnared. She was horribly timid and clutched to Alicent’s skirts, then began to seek him for comfort. The white knight earned her trust with a trinket he bought in town. A small Yitish jade dragon— to place upon her bedside table. She still had it there, pristine and well-kept.

Criston was not sure when his protective nature slid into desire. It began with jealousy, perhaps around her name-day celebration and resulting tourney. Alicent and Otto were looking for a mate. Something twisted deep within his chest. Criston did not want the sweet thing to leave the castle. Get wedded and bedded by some callous lord or idiot heir.

Her smile after he routed the competition brought great happiness to his heart. That twisted thing in his chest swelled with a possessive pride that soared past his normal feelings for Alicent's children. He hated the feast. The princess was shyly speaking to a young Redwyne lad. The Arbor was too far away for his liking. Yet nothing panned out. He couldn't beat a boy for being kind.

Criston strapped his back bloody and raw for a fortnight as penitance. He could not imagine being a snake slithering around waiting for her. He already knew she held affection for him. Thus prayer would work, and he would be a good, pious protector. Alicent made a small comment and he withdrew from being too close. Those woes seemed to be gone by the time she turned eight and ten— leading to now.

The sweet, blossomed woman was dozing around his fingers now. Criston purred, "Such a good princess, just likes to be bad. That's okay, you deserve it, so kind for helping me out." She softly whimpered and drooled as he pressed upon her tongue.

"Gorgeous, being good for me."

She whined in response, pretty lashes fluttering. Criston almost lost her affection once. That dreadful day with Aegon and Ser Arryk telling him to stand down. He could have wrung his neck. But fear overcame the anger. The knight knew she mustn't gain access to that horrid secret. Criston prayed and prayed and prayed, mutilated, and prayed that Alicent would keep the truth hidden. Something in the uncomfortable hairshirt worked, his blossom forgave him, and the Gods had granted him a boon. Certainly, she was meant to be his then?

Criston blinked out of his reverie, asking gently "Blossom, are you with me?"

She looked like she was under her poppy tinctures. He smiled a bit, the princess blissed out from Criston alone. Eventually, she nodded, trying to speak around his digits. He sighed, "I think I've changed my mind, why don't you come sit in my lap? Must be chilly down there."

The blossom whined when Criston pulled his fingers out, mumbling, "Yes Ser, yes, whatever you need." She clambered onto foal-like legs, Criston guiding her to the plush leather chair. The man easily pulled her frame atop him. He hissed lowly as her ass pressed against his aching cock. Fighting the feeling, he nuzzled into reddish waves, lips quirked up. The knight whispered "You've always been such a pious one. Did you ever touch yourself?"

She shook her head slowly, body melting into Criston's. Her hands wrapped around his bigger wrists. The princess whimpered, "No, never, I would not dare. It is sinful," she paused for a long time, "Right?" Cole chuckled, one hand of his rubbing soothing circles onto her side. He teased "We're together now, I prayed for it, the Seven smile upon us. How can it be sinful if you're touching yourself for me? The Seven-Pointed Star says you may indulge with a paired soul."

He grabbed her chin to emphasize his point, her innocent eyes making his cock hurt "I would say we are paired souls. Do you agree?"

"You know it to be true, you always have," she stated.

"Good. I'll touch you instead, so you may remember this and feel better when I am away."

He bunched her woolen dress, exposing her plush thighs and untainted maidenhead. Criston inhaled sharply, fingers digging into the wrinkled cloth. He could see her slick and aroused, flesh darkened with need. The man gritted his jaw in restraint, he would treat the sweet girl like the delicate blossom she was. Her eyes were still upon him, dark and wet, skin flushed. Ser Cole could feel the tacky way his cock was plastering itself to her ass with his prick leaking the way it was.

"Does it please you?" came her tiny warble.

Criston groaned, "Yes, yes, more than anything yes...Hold your dress up now. I...need to take care of you sweet blossom. My needs can wait." She sniffled and clung to her raised layers of dress, head shyly tucked away as she panted. The Hand gripped the giving flesh of her thigh, coaxing her to open wider with a gentle coo. The redhead shivered in response, breasts bouncing as her breath hitched.

"Have you been this wet for me before?"

"Mhmmm," she whined, hiding her embarrassed look.

"Need you to watch blossom, or you won't know how," he stated. He could feel her gaze watch as Criston's spit-slick fingers cautiously slid across her opening. She mewled in response, gasping, "Ser!" He hushed and laid tiny lush kisses, easing her heightening fears. "Slow and gentle, breathe for your knight," came his rasp.

"Ser, Cris- oh heavens, oh what is that? S-so good!"

He laughed, "A special place the mother gave you, the maiden bestowed for naughty princesses like you to rut on and make a mess. You're making quite a mess, all wet and needy." She moved back against his swollen prick, Criston's eyes fluttering. His princess babbled, "'S for you, m'not, not, naugh-ty." He assured her she wasn't, now narrating his way down to her entrance.

"Your sweet pearl is fun to play with, but most green boys don't know how to work a woman's body. I'll let you take your own pleasure too."

The tips of his fingers slid into her wet warmth, tight and silky smooth. They both gasped into the room's silence, Criston groaning in contentment. He slid further in, minding her reactions. Maiden above she was tight. She planted her feet on the leather chair, her dress falling back. Criston was taken aback as she breathed, "Want to touch you, not this silly dress."

"Seven Hells, you'll send me to an early grave..."

Her hands held onto his forearms as Criston began to delve into her cunt, easing her in with rhythmic slides. She was growing restless, cute tits bouncing with every heave of breath. He would surprise her with the sweet spot. The marcher curled his fingers upwards, dragging against the soft ridged area.

He smirked as her chest hitched once more, a small confused noise leaving petal lips. Criston playfully crooked his fingers back and forth as watched her whine and squirm raptly. The man whispered against her ear, “Feel the heel of my palm? Go on, use your hips.”

Criston’s smirk broke into a smile as she rode his hand and fingers, shyly at first. The princess’ hips twitched tentatively, her slick cunt moving against Criston with ease. He nuzzled her neck, pressing more little kisses as she sped up, fingers digging into his arms. The knight found himself mumbling between kisses, “Good…so good..thassit’.”

His blossom was rutting hard now, huffing between her broken noises. Cole could feel her tighten around him, even one of her pretty tits under his hand was budded and tight. His dark gaze noticed her thighs were quivering as she grew frantic with pleasure, crying Criston’s name. It made his heart swell. Yet the deep-seated craving wasn't met by the hand of the king.

“Mine. Say you're mine. Before you come. Now.”

Her hips stuttered and ground down hard, the princess throwing her head back onto Criston's shoulder as she cried, "I am yours, only yours, forever yours Ser Cole! Hnghhh- oh my gods! Please!" She looked up toward him, begging softly, riding his hand, her ass rubbing Criston's prick to near completion. He demanded her release, gasping as the innocent m thing squealed and gushed all over his hand, grabbing onto him for dear life.

She sobbed in pleasure, sending a gut punch to Criston's own throbbing balls. He gripped down on her with his free hands, squeezing her soft hips as he rutted with heavy grunts, blinking and gasping for breath as he emptied all over her clothed backside. Criston moaned her name, pressing his sweating forehead to her shoulder, inhaling their mixed scent. He rasped, "Lovely blossom, just lovely, I'm so proud of you my love."

She stared with swollen eyes, the prettiest smile upon her lips as she said, "I love you Criston."

He would take that memory to battle with him. Else the man feared he'd pick her up and abscond. He was too deep, had too many scores to settle, dying with a name worth living for. Yet. Yet, she was always there, waiting for him. Ser Criston shut his ever-spinning mind down for the evening.

Criston was leaving for the Riverlands in the morn. He'd kept you by his side for the last week or so. It did not matter where— the throne room, the barracks, his tower, even the council again. People stared and remained silent. Alicent had refused to speak to either of you and Aemond looked at you like a common whore. It did not matter when you had your love.

Ser Cole was insatiable in the bedroom since he brought you to a peak with his fingers. He'd taught you how to suck him, rub him, how to get off on his thighs or tight stomach. Every night you'd lain in a mess of sweat, tears, and come. Nothing was finer than taking a sensual bath afterward, soaping each other up between slow kisses. You were in love, truly, but at such an awful time. You prayed the gods would give him back to you. You feared what would come of you when he left. The thought of death was too much.

Your white knight was in a forlorn mood tonight, holding you tightly. You rubbed his thigh and consoled Criston, "I have a dragon you know. I shall be fine." He grimaced and rolled over to face you, handsome face twisted with emotions. The marcher asked, "I hope you think me to be good and kind even after this all. Don't let me die in vain."

"Don't talk like that," you chastised, frowning.

He grumbled further, sinking into his foul mindset, barbs upon his tongue. A tense argument broke out between you two. Criston ended it by shoving himself atop you and bursting into tears. He gritted, "I am, fucking hell, reconsidering everything now. I must go on. I must face my reality, we both should. But it...hurts! It fucking hurts! You have to grow up now! I've left you in your pretty gilded cage for too long!"

You blinked in shock, his tears hitting your face. Criston seemed to deflate, apologizing and weeping, "M'just scared, I can't leave you alone, I can't. You're all I need. Oh gods forgive me." This was the side of the marcher you knew few had seen. Vulnerable, real, human. Criston huffed into your neck, his hands digging into your waist.

“You’re not wrong-“

“I didn’t mean it.”

“Whether you did or not, ‘tis true Criston. We must face our fates whether that be now or later. I must prepare my own dragon to defend the city. You must go lead our troops. I can’t sit and weep the rest of my life.”

He gazed with wet eyes, red rimmed and dark lashes clumped. You caressed your knight’s cheek, murmuring, “I want you to have me before you leave. The gods never promise anything.”

A soft noise fell from his swollen lips, Criston readjusting himself between your lax thighs. You thought idly about giving him your tincture with the way the man was shaking. He rasped, “They don’t, not the Stranger. I want to make this…good.” Criston’s lips trembled as he pressed them tenderly to your own, balancing himself on an elbow. You wrapped your arms around his wide shoulders, opening up.

The kiss spoke of the utter fear in the air. Long drags of tongue and sucking of lips, no urgency in the sacred moment. You arched into him, suckling gently on the tip of Criston’s hot tongue. He groaned, hips twitching against yours as he tilted his face some, lips dancing yet insistent. You grabbed some of his dark hair, crying out when he nipped your lip. The man ate up your noises, hands greedily roving your body.

“I love you,” he spoke, voice wobbly.

His lips moved down your jaw and neck, sucking at that sensitive place below your ear.

Criston’s cock had grown flush and heavy between your legs, twitching with need. Your own desire began to drip with slick and pounded with blood flow. You rocked against him with a whine, Criston’s eyes flicked to you with a sly smile as he ground back. You threw your head back in pleasure as he massaged and lapped at your tits, sucking at your tits with desperate noises.

Once again you yanked at his hair and Criston moaned, pausing to take your lips again. He murmured, urgency to his voice, “I’m going to stretch you out blossom, as best as I can, wan’ you to feel good. Feel so good.” The urge to cry bubbled up but you nodded along anyways, spreading your legs like the good princess. His good princess.

Criston hitched one of your thighs up around his waist, the other he held out. The man inhaled at your tender mound, eyes black as the coal on his sigil. You shivered involuntarily at the feeling of those sculpted lips sealing around your pearl, sucking ever so softly. One of your hands slapped down on the bed as you whimpered, thighs tightening. His calloused fingers swiped at your slick cunt, diving in two off the get.

It wasn’t painful— you’d gotten quite used to two fingers from your lover. But he pumped a couple of times before stretching his fingers outwards. That was a new feeling, a bothered whine elicited from the sensation. Criston flicked his tongue a couple of times and that was forgotten as hot licks of pleasure bundled up in your belly.

His ring finger slid in, a new feeling, a bit of a pinch. Criston rambled, “Breathe love, breathe, doing so good for me. The most obedient princess, wanton for her night. I wish you could see how much of a mess you’re already making.” He smiled at your keen of arousal and embarrassment, three fingers stretching your tight walls. He dove back down to flick, suck, lick at your pearl— relentlessly so.

Your hand not trying to rip the bed gripped his short hair, thighs clamping down now. He was abusing your other gifted place, curling his fingers as if to bring your release forward. Wet noises of his hungry mouth and ravenous fingers filled the room. He grunted, hips jerking to a standstill when you whimpered, “So close, closeclose, I love you, oh stars Criston.”

He didn’t cease his movements as you felt goosebumps arise across your hot skin, sweat beginning to bead up as pleasure rose and rose. Your lower stomach was a tight cord, ready to come undone, winding tighter and tighter. All you could do was mewl and squirm, enslaved to his ministrations. You gaped, breath going staccato, whining through your nose.

The coil snapped.

You fell apart in a flurry of shaking limbs, mouth wide open yet not a peep coming out. It was intense and fiery, the flames of carnal delights searing you. Criston moaned softly, “Ah- gorgeous blossom, made a mess all over.” He licked his swollen lips and wet chin, cock beaded and bobbing between trim thighs. You watched in a haze, feelings the subtle burn from his beard brushing your delicate skin. It felt delightful to you— the dull throb.

“Want you, please, want your,” you paused, “Want us to be truly together.”

Criston nodded, hand on his prick, precariously sliding atop your limp form. He slicked up the head of his already weeping member with your own essence, eyes rolling back at the sensation. Criston nuzzled against your face, promising to make you feel good. He seemed to grow more emotional, taking his time with sliding the blunt head around your entrance.

Carefully holding wide shoulders you tried to relax your nervous body, going limp when his cock breached your tight cunt. Criston shivered, pushing forward a bit more, gasping out. “Princess, are you okay? Hm?” Worried brown eyes flitted around as he met your eyes. You nodded in a slow jerk, it was uncomfortable but more foreign than anything. The man pushed in further, your inner walls stretching to accommodate his thick cock.

There it was, a pinch inside. Your chest went a little tight, nails digging into his shoulders. Criston’s mouth opened but you surged forward to kiss him, thighs and heels urging the man on. You’d never wanted anything else but this, right now. He moaned deep and long, holding himself from going too far. Inch by inch he settled, the pair of you panting into eachother’s mouth. A pregnant pause settled over your connected forms, his eyes upon yours. Brown and plum.

You didn’t have to say it again— it was felt.

Criston gingerly pulled out on a soft whine, pushing himself back into your cunt. Then again. Over and over until he built up a pace, mouth hanging open as he groaned helplessly. The friction was delicious, the pain blending away to fall into deep pleasure. Your nails clawed at his back some, keening your lovers name as he began to fuck you in earnest.

You felt so fucking full and satisfied, Criston’s gorgeous moans urging you to fuck back onto his fat prick. Useless babbles left your lips, “Full, oh, oh you feel s’good.” Criston whined wetly against your neck, feverishly kissing and sucking as he grabbed your hips to get a better angle. His beard rubbed your neck and collarbones raw— another reminder of his love. The marcher’s chest heaved as his hips and balls hit your skin, leaving nothing back as he gave in.

“Godsdammit, hah, sweet blossom, taking your knight so well. Made for me, swear- swear it.”

“All for you.”

He bit down on your neck, thrusting at a breakneck pace. The dark haired knight couldn’t quit from rambling or moaning, eyes scrunched shut as your tight pussy milked him. You squirmed under his heavier body, Criston’s chest hair rubbing against the delicate skin of your breasts, your nipples aching from the friction. Your nails drew deeper scores into his back. Tears pricked at your eyes.

Once again you were at the precipice.

Why did this feel like the last?

Criston whined as his hips stuttered, cock twitching deep inside. His tactful thrusts were mismatched and sloppy, the firmness of his voice chipped away to quavering emotional whimpering. You tightened further, your cunt spasming in waves as you felt the familiar throes burn deep inside. So good it hurt. The pair of you came undone together, sounding like a pair of young lovers squealing and crying. Thick ropes of his cum painted your insides, another shiver crossing your frame.

Would it be so bad if his seed took?

Criston fell down to his side, cock slipping out in a mess of spend and blood. He grabbed onto you tightly, tears slipping down your cheek. Your own tears mingled with his, you absently petting dark hair. He laughed blithely, “I shall bear your wounds proudly, hmph.” You pointed out your neck, agreeing to do the same in case you were needed.

“I’ll pray for you my love.”

“And I you.”

Many winters and summers later, barflies would say you could catch glimpses of a ragged white knight asking where his blossom was, down on some road south of the Gods Eye. The ghost would never know she perished in dragonflame, best that he didn’t, if anyone even knew what the apparition was talking about.

#ser criston cole x reader #ser criston cole #criston cole x reader #kingmaker era #heed the tags #targaryen!reader #hotd smut #hotd fanfiction

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ewanmitchelll · 3 months

Text

Imagine you can fix him. No, really, you can.

Warnings: drama, angst and (explicit) smut; long post; some canon divergence…

***

You’ve been raised at court as part of Princess Helaena’s retinue. Due to your noble status, this isn’t different any other lady of your station might’ve expected.

You have grown close to the princess, and the two of you are very good friends—more like sisters, truthfully. Due to your similar nature, both of you found yourselves reading, sewing and dancing when possible.

But as you grew, you eventually found another companion to spend your time at court with. The second wayward son of King Viserys, Lord Aemond.

Here’s how all it began…

***

• (I) Broken infancy.

Right after the mess where the Queen confronted her stepdaughter about what had happened between Rhaenyra’s offspring and Aemond, you opt to go after him.

It’s dark. It’s late and you should be elsewhere, but you pay little mind to these rules. You find Aemond outdoors, sitting in the stairs as if he’s contemplating quietly the price paid for losing an eye.

You think you hear a sniff, but you’re not sure. You wait until silence is absolute before making yourself announced.

“L-Lord Prince.”

Aemond turns abruptly, completely out of guard. He hates the vulnerability, but before he can come out with a snark response, you step forward and say:

“I do not mean to intrude. But… may I offer you company?”

The boy looks at you with distrust.

“What are your business here, Lady Y/LN? You should be with my sister.”

“I was worried about you…”

“I don’t need your pity”, and saying so he spits out.

“You don’t”, you agree calmly even if you’re shaken inside. “But everyone needs a friend.”

There is a small pause where you anxiously wait for him to give you some space. Eventually he does since there’s no one around.

“Well. Helaena doesn’t like many people, but here you are, the only one she actually spends time with”, mumbles Aemond.

You smile before taking a seat by his side.

“It appears so.”

Neither of you speak for a while. You know Aemond is still getting used to your company, so you speak nothing.

“I’m sorry”, you tell him.

The prince casts a look at this y/c haired lady of the house y/c dressed in the manner of the Hightower. Despite the remaining distrust in his eyes, you know he reads you.

What a process to forge a bond, and yet here you are.

“For what? You did nothing wrong.”

“No. But I lament for the loss you went through.”

“Well…”, and here he inclines his head towards the great shadow flying over the dark skies. “It was worth the dragon I reclaimed.”

“Like every Targaryen before you.”

Something about you said seems to knock his defenses down. However this isn’t something Aemond is prepared to admit. Yet.

***

• (II) Darkness & Light.

Aemond keeps an eye on you as much as you keep an eye on him. You’ve grown to a handsome woman, wearing gowns that reinforce your curves even though nothing in your actions deem other than innocence.

You and Helaena are almost twins. Could be so had you been birthed by Queen Alicent. Perhaps this is why Aegon looks down on you as much as he does to his sister-wife.

But the wayward, gloomy Prince, who at times opts to find his path towards his… whore, cannot divert away of you.

In fact, he is rather surprised to see you gravitating towards him just as he leaves the room.

“Y/N”, Aemond whispers your name, hands behind his back, not turning his head to welcome you… and because he hopes you don’t spot a slight, timid smirk that forms on his lips due to your presence.

“My dear Aem. Going to practice with Ser Criston again?”

You purposely link your arm to his, nudging his side playfully to tease him the way you know he doesn’t like.

But the prince can’t get rid of you, can he?

“Like always.”

“May I watch it?”

“If you want to.”

Aemond knows silence is not your best trait, something that he, in fact, appreciates.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been out of my sight again”, you muse, eyeing him closely.

He avoids your gaze, aware of what you talk about. But why does he feel a hint of shame knock his pride?

“Hum”, it’s all he says.

You sigh heavily. By how you breathe heavily, Aemond knows you are about to lose your temper.

“Don’t “hum” at me, Aemond Targaryen. You’ve been whoring again, haven’t you?”

To your surprise, he stops abruptly, turning at you in such a way that makes you blush. Aemond reads you, him too baffled when discovering you might actually have feelings for him.

How else would you feel so possessive towards me, Y/Nickname?

Today, your hair is tied in two perfectly braids. They are long enough to fall over your waist, Aemond notices. Your eyes are livid, he can tell the amount of repressed feelings that are behind the colour that paints them—and he is intrigued to know what these are.

You are chewing your bottom lip, a sign of nervousness—he never took you for an insecure person.

Are you afraid of losing me?

And then there’s something about the gown, green like always, that makes him want to rip it. He can tell your breasts are tied… and he wants to release the pressure this gown is making on them. Suddenly, comes to his mind a scene where he is sucking your nipples, rubbing one with his thumb all the whilst using his tongue to play with the other.

Perhaps you’d like that, Y/N. To be treated well. Perhaps you’d be a better replacement than my whore.

Indecent thoughts that he cannot sweep off his mind, but that his mind plays a good effort to it because you are a good precious damsel who doesn’t serve to be part of his dark, sinful self.

And yet… what he sees in you is the light that blinds him. Another sight he cannot lose. So he does what’s best of him to do: push people away.

“How does this concern you, Lady Y/N? You’ve been a good friend, but you are nothing more to me.”

Words that shouldn’t have come out this way. But they do. When seeing the hurt in your eyes, Aemond knows the weight of his lies. Suddenly, he realizes he wishes he could be saved.

And you, as his savior, have been pushed away.

“I am not quitting on you”, you wear your prideful mask, which intrigues him. “Still going to watch your practice though. Besides, I was only asking… because of your mother.”

Aemond cannot amend the awkwardness, but his mind screams at him for not bothering in doing so.

“I know.”

So he turns his back on you. And to his consternation, you stay.

Whilst Aemond practices with his sword, you shut yourself in your world. Your eyes are carefully down whenever a courtier passes by—you detest to get the male attention, not when you wish for more on Aemond’s part.

But you little foolish thing, he doesn’t want you. The prince sees you as a friend, is all. An extension of Helaena.

You struggle with your tears as this thought occurs you, but perhaps this isn’t so bad, is it? Duty often sacrifices sentiments. Perhaps you should tell your sister, Queen to be, that you are ready to marry and then… stay away of him for good.

But the courage in this decision soon dissipates the moment you raise your eyes and find Aemond staring at you.

And you know you’ve been trapped.

***

• (III) Scars.

You are about to slip under your blankets when the door of your bedchambers are abruptly opened. You are frightened when hearing the sound due to your exposed state: your line nightgown poorly covers your nipples and you still have no time to throw robes to cover yourself when he stands before you.

Distressed, anguished. In who he really is. In one broken state you’ve only seen once.

You forget yourself when you run to hold Aemond Targaryen in your arms.

“My love”, you whisper, letting him sob. “My prince”.

You pull him to yourself, the only one Aemond trusts with his being. The only one he knows he can be himself, with his scars and open vices. He clings onto you, he digs his fingers onto your waist, letting him be guided to your bed before burying his head against your belly.

You can only imagine what had struck him like this. A feast of demons over his head, each fighting for his flesh. And yet you are here, battling against them.

When he finally stops sobbing, he looks up at him. You’ve never seen him so fragile, so famine for affection. And here you are. Providing what he needs.

“Tell me all”, you whisper.

“I do not want to. You’ll find a monster in me”, and yet he holds onto your hips, fearful you’d let go of him.

“You are not a monster, Aemond. You may have some vices, but you are a human being like anyone else”, you tell him gently. “Come here.”

Aemond obeys you, sitting in front of you.

“Let me tend you”, you whisper. “I’ll prepare your bath.”

“Y/Nickname…”, he holds your wrist firmly.

“I won’t leave you. I won’t abandon you”, you assure him. “Do you trust in me?”

Aemond nods his head.

“My boy, then let me bath you. Besides”, and here you dress your best smile. “You smell like old dragon.”

Finally something that pulls out a smile of him. As he sits there, you are quick to fetch servants to prepare him a good bath. When you go back at him, Aemond gives you that intense look which gives you shivers.

And wets you in between your legs too.

But this isn’t the moment nor the time.

“Come. It’s ready.”

You lean against the wall of the privy quarters as Aemond starts to undress. Even though he is damaged for what he’s done, he likes to feel the weight of your gaze on him. And he smirks when he stands nude before you.

“I don’t think you’ve seen me like this”, he muses.

You don’t look away when he says so. Aemond feels a heat growing inside him.

“No, I don’t. Not physically anyway”, you point out.

“Don’t look away”, he asks.

You dare to scan his body with your discreet gaze, eyeing his well build muscles, attentive to his scars and… his manhood, which is now erected. And quickly you look away, blushing, as he chuckles.

“You’ve never seen one up before, my lady?”, he asks, sliding into the tub.

You gently knee behind him and get to rub his back with a sponge.

“Do not take me to your whore, Aemond”, you snap at him.

The prince smiles at it. He lets you clean him before he dives into the water. When coming back to the surface, the prince is disappointed for not seeing you there.

A moment later, though, when he’s dressed in clean clothes, says Aemond with a subtle accusation tone:

“You left me there for one moment…”

“You surely can handle yourself as you finished you bath. I am only your friend, wasn’t that what you called me?”

Aemond sighs.

“Y/Nickname, I shouldn’t have said that.”

He comes at you and rests his arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. When you side look at him, you spot that old fragility rarely seen.

It’s what melts you down.

“Very well. Come here. Let me tend you”, and now back to your bed, you and him lace your fingers together, his head in between your breasts. “What did you do, Aemond?”

You stroke his hair with your loose hand, aware that he’d done something bad. But where others see him ruthless, you see a broken boy trying to find his worth in this misadjusted world.

“I…”, his embargoed voice has your attention.

“Yes?”, you lift his chin, now cupping his face; removing his eyepatch, you gently force him to look at you.

And here comes a tear.

“I killed him. But I didn’t mean to.”

“Who?”

But you know the answer.

“…Lucerys.”

Old wounds that never close… bleed endlessly. You sigh heavily, but rest your forehead against his.

“You shouldn’t have done that, my dear”, you speak softly.

“I understand.”

“But I won’t abandon you, you know that, do you?”, you hope to transmit him that, regardless of this sinful secret he shared with you, together you two are stronger.

“You are the only one who knows my weakness”, he buries his head against your neck, needy of you, weak and feeble. Fragile. “Do not dare to leave me.”

“You have always been sacred to me to be profaned now, Aemond”, you whisper.

He leans his body close to yours, transfixed by your irradiating beauty… and your unending loyalty.

The prince touches your face and you tilt your head, letting his slander fingers brush over your face and then going down to your neck. You partly wish that he goes below… a perception he sees evident in your eyes.

Aemond knows he’s as vulnerable as you. And yet his hand moves to your collarbone, unlacing your nightgown.

“So beautiful. You look as if I can be redeemed.”

“You can”, you lean closer, not minding how purposely your breasts slip out of the line. Your eyes remain locked with his all the whilst you take his face with your hands. “You can be redeemed.”

Aemond waits no further: his dragon fire awakes and he is about to burn you. You welcome his hungry lips thus, sighing in content as he crawls over your body, ripping impatiently your gown, promptly reclaiming you the same way he did Vhagar.

You subdue easily to him, letting him have his way to you. That his lips make his kiss ache every part of you gets a moan out of you, which in turn makes Aemond smirk.

You are mine and mine alone. I possess you, I take you as who you are, my lady Y/N.

Such are his thoughts, which you need naught to have the ability to read them; for they are readable in his tight grip of you, in how his tongue dominates yours along with his body.

Trapped under his dominance, you are found breathless and a puddle of mess when he parts the kiss to let slid his tongue over your jawline and neck, his fingers now pulling your hair gently, tangled in your curls.

Then he stops what he’s doing to contemplate your state under candlelight. And here he smirks.

“Divine you are, my lady. How can a man like me be worthy of a woman like you?”

You sensually lift your legs to pull him by his hips as you adjust your body so his can mould better in it. You like the lust in his eyes, one of the kind that doesn’t conceal his vices nor his virtues… one that shows his genuine feelings to you.

“You deserve all the love in the world, my dear Aemond. Let me heal you”, you stroke his cheeks, smiling gently.

“A flower soon to be deflowered by a rogue”, he sneers under his breath, but there’s no despise in his eyes, only the same old scars.

“I am your woman”, you tell him, and he’s surprised to find in you the same possessiveness there is in him. “I am not any flower, though.”

Aemond smirks. Whatever insecurities laid behind his good eye, now they are no more.

“You shall be more than that, darling”, he brushes his lips against yours, biting your bottom lip not long after. “My consort, mother of my heirs.”

As if to assure you he means every word, he not only kisses your neck and gets a few moans out of you, but leaves some bruises there. You’ve been marked.

Aemond, however, cannot take out of his thought the idea of corrupting you. Though it flings him with some guilt, the way your legs are wrapped around him, your bodies so perfectly moulded that leaves no doubt that it is hardly sinful what’s to be done.

You may spot some of it, so to assure him there’s no question of the legitimacy of the deed, you put yourself under him properly so he looks down at you… and yet your hand takes hold of his erect manhood.

“Y/N!”, he gasps in surprise.

You give him a malicious smirk at the same time there is nothing to encounter in your gaze that is not innocence itself. Inexperience you may be, but you have ears that long heard of maids doing so with their partners.

But to feel his cock responding well to your moves is a positive indicator that you are doing it well.

“My lady!”, he wants to stop you, but fuck it it’s so damn good. Aemond rolls his eye, almost falling over you. “You should not…”

“I want you”, you whisper in the back of his ear as you caress his face and hair with your free hand. “Carnally, emotionally, all that is between. I want my prince Aemond Targaryen the way he really is.”

It’s enough to wipe out any reasonable thought he may have in regarding preserving you of such naughtiness. Aemond lets out the repressed lust for you, his sentiments towards his lady—of the kind only his whore knew about—, and bloody seven hells… you know how to make him feel good!

All the whilst you enjoy feeling his precum getting your hand soaked, and twirling your thumb around the tip like he instructs you to—the very fact he’s the one teaching you also arouses him quite.

“Fuck”, and he growls against your skin, burying himself into your breasts, biting your nipples and sucking each ardently with the devotion of a lover.

So you too welcome a different sensation of bliss, a pleasure never before felt, hitting on your in waves of heat that get your body out of control. It does “worsen”, though, the moment he does to you what you do to him.

Aemond captures the surprise that flashes behind your eyes when he finds you soaked to the core. And then… not deeming to waste his seed, he takes your hands and pins over your head.

As his thighs are over yours, you see this handsome man towering over you. His well build muscles, his handsome manhood…

“Do you like the view, Princess?” Aemond asks gently, though the way he looks at you there’s nothing innocent or gentle.

And he sees how your body reacts. Which only arouses him further.

“Yes”, you are almost breathless. “Please, do not make me beg.”

Aemond chuckles low, hands wrapping around your neck.

“Oh, but aren’t you begging already, my love?”

And then he releases the pressure by inserting another finger in your womanhood.

“Mm. You like that, do you not?”, Aemond groans as you deliberately give yourself to him, a complete mess. He likes the view, to know he ruined you too.

And then he bends over… only to slowly insert his manhood into you.

“Oh Gods!”

Aemond side smirks at you.

“It’s going to be a long night, Princess Y/N.”

And to seal his promise, he pursuits your lips in a passionate kiss.

***

• (IV) The Great Escape.

As you stand quietly in the royal chambers, you detect grey clouds rumbling in the sky. You furrow your eyebrows at the sight, perceiving it as a bad omen.

It’s when Helaena comes at you, so suddenly and silently that you are almost startled by her presence.

“I see the boy”, she whispers at you, the only one who understands her. “He will conquer all.”

“Do you mean any of your brothers?”, you ask in the same tone.

Helaena smiles quietly, though in her eyes you detect a mix of apprehension and concern. You know she hesitates, so you hope to transmit calmness.

“Laena, do not fear. I shall keep your secret with me”, and you point to your heart.

She looks at your hands before giving a look at the horizon. You give her time. Then she turns her head and says:

“He shall not be king until other dies”, another pause. “You should not be here when Aegon becomes king.”

You are more than aware that Aegon is not really fond of you.

“Is war coming, dear Laena?”, you ask.

“No”, and here she smiles. “Not for you nor Aemond.”

You have the decency to blush. You’d think your secret encounters with Aemond remained a secret, but didn’t you underestimate your closest friend?

“I…”

“Do not apologize. You’ve brought him the light out of him.”

And in her own way of saying thanks, Helaena rests her head against your shoulder. So suddenly the announce of storm is dissipated… and your fears, likewise.

But before this light prevails, it is yet the time to cross the dark. Therefore, you are not entirely surprised to find Aemond vulnerable again. It’s late night and he comes for you in seek of solace. The one kind he’s been refused by his family.

Aemond slides through the half open door, already suspicious in not finding your privy chambers completely close. Hearing voices, a fang of jealousy threatens to bring out his worse when he comes to find out you and Helaena have been spending time together.

It is a relief, somewhat one that makes him smirk, to seeing you getting along with his family. Not that he cares about it, but…

He waits until Helaena is gone to surprise you. You are wearing a pink gown with details in pink and are just untying your braid, completely unaware of his silent presence.

Aemond is reclining against the wall, watching you remove the courtly garments that you wear daily, noticing in your distracted face different expressions he is used to see in you.

“You look exhausted”, his voice comes out as a single whisper right as you are caught off guard and almost crying out as a result. “What’s wrong?”

“Aemond!”, you yell. “Are you out of your mind? Always like a rat, aren’t you?”

He chuckles at your reaction, moving to where you stand so he can have you all to himself. You melt instantly in his arms, but then quickly recompose when noticing that vulnerability only you spot on.

“Wait. What happened?”

“You didn’t answer my question”.

You know it’s pointless to argue with him so you shrug your shoulders and say:

“Just tired, is all.”

You don’t think wise to tell that lately you’ve been having strange morning sickness, so you motion to fetch yourselves some wine before getting at him.

“Now your turn.”

Aemond doesn’t buy your lie, though. But taking the wine offered, he opts to keep that in his mind for a moment later.

“I’ve met the Strong boys.”

“Oh.”

And here comes the thunder…

“What do you mean by “oh”? I’ve been teased out and about, Y/N”, says a very moody Aemond. “Jacaerys and Joffrey think they can have their way out?”

And here he comes to burst in tears. That broken boy hasn’t been healed nor taken care of. You put your glass aside and move to embrace him. Like a needy child, he comes for support which you give him without second thoughts.

“What happened then?”

“A fight was only prevented because of my mother. She welcomed Rhaenyra and her bastards here.”

You let him burst out his anger, silent and pained, as you hold him. In moments like this is when he undress the rogue mask he often wore to public; -and it’s here his fragility is seen, which leads to a more intimate moment.

“You don’t feel at peace here.”

“No”, Aemond admits. “Not here not anywhere. But I aim to reclaim Harrenhal.”

A stranger shiver crosses your spine and even the prince feels it. He looks up at you, quizzically so.

“What was that?”

“Oh, the shiver? You felt it too?”, you try to make a joke about it. “So tight you felt it as if it were you, uh?”

But Aemond is serious.

“I am not joking, Y/N.”

“I had a bad feeling about this. You know the stories of Harrenhal.”

Now the silver haired man chuckles.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dragons could be a myth, and were treated as such before the Conquest by the Westerosi. And yet here they are”, you tell him firmly. “Stories contain a degree of truth. I did my homework.”

“I can tell.” And softening, he rises to cup your face and kiss your nose and lips. “I did not wish to distress you. But I cannot stay here any longer,Y/N.”

“Well…”, and you smile as you rest your forehead against his. “Let us runaway, Aemond. Together.”

“To where?”, Aemond isn’t sure about the idea, but this possibility does bring some relief to him.

“The Free Cities”, you decide. “You aren’t the first Targaryen who flees King’s Landing to locate somewhere there. Essos is one of those who traditionally welcomes these Valyrian kind.”

Aemond chuckles, pleasantly surprised by your wit.

“We need little convincing, don’t we?”

“It is what you need most, my beloved. Some peace of mind and spirit will do you well.”

So the plan is architected. And the promised consolation shall come.

Yet, night arises and with it, demons that come to dispute over royal flesh. Aemond is tormented by his nightmares. As he watches you sleep peacefully, he envies your serenity.

Part of him riots against the idea of being with you. Running away sounds coward-ish and the ilidic paradise is an idea fit for poets and story tellers.

Reclining against the wind, naked, he is vulnerable and to feel it only makes him feel irc about it.

It’s when you notice the bed getting colder. As you turn around, you see you are alone once again. You almost panic at the idea of him leaving you, but this is wiped out of your mind when seeing the state he is.

“Aemond”, you don’t mind the clothes. “Come to bed”, you rest your chin over his shoulder. Suddenly you notice how tall he is.

He tries to avoid your gaze, but it is difficult to ignore you when you recline your body, so warmt, against his. In a stark contrast of fire and cold, he is like an ice berg to you.

“Please”, you ask him.

Aemond turns at you at last and acquiesces with your request. Silently he follows you, but he doesn’t sleep straight away.

“You are worthy of love”, you tell him, cuddling him. “You cannot ignore the wounds that hurt you.”

“I fear I am incapable of healing”, Aemond whispers, a tear rolling down his cheek. “How can you conceive the idea of us together, Y/N?”

“You can be saved.”

He snorts, eyes closing as he slowly drifts to sleep under your tenderness.

“Maybe I do not want to be saved.”

“To be saved or to be redeemed. Is there any difference? Sleep my life. The night may be long and full of terrors, but light always comes to win over it.”

You’d think Aemond had fallen asleep as you take the blankets and cover yourselves, but as you too lie down, your hear him say:

“I love you, Y/N.”

You smile warmly because this is the first time he admits it out loud. Wiping away your happy tears, you lean to kiss his forehead.

“I love you too, Aemond Targaryen.”

Indeed, funny as it is, you are now officially part of the House Targaryen. Daeron and Helaena had been the only witnesses of the ceremony that made you officially Lord Aemond’s wife.

“Welcome to our family”, greets Daeron. “Just hope one does not notice the mess we are.”

“Oh, nothing too different of my own family, my lord.”

“Lord?”, Daeron scoffs. “We are family now, sister. There is little need to use formalities.”

Aemond smiles quietly when spotting a blush turning your cheeks into crimson. And speaking of informalities, Helaena welcomes you in her own way. To a general surprise, she in fact hugs you close before saying:

“Never forget. A king will come soon. To conquer all. The line must carry on.”

And then she takes Daeron away, leaving you baffled.

“What did she say?”, asks Aemond, curious.

“I’m afraid this time I didn’t understand what she meant, husband.”

“Well”, he shrugs his shoulders. “Not many of us do. Ready, my lady?”

You smile warmly and the sight makes Aemond content. Sun is rising in the horizon when he helps you mount old Vhagar.

And when she is ready to fly, you cling tight in your husband like a monkey.

“Oh my Gods!”

He laughs away. Never before he laughed so unpreocuppied, so carelessly, so free.

You know it. You feel it too. For when you look at him, you could tell how successfully you fixed him. Didn’t you?

***

• (V) Essos.

You may think you are brave for riding Vhagar, but braver so for mounting your husband. Now that you have enough trust to do so, you come to find out that is a lot better than in your wildest dreams.

“Oh Gods!”, and like any other day you are louder,a sound the servants are already used by now. “Aemond!”

It’s been three months since you and Aemond settled in Essos, and ever since the city not only welcomed you two properly like the royalty both of you are, but is also becoming the stage to Aemond’s ambitions—to which you turned a blind side to.

“So good, my wife!”, Aemond groans, pleased like always to see your boobs bouncing and how synced his body and yours are in one single move.

But domineering he is, so in a matter of seconds you are under his power again, a “victim” of his intense thrusts. And as he seeds you, it’s only then he comes to notice the changes of your body. Your breasts are bigger, you are curvier and your appetites… are different too.

As he collapses against your side, Aemond holds you close to him, though. Stroking your hair and helping to straighten it after messing you good, he smiles.

“I cannot believe myself when I recall the enormous quantity of years that took for us to get married.”

“You are slower than I’d assumed to be, husband”, you tease him, earning a few tickles.

“Life here isn’t as bad as it seems, though”, Aemond contemplates after kissing your forehead. “I think we can rebuild our life here in the manner of Westeros.”

You know there are certain ambitions that do not die, no matter the efforts in healing scars. It’s a side of his character that you’ve always accepted. Then you are reminded of Helaena’s prophecy and somehow you made your peace with it.

“Indeed, I…”

Oh no. Not that nauseous morning again! In a matter of seconds you are running to your privy quarters and throw all that you’ve ingested earlier the day… out.

When Aemond rushes after you, though, he doesn’t take too long to realize that an heir is coming. At last.

“My dearest wife”, he kneels after you. “Let me help you. The way you help me.”

For the first time in years he sees your vulnerability, your fragility. You try to conceal it, but he doesn’t allow you to shy away.

“Y/N… Do not be stubborn”, he helps you clean. “There is nothing wrong with it. Do you not realize what does this mean?”

When you give him a quizzical look, the prince chuckles.

“I cannot believe that I am the one to tell you… but you are carrying our child, my love.”

News that would come to change your lives…. But others too.

***

• Epilogue.

Three years later.

You are giving birth again—the price you pay for delighting yourself by engaging in marital affairs with your handsome prince—when news come from King’s Landing.

Aemond is holding baby Rhaella in his arms all the whilst watching his son, Aegon, practice sword ship. He’s very prideful over his eldest son taking so much after him where brain matters are concerned—and abilities too—, but the sweet temper is something the boy takes after you.

“See, Rhae? Your brother is going to protect you just fine”, Aemond smiles before kissing his daughter’s head.

She giggles, a sight he adores to behold, but every smile dies when a messenger dressed in green comes in.

“My lord Prince”, this young lad greets Aemond, sounding somewhat nervous.

“Who is this? Sent by mother, I presume.”

The lad delivers him an old parchment. When opening it carefully, the prince frowns.

“What does this mean?”

“There is war in Westeros, Ser. And King Aegon has summoned you.”

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #house targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #team green #lord Aemond #aemond one eyed #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #prince aemond targaryen #Prince Aemond

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maybeiwasjustjade · 2 months

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The amount of morons I’ve seen on twitter that insist ‘a son for a son’ is still owed because Jaehaerys wasn’t Alicent’s son, so Rhaenyra somehow has rights to Aegon’s head is baffling.

Actually, scratch that. It’s not baffling at all, because this isn’t the first time I’ve seen such braindead takes from that side of the fandom.

Last I checked, Aemond killed Luke. Not Aegon. Alicent served up Aegon’s head on a platter, without even once considering that should Aemond live then Rhaenyra will come for his head too. And not only did she betray Aegon, Alicent’s actions may very well lead to both Gwayne and Criston’s deaths. And Daeron, who has done nothing but be born to her.

As for the stupidity of the insistence on ‘a son for a son’, maybe Condal and Hess should remember that the last time Rhaenyra sought revenge for Luke, a toddler was beheaded in his bed because of her husband!!! And if that son wasn’t enough—the poor, innocent baby son of Helaena—and a debt still needs to be repaid, does that mean Aegon now has rights to kill one of Daemon’s children then?

Same logic right? Rhaenyra didn’t get Alicent’s son’s head for Luke, but Aegon lost a son. So if Rhaenyra has rights to Aegon’s head, then Aegon has the exact same right to murder one of her remaining children yes? Baela maybe, when Aegon claims Dragonstone. Or Joffrey even, should he survive till the end. Maybe Rhaenyra can even choose and then watch, like Daemon made Helaena.

But that’s not right is it. Aegon would be a monster if he did that. No sane person would do that. No good person should want that kind of revenge.

But when it comes to Rhaenyra, TB will justify anything right? She indirectly yet directly causes the deaths of nearly 100 dragonseeds—oh that’s fine, they consented to being in the pit knowing they could die! She’s not responsible at all! It’s not as if she ensured they couldn’t escape right? The death of a toddler wasn’t enough because it wasn’t the right son, so of course she gets to ask for another too.

As if Jaehaerys wasn’t worth a life at all. Then again, what can be expected when even after his death, in a fight about his murder, she only ever refers to him as ‘boy’, ‘child’, and my favorite: ‘it’.

Rhaenyra was always going to have to kill Aegon for the throne. And that was at minimum, unless she went for Aemond too. Daeron I could see being spared by being given to the Faith or the Maesters. It was very, very, very obvious to anyone with even a shred of media comprehension (which seems to be very little given the amount of stupid comments I’ve seen). The issue is that she had to go on and make it very clear that Aegon will die, not for taking her throne or whatnot, but as penance for Luke dying. That is where she crosses the line. She can’t and won’t spare Aegon, but the least she could do was not be a lying liar about it.

Also: I never subscribed to the theory that Alicent will be the one to poison Aegon in the end, because I never considered that a mother would be so cruel to do so. She ruined his life; placed him on this goddawful path to war that he never wanted. The least she could do was not betray her own son that way. But after today? Not a chance in hell she won’t be the one to kill him for her precious Rhaenyra. I hope when all is said and done, and she’s locked in a tower for the rest of her life, she knows that it was all her fault.

Because F&B made it clear that Aegon had a legitimate claim. Is it a usurpation if by all laws and tradition he’s the rightful heir? The show decided to go the idiotic route of making it an outright usurpation. The Dance was inevitable in F&B. Here, it seems to have been caused purposely, with one of its leading causes becoming a major turncloak. And it’s sad really, because the Dance has barely even started. HOTD could’ve waited to make Alicent a traitor. Wait until the Gullet and Jace and Rhaenyra’s inevitable fall to madness, to make Alicent’s plea more realistic because it happens when the Greens look like they are losing. Instead, they did this. Unbelievable.

#anti hotd #anti tb stans #anti rhaenyra stans #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti rhaenicent #anti alicent hightower #because right now she’s dead to me #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #hotd critical

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lovelykhaleesiii · 1 year

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Daddy’s Princess

PAIRING: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x daughter!Princess!Reader

WORDS: 3,014.

SUMMARY: Based on this anonymous request…

WARNINGS: incest, mentions of death/war/suicide, mentions of depression, dark!Aegon ii, thigh riding, mentions of p in v sexual intercourse, cream pie, breeding kink, Daddy kink, praise kink, dom!Aegon ii, swearing, possessive!Aegon ii. mentions of pregnancy/birth.

A/N - posted this originally on my side kink blog [ @aegoniiwifey ], however since it’s not so explicitly kink-related and I’m also really proud of this fic, I thought I would post it here too ☺️ hope you all enjoy this naughty read!

credit to the original creators of the artworks/images.

The Targaryens were undoubtedly known for their “queer” customs, this had been widely yet sceptically recognised. Your own grandmother, the Dowager Queen, even uttered the words herself, despite having played a major role in marrying your late, beloved mother, Helaena to her elder brother, your father and the rightful King, Aegon the Second.

The Dance of the Dragons had begun to churn, when you were still nothing more than a child, however it progressed well into a few solid years throughout your adolescence, only for your father to come out victorious against his treacherous half-sister and her family of “bastards and traitors”, as he spat. The Gods had answered your endless prayers, regardless, rejoicing in success.

Once the Dance had reached its end, you had transformed into a young, modest woman, of the age two-and-twenty. Your handsome father, fifteen years your elder, conceived you during his own youth, robbing him of freedom and instilling responsibility instead, likewise with your dear mother. You had always been plagued with the pestering thought of feeling like a burden unto the young couple, as their firstborn, however your father reassured you otherwise, that you were nothing more than a blessing to him, otherwise.

Regardless, the fearsome battles determinedly fought throughout the decades, came at an inconceivable cost: the cost of the innocent, defenceless lives of your younger siblings who tragically perished in horrendous manners. Your late mother, Queen Heleana, wrought with mad grief and depression for the witness and loss of her babes, she could not bear the reality of life itself, taking her own life as a means to end her suffering.

Excluding yourself, you had no one else other than your grandmother, the Dowager Queen, who kept much to her seldom self these toiling days, isolated in her lonesome chambers, and your father...

Throughout the entirety of the ceaseless quarrels, your dear father had always ensured keeping a close eye and ear on you. Warmly reassuring your frightful self, that he would burn the world before any harm could be done unto you. He kept you close by him at all times, if he had not attended the battle himself on dragonback, Sunfyre close by your chambers, despite having a broken wing, with your own hatchling, Morghul, constantly beside you. It tore him to pieces when he made the harsh decision of having to entrust you to Larys and his unsavoury men, to sneak you off to Dragonstone where he would meet you eventually.

The most skilled guards posted ceaselessly hours on end, day and night, outside your chambers, not a single action went by without Aegon knowing, for all matters regarding your whereabouts went directly through him. During this time, you had solely instilled a perpetual trust in your father's decisions, that laid foundations in your bond with one another, which lingered even post succession of the war. It would be an understatement, that you had become heavily reliant on him, most of the time having been denied the autonomy to think and decide for yourself at such a young age, you grew to much prefer your father taking action, trusting him and only him with decisions regarding your own life. He was highly protective of you, in a way no lord nor knight of the realm could pledge and devote their lives to. You were his kin, his blood, his possession: you became his sole purpose and will to survive during the Dance.

There was, however, only one decision, you had ever made purely yourself, that would change the dynamic of the realm itself...

"Come, my sweet angel. Come to Daddy, and let me ease your mind..."

Despite the realm returning to some ounce of normalcy and peace, the nights you still endured adversity with. Troubling nightmares engulfed your slumber mind of the haunting memories of the Dance. Stirring you awake in a state of distress and panic, sweat beads drenched your forehead and mottled hair, your exposed, plump breasts accentuated in your silk, white nightgown, heaving with every haste and dense breath. Despite the adoring, relentless company of your dotting father by your side in bed, he immediately awoke in tune to your disruptive motions, persisting to remain awake, until he was assured you were comforted and sound of mind, lulling you himself back to sleep.

"Baby, sit on my lap. That's it- Another nightmare, my love?"

"Y-Yes, father."

"I know the feeling all to well, precious... Do you wish to speak about it?" Aegon huskily uttered, as his rough hands gently whisked away the odd strands of hair out of place, his other hand caressing soft circles at your lower back.

Since his heroic return from battle, despite the brutal injuries sustained, and since recovering, your father found himself constantly at your side, even in the late hours of the night. He dared not to trust many despite promisingly pledging fealty to their King, Aegon could only open up to you without the reason of duty, intimidation, or responsibility binding him to you. He wanted you. Since losing Helaena, despite never having been openly romantic with her, he had lost a companion, and had always considered you more of one than a daughter, as you grew wise with age.

Your strong-willed father had always been a man with brawn, unlike your late Uncles, Aemond and Daeron. Aegon was portly and having been raised by him, you grew familiar with his shameless, gluttonous habits. These habits exacerbated during his recuperation, as the maesters including yourself had taken to encouraging your father to eat copiously, often hand feeding him yourself with generous amounts of delicacies, rationalising that it was to regain pure sustenance.

You took pride in his recovery, aiding the maesters to heal your father back to good health, he openly stated that it was your devoted presence and love that made him whole once more. Deep in slumber with milk of the poppy to ease the pain, only he could hear your sweet, angelic voice in the blissful distance, yearning for him. Your gentle touch, as you religiously applied naturopathic ointments to his fresh, raw burns, that eventually healed his scars. He soaked in your warm presence thoroughly, mirroring your reliance on him, he too, became deeply infatuated with you.

Since becoming a mature woman, having grown into your Valyrian-esque features and physique, Aegon saw you in a fairly different light now. You noticed by the manner in which his violet, stern eyes lingered over your body for far longer than what was used to, even if it was for a few, fleeting seconds. You became a distraction in council meetings, as he vowed to have you attend, even if you were merely a cupbearer, standing aside though in proximity of him, a mere shadow: his unfazed attention oogled over you, his mind pondering over lustful, sinful thoughts, only to be beckon called back to reality by the repetitive call of his title, your Grace.

You had always admired your father, and believed there was no man that could exceed the expectations he set in stone… You were made for him, as he had sought to it himself. Blood of his blood, the Gods kept you both alive for a reason, you had discreetly believed.

"I do not wish to speak of it right now... I just need you to hold me, just for a little while," You weakly whispered with a shaky breath. Aegon, with a new found strength, a fuller and sturdy frame, lifting you effortlessly onto his lap, as he laid himself back to rest against the wooden bedframe.

"That's okay, my sweet girl. It will get easier, I promise..."

Adjusting yourself atop of Aegon's wide, meaty thigh, as you gripped and rested your head against his broad, fleshy shoulder, the friction stirring as your bare cunt grinds against his clothed thigh, slowly igniting a familiar, throbbing ache between your inner thighs.

"Hmm, how will it get easier, Daddy? Will you make it easier?" You utter, your lips lightly grazing over his plump cheek, gently guiding his head to turn in your direction: eyes inevitably meeting, your lips passionately crash against his. Aegon does not resist in the slightest, relishing in the kiss, as he shoves his tongue deep into your mouth, swallowing your taste, before his teeth teasingly bite and pull at your lower lip.

"I can distract my baby. Give her a pleasure no other man in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms can. I'll give my princess the finest treatment she deserves... But only if she listens and obeys her Daddy, like the good girl I know she is."

"Mhmm, yes, Daddy-" A helpless plea closely mistaken for a moan escaping your mouth, Aegon's pudgy hands, steer your legs to spread apart: you find that you can only spread wide enough to saddle one thick thigh at a time. Without needing to spell it out for you, you begin to sway your meek frame, rhythmically bucking your hips backwards and forwards, as Aegon harshly yanks your gown up, enough for your bare cunt to be completely exposed more thoughtfully, and in contact with his thigh.

"Deeper baby, you know you need to push yourself deeper or else I can barely feel you on top."

With haste obedience, you try to plunge your weight deeper against him, your arms embracing Aegon’s stocky frame tighter. His swollen, bloated gut pressing flatly against your own chest, earning a sensual growl from your father.

“Good girl… My good, little princess. Going to listen to every word Daddy says, so I can make her feel so much better.”

Your whimpering moans, and slow nods in agreement, as your head instinctively rocked back, eyes closing with pure pleasure, you could feel Aegon’s rough hands exploring your waistline, before one snaked behind your spine, keeping you steady by a careful grip on your neck. The other began to tug and pull at the silk strands of your nightgown, loosening the knot, to expose more of your obvious, ample cleavage.

“Look at how beautiful you have become. My little princess is not so little anymore, such a divine grace, a woman. No other beauty roams the Earth, as you do.”

The outstanding appraisal oozing breathlessly from Aegon's plump, blush lips, echo in your thoughtless mind with intense gratification. Treasuring each word, he worshipped you dearly, often placing you on a pedestal as great as the Iron Throne itself.

"Yes Daddy, t-tell me more."

Your helpless moans begin to sob from your mouth, filling the void of the vast room, other than the faint crackling of the dying fireplace. Your eager pace quickening, feeling the burning sensation erupt from the friction against your tender skin. Your body leaned forwards with Aegon's generous shove, as he in turn plunged his handsome face between your sensitive breasts. Feeling his lips trailing across your soft skin, hungrily suckling and lapping down to your nipple, as his other hand playfully massaged and kneaded at your other tit.

"Does princess want Daddy to fuck her stupid? Make her so full of me, she'll be dripping, begging for more, for nothing to be spared? All the princess needs to do is ask Daddy, like the polite girl she is."

"A-Aeg-"

"Words, princess. My cock isn't even inside you yet, and you're already hopeless. Didn't I teach you to use your words?"

"Hmm, Daddy, I-I need your cock, I-I need you inside of me, p-please."

Incoherent, you knew how weak and feeble you felt against your father, a formidable man, both inside and outside the confines of the bedroom.

"My beautiful baby, using her manners, makes her Daddy so, so proud. How did I get so lucky, being blessed by you?"

"D-Daddy blessed me."

Your hands clawed their way across his muscular shoulder blades, nails sharply dug into Aegon's bareback, as he often enjoyed sleeping shirtless, his natural body warmth radiating from his scarred body. Now one hand snaked its way into his short, unkempt hair, avidly tugging at his silver strands, begging for more.

"Easy baby, so needy for her Daddy, huh? Never change baby, Daddy's always going to take care of you okay? No one can take care of you, like I have..."

"N-No one. Daddy protects me from cruel monsters, a-and evil men. I-I could never leave, D-Daddy."

Groans and growls pooled from Aegon's lush mouth, as his tongue teasingly lapped and pulled at your perky nipple.

"My perfect princess. That's right, baby... Now, you ready to take Daddy's cock? I'm feeling pretty big, princess. You've been getting me as hard as Valyrian steel."

His hand found yours, firmly guiding it down to where his stiff, rigid cock throbbed densely with enthusiasm, beneath his pants, desperately aching to be taken.

"Y-Yes... Only I deserve Daddy's cock."

Rightfully earning a low, jovial chuckle from Aegon, scoring his mutual amusement and agreement, nodding to your proud notion.

"That's right baby... Only you."

Heaving himself and you atop with such vigour, you aided Aegon in pulling his pants down, as his cock sprung into full action. The sight made you shiver and whimper instantly, how its reddened tip flashed in the dim light, with pre cum already oozing generously from the raw tip. His length modest, its width had always been a wondrous vision. Regardless of the preparation or the amount of times you had taken Aegon before, you could never quite adjust to his glorious girth.

"Easy baby, that's my good girl. D-Don't be afraid, I got you. You can take it, I know you can. Making Daddy so, very proud."

Carefully positioning you atop, as you began to gently settle down, the sharp jolt of pain, as its tip etched between your silk folds, made it subtly easier for him to slip his full mass in.

"Wet for me already, my cock's practically drowning baby... So tight for me, my sweet princess. I can feel you swallowing up my fat cock."

Witlessly yet diligently, bobbing up and down on Aegon's lap, as your father vigorously thrusted his heavy mass upwards, craving to shove himself deeper into your slick folds.

"Good girl, Y/N. Daddy's going to fuck you so hard, fill you up to the fucking brim with my seed. Want to carry Daddy's babes, like a good princess? Make Daddy so proud, huh?"

"Y-Yes, I'll do w-whatever Daddy says, whatever D-Daddy wants. Anything to m-make you proud."

The rough texture of Aegon's battle-torn hands, cooed and caressed at your back, one hand gripping your neck once more, keeping you steadily mounted against his body. His other hand, continued to firmly squeeze at your tender breast, almost mimicking a wringing motion, as though anticipating for milk to ooze.

"Making me the proudest Daddy in the realm, princess. But you are far from being done with your royal duties... I'm going to fuck you day and night, till I see your belly swell greatly with child, with our child... Not till we fill this entire keep with the future leagues of the Targaryen dynasty. And if anyone dares to question our customs... They can play the fucking fool and answer to me."

Aegon, in a breathless, heated rut, finally reached his almighty gusto. His fresh, hot seed spilling up into you, as it oozed out of your tight crevices, clenched around his achingly, pulsating cock. In turn, your cum released in a liberating gesture, pouring over Aegon's rigid, thick cock.

"Hmm, Daddy spoils me s'good. Blessed I am th-that you want me to carry your heirs. Blessed I am to be carry on your legacy, Daddy."

Just as you were about to dismount from Aegon's sturdy lap, and tense cock, still stretching out inside of you, did you feel his strong embrace pulling you back down, keeping you situated over him as you were before.

"Daddy's not done yet, princess... I told you, I am fucking you endlessly till I see this belly-" His palm lightly grazing over your lower stomach in circles.

"-swell and these beautiful tits, leak with milk as I knead and suck. I will fuck you day and night, till you reek of my scent, exhausted of pleasure, and drenched in my cum and sweat. Princess belongs to Daddy and the whole realm shall know of it. I won the war, and I shall win the heart of the realm... That is you, my angel."

The remainder of the night, into the sleepless, bright dawn of the morrow, Aegon had kept his rigid cock buried deeply, and warmly planted inside of you. As the hours nudged on, you could feel yourself repeatedly peaking inside, as did your father, growing more and more numb to the cramping sensation. Your wincing and whimpers did not go ignorantly unnoticed, as Aegon would lull you, praising how proud he was of you for taking him so well. The only time he released was to clean up the god awful mess strewed across the sheets, and the minor bleeding pooling from your inner thighs.

In the morrow, he commanded the servants to fetch you a warm, floral scented bath, with the condition that he bathe you himself. Breakfast was brought to you directly, as you remained bed bound resting and recuperating.

"Now it's Daddy's turn to take care of his princess. Just as you took care of me during those dreadful months. My sweet, precious angel never left her Daddy's side, like an obedient, loyal girl. And Daddy will never leave you, okay."

Words had spread like wildfire, as your belly and tits had swollen healthily with a growing babe inside. The maesters to confirm and seal your fate, Aegon and yourself could not have been happier. Despite the relentless, whispering gossip alongside the timid side glances, no one dared to speak against Aegon's decision to marry you lawfully in tradition of your Valyrian customs, otherwise. Blessing the King a long-awaited, hearty male heir, the prophecy his late father often uttered about in his ill, deluded state: Aegon believed the Prince that was Promised, would emerge from his bloodline, thanks to you.

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you]- @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @bucknastysbabe @jawline-of-steel

credit for dividers - @/saradika

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 2 months

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stand and fight

── jacaerys velaryon x fem!targaryen reader

surprise i can’t contain myself so this is a series shdbxndjfvnsj

little a/n before we begin ── CHANGING AGES!! jace is only 13 when aegon is crowned king but in this, you and he are both 18. as with my aegon piece, i know everyone’s long names and titles but for the sake of not typing it out each time i use first names (i.e. criston instead of ser criston cole). reader is alicent and viserys’ child, but is living with rhaenyra and her family because she was always of the opinion that her father wanted rhaenyra to be queen. even once aegon was crowned, she refused to refer to him as king. as a result this caused a huge feud with reader against alicent, aegon, and aemond and she was all but banished from her home. about 2 weeks after aegon is crowned, reader and dragon (stormfyre) ran away and have been with rhaenyra and fam ever since. of everyone on team black, you’re closest with jace. everyone suspects something romantic between you both, but nothing has happened as of the start of this. takes place before, and during season 2 episode 4. you’ve been warned

wc: 1.6k (future chapters will be much longer and feature a lot more of jace, promise!)

PART ONE

Your relationship with Jacaerys (not that you could really call it a relationship), wasn’t always how it is now. He wasn’t the one you sought out when you wanted quiet but not alone time, and you weren’t the first person he searched for when he entered the room. Certainly not when you first arrived and Rhaenyra announced that you’d be staying with them.

In fact, in the beginning, you were sure he hated you.

Being on opposing sides of this ‘war’, part of the reason why he took such a strong disliking to you was because he thought he had to. You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite. You’d long since grown tired of hating people simply because you were told to.

On the evening you and Stormfyre ran away, the entire time you were flying was spent worrying and just praying to the Gods that you wouldn’t be turned away, or killed.

Rhaenyra was there to greet you when Stormfyre finally landed, and once you told her how bad things had gotten at home and that you didn’t know where else to go, she immediately offered you a room. Though you were Alicent’s daughter, you were still her half sister and had always been kind to her and her children. She knew you wanted no part in this feud, that you and Helaena were innocent in all of it.

After you wrote a note and Rhaenyra sent a raven to deliver it to Alicent, she informed you that they were just about to sit down and have dinner and she’d love for you to join them.

The first thing you noticed as you took your seat across from Lucerys, was how Jacaerys was glaring at you.

No one had taken more than a few bites before he put his fork down and loudly stood up.

“Why is she here?” He pointed at you, not even bothering to hide his anger.

“Jacaerys sit down,” Rhaenyra shook her head. “You know as well as I do that she is innocent in all of this. I have invited her—”

“To stay with us? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, she’s one of them! How do you know—”

Hearing that last part, Rhaenyra pushed her chair back and stood up. “Do not speak to me in that way, I will not tolerate it. I have invited her to stay for as long as she’d like and that is final. Now sit down.”

“Yes Your Grace.” The sarcasm was loud and clear, but Rhaenyra opted to ignore it since he did in fact sit down again.

You had your worries, but this confirmed it. You couldn’t stay. On the way over you told yourself that if anyone showed hesitation or anger at you being there, you’d leave as soon as you felt safe to do so. To live in a place where you were in fear of saying the wrong thing or suddenly being asked to leave, was no different than if you’d remained at home.

“Your Grace, I am a bit tired. Thank you for the lovely meal but if it’s alright I’d like to retire for the evening.”

Jacaerys once again didn’t even attempt to hide his anger. He rolled his eyes as he continued to eat.

“Of course, please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything you need.” She gave you a small smile, and as soon as you turned the corner you could hear her beginning to bicker with her eldest son.

After you’d been in your room about an hour, there was a series of soft knocks at your door. If you’d been doing anything other than laying in bed, you probably wouldn’t have heard.

When you opened the door and were greeted by Lucerys, to say you were surprised was an understatement.

“My Prince, I —”

He gave you that look, the I’m a kid please don’t use my title it’s weird look, and when you tried again and called him by his first name, he smiled. His hands had previously been behind his back and when he brought them forward, in each was a small plate with what appeared to be some sort of cake.

“Jace was rude and I know that’s why you didn’t finish dinner,” he said simply.

You opened your mouth to say that wasn’t true, but when he gave you that look again you couldn’t help but laugh.

“For being so young, you’re quite perceptive.”

He nodded as he sat down and handed you a plate. “Mom says I’m good at reading people. I forgot forks so we’ll have to use our hands.”

“You wish to stay and eat with me?”

Again, the young boy nodded. “It’s not fun to eat alone.”

The first few minutes, the 2 of you simply enjoyed the desserts in silence. You were relieved to find that it was a comfortable silence. When you were both finished, Lucerys, who insisted you call him Luke, took the plates and said he’d be right back. When he returned only a moment later, his first question surprised you.

“Why did you run away?”

“I — it’s complicated. Since Aegon was crowned king, there have been a lot of… fights.”

“You don’t think he should be king?”

You wondered how much to tell him, seeing as he was only 11. “No,” you decided to just tell the truth. “I think your mom should be.”

“She’s your… half sister, right?”

You nodded. “Yes, she’s my half sister. The same way that Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond are her other half siblings.”

“Do you not like them?”

“My other siblings?”

He nodded.

“I’m using this word too much, but it’s complicated. My relationship with each of them is different. Or was, before things went bad. Aegon and I used to be inseparable when we were really little. Everyone used to joke that we were twins. Though I’m a year older than Aemond, I always looked up to him. He’s the one who taught me how to use a sword, and I will always be grateful for that. Helaena and I are still close, she understands why I left. In fact that reminds me I need to ask your mom if I may send a raven to her tomorrow.”

“Even if you don’t think he should be king, why did you leave? Did they hurt you?”

“No, not yet anyway,” you gave a sad smile. “But it wasn’t just them that made me fearful. Other people haven’t been so kind. It’s why I’m so grateful that I’m allowed to be here, even if it’s only temporary.”

Luke looked surprised, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that you’d leave. “But you’ll stay with us for a while right? I’ll talk to Jace, I swear it.”

You quickly wiped a tear and smiled at the young boy in front of you. “That means a lot to me, truly. But please don’t talk to your brother on my behalf. He has made it clear I’m unwelcome and I fear that anything you say will make him angry with you as well.”

“If you don’t stay, will you have to return home?”

That was something you hadn’t even thought about. Initially while flying you feared being rejected. But even if that did happen, what would your plan have been?

“Possibly. I do not know where else I would go.”

“Jacer— there you are, you’ve had us searching everywhere,” Rhaenyra smiling as she saw how comfortable her son was around you. “Why don’t you let her get some sleep, hmm? You can see her in the morning.”

He groaned, but Luke did give you a hug and a “goodnight” before heading out of your room.

Rhaenyra turned to follow her son, then turned back around to face you again as she thought of something she wanted to say.

“I’d just like to apologize for my older son. I do not know what has gotten into him as of late but he had no right to speak to or about you that way. I will see to it that he—”

“Please, Your Grace—” she gives you that same look that Luke did, and you smile at how similar they look. “Rhaenyra, you and he have nothing to apologize for. I am technically one of them, and I’m intruding on your home.”

She is quick to shake her head. “You’re not intruding. I know what it can be like over there, and for your wellbeing I am glad that you felt safe enough to come here. We will think of next steps for tomorrow, although I really do hope you’ll stay a while. It seems Luke does too. I’ll let you get some rest now.”

“Thank you, I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you,” you get off of the bed and embrace your sister for the first time in who knows how long. She rubs circles on your back and it brings tears to your eyes, your own mom wouldn’t ever embrace you like this.

Rhaenyra leaves a few minutes later, and you finally crawl into bed.

As you lay there and wait for sleep to come, you think about the events of today. And you can’t help it, eventually your mind drifts to the boy who sat across from you.

With the dirty looks he gave you, how he spoke about you as if you weren’t there, there’s no doubt in your mind that he hates you.

It’s hard to believe that if Aegon weren’t crowned King, and Rhaenyra held her place on the iron throne, that Jacaerys would’ve been the next heir.

Even harder to believe is that to ensure both families remained united, you and he would’ve already gotten married.

You finally start to feel sleepy, and just before you drift off, your final thoughts are of Jacerys. If you do end up staying, you wonder if things will always be like this.

TAGLIST ──

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 1 year

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𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓮 - Aemond Targaryen

i got a job so now i don't have any time to write, but i'm still trying to find the time on my days off but all i wanna do is sleep lmao. But here's this, it turned out way longer than it was supposed to be lmao

Summary: After your father betroths you to another lord, your secret lover is livid when he finds out and decides to make you and everyone else see that you will always be his.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), arranged marriage (not to Aemond), possessive!Aemond, period typical misogyny, loss of virginity, slight innocence kink, breeding kink, not so dry humping, very slight dubcon, and noncon exhibitionism (reader is unaware, therefore not able to consent)

word count | 9.4k🤙🏻(oops)

You almost let out a scream when your father told you his “happy” news. You were stunned into silence, frozen in fear but boiling in rage beneath your skin.

Your father informed you that he had found you the perfect match, some old fat lord in the North that would strengthen the bond between your two houses. Of course, it wasn’t your perfect match. It was your father’s. He was always power hungry, but you never thought he’d give you up to a stranger for more wealth. You always thought you were his little girl, precious and untouchable, always the favorite. Oh, how wrong you were.

As fearful as you were for yourself, you couldn’t help but think how terribly your lover would react.

You had been secretly spending time with the second son of the King, prince Aemond. Your father had moved the two of you to King’s Landing after he managed to snag a spot as one of the Master of Coin’s advisors on the small council, allowing you to be in the vicinity of the royal children more often than not. You were quiet, kept to yourself, much like the young prince. You were intimidated by all the royals at first, but most of them welcomed you or were indifferent, which you didn’t mind. You met all the children when you first got to the Red Keep. You liked Helaena, she was kind and open minded, besides the ominous words she often spewed, you thought of her like a sister. Aegon was more so the indifferent one, and Aemond seemed to be as well. Aemond never showed any emotion on his face, so it was hard to get a read on him. When introducing yourself with a curtsy, all he did was nod and let out a hum of acknowledgement. It often felt like he only tolerated you, until he proved otherwise.

You were wandering the halls waiting for your father to get out of a meeting when the elder prince Aegon had cornered you, deep into his drinks and unable to control his urges, begging you to allow him to take you back to his chambers and show you “a good time.” You had always felt a sense of unease around the firstborn son of the king, especially after being warned by the servants that he had a tendency to get handsy, but you always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt, even living in the world you did. Prince Aegon had never tried to seduce you before, so you figured he respected you as the daughter of a member of the small council. Again, you had a habit of being wrong in your opinions.

Aegon had grabbed ahold of your hand and started placing wet kisses on the palm of your hand, trying to pull you with him. But before Aegon could go too far, his younger brother shoved him away from you, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Aegon immediately backed off, clearly in fear of his brother and drunkenly stumbled down the halls back to his quarters. “I apologize for my brother’s behavior, my lady. I will make sure he does not bother you again.” And that he did. After that day, prince Aegon never even looked in your direction, much less tried to seduce you again. You found prince Aemond in the library the next couple days, thanking him for his help. “I couldn’t bear the thought of a lady as beautiful as yourself getting defiled by the halfwit I’m forced to call my sibling.”

It made your heart flutter.

After that, you found yourself wanting to spend more time with prince Aemond. He was thoughtful, passionate, and surprisingly kind. He was everything the rumors had said he wasn’t. Aloof, bloodthirsty, and cruel, those were the rumors you had heard about the younger prince. Sure, he could be those things towards other people, but never towards people he cared about. You saw how he behaved around his mother, sister and her children, especially with the children. He let his niece and nephew play with his hair, his clothes, anything they could get their stubby little hands on, all while a content smile decorated his face. He was the only one who actually listened to his sister, the only one who treated his mother with the utmost respect. You even caught him joking around with Ser Criston Cole in the training yard one morning. And steadily over time, you become one of the people he cared about.

It was subtle things that made you realize prince Aemond started to care for you. Firstly, he saved you from being assaulted by his brother. Afterwards, he would start to exchange pleasantries whenever you’d see each other, something he did not do to anyone else. At first, you thought that maybe his mother forced him to seek out conversation with you, just out of politeness or for some sort of advantage. But what sort of advantage would the prince have if he befriended you? Over time, the prince would seek you out so often that he couldn’t have been forced to do so, and surely not being as gentlemanly as he was with you when he did. Spending a morning with princess Helaena and the children, your face heated up furiously when she told you in confidence that her brother had a soft spot for you. She had also told you that Aemond might’ve been too gentlemanly, not afraid, but cautious to make the first move.

Back then, you weren’t too worried about your father marrying you off that you felt you could explore a courtship on your own without disapproval. Plus, courting prince Aemond wouldn’t be the worst for your house, if you ever thought that way. You were still a naive girl, never been through many hardships or traumas, you had a rosy view of the world even with all your education. You were an optimist, the thought of taking a chance on prince Aemond didn’t frighten you as much as it should have. You didn’t think of what the repercussions could be if he didn’t reciprocate your attraction, and what his rejection could do to your father’s role on the small council. But it turned out to be the best decision you could ever make.

During a walk with prince Aemond around the Godswood, you decided to bring up your relationship with him. “Besides Helaena, I feel as though you’re my closest friend here.” Your direct statement had briefly taken him by surprise, no one had ever been bold enough to express sincere feelings towards him. Most were too intimidated by him to even look in his direction, but you never seemed scared of him, even when the two of you first met. It was awkward as any first meeting goes, but after that, you were never afraid to look him in the eye and speak freely, despite him being a son of the king.

You were endearing to Aemond, a feeling he had only felt towards his sister and her children. But you were different, he felt a protectiveness over you much like his family, but jealousy had also come with it. Seeing you talk to any other lords or men at court made an uncomfortable pressure form in his chest, a weight that burned and he couldn’t get rid of it no matter how much he tried. That day when he found Aegon practically drooling over you, it took everything Aemond had to not bash his older brother’s face in. Aegon was lucky to get away with just a shove. It troubled Aemond that he yearned to do more, to his brother or any man that gazed upon you salaciously. He felt the need to protect that childlike innocence you still often displayed. When the feelings got too strong, he’d often seek out Helaena to vent and listen to her cryptic advice. Most times, she’ll just giggle, which wasn’t helpful but he was just thankful his frustrated venting didn’t disturb her.

So when you revealed that his sister may have fibbed about his secret affection for you, he had half a mind to storm into her chambers and tell her off angrily, even though he’d never do that to her. But he did feel embarrassed, his face flushing a dusty red. He froze when you took a step closer to him, your natural warmth radiating off your body and onto his, your eyes looking up at him with a familiar expression. He often saw a similar look on Aegon or the whores on the Street of Silk, but it didn’t disgust him now when that particular look was on your face. In fact, he couldn’t look away. You looked between his eye and his lips, wetting your own and raising yourself up on your toes so your face was level with his, a delicate hand holding onto his shoulder for support. He didn’t move, wanting to see how far you would take it, your behavior already proving unbecoming of a lady. Though, he couldn’t help the way his eyelid became heavy with lust as your lips got closer and closer to his.

Disappointment rushed through Aemond as you kissed his cheek, leaving his lips tingling and yearning for yours. Along with that disappointment, he also felt a surprising warmth. You had kissed him so gently, almost featherlight, and he’d never experienced that kind of affection from anyone, not even his mother. He was all sharp and rough edges, no one daring enough to risk being cut by his frightening figure. But you pulled away, unharmed, a shy smile on your face. Unfortunately, that was all you had done. “My prince,” You curtsied politely, and left a stunned Aemond in the Godswood nonchalantly, as if you hadn’t just triggered a part of him that he never thought he’d feel; desire. He had thought he wanted to protect your innocence, but now, all he could think about was ruining you.

The next morning, there was no place you could hide from prince Aemond. He found you almost immediately as the day started, dragging you to a secluded part of the Red Keep where he knew there would be no prying eyes. “Quite the display you made yesterday, care to enlighten me on the sudden…affection?” Aemond had asked.

You only smiled innocently, too innocently. “Whatever do you mean, my prince?”

Aemond reveled in the light gasp you made when he pressed you against the wall, his arm resting on the wall above your shoulder and the other on your waist, the slight pressure making you dazed. “You know very well what I mean, my lady. That kiss. Such a tease. You look so meek and innocent on the surface, but beneath all your polite smiles you’re just a little vixen, aren’t you? I’ve half the mind to take you right here right now, out in the open where any lord or lady could see.” The hand on your waist tightened, moving up your side but he froze when you placed your hand on his, a nervous expression on your face.

“Prince Aemond, I’ve never–I’m a maiden, my prince, I can assure you.” You stuttered uncharacteristically, making Aemond loosen the grip he had on you. “I never meant to make you think that…I was a woman of…loose morals.”

Aemond’s brows furrowed, one hidden beneath his eyepatch. “Then, yesterday? Why did you kiss me like that, just on the cheek, and leave?”

You exhaled a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself. “I didn’t want to just kiss you on the cheek, trust me. I almost really kissed you, but then a realization hit me right before I could. If someone were to see, report it to my father…he could lose his position because of me and I couldn’t do that to him. I’d be shamed, labeled a whore or worse.”

Aemond hummed, taking in your words, only a few really being comprehended more than the others. “If you had really kissed me…I would’ve kissed you back.”

You looked down at your feet, giggling shyly. “I assumed.”

Aemond lifted your chin with his hand gently, making sure your gaze stayed on him, your widened eyes making him force back a smirk. “You still could. Kiss me.” He stroked your cheek lightly, the peach fuzz of your face tickling his knuckles.

“B-But, my father-”

“Your father doesn’t have to know. I know the Red Keep like the back of my hand. I know the places that are scarcely visited, when others are devoid of servants or family, and there are secret passageways all over the Keep and there happens to be one that leads from your room,” He leans in close, his lips right next to your ear, “all the way to mine.”

You almost moaned, but pushed him away before your desires overcame you. “As delightful as that sounds…I don’t plan on giving away my maidenhead anytime soon. I can’t risk siring bastards, it would bring shame upon my family and my house. I’m sure that…you could understand.”

He could, and he did. As much as he wanted you, he’d respect your decision. He understood being a woman in this world was much more dangerous and had stricter societal rules. Besides, he’d never want to have bastards, that would be hypocritical. Though, the vision of your belly swollen with his seed made him aroused more than he would ever admit. He’d keep it to himself. “Of course, my lady. I’m not attracted to you just because you’re a maiden, you know? But…there are other things we can do together.”

You smiled. “Like what?”

Aemond’s hand was back on your waist, sliding his body against yours until his warmth and scent encompassed you entirely, bringing back that same dazed feeling in your head. “I could teach you about the history of Old Valyria, our house, maybe even teach you some Valyrian if you’d like.” His hand ran up and down your side, when you think his hand will reach the underside of your breast, he’d go back down. A frustrating cycle, his tone of voice not helping either. It did not sound like he was talking about teaching you history, more like teaching you about more…intimate studies. “We could read together in the library, perhaps I could introduce you to Vhagar one day. But first, you could kiss me. No one is around, no one will be for a while. That’s not too dangerous, is it?”

Your face flushed with heat, your eyes growing heavy with lust, a similar position you had him in just yesterday. “No, I suppose not.” You breathed out, placing your hands on his leather covered chest, feeling the tight muscles beneath, making the sensitive apex of your thighs ache with want.

Aemond stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, taking his time and his eye running over every detail of your face he could find, finding the imperfections that endeared him to you even more. He placed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture making your heart thump even more rapidly in your chest, the anticipation almost making you lose your patience. Is this what you made him feel yesterday? But after what felt like an eternity, Aemond finally started to lean in, his breath fanning over your face, your own intermingling with his.

It was featherlight at first, tickling, not enough pressure to even feel like a kiss. But after a few seconds of Aemond simply teasing and tracing his lips with yours, he finally pressed against you more firmly. His lips were soft against yours, not rushing and moving languidly, eliciting a small noise of contentment from you. As he opened his mouth to trace his tongue on your bottom lip, you could tell he had some practice. You both deepened the kiss, his hand on your waist tightening and pulling you forward against him until your back ached off the wall. His other hand cupped your jaw roughly as the kiss became more passionate and frenzied, his teeth nibbling the sensitive flesh of your bottom lip until you winced from the sting, but you found that you quite liked it. You reached one of your hands to the nape of his neck, tangling and tugging at the silvery white hair until he groaned, the both of you sighing into each other’s mouths as desire overtook you.

You finally realized, despite you being adamant about retaining your virtue, your body was moving on its own accord. You were pawing at Aemond like some lecherous woman on the Street Of Silk, soft moans and sighs leaving your mouth unabashedly. Only when your hips started canting up towards him you finally managed to stop yourself, pulling your lips away from his with wild panting breaths.

“You’re a fast learner, my lady.” Aemond panted, chuckling breathlessly, seemingly unwilling to let you go.

“I suppose I am.” You mirrored his shy smile, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace only to immediately yearn for his arms around you again. “Perhaps we could read together in the library tomorrow?” You asked hopefully.

Aemond smirked. “To read, or to repeat what we just did?”

You scoffed, lightly smacking his shoulder. “To read!” You giggled, making Aemond laugh in return. You felt yourself swell with pride. It was so rare to see the prince genuinely laugh, and to be the one to elicit such a reaction from him, it made you feel like you were on top of the world.

When you both met up in the library the next day, you didn’t do much reading like you had planned…

From that day to the present, that had been a lot of what your relationship with prince Aemond was like. You got to know each other, of course. You had deep conversations, shared secrets you never told another soul in the world, learned about each other’s cultures and traditions, and grew fond of one another as the days passed. You each both confided in one another, making your bond deep, spending every moment you could in the privacy of your own bedrooms. It was inevitable that you fell in love with each other. Aemond spoke of his feelings first, which surprised you, thinking that it would be you to tell him first.

It had been a normal day like any other. Aemond was trying to teach you some Valyrian, laughing harder than he’s ever laughed in his life at your gods awful pronunciation at most of the words, but you were trying so hard he almost felt bad for laughing at you. Almost. When you finally perfected the phrase he was trying to teach you, your whole face lit up with pride. He had found he had a habit of just staring at you, especially when you smiled. He thought you were one of the most beautiful sights the world had to offer and he realized he needed you like he needed oxygen, and that’s when he said it. “I fear I’ve fallen madly in love with you, my lady.”

It only took you a few seconds for it to register, the statement making you freeze, then overwhelming joy completely consuming you. “I love you too, my handsome prince.” You grinned brightly, taking Aemond’s breath away and forcing a surprised huff from his lips when you lunged towards him, accidently knocking him out of his chair and you with him, collapsing together on the floor of his bedroom. You would’ve been mortified if it weren’t for the dark, lustful look in his eye as you hovered above him, your legs naturally coming to straddle him, like you were made to be in this position with him. Your face flushed with heat as you could feel the evidence of Aemond’s arousal through his trousers, pressing against your own aching core. “I want you…I want you so badly, Aemond.” You spoke brittly, the throbbing between your legs getting harder to ignore. Aemond leaned up off the floor with his elbows, surging forward to kiss you before you stopped him. “But I can’t give up my maidenhead…”

Aemond deflated in disappointment, but a light shined in his eye suddenly, a soft smirk adorning his lips. “I know of a way we can without taking your virtue.”

You sighed. “I don’t know-”

“Do you trust me?” Aemond looked up at you with pure love and adoration, the intensity almost forcing you to look away.

“With my life.”

Aemond situated himself on his bed, only in his smallclothes, making his erection even more prominent than before. He helped you undress down to your shift, with your permission, indulging in the feelings of your barely covered breasts as your gown was practically see through. You weren’t nervous or embarrassed like you thought you’d be, Aemond just made you feel so at ease and comfortable, looking at you like you were a goddess he worshiped that all insecurity fled your body in that moment. “Sit on my lap,” He instructed calmly, not giving away how eager he was to feel you against him. He had more self control than that, besides, he wanted this to be about you as much as himself.

You placed yourself in the position you were previously, just behind his arousal, waiting for his guidance. Aemond didn’t say anything as he took hold of your hips, bringing you forward until your aching cunt made contact with his cock through his smallclothes, the contact already making you both sigh out in pleasure. “Just rock yourself against me, sweetling.” He guided, helping you find your rhythm until you started to rock against him yourself, but his hands still stayed at your hips to ground himself.

This technically wasn’t losing your maidenhead, but it felt so good that it still made you guilty, but you were too aroused to care.

You moaned softly as you rubbed your slick folds against his clothed cock, your clit getting delicious stimulating pressure with every cant of your hips, all the while Aemond did not take his eye off you, his own groans of pleasure escaping his lips. “Does it feel good, my lady?” Aemond asked, almost smugly.

“Yes, my prince. So good.” You stuttered, finding it difficult to multitask…and breathe. You found yourself quickly getting overheated, your legs started to shake with your efforts. Aemond seemed to sense this, rolling you over on your back, a smile coming to his face when he saw the wet patch you already made on his smallclothes. “Did…I do that?” You asked in embarrassment.

Aemond smirked with pride. “It means you’re enjoying it, my lady. Now let me take over for a while, alright?” You nodded, your face heating up like a furnace as he hovered above. Even when making sure he wasn’t crushing you, you could still feel the power in his body, how easily he could force you into submission. But he wasn’t, he was letting you take the lead for the most part. But now, he was rutting against you, his clothed cock rubbing against your core just as perfectly as the previous position you were in. He was more confident and assured in his movements than you were, hitting your clit with more precision, making you cry out his name.

You clawed at his back, high pitched whines leaving your mouth, panting heavily. Aemond kissed all over your face, neck, and pulled down your shift until your breasts were freed from its confines to kiss them as well. Aemond’s breathless moans fanned against your ear, where he had tucked his face in the crook of your neck, the occasional soft whimper making you feel emboldened enough to roll him over to straddle him once again.

You braced your hands on his bare chest as you started to rock yourself faster, an unfamiliar pressure building in your lower stomach that threatened to burst if you kept going. It scared you, how could it get any better than this? You already felt like your heart was beating out of your chest, what would happen if that coil in you did burst? You thought you’d die on the spot, but Aemond kept giving you reassuring words and soothing your overheating body with his hands, encouraging you to keep going. “It’s alright, my lady. I’ve got you.” He cooed, one hand on your hip and the other taking hold of yours to kiss across the thin skin of your knuckles.

You felt the pressure building and building, like the whistling in a teapot getting louder as the water rose in temperature; until you came with a strangled cry, the feeling of euphoria overpowering your senses, your hips stuttering, tears coming to your eyes and falling down your cheeks in rivulets. Aemond’s grip on your hips returned, the force surely causing bruises to form as he continued to rock you against him, chasing his own end. You powered through the overstimulation, the sight of Aemond losing himself to his pleasure enough to make you want to do it all over again. He came with a loud grunt, his eye shutting tightly and bucking his hips up against you until he painted the inside of his smallclothes white, his spend mixing with yours. “You are truly magnificent, my lady.”

You loved each other so much. You couldn’t imagine life without him, and he felt the same as well. You always imagined living the rest of your life with him, married someday, and a gaggle of white haired children running around the Red Keep. That was until your dreams were crushed when your father told you that you were to be wed to someone who wasn’t your handsome prince.

How were you going to break the news to Aemond? How badly would he react? You didn’t want to stop being with him, you cared for him more than anything. But you had a duty to fulfill, you had to listen to your father, you simply had no choice. Women never got a choice.

You entered prince Aemond’s chambers through the secret passageway that he had shown to you, your heart already dropping to your stomach as he looked up from a book he was reading, grinning ear to ear as he laid his eye on you. “My lady,” He rose to his feet, greeting you with a soft kiss. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Your expression must’ve given you away, for his grin fell, a look of concern replacing his joy. “What’s the matter, my love?”

You deflated, instinctually burrowing yourself into his chest with quiet sobs, his arms instantly wrapping around you. “My…my father…” You hiccupped, unable to get the words out for it was too painful.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Aemond cooed, rubbing his hands along your back to try and comfort you. “Take deep breaths, love. Take your time.”

“My father has betrothed me to someone else.” You cried, your tears falling freely off your face, staining your cheeks and creating a dark patch on Aemond’s white tunic.

Aemond froze, his heart starting to beat rapidly in his chest, anger threatening to take over his entire being. “What?” He spoke darkly, his voice dropping several octaves. “No. No, you can’t.”

You pulled away, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand angrily. “I have no choice, Aemond. Father has already set up a meeting with the lord. No matter what, I’m expected to marry him…bed him and bear his children.” You spat, your fate making you wish you were never born.

Aemond grabbed your shoulders tightly, a wild, dangerous look in his eye. “No. I won’t let this happen.”

You sighed in defeat. “Unfortunately, my love…it’s not up to you.”

You left his chambers feeling worse than you had felt before. Usually, you always left him beaming and weightless, like you could conquer the world as long as he was by your side. But now, you were going to be forced to leave him. You didn’t want to marry someone lord from the North. All your life, you’ve heard how hard living in the North was, how the citizens and even lords lived more like Wildlings than actual people. You’re betrothed was rugged, hairy, loud, and plump, the total opposite of your Targaryen lover. The thought of having to lay with someone like that, especially for your first time, it never failed to bring you to tears. It made you want to run back to Aemond, just so your first time would be with someone you loved. But that would be a sin, and if found out, might get you killed. If you didn’t bleed on your wedding night, your virtue would be called into question and you’d be labeled a harlot and be discarded onto the streets or worse. Your father promised the Northern lord a virgin, so you had no choice but to remain chaste.

Over the next few weeks, the Northern lord visited King’s Landing to meet you. You tried your best to be polite, not act disgusted as you truly felt whenever you were forced to dine with him. You barely saw Aemond, and you couldn’t, lest you garner unwanted attention that would have rumors spread like wildfire. But that didn’t mean Aemond tried to stay away himself.

Every so often, you’d spot him in the corner of your eye, watching you intently. You were never afraid of him, but you now started to fear what he might do to keep you, not that you’d protest. You could feel the tension in the air constantly when he was around. There came a point where Aemond would interrupt every meeting you had with the Northern lord. Even though it was quite amusing to see your prince so jealous, you couldn’t help but worry what your father would do if he found out Aemond was trying to sabotage your courtship. You could tell the lord was getting annoyed with all the interruption, but unfortunately, that made him all the more determined to wed you. Aemond wasn’t helping, at all. And he could tell. The night before your final meeting with the Northern lord to determine if you’d make a good match, Aemond came to your chambers through the secret passageway.

“Aemond? The hour is late, what are you doing here?” You asked with a bashful smile, standing up from your bed in nothing but your nightgown, not leaving much to the imagination.

Aemond smirked, sauntering towards you and placing his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “What? I’m not allowed to see my lady?”

Your face grew hot at the possessiveness of his words, a pang of arousal shooting through your core. “No, my prince, you are not. Because if you recall, we’re not wed.” You sighed sadly. “...and never will be.”

Aemond tsked in annoyance, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully. “You say that like it is a sure thing.”

You frowned. “Is it not?”

Aemond tilted his head as he gazed upon your face, running his pointer finger down your cheek, then along your jaw, gently lifting your chin up so your lips met his. “I will not let this happen to you, love. You. Are mine. Not some Northern dog…do you trust me?”

“Of course.” You asked immediately, melting against his touch, like his skin was a balm against yours.

“Then let me take care of it. Of you.”

“You already take care of me, my handsome prince.” And with that, his lips were back on yours in an instant, possessive and more aggressively, making you whimper. His hands caressed your body, running along your sides, grazing the underside of your breast until they traveled down to grab handfuls of the fatty flesh of your ass, eliciting a squeal from you. “Aemond,” You chuckled breathlessly between kisses, “I have to wake in the early morning.” You sighed out as he attached his lips to your neck, sucking harshly. “Aemond, no marks tonight.” But he paid you no mind. Then, you felt his fingers brush against your clothed core, and you had to push him away. “Are you trying to…bed me?” You asked nervously.

Aemond smirked. “I am.”

Your eyes widened, taking a step away from him, causing him to frown. “Why can’t we do what we normally do? The way without taking my virginity?”

“Do you not want me, my lady?” He asks, desperate to get his hands on you again.

“Of course I do, my prince. But to bed each other now, while I’m betrothed to another; it is a sin against the Seven. You know this.”

“What did I say? I will take care of it. But first, let me take care of you. I want you so badly. I’ve wanted to be buried inside you since I first laid my eye on you. Please, my love, I need more than just rubbing myself against you.” You gasped as he took hold of your hand and guided it to palm his already hardened cock, “Feel how I yearn for you?”

“I yearn for you too…” You stuttered, running your slightly trembling hand over one of his biceps while you experimentally squeezed his hardened length, causing him to let out a soft growl.

Aemond caught your lips with his once more, his breathing quickening as he felt his desire grow. “Then say yes.”

Then with a hesitant breath, you spoke, “Yes.”

As soon as the word left your lips, Aemond found yours with a vigor you hadn’t experienced from him so far into the relationship. He was desperate, and so were you. Your shaking frame gave away how nervous you truly were, but he soothed you with his hands, running them along your uncovered skin until you relaxed for him.

Aemond kissed and nipped at your neck as he led you to your bed, slowly undoing the various buckles and laces that held his clothing together. He smiled shyly as you raked your eyes over his now naked form. Even though you’ve seen him like this before, there was a whole new element involved, knowing that you two were going to be the closest two humans could possibly be. You lifted up your hand to reach for his eyepatch, noticing his body tense but allowing you to remove it. This wasn’t new either, but it still took Aemond some getting used to being so vulnerable with someone, that little boy in him still scared that you’d be disgusted by his scar; but as you removed the piece of leather for the umpteenth time, you smiled lovingly as his sapphire glimmered in the light from your fireplace. “My beautiful prince.”

You shivered as Aemond slowly pulled your nightgown down your body, goosebumps rising all over your skin at his featherlight touches. “My beautiful lady.” He replied with a smirk, allowing his hand to lower further down until he reached the slickness that spread over your folds. “So wet for me already, darling.” He chuckled.

“It’s easy when you treat me the way that you do, my love.”

“Yes? And how do I treat you exactly?”

“...like a princess.”

Aemond gripped both of your hips tightly, pulling your body flush against his, feeling his erection prodding against your inner thigh, his eye staring down at you with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “If all goes according to plan, you will be…” He spoke ominously.

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head in confusion. “What do you-?” You squeaked as Aemond pushed his lips against yours roughly, interrupting your question and replacing any thought you may have had with pure desire. He had such power over you, you couldn’t even fight it, not that you'd want to. He moved up your body, leaving sparks in their wake, trapping your face in between them as his mouth devoured yours desperately. You moaned at his passion, feeling completely wanted and cherished and he hadn’t even done much to you yet.

You gasped as Aemond guided his throbbing length to glide against your folds, your slick creating a pleasant friction that had your prince groaning at the feeling. You held onto him tightly as he rutted against you, his cock nudging your clit with every thrust. “I-I thought…you were going t-to bed me?” You babbled mindlessly, the minute pleasure you were feeling already throwing you for a loop.

“I am, my sweet lady. I need to get you warmed up first, understand? Patience.” He lightly scolded, his tone only making you more impatient. “On the bed.” He ordered, and you obeyed diligently. You tried not to shiver as he stalked above you, like a predator cornering his prey, making you feel even more vulnerable than you already were, his one remaining eye making his gaze more intense somehow. “Spread your legs for me.” You shivered then, the slight chill in the air grazing your cunt unpleasant, but it was worth it to see Aemond’s lips twist into a proud smirk. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you, my lady?”

You watched with heavy lidded eyes as Aemond sloppily kissed up your legs and inner thighs, his long silver hair tickling your skin and the slight sandpapery feel of his chin surprising in how much you liked the sensation. Then, you felt his panting breaths on your core, jolting as he licked one long stripe along your folds. “What are you doing?” You asked in a gasp.

“I’ve read about this before. It is supposed to be pleasurable for you, my lady. Would you like me to stop?”

You shook your head. “No…please, keep going.” He smiled and dove in, using the tip of his tongue to run through your folds teasingly, barely stimulating your clit, making you whine.

“You taste divine.” Aemond moaned like he was the one being pleasured, making your face heat up. The bed shook lightly as he gently rutted into the sheets, hearing your whines and whimpers making his cock ache for attention. You let out a breathy moan as Aemond suckled at your clit, the feeling making your eyes roll to the back of your skull briefly. You couldn't stop your hips from jerking up against his mouth, but he placed his hands there to hold you down.

“Oh, gods, Aemond. Right there, please, please…” You whined, his tongue plucking your strings to perfection, making you near that euphoric crescendo way too quickly. “So close…” You babbled, unable to form a word as you neared your peak.

“Come.” Aemond ordered gruffly. “Come for me, my lady.” And with a loud, sharp cry, you came on his tongue, your senses bubbling over like boiling water. “Good girl. That’s my good girl.” He praised, soothing your overheated skin with his rough hands, pinching your pebbled nipples in fascination. He kissed your tears from your cheeks, gazing down at you in adoration, the expression directed at you almost as good as reaching a climax. “Think you’re ready for me, my love?” He asked softly, and you didn’t care how much it would hurt, you wanted him badly.

“Please…I need you, Aemond.”

You started to notice how anxious Aemond must’ve been, the way his hands trembled as he ran them over your soft skin, the way he took his breaths like he was frightened. He didn’t want to hurt you. He wanted to make your first time as painless as possible if he could, but his body was so aching and ready to take you just the way he wanted. But he restrained himself for you. He could be rough with you another time. “Tell me if it gets to be too much.” All you could do was nod.

Your own cum slick entrance wasn’t enough to prepare for how much you’d have to fit inside. You knew Aemond was well endowed, but you didn’t think you’d ever have to worry about it actually fitting inside you. You had to hold in your cries as he pushed the tip of his cock past your entrance, a heated sharp pressure building in intensity the more he pushed in. He groaned above you as you pulsed at the intrusion, but you wouldn’t dare to tell him how much it actually hurt, not when he looked so pretty like this. The pain was worth it. But after he finally bottomed out, he gave you a well needed break and the pain slowly morphed into something more. It still hurt a bit, but now you needed him to move, like you’d die if he didn’t.

Aemond gasped silently as you started to gyrate your hips, encouraging him to start moving. He started off slow at first, still worried about hurting you. But as he noticed your pained whines turning into moans of pleasure, he sped up his thrusts a bit more. He couldn’t stop the smirk that worked his way onto his features as your breasts bounced with every cant of his hips, his hand reaching out to grope them roughly. “Fuck, my love. You feel so amazing.” He panted, his skin starting to glimmer with a thin sheen of sweat.

WIth how much slick you were producing, you wouldn’t be surprised if your bed linens were ruined. You could hear yourself, you could hear where Aemond’s body met yours with each thrust. With his cockhead hitting a place deep inside you paired with the sound of the splash of your wet skin violently meeting his, you could feel that intense building sensation that you had grown so accustomed to thanks to Aemond, but it was different. You could almost feel him in your chest, he was so deep.

You moaned and sobbed uncontrollably, your velvety walls clenching tightly around his cock, making him grunt loudly. “Oh, gods, Aemond!” You cried, almost hyperventilating due to the overwhelming pleasure. You didn’t even realize you were clawing into his shoulders until he pinned them to the mattress, forcing you still as he plowed into you, but still unable to stop the rest of your body writhing in oversensitivity. “Aemond, Aemond…” You whined, practically shaking underneath him.

Sweat dripped down Aemond’s forehead and off his nose, the fireplace roaring not helping with how much warmth the two of you were creating between your bodies. Your sweat covered bodies clung to one another, sticking you together, the filthiness of it all making it all the more passionate. “I know, my love. Hold on, I’m so close.” He panted, his thrusts becoming sloppy and erratic as he chased his end. His eye rolled to the back of his head as he was right on that edge, just one more thrust could do it, but instead he pulled out, making you whine. Aemond stroked himself quickly until he came on your stomach with a loud groan, shuddering as goosebumps rose along his skin. “Fuck…” With one final kiss to your swollen lips, he collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling deeply in exhaustion.

You both turned towards one another as you caught your breath, a small smirk playing at the corner of Aemond’s lips. You hummed contently as he ran one of his hands up and down your upper arm, leaning into his touch like a kitten. “Are you alright, my lady?” He asked sweetly.

You nodded bashfully, teeth showing in a bright smile. “It was everything I ever dreamed of.”

Aemond leaned forward to kiss your forehead, bringing you close to his chest. “I’m glad I could be the first one to give this to you.” But the comment only made you frown.

“What happens now?”

Aemond looked down at you burrowed in his chest, an aura of confidence buried just beneath the surface of his thoughtful expression. “Let me worry about that, my love. You just sleep now. Sleep.” He cooed, and being as exhausted as you were, you had no trouble obeying him like you always had.

By the time you awoke, Aemond had already left, but not before leaving you a note saying something about his princely duties but he also took the time to remind you how much he loved you. It satisfied you anyway as you also had duties to attend to, and you could only pray to the Seven that no one important noticed your slight limp.

Meanwhile, all Aemond could think about was the night you shared together. Training was a bit more difficult in that respect, even gaining Ser Criston’s curiosity about where his head was at. He just blamed it on a restless night, which…wasn’t false. But his thoughts were also occupied by a plan that formed in his mind. This day would require luck on Aemond’s part, if he were to do this correctly. Being a son of a king, he had his ways of knowing where anyone was at any time. What he hadn’t expected, however, was his target making his way towards Aemond himself. “Lord Umber, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Aemond greeted coldly, not shying away from the lord’s attempts to appear intimidating. It was amusing, if anything. Pathetic, more like.

“I don’t know what your intentions are with my betrothed, but I would advise you stay away from her. I don’t care if you’re a prince. She’s mine, or will be very soon.”

Aemond couldn’t help but smirk, his mind conjuring up all the ways he had already made you his, right underneath this hairy oaf’s nose. “My lady does not belong to anyone but me, lord Umber.”

The larger man laughed, amused like Aemond was a child who had just told a joke. “She’s yours, is she? Sounds to me like your royal highness is jealous.” Aemond narrowed his eye. “Yes, I’ve seen you with her. The way you cling to her side like a lost pup. You just can’t imagine her being with someone else, can you? Well, don’t worry, prince Aemond. Once she’s my wife, I’ll treat her kindly on our wedding night; but just the first time. By dawn, her voice will be sore from screaming my name. She’ll have sired me an heir by the time I’m done with her.” Aemond had half a mind to slit this stupid man’s throat right then and there. How dare he speak of you that way? And as if the man couldn’t get any dumber, he continued on. “She seems so innocent, doesn’t she? I bet she’s never even tried pleasuring herself. Imagine how tight her-”

And with a swift pommel to the temple, the Northern lord was finally interrupted from his perverse rant and knocked unconscious.

Aemond hummed, staring down at the man with a certain morbid curiosity. How strange a man that burly could be rendered completely useless by just one blow to the head. It just hammered in the thought in his mind that this lord was not worthy of you. Not one bit. He’d deal with the consequences later. Right now, he needed to find you before the lord came to. And he found you fairly quickly.

“What are you doing?” You giggled nervously as Aemond dragged you to a certain part of the Keep, gasping as he pushed you up against the brick wall, the memory of being in a similar position not that long ago flashing in your mind. You hummed as he kissed you lovingly, leaving your eyes heavy lidded and pupils lust blown as he pulled away.

Aemond held up his index finger, motioning for you to wait. He looked around the corner of the somewhat secluded area of the Rep Keep, smirking furiously when he saw the Northern lord still laying in the hall right where he left him. He could wake at any moment, Aemond would have to start now. “I started to miss you as soon as I left, my love.” Aemond spoke as he found his way back to you, running his calloused hands along your sides. “Couldn’t stop picturing you split open on my cock. Need to see it again, need to feel you.”

As Aemond tried to lift up your skirts, you made a feeble attempt to stop him. “But, what if someone were to walk past? Anyone could see us?” You whisper yelled. Aemond restrained himself from rolling his eye. That’s quite the point.

“That’s why I checked if anyone was near, my love. Please, my cock aches for you.”

Oh, how could you refuse when he begged so prettily like that?

Aemond lifted up your skirts, feeling a wetness gathered at the apex of your thighs. “Do you just get wet at the sight of me, my lady?”

Your face burned like a furnace, a bashful smile on your lips. “Maybe.”

Aemond grinned, turning you so your front was pressed against the wall. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, my prince. Please, fuck me.” You whined, and he couldn’t hide his expression of pride and shock.

“Oh, you want me to fuck you, hm? Not make love to you?” He teased, talking in your ear as he undid his trousers.

You shivered, feeling the blunt tip of his cock prod at your entrance. “Yes.”

Aemond heard the faintest shuffling from the hall, halting his movements briefly. He turned to see in the corner of his eye the silhouette of lord Umber, frozen as he stared at the shocking scene before him. Aemond could only laugh under his breath as he pushed into you, smiling genuinely when you couldn’t bite back your moan. “Fuck, my love. Still just as tight as you were last night.”

You cried out as Aemond’s thrusts speed up in their pace and roughness immediately, the force jolting your whole body in place, making your breasts push against the brick wall. “Who do you belong to, my lady?” Aemond growled suddenly, marking up the skin of your neck with his teeth. “Say it! Who do you belong to, jorrāelagon?”

“You, Aemond!” You stuttered, losing yourself in the pleasure he was giving you.

“You’re mine, are you not?”

“Yes, yes, I’m yours. Only yours, my love!”

“Not that idiot Northern lord Umber?”

“No, I belong to you. I don’t want anyone else, my prince.” You babbled, almost unable to form full sentences.

“Think he could make you feel the way I can?” Aemond hummed with a dark smirk, knowing fully well the lord could hear them. He hadn’t looked towards the burly man in a while, focusing on making you fully relent to him, forcing you to scream exactly how he’s made you his. If he could guess, the lord was probably red with rage, the thought making him pound into you faster. “Hmm? Can you not answer me, my lady? Is my cock making you feel that good?” He asked condescendingly.

“So…so good…” You moaned, peaking without any stimulation to your clit.

Aemond grunted. “You want my cum, love? You want me to fill you up?” You must’ve been out of it, because you begged him to. “Good girl. ‘M gonna give you my cum. Fuck, you’d look so beautiful carrying my child if my seed takes, wouldn’t you agree?” By that time, lord Umber was long gone, and Aemond could sense it. Now, he was just saying whatever he felt like saying for himself. The image of you married to him, carrying his Targaryen babe, made him finally let go.

Aemond’s chest heaved against your back, sweat making your clothes stick to your bodies. “Avy jorrāelan…” He grinned at your attempt, your pronunciation was a bit off, but he couldn’t say anything when you spoke the words so sweetly.

“I love you, my lady.” He nuzzled into the back of your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Mine…all mine.”

What came after that was par for the course.

Lord Umber, enraged and embarrassed, went to your father to tell him what he had seen. The Northern lord demanded a virgin, but in his eyes, what he got was a whore. It was his word against yours, a woman, so you obviously wouldn’t have been believed even if you were telling the truth. But out of pure survival instinct, you lied and denied. You would never give away your body like that, even to a prince. Your one saving grace from being scalped publicly, was prince Aemond. To get his side of the story.

“Lord Umber said that he saw you and my daughter…engaging in premarital activities.” Your father spoke, his voice unsteady in his rage.

Aemond, as calm as you ever saw him, spoke, “That is an outrageous lie. I would never defile a lady such as her.”

Lord Umber guffawed. “You lying prick. I saw you, balls deep into this whore.”

Aemond’s eye darkened, taking a step closer to the three of you. “You are a guest here, lord Umber, but you forget yourself. To spread such vile rumors against the son of the king, is treason.” And with that one word, the warmth in the air depleted, leaving a cold eerie silence in the room. “Do you know what happens to people that commit treason against the crown?” Lord Umber was uncharacteristically silent now. “On your way in from the middle of nowhere, you did notice all the heads that were stacked neatly on pikes, correct? Those were all men and women who spoke lies about us. Would you like your head to join them as well?”

The Northern lord was finally frightened into submission, but Aemond didn’t stop there.

“I shall have my grandsire arrest you and behead you on the morrow.”

“Wait, my prince!” Lord Umber called out desperately. Aemond smirked, how the big strong men fall when they’re faced with death. “Please, I take back what I said. I didn’t see anything! It must’ve been someone else. I sincerely apologize for being so quick to anger and place blame on the wrong person. Please, forgive me.” He begged.

Aemond pretended to consider the apology, but he knew what he wanted from the moment they sought him out. “I will pardon this indiscretion…but for a price.”

“Whatever it is, my prince, it shall be yours.”

“Your betrothed.”

“What?” You, your father, and lord Umber spoke at the same time.

“I will let you keep your head if you give me her. Seems to be a small price to pay, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your father and lord Umber shared looks, while you and Aemond did the same. Theirs were filled with fear and uncertainty, but yours with Aemond…pure love and respect. You didn’t even think of the means he was able to make this happen. But now, you wouldn’t have to leave for the North with a man who would never see you as his equal. Now, you have the chance to live with the love of your life for the rest of your days.

“She’s yours, my prince.” Your father announced, and you had to stop yourself from jumping with joy.

“You made the right choice. As for you, lord Umber, I want you out of King’s Landing by daybreak. If any of our guards find you after then, I’ll bring you back here and behead you myself. Are we at an understanding?”

“Yes, prince Aemond.” Lord Umber spoke, excusing himself and running with his tail between his legs. No amount of chains could hold a dragon down.

For the first time in Aemond’s life, he didn’t care that he disappointed his mother and grandsire. He gained his father’s permission and that’s all that mattered to him. Although, it wasn’t too difficult to convince a man addled on Milk of the Poppy.

That same night, Aemond came to your chambers, immediately captured in an embrace. “How?” Was all you asked.

“You know how people say Targaryens are closer to gods than men? Well, I just used some of my godly powers.” He grinned, kissing you like his life depended on it. “I hope you aren’t upset with me.”

You huffed incredulously. “Why would I be? Aemond, you save me from a miserable existence in the North. I can’t thank you enough. If you hadn’t done what you did, I’m sure my father would’ve found me another lord so he could fill his pockets.”

Aemond lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his bright eye. “You won’t have to deal with your father any more, my love. I’ll take care of you. And I will not let anything or anyone come between us. I swear it.”

Finally, Aemond was all yours, and you were his; now and forever.

yeah, i rushed the ending so i could finally finish this. WHAT OF IT???

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine

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iamyourdailydoseofbi · 3 months

Note

Sorry for english mistakes, it is not my first language. Can we have more of what ‘Familial Issues Anon’ was talking about? Requesting for more Brother Aegon but it is not tied to the previous fic? Like Aegon and Little Sister Reader growing up with one another and the ideas of the Anon that requested it? Sorry it is my first tine asking for a fic request!

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x READER ) [ PREQUEL? ]

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: Young! Aegon Targaryen x Little Sis! Reader prompt: Aegon finds himself enable to grasp the thought of losing you forever. word count: 1, 000+ words

You were a pest. No, you were a clingy pest. Like a leech. Aegon's personal leech. You just stuck to him. No matter how many times he tried to get rid of you, you came waddling back to him like a little duckling. You'd stare up at him, big puppy dog eyes and a giddy smile. So pure, so untouched. He wanted to ruin you. To ruin that good you had in you, in hopes it would make you stop clinging onto him. But, it never worked.

He could spout out the cruelest of insults to you, and you'd just stare at him. So innocent that the words did not click in his head. He could push you, and you'd just stand back up unflinching. Still seeing the best in him. He hated it. It was odd. Why could you not see the bad in him? The bad that everyone else saw in him? Why did you have to be so good? So sweet? So loving?

He hated it. Yet, he craved your presence. There was something nice about having you by his side. You weren't like Jace, trying to impress him. Or as much of a follower as Luke, wanting to fit in. You just adored him and everything he did. Like a stupid puppy. It was a battle within him.

"She's a pest." Yes, but she's your little sister.

"She sees too much good in me." Yes, but wasn't that better than hate?

"She was too young." Yes, only eleven and still too naive to understand just how horrid and rotten he was. But, she made him smile with her child-like wonder of the world.

"She loves you." Yes, she was the only one that did. Or at least, the only one that did love him for him. No matter how rotten he was.

"She's too clingy." Yes, but one day she will grow out of it and suddenly the loneliness will come creeping back in. She won’t be there trailing after him, or hug him, or smile at him.

"One day she will marry and leave you all alone." Yes, but for now you were his little sister. You were his little duckling. His little shadow. His little pest and he wanted to cling onto that a little longer.

Watching you trailing after Aemond like a puppy, he scowls deeply, hatred and jealousy bubbling inside of him. You were supposed to be his little shadow. Not Aemond's. Keeping his distance for now, he watches as you give Aemond a big hug and smile, nodding your little head enthusiastically at whatever he says. The scowl on his face grows more and more deep. What could Aemond say that made you so happy? Watching you hand Aemond a linen cloth, he grows even more angry. No, no, no, that was his thing. You were supposed to give him gifts! Not Aemond.

Not being able to hold back any longer, he stalks towards the two of you, a dark glare on his face pointed towards Aemond. There was no way in the Seven hells was he going to allow Aemond to steal you from him. You were his pest. You were his. Not Aemond. Aemond could have Helaena or Jace and Luke for all he cared. You were his. You were meant to cling onto him. Watching you ramble away to Aemond, he straightens out, puffing up his chest to look more bigger.

"Oh, Y/n.." He calls out, a hint of sing-song tone in his voice.

"Egg!" You cheerfully call out, your words lisping together.

"Aegon. We've been over this. It's Aegon, not Egg." He huffs, rolling his eyes.

“What are you doing here, Egg?” You ask, not catching his annoyance.

Watching you completely forget about Aemond, he swiftly picks you up, carrying you on his back in a piggy back ride. You were a little heavy and too big to be carried in such a manner, but he didn’t care. If it meant keeping you close to him, he would grit his teeth and do it. Hearing you giggle loudly, he walks away from Aemond, shooting a deadly glare over his shoulder. As if he was a dog pissing on the ground to mark his territory. He wanted to be clear to everyone, you were his.

“Does not matter.” He brushes off, “We are going to the kitchen’s, I heard they are making lemon cakes.”

“Lemon cakes?”

“Yes, I think we can steal a few of them.” He nods, “What do you say, hm? An adventure with your big brother?”

“I would like that.” You smile, making him perk up.

"Good, good, because I wan't going to put you down anyways."

Watching as you dissect the lemon cake, you push the bitter lemon frosting away with your fork, piling it up on the side of the plate. Smiling softly as you turn your plate so he could eat the frosting, his gaze softens ever so slightly, shoulder’s relaxing. You were too kind. Even when eating your food, you still wanted to share with him, knowing that the frosting was always his favorite part. Pushing his uneaten slice closer to you, he had no desire to eat the lemon cake anymore, just wanting to see you smile some more.

“Aegon?” You mumble, playing with your food with your fork.

“Yes?”

“I have a question.” You stare at the plate, “About marriage.”

“Marriage? What in the Seven’s name is making you think of marriage? You’re too young for that.”

“Grandsire said I will one day make a good wife and mother. That I must follow my studies closely.” You mumble, “Do you think that I will be a good wife and mother one day?”

Furrowing his brows in confusion, he didn’t know why you were asking such a question, you were a long way away before marriage would become a concern. You barely turned ten and one, weeks ago. You should be focused on other matter’s, like embroidery or whatever stupid Court gossip spread around.

Wrinkling his nose up the more he thinks of you getting married, the more he dislikes the thought. You were too young, and too important for him to let you succumb to such a boring fate. If he was King, you would never have to marry. You two would just fly on dragon back and have fun all day.

“I do. But, that’s like a billion years from now.” He rolls his eyes, exaggerating with his words.

“Do you think so? I know of many other girl’s who are already betrothed.” You mumble, playing with the frosting.

“Yes, well, those other girls aren’t you. You're a Princess, a Targaryen one. You’re important and different from them. They're dull.” He shakes his head, refusing to compare you to the other girl in Court.

“You think so?” You ask, eyes full of so much hope.

“I know so. We’re Targaryen’s! Everyone wants to be us because we are special and they are dull and common.” He smiles, “There’s a thousand of them, and only one of you. You’re special.”

Watching as a big goofy smile spreads on your face, he perks up at the sight, happy to cause such joy within you. Picking apart the lemon cake with his fork, he watches as your eyes lower down to your plate, shoulder’s slouching for a moment. The smile on your face falters for a moment, almost as if some thought popped in your head and ruined the moment. Furrowing his brows at how quick the joy is gone, he wanted to punch whoever or whatever had popped into your head.

“What is it?” He asks, slightly concerned by your shift in mood.

“But, Grandsire said⎯”

“You are barely reaching your ten and two name day. You are too young to be considered a wife or Mother.” He shakes his head dismissively, “Grandsire is a fool. Do not let such things upset you. I won’t let them marry you off. You’ll stay here in the Red Keep with me, for like, forever.”

Little did either of you know, that just on the other end of the Red Keep.Your marriage had already been arranged, and soon you’d be shipped off.

---

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

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darkestspring · 3 months

Note

Thanks for doing my Jaehaera&Jaehaerys request!!😁🥰 It was a fun read!!! Especially liked that Tyland/Weird Uncle was the twins’ victim lol 🤣🤣

May I request another, like how the twins try to manipulate all of the reader’s time to be spent with them? Their Papa, Uncle Aemond, etc don’t stand a chance against those two lol 😁🤣

-🌺

you can request as many as you want darling! i'm more than happy to write them!

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were coming to the conclusion that you were spending too much time with people other than them. They wanted your attention on them! Not on Papa, Uncle Aemond, Aunt Helaena, or even Grandma Alicent.

What was so important that it pulled you away from them?

Jaehaera pouted as she held the cotton dragon that you had made for her. "I miss Mama." She sulked, glaring at the ground. You had stepped out of the room to speak to Papa as he came looking for you.

She could still hear you talking softly but couldn't make out what the discussion was as you whispered in concern to Papa.

"How should be do it this time? Faking being sick?" Jaehaerys asked her softly, looking up from holding only blanket you had wrapped around him as he fake slept in your lap.

"No, we already did that last week, if we start being sick more often, Mama will get worried and go to the maester." Jaehaera muttered, contemplating as she stared at the floor. "How about having a really bad nightmare?" She looked over at her twin. "We haven't done that one in three months."

"Mmmm, sounds plausible," Jaehaerys nodded before laying down and shutting his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

Jaehaera got up from the floor, tottering towards the door and pushing it open. "Mama, Jaehaerys is having a bad dream. He's moving so much." She looked up at you with deceptively innocent eyes, completely ignoring her father.

You looked away from Aegon, concern on your face. "Stay with your father." you cautioned her before rushing inside, sitting besides your sleeping son as he made sobbing sounds in his sleep.

You rubbed his chest softly, trying not to shake him too harshly as you woke him up. "Jaehaerys, wake up." You spoke in concern.

Your arms wrapped around him, cradling him to you as he sobbed into your shoulder.

"Don't go away, Mama. I'll never see you again, don't want that." He sobbed and Jaehaera peered over from the doorway.

"Oh, sweet boy." You cooed softly. "Mama will be here always, I won't ever leave."

Once Jaehaerys was facing towards Jaehaera and their father, he shot her a thumbs up, cuddling closer into your shoulder.

Jaehaera gave him a thumbs up back, ignoring the incredulous look her father gave her.

#scheming twins #aegon targaryen x reader

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themotherofhorses · 1 year

Text

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: "i am looking for a maid, preferably one of eight-and-ten...a young handmaid for my second son, aemond."

warnings: nothing.

notes: an anon requested their first meeting, so here it is.

his handmaid's tales I main masterlist

It began with the Queen.

“How may I serve your Grace.”

“I am looking for a maid, preferably one of eight-and-ten,” Queen Alicent had told the septa in private. It was gloomy outside, with dark clouds blanketing the sky. She had just finished lighting four candles. “A young handmaid for my second son, Aemond. He is the only of my children not to have one. I’d like for her to be sweet and devoted and quick on her feet, a girl who will swear her undying loyalty and service unto him and his needs.”

His twentieth nameday was fast approaching, set within the next fortnight. She felt this would be a fine gift for him.

The septa took a moment to think. “Does her breeding matter?” she asked. “I know of a girl- she is exactly what you desire, but she is a bastard, born to one of the serving wenches at Harrenhal.”

The queen’s nose wrinkled. “A riverlands bastard?”

“She is said to be Lord Lyonel’s granddaughter, my queen.”

“So a Strong bastard….” Alicent rubbed at her temple, “I suppose…if she is what I ask for, and that you can assure she’ll remain loyal to him.” She then sighed, shaking her head. “Though, do keep it away from my son, septa. He carries such little love for House Strong. I do not wish for him to turn his ire onto her if he ever found out.

The septa frowned. “Do you genuinely believe the prince would dare harm an innocent girl, your Grace?”

Alicent tugged at her gown's flowing sleeve, sniffing. “That is why I ask for you to keep her heritage a secret.”

Two weeks later, you stood in Prince Aemond’s bedchamber as his new handmaid. The septa was at your elbow, mumbling a flood of demands into your ear. “Stand straighter, child, for the sake of the gods. But keep your head bowed, gaze locked on your feet. You mustn’t ever behold the prince unless he allows it.” You ran a hand down your arm, feeling the skin prickled with goosebumps, before lacing your trembling fingers together.

To your right was the Queen, dressed in a pretty gown as green as summer. She said very little to you, if not nothing.

“Ah, Aemond! My dear boy, please join us,” she greeted quite happily when her son arrived at the doors of his room. You kept your eyes down, counting each loud footstep of his that loomed closer with every second.

“Who is this?”

Queen Alicent cleared her throat. “Your new handmaid, son.”

Prince Aemond remained silent. You could feel his gaze. One. Two. Three…four, five, six…. You swallowed, counting each heartbeat that quickened inside your chest as you willed yourself to stay still and brave. Do not tremble. It would be an embarrassment, no doubt. You felt your nails digging into your palms. Fear cuts much deeper than any sword.

“I was…unaware I needed a handmaid, dear mother,” he finally said.

“Aegon and Helaena have theirs, and Daeron’s been by his side in Oldtown since he was a young boy. It is unlike a prince not to have his own handmaid. She will do you well.”

“Do me well?”

“Yes!”

The septa pinched the skin of your arm, causing you to flinch before lifting your face to meet his eye from across the room. The prince...he was handsome, terribly so, you thought. Tall and silver-haired, dashing and imposing, with a deep violet eye. “I was brought here to serve you,” you told him, “-to do anything and everything my prince commands.” Prince Aemond skimmed you up and down, an eyebrow rising. “Anything? Such as…?”

You glanced at the septa, unsure of what to say next. “Um, well, my prince, I shall fix your baths and sew any ripped shirts if you’d like? I might also fetch you your wine if desired-”

“She’ll do whatever you ask of her, my prince,” the septa interjected. Queen Alicent smiled, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Does that not please you, son?” She then leaned to mutter something close to his ear, and he stiffened, aiming his cool stare at you, before relaxing.

“Alright. You are suffice,” he decided before turning to his mother, his face softening. “Thank you, mother.”

Queen Alicent leaned to kiss his cheek before pushing past him out into the hall. The septa soon followed her, leaving you and Prince Aemond alone in the room. Thump. Thump. Thump. The prince stole another look at you. “What might I call you?”

You gave him your name, dropping low into a pretty curtesy. Every time you bow, your neck is at the mercy of the royals. “A beautiful name,” he said. His voice sounded throaty. He was clothed in black leather, from his shoulders to his ankles, and the cloak he wore around his shoulders. At his waist hung a longsword. “Thank you, my prince. It was my mother’s choosing.”

The raven had arrived at Harrenhal at midday, a flurry of black wings that carried a letter demanding your sudden attendance at the Red Keep at the request of the queen herself. Your mother was reluctant to send you off at first but eventually did so with five sweet kisses and a bright yellow mullein flower that she slipped into the pocket of her old green cloak.

Prince Aemond hummed. “Well, if you’d like, I have two shirts that are in need of sewing. Ser Cole knicked them with his own sword during my training four mornings back.” He gestured to his closet, nicely carved from weirwood, pale as a bone. The look of it reminded you of your mother and the gods you left behind at home.

You nodded, bowing. “As my prince commands,” and you moved towards the closet to fetch his shirts, although you would likely need to venture out to find a needle and…

A hand touched your arm.

You spun to meet him. “Do you need something else, my prince?” Prince Aemond stood so close you could see the long pale scar peeking from behind his eyepatch, his dark eyelashes, and his jutting chin and high cheekbones. He was far more beautiful up close. You felt butterflies in your belly, stirring up a strange fluttering feeling; it crept up your spine to your throat.

“Do you fear me?”

You bit your lip. “No.”

He hummed again, eye flickering across your face. You do not believe me, don't you. You felt it glide over your browbone, to the slope of your nose, and pausing at your lips. “Fix my shirts, then. I have needles and thread in my closet as well. You do not leave the room unless I dismiss you.”

“She is yours. Your handmaid. Everything she does next is at your own will and mercy,” his mother whispered to him. “But do treat her well, Aemond. It is through kindheartedness that you receive devotion.”

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#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond drabble #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #handmaid!reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

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aemndx · 2 years

Text

— 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄.

gif credit.

synopsis: aemond targaryen wants to possess you, claim you as his -- and what the dragon wants, he shall get.

author’s note: heey! this is my first time posting my writing on here.. im a bit nervous, but very excited. i really hope u enjoy reading it. also, please reblog, comment + leave ur feedback! it’d mean the world to me if u did. thank u so much for taking the time to read & visiting my blog! lots of love. ♡

warnings: minors dni. slight smut. sexual tension. fingering. teasing. female pronouns. possessive behavior. dark themes. stalking--(kind of). aemond makes you have a panic attack over him -- intentionally. innocent!reader. pet names. romance. fluff. any grammatical errors are my own -- in advance, i sincerely apologize.

word count: 3,7k.

pairings: aemond targaryen x handmaiden!reader (f).

♡࿐ the castle was lively with noble lords and ladies, most of them ignoring you, in favor of socializing with the higher ranks to make alliances between different royal houses. most didn’t even spare you a glance, which you were most thankful for.

the ones who did acknowledge your existence–there were very few–nodded their head in a polite greeting, which you had stopped and curtsied back in respect, muttering a small ‘my lord’ or a ‘my lady’.

which of course–as obviously predicted–filled their massive egos as they walked away with their noses up in the air. of course, no one ever actually bowed to you, you were nothing but a young servant girl, born from a low ranking family.

however, you always preferred to remain unseen – better to be unseen and avoid trouble, than to be seen and cause chaos.

you had just been dismissed, as you finished accompanying queen helaena on her daily walk through the gardens. the queen loved spending time outdoors, and it seemed only right, she was always at peace when she was in nature and the sunshine did her good.

the hallways of the red keep were long as you made your way to the massive library, your footsteps light as air as you walked. the closer you got, the less people there were and you were thankful, never having been too comfortable with tons of people around.

as you continued walking, swiftly turning a corner and heading towards the last flight of stairs that led to the library, you got the sudden feeling as if you were being followed.

naturally, you hurried your footsteps, sneaking a glance behind you and not seeing anyone. nonetheless, you quickly climbed up the stairs, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat. you snapped your neck to the side as you started hearing light footsteps approaching, though you did not see anyone behind you once again, making you think you were crazy.

huffing in frustration, you had just stepped off the last stair, about to round the corner, looking down the hallway and seeing it completely empty. you turned your body slightly around to look back down the staircase, making sure there was nobody actually following you.

thankfully, you saw nobody. perhaps it had just been your mind playing tricks on you, though you couldn’t shake the feeling of a sharp gaze piercing your back. releasing a shaky breath, a bone numbing chill went down your spine, making you wrap your arms around yourself, before you turned back around to finally head towards your destination.

without warning, a pale hand snatched out towards you, wrapping around your waist and pushing you against the nearest secluded wall, causing you to let out a high pitched scream in fear. the hand that grabbed you quickly moved from your waist to cover your mouth, silencing your cries.

you saw a flash of platinum blonde hair from the corner of your eye, causing your wide eyes to look up, seeing none other than prince aemond targaryen, standing casually before you.

the prince stood tall, tilting his head down to look at you with a smirk across his lips. he pressed his body against yours, holding you between the hard stone wall and his lean but well muscled body.

“i’ll remove my hand only if you promise not to scream again,” the prince said, his tone soft but firm.

you nodded your head as best you could, not understanding what was happening.

the prince simply cocked his head sideways, his eye slightly narrowing as he looked over your current frightened state. only a moment passed, the prince letting out a pleased hum as if he saw what he was looking for, before removing his hand from your mouth.

“prince aemond,” you breathed, your body falling limp against the wall behind you.

“lady [name],” the prince purred, looking completely satisfied with himself, like the cat who got the cream.

you swallowed nervously, shifting your feet from side to side, but stopped shortly as you could barely move. “did you need something from me, my prince?”

the prince sighed, amusement slowly spreading across his handsome face. “yes, in fact.. i did. correct me if i’m wrong, but have you been avoiding me, my lady?”

you cursed yourself in your head, before immediately shaking your head no. “of course n-not, my prince. i was just going to visit the library–“

“oh, i am not talking about right this moment, my sweet. i am referring to the past few weeks. every single time i have sought you out, you had the brilliant idea to turn around rather abruptly and scurry away from me as if you were a scared little girl,” he scolded, making you feel incredibly small against him.

the prince paused, watching your face with a sharp eye, before continuing on his rant. “…and let us not forget yesterday,” he seethed, a flash of anger beginning to taint his words. “when you deliberately rushed out of my dear sister’s chambers, without even being dismissed,” he tsked, teasingly. you did not say anything in response, feeling as if you had lost all brain function with the close proximity of the prince.

his clean, but masculine scent surrounded you, causing your mouth to water as you could also smell honey and sweet lemon cakes. his scent completely overwhelmed your senses, making you feel almost dizzy, especially with his handsome face only mere inches away from yours.

when you couldn’t didn’t reply back, the prince raised an eyebrow as if taunting you to try and defend yourself and your most heinous–(according to him)–actions.

“nothing to say, hm?”

you gulped, your lips parting slightly as if to speak, before snapping shut when words did not come out.

what was wrong with you?

“it is highly offensive to not answer your prince when he is addressing you, my lady,” he chastised, as if you were a child misbehaving.

in his point of view, you probably were.

“what? do you not even want to try and defend your most ill-mannered actions? have you not come to the realization that your blatant lack of respect is incredibly unacceptable to me?” he growled, voice rising in anger.

you should’ve known better, waking up the dragon.

“do you not wish for my forgiveness?” he hissed, his words aimed to hurt you.

you flinched as he scolded you like a father would to their child who had done something naughty – unforgivable.

each word he said was direct and targeted towards you, making a small, tortuous whine escape your lips. your cheeks flushed in shame and your head started to spin, you were sure you would die from embarrassment.

“i’m so s-sorry, my prince. of course n-not.. i was just – i was not… no,” you panicked, feeling pathetic and most of all embarrassed from your constant stuttering and shaky voice.

you felt so stupid.

“i swear, i was not trying to be disrespectful towards you, i-i don’t… i did not mean to run away from you, i promise!“ you cried, feeling yourself practically choking on the saliva in your mouth, your fingertips tingling by your sides and your heart was pounding against your ribcage rapidly.

“please, prince aemond.. i never meant any disrespect. i was just.. i was o-only–“ you cut yourself off with a sharp gasp, feeling like your airway was closing. you tried explaining yourself, though everything you were saying sounded like it made little sense and your words were a garbled mess.

hot tears began to pool in your eyes as the prince just watched in shameless amusement as you choked and fumbled over your words, trying to the best of your ability to explain your poor, pathetic self.

graciously, the one-eyed prince showed you mercy.

“alright, alright… shh. you’re alright, little one. i believe you,” the prince cooed, bringing both of his large hands up to cup your flushed face.

the tears that had pooled in your eyes now falling freely, which he had generously brushed away gently with the soft but calloused pads of his thumbs.

“you do?” you cried weakly, feeling your tightened chest begin to relax at his reassuring words.

“mmm,” he hummed lazily, wiping the heated skin of your cheeks lovingly, like he was your lover comforting you after something tragic happened.

“of course, my love. i could never stay truly angry with you,” he confessed, a small smile tugging at his lips as his eye remained looking into your tearful ones.

you felt your wobbly lips turn up into a shy smile, relaxing in the arms of the prince.

you sighed, feeling your limbs relax, thankfully no longer feeling like you were about to pass out from the blood that had rushed to your head in your haste of trying to come up with something to appease him.

gods be good, the last thing you wanted was for him to be upset and angry at you.

“thank you, prince aemond… you have no idea how happy that makes me to hear you say that,” you confessed, locking your eyes with his, though you felt an uncomfortable shiver pass through you, seeing the twinkle of mischief in the prince’s eye.

“…of course, there is still the issue that you purposely avoided me,” he said, watching you with a narrowed eye, irritation bubbling underneath the surface of his heated skin, remembering the many times you had practically ran away from him.

it was almost adorable, thinking you could outrun a dragon.

the gods were surely mocking you now, as he had finally seized you in his fiery grasp, not intending on ever letting you go.

prince aemond watched you try and press your back further into the wall, wanting the castle wall to swallow you whole so that you could disappear from him.

it was like he could read your every thought, all you wanted to do was hide from him.

you did not answer him to confirm his accusation against you, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right – even though you both knew he was.

a brief pause, you felt yourself stop breathing completely, holding your breath and waiting for his next words. you were terrified, who wouldn’t be?

“although.. perhaps i shall be merciful towards you, my sweet,” he breathed, bringing his hands down to your waist and gripping your sides tightly to the point it almost hurt.

aemond carefully watched your face to see if you would be brave enough to push him away, before he shook his head and chuckled lightly to himself, watching you bite down on your bottom lip nervously.

suddenly, the prince spoke out loud to himself rather than to you. “mmm… i wonder,” he murmured, suddenly playful as he let one of his hands travel further down, grabbing the skirt of your dress in his hand, bunching it together and tugging it up until both of your bare legs were exposed to him.

letting go of your waist with his other hand, he reached a large hand underneath your dress, placing the warm palm of his hand directly over your clothed cunt.

you let out a surprised gasp, eyes big and innocent and looking up to see his face that looked rightfully pleased, feeling your cunt soaking through your undergarments.

the prince cupped your cunt fully, pressing his palm up against your clit to apply pressure. “mm, prince aemond…”you mewled, trailing off as you felt the most pleasurable sensation start to swarm in your lower belly.

“oh,” you gasped wantonly, looking up at the prince in desperation.

what was happening to you?!

“indeed,” the prince smirked, leaning his head down to nuzzle his nose into your hair, sighing in content at being so close to you.

finally, he thought.

he inhaled your sweet scent for a moment, pressing a kiss against the side of your head, before moving his head back when he felt an uncontrollable yearning sensation spread throughout his body.

with his eye trained back on you, the hand that was cupping your cunt did not move, simply holding you in his possession and making you feel as if you were slowly losing your mind at the pressure he held against your sensitive clit.

nobody had ever touched you there, you were a maiden – a virgin, pure of heart and of mind and body.

“m-my prince..” you stuttered, your voice coming out small and uncertain.

suddenly, you felt prince aemond’s fingers swiftly move your undergarments to the side, pressing two fingers against your clit, rubbing it softly as if you’d break.

you didn’t doubt it.

you immediately cried out, your legs shaking and head buzzing at the new sensation. you had never felt such pleasure, it was beyond your imagination. you didn’t know what to do, you didn’t even remember reaching up with both hands and grasping at the prince’s shoulders.

when exactly had you done that?

feeling embarrassed, you let your fluttering eyes fall down to prince aemond’s clothed chest, though you could still feel his piercing eye watching your flushed face.

you didn’t know of course, but the one-eyed prince loved to watch you in secret.

it was one of his favorite hobbies, filling him with mirth as he would watch you fret over his sister, following after her to keep her company. although, you did not just serve her, you were now also a close friend to queen helaena.

you were young and sweet as honey, acting just as curious as his sister was with insects, though he knew you found genuine interest in different flowers and plants, just as well as books. you’d only been working at the castle for a few months, helping out in the kitchens.

it was only a few weeks ago that you’d began serving as a handmaiden to his sister, that was when he had truly taken notice to you.

you were so beautiful.

there were also many times where he’d deliberately put himself in your eye line, watching you with an amused smirk curling across his lips as he watched you stumble a multitude of times, once you eventually noticed him.

the prince would watch you for an uncomfortable amount of time, before you’d quickly turn around and scurry away from him, flustered and your belly always swarming with butterflies and something else.

his eye would always flash with hunger every time he saw you walking the halls of the red keep, wanting to claim you as his.

there was one time just a few days ago, when he’d gone to visit his sister unexpectedly, making your eyes widen at the sight of him entering his sister’s chambers unannounced, instantly shrinking away from him.

you had not uttered a single word the entire time he was there, simply humming in acknowledgment as the queen would ask your opinion on something, trying to make you join in on the conversation she was having with her brother.

occasionally, you would mutter something underneath your breath, your eyebrows furrowing in concentration as you tried to keep your focus on doing his sister’s hair, though by his close proximity, he could see your shaking hands.

not once did aemond take his eye off of you the entire time he had been there, making your skin crawl with nervousness.

gods, you were so perfect. so, so perfect. you would be his, he would make sure of it. he would have you all to himself, he had to – lest he go insane.

suddenly, the prince had slipped a single long finger inside your dripping cunt, pumping his finger in and out a few times experimentally, before shoving it back inside and curling it inside of you, feeling the silky walls of your heat clamp down around his finger.

you tried your best to stay as quiet as possible, but you couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped you. you looked back up at the prince pleadingly, your eyebrows furrowed and sweat was beginning to form at the back of your neck from the constant pleasure he was giving you.

aemond let out a soft hum, his eye filled with lust and possessiveness, before he eventually leaned down and captured your lips with his in a earth shattering kiss.

you moaned helplessly into his mouth, kissing him back with a burning desire that began to consume you both, feeling his warm tongue snake out and brush over your lower lip, begging for entrance.

your lips parted on their own accord, feeling the prince’s tongue slip into your needy mouth, tasting you.

aemond let out a deep groan of satisfaction, tasting how sweet you tasted, like different kinds of berries. he ran his tongue over the roof of your mouth, feeling your tongue slowly brush up shyly against his, as if asking for his permission.

of course, the prince denied you and bit down on your lower lip in punishment, causing you to let out a pained wail in displeasure.

you whined with need, pressing your hips down against his hand, begging for more, more, more.

you’d take whatever the prince would give to you, everything and anything – it was all yours, all you need to do was ask him and aemond would burn cities to ground to see you happy.

aemond quickly slipped in a second deft finger, pumping them both with vigor. the wet sounds your cunt made were loud and lewd, though you paid it little mind.

instantaneously, the prince dragged his lips down to your jaw, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin there.

you dropped your head down, pressing your face into the warmth of the prince’s chest as your body trembled against his. then, you felt his thumb brush over your sensitive clit once more, beginning to rub the little nub in tight circles, causing you to squeal in endless pleasure.

“oh, ohhh – please, don’t stop prince aemond…!” you sobbed, feeling yourself begin to hyperventilate and something inside your belly was starting to tighten almost uncomfortably, making you squirm wildly against him.

aemond chuckled, kissing the top of your head and bringing up the hand that was holding your dress up to your hair, burying his fingers into the soft locks, caressing the back of your head lovingly.

“let go for me, little one. go on, give it to me.”

your small hands that were grasping the prince’s shoulders squeezed rather harshly, and if you were in your right state of mind you would’ve apologized profusely, but right now… you could not even forge a coherent thought.

“please, please – i need.. i need to–“ you choked, suddenly feeling the band that was tightening in your belly snap, an overwhelming feeling of immense pleasure swarming over you, suffocating you.

your breathing was erratic, your head spinning and your eyes squeezed shut as you felt your body be consumed by euphoria.

it was maddening.

“that’s it, my love,” aemond purred from above you, gently stroking the back of your head tenderly, continuing the assault of his skilled fingers.

aemond pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt slowly now, while leisurely rubbing lazy circles into your clit as he felt you come in the palm of his hand, your pleasurable cries like music to his ears.

aemond hummed, “you’re mine now, do you understand? mine – you belong to me.”

you let out pathetic whines, leaning your full weight against the prince uncaringly.

you were too wrapped up in the pleasure he was giving you to really notice.

a few seconds later, you began feeling overstimulated, a displeased sound escaping you, before you pulled your head back and leaned it against the hard stone wall tiredly.

the prince’s fingers continuously fingered you through your high, and the way his thumb pressed into your pulsing clit sent electric shocks throughout your body, causing you to tense up once again.

looking up, you caught the eye of the devilishly handsome prince that towered over you, making you feel small compared to him.

charmingly, he smiled.

of course, the feeling of the stone wall made you frown in annoyance, feeling uncomfortable without the prince’s soft touch in your hair, caressing you. you dropped one of your hands from the prince’s shoulder, grabbing hold of his wrist that was buried under the layers of your maid’s dress.

aemond immediately paused the movements of his hand, though he kept his fingers buried deep inside of you, raising an eyebrow in question.

you sucked in a deep breath, trying to gather as much courage as you possibly could, but bracing yourself for the worse.

finally, you spoke. “…i will not be your whore, prince aemond,” you said, trying to make your voice as even and as firm as possible. however, you could hear your voice shake slightly at the end, cursing yourself for your bashfulness.

a minute of silence passed, the prince’s face completely blank of any emotion, giving you nothing as your eyes glanced over his face back and forth, silently begging to know what he was thinking.

then, out of nowhere, he laughed loudly. the sound almost pleasing to your ears as it echoed off the walls, just as your moans from earlier had.

your eyes went wide in disbelief, wondering if he was laughing at you. you surely hoped not, you’d be terribly disappointed.

as the prince’s laughter slowly died down, he observed you for a moment silently, before his lips curled up into a wicked smile, “no, you will not be my whore,” he hissed crudely, his eye narrowing at you and the blood in his veins bubbling with fire as he looked down at you intensely.

you tried swallowing, but your mouth appeared dry, waiting for his words. without warning, the prince leaned down once again and crashed his lips against yours, claiming you and causing you to release a pleased sound.

the prince wanted you to be his, truly his.

you couldn’t help the fluttering feeling in your chest, as well as the nervous butterflies swarming in your belly at the thought that maybe… just maybe, the prince would give you what you both desired more than anything – each other.

the prince’s lips met yours in a needy, frenzied kiss, wanting to possess all of you.

you were his, he had to make you see that now.

aemond pulled away from you abruptly, watching as you chased after his lips, causing him to smirk. he shook his head, “no,” he repeated, his voice deep and his eye dark as he looked down at your pretty, blissed out face.

mine, he thought.

“you will not be my whore, my sweet. you will be my wife.”

fin

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