#this is like the prince x guard but better

[peranna]

what if there a timeline where Loki's variant is still an Asgardian Prince, but Mobius' variant is an Asgardian citizen...? look it has been shown that a variant can be anyone anywhere, so im running with this, very far.

would Mobius meet Loki somehow and tell his bullshit straight to his face regardless of his rang? hell yeah. would Loki be absolutely furious and surprised of such accusations, but would still want to kiss him? definitely.

i rest my case. i might write this, but i might not.

[servicpop]

family trip adrien ( deliquent oc ) x bttm m reader

ⓘ established relationship au

Through the excessive amount of visiting each other's houses almost everyday of the week, it was only natural that your families would grow close.

It wasn't a surprise when you received a pretty little invitation by Adrien to come join him and his family on a small trip to the coast. Since you had nothing better to do that weekend, you gladly accepted. Adrien brought up his family's van and offered you a ride in which you also agreed.

You never thought to ask Adrien about his family, assuming it was a topic he didn't particularly like as he never talked about them anyways. So seeing two little girls and a young boy that were the splitting image of Adrien if not his parents. They were a rather rowdy bunch as Adrien's mother rounded up the little troublemakers into the 2nd row of the van while her husband was busy packing things into the trunk.

“Why didn't you tell me you had siblings? And so many,” You question, turning to Adrien who seemed to be on his last straw trying to get his siblings to calm down.

“Didn't think I seemed like an only child,” he quipped.

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes when Adrien's mother walks up to you. She's gorgeous, straight nut brown hair, short and slim like a doe. It's strikingly different from Adrien's rough appearance.

“Oh dear, it seems like there's only one chair left,” Mrs Castillo's voice is like a hydrating balm to the soul as she places a hand on her cheek.

You open your mouth to propose a solution — as the responsible person you are — but you're acutely cut off by prince charming himself.

“He can sit on my lap, no problem.” You can see the relieved expression Adrien's mother carries before she walks off into the passenger's side of the van, leaving you absolutely speechless.

“Since when did I agree to that?” You sigh, but it's ultimately the only solution you can think of on the spot.

Adrien slips into the back seat first, getting himself comfortable before patting his thighs. There's a sour expression on your face as you climb in, settling yourself on Adrien's lap. He slips on the seatbelt from behind you and slides his arms around your waist, holding you close.

“Don't worry, I'll be your seatbelt.”

“I wasn't worrying.”

The ride was anything but smooth. You were profoundly aware of every single movement Adrien made underneath you, the soft thumping of his heart rattled against his chest every time you leaned back to rest.

Not to mention his demon-like siblings turning around to ask you bizarre questions.

“Did Adrien kidnap you?” “Do you think you can do a cartwheel and then the splits because I can.” “How much money did he pay you to be here?”

You couldn't even answer one question before another was interjected. Even Adrien seemed annoyed by this constant noise.

“Stop bothering him,” His tone caught you off-guard; it was harsh and grounded like he truly meant it. It didn't seem like the kids understood the message until Adrien swatted at them to turn around.

He sighed, leaning back into the car seat, pulling you down with him.

“They can be a damn handful sometimes,” He exhaled, letting his forehead rest on your shoulder.

The soft gesture, the heat radiating off his face to your shoulder, and his forearms locked tightly around your waist made something in your heart ache ever so slightly. Your fingers hesitantly move to rest on Adrien's arm, patting it gently like you're consoling him.

A few more hours pass by and the kids have already fallen asleep, not a sign of liveliness from the three. Your own eyelids start to grow heavy until the van drives over a rather large speed bump. From the scratchy sound of tires crunching along gravel, you can pretty much assume that the road is going to be filled with dents and bumps.

A barely audible groan comes out from Adrien's throat and you freeze up. Did you hurt him? Your movements are cautious as you turn your torso to look back at him, trying not to move so much so you don't hurt him further.

“Shit, are you okay?” Your eyes narrow and your nose crinkles in concern, Adrien has his head lowered before he lifts it up to meet your gaze.

The hands planted firmly around your body tighten and he pulls you back up against him.

“Just— Stay still,” he grunts out, forehead returning back to your shoulder.

You shuffle just back to get comfortable just enough that you practically grind against the tent growing in Adrien's pants. It takes you a moment to realize what was happening. A small gasp escapes your lips as you grip the flesh on his arm, keeping your head dipped.

The van drives over another bump and you feel it now. Adrien's hand clasps around your shoulder blade and he muffles a strangled grunt again. Your body grows hotter by the second, heat pooling in your lower half.

Now you were both hard.

“Ah shit, prez, you're gonna kill me,” He lets out a dry chuckle, hips twitching from underneath you. You crave it just as bad as you're rocking your body against his in a steady pace. There were too many people in the van, it was way too dangerous to fix the little problem.

“Wait it out,” You whisper, patting his arm once more like trying to calm down a dog.

He doesn't respond, instead, he grumbles into your shoulder.

The van finally comes to a stop. The engine whirrs off and the kids are hustled out of the doors before you and Adrien climb out behind them. There's a satisfying crackle and pop of your joints as you stretch, letting the good ol' sunlight kiss your deprived skin.

Getting the bags out of the trunk wasn't much work since you packed only for 3 days so you rolled your suitcase into the lobby alongside Adrien's family. A small notification pops up on your screen, a check-in from your family which you happily reply to.

Since it was such a large gathering, the family had split into different rooms with you and Adrien sharing one.

The reception hands Adrien's mother the keycard to each room and she hands them out, passing one to Adrien.

You turn your attention to him to see the guy already racing his way towards you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you past his family. You can hear a brief exchange of words between him and his dad, picking up on the lousy excuse that you're 'tired.'

Through the lobby, past the pools, around the bar and to your shared room. Adrien smashes the key card against the reader and he slams the door open.

“Fucking finally,” he sighs, shutting the door behind himself and burying his hands into the back of your head. He's tangling his fingers in your hair, pulling it back before latching his mouth onto yours.

He's practically welding himself to you, devouring your lips in a heated kiss. He pulls back to look into your eyes before he goes in for a second serving. Adrien guides you towards the bedroom, lips never leaving yours as he gently pushes you back onto the bed.

“You know how hard it was to keep myself in line?” Adrien chuckled against your cheek, his hands beginning to descend your body, tracing all the way down to the waistband of your pants.

“That's your job baby, not mine.”

You have half the heart to complain when he's pulling off your pants, lifting your hips off the bed to help him slide your clothes off. He pulls both your legs up and over his shoulders before kneeling onto the ground beside the bed.

“Adrien,” you call out his name almost breathlessly, fingers finding purchase in his thick hair.

He responds with a small hum that causes his throat to vibrate ever so slightly. Adrien's hands are coiled around your thighs, palms laying flat on your lower stomach as he leans in to kiss your inner thigh.

His lips tickle your skin and you can't help but jerk your leg from the sensation—which you're prevented from doing so by his arms holding your legs hostage.

Warmth envelops your lower half as Adrien wraps his mouth around your cock. His breath is hot against your trembling skin and he forces the most obscene noises out his throat. Slick slurping sounds mixed with groans and sighs like he's been starved a hearty meal.

The hand on your stomach slides up, pushing your shirt further so he could feel the flat plane of your torso. Your squirms and thigh twitches are held down by his built arms—it honestly seems like he trains just for this.

“Could do this for days.” its hard to tell what he's saying since all his words and muffled and gurgled.

He pulls off for one second to fish out lubricant from the hotel drawers, applying a hefty amount to his fingers before returning back to you.

Sliding back down to his knees, he prods a finger to your winking hole, teasing and pushing past that ring of muscle and pulling it back out just to watch it shiver from the loss.

“Pervert,” You grumble under your breath.

“Who's the one who asked me out?”

You shoot Adrien an irked glare but the annoyance fades from your face the moment he wraps his mouth around your dick once more. Your eyes flutter as he finally pushes that finger in, sliding in a second to slowly scissor you loose.

He's more skilled than you with his tongue and you can't help but wonder what his past experiences were like; you dismiss that thought as quick as it came.

You look down at him from half-closed eyes, watching as he hollows his cheeks to take in more. You're practically whining and thrashing around in his grip. He's buried his face to the hilt, nose brushing against your pelvic bone. Its almost a ticklish sensation, feeling him breathe against your skin.

His fingers press and pressure your walls, pushing them apart to ready you for his cock. He's rhythmically pushing his fingers deeper, curling at the apex before pulling them back, repeating that process in a steady pace. You can feel them hit your prostate, sending jolts straight to your dick.

It's too much for you to handle; your hips are rising to meet the bob of his head, back arching off the satin white sheets.

“Wait— Adrien pull off I don't want you to—” Your words are all diced up, spoken in short gasps as you try to pry his head off from your aching cock.

You succeed—for a bit—before he's dipping all the way down again, holding your hips steady as he forces you down his throat. He's fucking loving it too, moaning with your dick in his mouth as his fingers speed up, pistioning two fingers into your hole.

Your hips raise even more and he encourages it.

His name comes spilling out of your mouth like a mantra as your muscles spasm from the intensity of your orgasm. Adrien keeps sucking like he's trying to wring every last drop from you. You feel his tongue swirl over your slit, lapping up your sweet fluids.

He slides himself off of you, letting you rest on the bed for a bit as he tilts his head back. His Adam's apple bobs while he swallows, and he lowers his head back down to smile at you.

“Don't tell me you're tired already, I haven't even taken off my pants yet,” he tsks at you, shaking his head disapprovingly while he joins you on the bed. You're still dazed from how hard you just came but a warm hand pulls you back down to earth.

Adrien's hand grazes over your cheek delicately as he hovers over you, caging you in with two arms on either side of your head.

“Just relax prez, I'll do all the work, 'kay?” He takes your little grunt as an 'okay,' rolling you onto your stomach and guiding your head to rest on the pillow. It smells so distinctly of freshly cleaned hotel sheets with a hint of citrus and bleach that you take a moment to close your eyes and enjoy the scent.

You can feel the mattress dip on either sides of your hips as he plants his knees there. He leans his head down to peek at your blissed-out face, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. You can feel his hands run down the curve of your spine, running over your lower back before he settles them on your waist.

“Are you relaxed?” He hums, leisurely rolling his hips against you. His tone is so sultry it causes your muscles to visibly relax under the siren call of his voice.

A hand moves down to where your leg meets the curve of your ass, parting the round flesh for him to comfortably slide in. He had stretched you out enough that it slipped in with ease, hugged by your warm velvet walls.

He sucks in air between his teeth while he steadily rocks his body back and forth, tuning into the wet squelching sound with each thrust.

“Feel it yet?” He chuckles, poking fun at the fact that you've been too dazed to respond to him. You nod against the pillow, your hair spilling over the silk case like spilt water. A small, shaky exhale leaves your nose as he begins to hasten his thrusts. It's almost bruising as he slams himself against your tailbone—you know you'll be whining about the soreness tomorrow morning.

Your voice gradually gets louder as he pounds you into the bed, fingers curled up in the sheets as he slams his pelvis against your ass. You can feel him throb from inside you, twitching and ready.

A particularly deep thrust has you crying out into the pillow but you can't squirm, not when Adrien is pinning you down with his body weight. He's pushing against your prostate over and over again and you can feel that familiar feeling of an orgasm creeping up on you.

“Fuck, Adrien,” You hiccup, muffled by the fluff of the pillow, eyes flickering like you're struggling to keep them open.

“Yeah baby?” You can hear the smirk in his tone as he keeps at the rough pace. He's hitting all the right spots and your dick appreciates. You feel a hand dip under your neck, cupping the curve of your throat as Adrien lifts your head up to face him.

He moves in to kiss you, soft and gentle as he wraps his arms around your whole body, holding you in a tight grip while continuously slamming himself deeper into you. Your loud cries and moans are enveloped by Adrien's mouth, swallowed up.

“You gonna cum? Feels so good you just can't hold it in?” He cooes, chuckling against your swollen lips as he feels you tremble underneath him. You swear stars enter your vision and your eyes roll back, muscles jerking and tensing as you let out a string of whimpers while your orgasm comes crashing onto you.

Adrien buries himself to the hilt before emptying out all he's worth, coating your insides with his dna. He groans as he pulls out halfway just to watch his semen flood out of your hole, still tightly clenched around his cock.

He sits up, raking his fingers through his tousled hair and sighs with satisfaction like drinking an ice cold soda in a hot summer day.

“You tired prez?” He asks, smiling down at you. His eyes narrow and concern settles in when you don't move or answer him.

“Baby?” He quickly leans back down to look at your face only to see your peaceful expression, eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. He lets out a relieved chuckle before pulling out, sliding off the bed to grab a towel.

He figured he'd get you some fruit to replenish your energy, pulling on some of his clothes after cleaning you up and getting you comfortable in the bed. He makes his way to the buffet, piling all favorite fruits and sweets onto his plate before he spots his family.

“Where's your boyfriend?” Adrien's mother asks, also holding a plate of food. Seemed like the two of you missed lunch.

“He's uh—” Adrien tenses knowing that he can't just openly admit to his mother that he fucked the daylights out of you.

“Taking a nap.”

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Omega Knight

Male Alpha Dragon-Hybrid x Male Omega Reader CW: Noncon, stalking, reader fucked into the mud, reader fucked so hard he pisses himself, overstimulation, emotional manipulation, stockholm syndrome, omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics, mating cycles/heat, two-dicked dragon-man, double penetration, knotting, biting, claiming bites, combat, medieval dystopia with shitty gender roles, praise kink Word Count: 4.9k (This is a comm for somone wishing to remain anonymous. I hope everyone enjoys it. I made it much longer than it was supposed to be.)

In a time defined by the prominence of magic, the might of kings, the power of knights, and discriminatory sex and gender views, it was extremely difficult to be an omega. They were commonly looked upon as sex objects, incubators, and the property of whoever they ended up forced to marry. Male omegas, given their rarity, were treated as particularly fragile trophies.

You were one such male omega. Not wanting their only son to be looked down upon as someone’s property or prize, your parents raised you as an alpha. They were not the highest house of nobles, but they were still very wealthy. They used their connections and power to get you the very best magically enhanced suppressants and fake alpha scent.

With a combination of careful planning, staying as far from others as you could, and suppressants you manage to become one of the knights of the realm. Despite your smaller stature, everyone thought you were an alpha given your fake scent, dedication, and skill. It took a lot of effort to push your omega body so hard, but you persevered, not willing to besmirch the honor of your house through failure. Your father helped train you, and you paid for your station with sweat and bruises.

Once you became a knight you were one of the very few who worked alone. Knights were responsible for defending the country from the more dangerous bandits and the ever present threat of highly dangerous monstrosities. As such they typically worked in groups and went on missions that could take days to weeks. But you couldn’t risk getting caught applying suppressants and fake scent while out on the road. This required you to be better trained and more skilled than anyone else could hope to be.

The result was that you were quick and lethal on every single mission, quickly racking up kills. You started out by being sent to take down bandits, as every new knight is. But that isn’t what you stayed doing for very long.

You quickly graduated to the occasional ghoul or wandering undead, though these were little more than slow moving beasts. Honestly, rarely as dangerous as a bandit.

From there you went on to put tougher foes in the ground. Chimeras, gargoyles, and the like. They were still feral but they were much more cunning and moved without the stiffness that plagued the undead.

Finally you were regularly slaying werewolves and vampires. Considered to be the deadliest of foes. The king himself had assigned you some of your tasks and awarded you medals for your courage and skill. You became renowned across the land, your name muttered far and wide for your impressive service. Though, as always, you never lingered after receiving praise or rewards. To be discovered at this point would mean enduring certain… consequences…

One day you were summoned to meet the king privately. As you passed the guards and presented your summons you weren’t nervous at all, you assumed that there was a threat to the kingdom that only you could be trusted to resolve. Probably one that was a bit too discreet to share via messenger. Something that could cause embarrassment or panic.

Your assumption was dead wrong.

When you reached the king on his throne you saw he was accompanied by one of the princes, the one who was around your age and also an omega. Prince Orleias stared at you eagerly. It was rather unnerving, though not something that was entirely foreign to you. There were many omegas that looked at you like that.

“Ah, there you are, prompt as always.”

You gave a smile and curt nod at his praise.

“Of course your grace, I would never keep you waiting.”

“I have something very important to discuss with you. You are a well decorated knight of this land and have saved hundreds of lives, if not more. You are also high born and the heir to your house name.”

He paused and looked at you and then back to his son for a moment.

“I am giving you my son’s hand in marriage. He wholeheartedly agrees.”

At this Prince Orleias crept towards you and clung to your arm, looking at you with unfettered admiration. Uh-oh.

You didn’t know what to do, if you declined it would surely enrage the king and possibly bring his ire down upon your entire family. He was not known to be an angry man, but he took note of traditions and honor as most in this society did. He wouldn’t behead you, but it would be highly offensive.

On the other hand, if you accepted, then your secret would be found out. And that deception would be received very poorly indeed.

Luckily, as if the very gods were interjecting on your behalf, a messenger came scurrying into the room to interrupt.

“Sire! Sire!”

“What’s the meaning of this intrusion!? I am discussing a very important personal matter with our top warrior here!”

“Yes sire! I beg your apologies! But we have reports of a dragon terrorizing the small town of Umbrafell!”

Your head was immediately filled with images of villages fleeing in terror as a flying beast rained down fire and fury down from above. You had to help, no one else had as good of a chance to defeat such a creature! This was also your opening to remove yourself from accepting the proposal… or at the very least buy yourself some time to think of a more permanent solution… You extricated yourself out of the clingy grip of the amorous prince.

“My king! I will go at once! It is one of the mightiest beasts in all of the world and I have the best chance to defeat it!”

You quickly dashed from the room and out of the castle and made your way home to don your armor and set out on your newly acquired quest before the king could object, not that he would have. You were obviously the best choice for the job.

Once you had your weapon, armor, and pack of supplies you set out at once on one of the knight’s horses. As grateful as you were from the reprieve that the situation had afforded you, it was still a very serious situation with the lives of many potentially in danger. You had never even fought a dragon before and it was not a fight to be taken lightly. You couldn’t even recall if any living knight had ever encountered one.

The best plan was to talk to the locals once you got to the town and ask them what exactly they had seen of the beat, find out its size, age, speed, and elemental attributes. It was probably a fire dragon, that was the most common from the old tales and songs.

The town of Umbrafell was on the southern outskirts of the kingdom. It would be a journey of a few days to get there.

You continued on at a steady pace that wasn’t too demanding of the horse but still gave you good progress on your journey. You had to stop and camp a couple nights, and stop when necessary to eat and allow your mount to rest and get hydrated, but the weather was pleasant and you made remarkable time. You arrived in Umbrafell late in the morning on the third day of your quest.

The questioning of several of the locals had you believing that the dragon was a giant beast that descended upon the villagers and their livestock, devastating entire flocks and burning to cinders entire fields. Definitely an adult dragon of fire.

The question was how would you fell such a creature? Charging in blindly was not an option. You decided drugging would be the best option. But you didn’t even know if dragons were susceptible to such things. And even if they were it probably would be far too clever to take any form of drugged bait. No, the course of action most likely to end without your smoldering corpse was to find the lair, stake it out, and wait for it to sleep before attacking.

The locals pointed you in the direction the dragon came from. A thick forested area with many hills and slopes. Not the best area to take a horse. You left your mount at the local livery stable, you paid well and knew the knightly steed would be well looked after.

You trekked through the forest for several hours, there was no telling exactly where the dragon had set up its den and you only had a general direction to search in. Whatever lodgings the dragon had found or made for itself had to be massive so you were sure that you’d know it when you came across it.

As you continued your search you cursed your omega biology. Something you did frequently. You felt a familiar tingle in your belly that was unmistakable. Your body was getting ready to enter heat. Even with magic suppressants there was just no way to completely avoid a heat. Or to hide one if someone got too close to you during one. The best modern magical marvels could do was shorten one and make it less intense.

Another reason you’d have to avoid marrying the prince. But that was something you could worry about at a later time, it would do you no good to have your mind head elsewhere while trying to locate and kill a dragon.

Little did you know that the dragon had already located you, long before you had entered its territory. The only warning you had was the swoosh of wings as he descended upon you. Your reaction was fast though and you managed to block the strike of his sharp claws with your blade. What the hell? He wasn’t a giant dragon… he was a half-breed… A race of dragon-human hybrids originally created with a magical blood pact between ancient dragons and wizards. The locals let their fear overtake them and greatly exaggerated the threat.

That didn’t mean you could take him lightly, dragon hybrids were known to be powerful and swift. Well they were rumored to be, at least. They were even less common than dragons.

A more ferocious foe you had never encountered, clawing and slashing at you with grace and brutality. The scales on his hands and arms allowed him to strike your blade with no weapon other than his relatively short claws. They were black and shimmered with each movement. They covered his well muscled arms, legs, and framed his face. To get a good strike on him you’d have to hit his face or chest.

Easier said than done. He was nearly 7ft. tall and exceptionally strong. He wasn’t making this simple for you. What was worse than that though were his mounting pheromones. As the battle went on he sweated more and more, and with no clothing other than a barbarian style fur loincloth it was easy to smell him. The musk of a normal human alpha was something you had long since learned to ignore as if it was damn near nothing, but this wasn’t like that at all. It was making you a little dizzy.

“You should just give up omega.”

His sensitive nose could pierce through your false scent. You shook your head and redoubled your focus and determination. You stared right into his fiery red eyes as you deflected a harrowing blow before tackling him with your metal clad body, opening him up to an additional attack. You slashed into his torso, causing him to recoil in pain. You pressed the advantage and stabbed him in the abdomen.

The dragon almost sliced you to ribbons before you could withdraw your weapon from him. Were he a regular man he would likely be on the ground bleeding out by now, but he was no regular man and roared as he began attacking you wildly.

Every strike was either dodged, deflected, or uselessly glanced off your armor. You got a few more solid strikes in, one on his bicep above where the scales started and another across the chest. He was breathing harder.

But for some reason so were you.

“Y-you should just give up alpha,” you sneered mocking what he had said to you earlier. Though it sounded a lot less intimidating than you had intended.

You started shaking and had to kneel down, leaning on your sword in the dirt. Pain in your stomach, a biological demand, slick rolling down your thighs beneath your armor. You were burning up. His pheromones hung thickly in the air, they had brought forth your heat much faster and harder than you had ever experienced before, completely negating any effect of the suppressants in your body.

All your experience and combat skill and taken down by a dragon’s musk and your own omega biology? It was a disgrace.

Now given the proper time to recover he used healing magic on his wounds. Combined with his already naturally enhanced healing abilities this resulted in him having only faint scars where he was previously injured. “Aww, all helpless because of your little heat darling~”

He sauntered over to you and looked down with a smug expression.

“Sorry for getting the drop on you, but you would have gotten it on me had you found me first. Anyway… now that you are a bit less feisty I think we can do a proper introduction now can’t we?”

Your heat was so strong now that you could barely focus on breathing evenly as you tried to stumble away. There was no way you could find the words to respond.

“I am Ivos, your mate. Don’t worry, I already know your name and everything about you.”

He pushed you down to your knees and kicked away your sword. At this distance his pheromones demanded your attention. He removed your helmet and started prying your armor apart plate by plate, totally scrapping the armor that had been so important to you. Soon you were in nothing but your regular clothes and then not even those as he sliced them up with his claws.

Now you were completely naked before him. The smell of his arousal was palpable. You glanced up towards him and noticed two large bulges poking out in his loincloth. He put his hand on your cheek and rubbed it with a scaled thumb. All it took was that touch for the last of your resolve to melt.

“I have been waiting for this for so long, have been following you for over a year now. Came across you taking down a horde of undead. Then watched you fight battle after battle. Scared the town because I knew it would draw you out. So strong. The only mate worthy of me. But an omega still shouldn’t be forced to live like an alpha.”

All you could do was whimper in need.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you wait any longer. Couldn’t hold out if I tried.”

Ivos pulled off his loincloth and revealed two large slimy cocks, proud and erect, protruding from his genital slit. He sat down right on the ground then pulled you into his lap, he grinded his dicks against your hole then stretched it with a couple fingers before lifting you up and slamming you down. Both of his cocks firmly impaled your weeping hole. You gasped in pleasure. You had never put anything inside of you to relieve your heats, you thought giving into your omega nature would be like giving in to something you shouldn’t.

He grinded slowly into you, back and forth, making you drool as you leaned against him weakly. He teased your neck with his long tongue, swirling and lapping at your sensitive gland there. Your toes flexed and writhed as he did so. This felt so good. So so good. This is where you wanted to be for the rest of eternity, on his lap skewered on both of his cocks while inhaling his smell.

The dragon wanted to take your bliss to a higher level though, he increased the speed of his thrusts into you while carefully stroking your cock with the hand he wasn’t using to caress your back. He kept at it for a while, gradually increasing the pace as he went. You came hard, panting and shaking as your seed coated his abdomen.

Over the course of the next two hours you were entirely at the mercy of his sexual desire, too overstimulated to do anything other than twitch in pleasure and drool as he broke your brain with orgasm after orgasm. You gasped as he came inside you, stretching your virgin hole to its absolute limit with not one but two girthy knots. He did what came to him instinctively, biting your neck and claiming you as his with a mark. The stimulation was so extreme you not only emptied your balls once more but also your bladder, piss getting all over the both of you.

Ivos didn’t seem to mind at all, in fact he seemed pretty pleased with having fucked you so completely that you lost control of your entire body. He licked the bite mark he had branded you with free of blood before picking you up and flying to his lair, knots still firmly inside you. He took your sword with him, figuring the blade you had come so far with may be of sentimental value to you, but he left the destroyed armor and his loincloth.

Ivos held you as tightly as he could, the cold air returning you to your senses and making you very uncomfortable. When his cocks slipped out of you and retracted back into him gobs of cum dripped out onto the forest below. He smirked at how strongly you clung to him. It wasn’t like you wanted to, but you were terrified at being up so high. You certainly wouldn’t struggle when it could mean your death if you fell.

Your new lover had made his residence in a relatively small tower abandoned beyond the hills. By the time you got there you were so sore and tired from holding on so tight, and the brutal fucking you had endured earlier, that you were in no condition to rebel. You were so obedient when he cleaned you up and fed you. It made his heart flutter, his strong mate being so good for him.

“Such a good boy~”

A grunt of defiance was all you could muster in the way of a rebellious response.

Ivos would quickly learn that you would not be staying so well behaved. You fought him at every opportunity. And he fucked you back into compliance every time he needed to. It took a long while but at least you stopped struggling at the sex. It actually felt quite amazing. And afterwards you were always so good for him.

Even so, while he admired your rebellious spirit, he wanted you to like him all the time. Not just when you were drowning in his pheromones and bouncing on his knots. He caught you the best food, took care of all your needs, brought you trinkets and gifts that would have otherwise gone to his hoard. Sometimes it seemed like you resented these gestures, you were trying so hard to not be a typical omega, and he supposed you really weren’t to some extent.

He had an idea of what to do to get you to enjoy his company more, though he could tell you were planning an escape soon. Your scent was one of someone on edge. Someone deceptive. Luckily you had no idea he could smell such a thing.

The hybrid wanted to start taking you out to hunt with him, maybe even fight some monsters. He had come to the conclusion that maybe you weren’t entirely forced to act like an alpha, maybe you enjoyed some aspects of it and he needed to ease back a bit on catering to you as if you were a princess.

But he had to get you to give up hope of escape before he could trust you going on long outings, not to mention letting you wield lethal weaponry… he didn’t even let you have access to your sword...

Ivos was spot on about you trying to get away. You had spent a couple weeks with him and were constantly thinking about potential plans for getting away. You were also studying his behaviors. Testing how deep a sleeper he was, for example. You weren’t just going to bolt at the first chance. It had to be calculated.

To make your move, you needed a rainy day. The sound of the rain would help hide the sounds of your escape. Of course, you realized that even if your armor hadn't been reduced to scrap, you still would have had to abandon it whenever you made your bid for freedom. The pang of water on metal would give you away along with the weight adding to your footprints and slowing you down. You mourned its loss, not for the first time.

You also needed rain to help mask your scent from that damned sensitive dragon nose of his.

It was grueling. Having to wait for the perfect weather when you had no idea when it would finally rain. Having to act good and behave. Keep your head down and bear the sexual and romantic harassment that were damn near unrelenting. And those damnable pheromones of his. But finally, you had what you so desperately wanted.

A glorious downpour. You couldn't ask for a better chance at escape. Dark clouds late at night. Loud booming crashes of thunder. Pounding rain that would soak you in seconds. You just prayed that it would be enough to wash away your pheromones without your suppressants.

As stealthily as you could, you made your way down the tower and slunk out into the concealment of the storm. The only thing you brought with you were the clothes on your back and your sword for protection from whatever may dwell in the night. Unknown to you, Ivos had let it “fall” from the high place where he had mounted it. Didn’t want you to get hurt by something during your escape attempt.

Once you had traversed the nearby hills and then the forest, you'd be near the village he had terrorized to bait you and could get your horse there.

But one thing at a time, you still had to clear the sloping terrain and trees before you could worry about that. You went as fast as you could go without slipping in the mud or splashing through puddles, but it was going to be a long journey.

Ivos had been asleep when you crept out, or so you thought, but you couldn't be sure how long he would remain that way.

As you continued on through the rain filled night, you began to feel gradually more confident and hopeful about your freedom. You were going to make it. You had been worried if you had been able to maintain the correct course given the darkness and disorienting thunder, but after hours of hiking there it was, the edge of the forest. And when lightning flashed, you could see the town in the distance.

You were so close! You increased your pace, spurred on by the promise of successful liberation. Then, beneath the constant patter of rain, you could have sworn you heard the swoosh of wings. Probably the wind rushing through the tre-

The next thing you knew, you were on your stomach, pushed into the mud. Your sword kicked away uselessly. Your hope was shattered. You struggled, but you might as well have been a mewling kitten.

"If you wanted to play cat and mouse, darling, all you had to do was ask."

You clambered to get away, clawing at the wet ground, as he pulled you back towards him and slashed away all your clothes before sighing laboriously.

"You had been behaving so well too... I guess I'm going to have to give you a little attitude adjustment..."

Both of his large cocks protruded at full length from his genital slit. The rain had quickly faded to a light sprinkle, and the smell of his musk had quickly grown overwhelming. The smell of his desire rolled off of him and quickly had you once more slicked up against your will.

"There's a good boy~"

Your hole twitched around his fingers as he teased you by slipping them inside. You struggled to contain a whimper as you grinded your ass against his fingers.

"Beg for it."

You tried to resist, but his scent and touch had completely taken over your brain. You didn't even have a heat to blame it on this time, and he wasn't in rough. Just his aroused musk could reduce you to a throbbing ball of need.

"Pl-please just... do it already..."

You were glad the darkness of night and the grime that clung to you covered the shame on your face.

"Good enough."

He smoothly slipped both slimy cocks right on into you.

"Damn, that's gooood."

Once more, his twin pricks pounded into you at an increasing pace, filling you far better than any one-cocked human alpha could ever hope to.

Ivos smirked at your wanton moans. They were like candy for his ears. Proof that if you ever got too far out of line he could just fuck you back into obedience. With your armor and blade, you may have been a skilled combatant, but what did it matter when he could make you so helpless?

He kept right on railing you into the mud. His cocks filled you to the brim with cum as he renewed his claiming bite on your neck. You shuddered and came as he knotted you up, the girth of both knots firmly adhering the two of you together.

But he was far from done with your little "lesson." He didn't stop until both of you had come several times, and you lay beneath him trembling and barely conscious.

When his knots went down and his cocks slipped out cum splooged out all over your ass, thighs, and legs. You were covered in mud. Calling you a mess was a serious understatement. Though you were in no state of mind to care.

"Aaaah, that was great~"

The dragon picked you up bridal style and flew the two of you back home. He ran you a bath and cleaned you of all the mud, sweat, and cum.

The next thing you knew, you were in bed with his arms wrapped firmly around you. As the events from last night came back to you, you silently cursed yourself for having been taken so easily.

It became a new pattern in your defiance of him. One carefully curated by Ivos. You'd run off and, just as you were about to escape the forest, he'd swoop right in and fuck you damn near senseless. Then he'd take you back, and you'd wake up clean and in his arms.

You tried in various weather conditions, times of day, you tried fighting, you tried plugging your nose to shield against his scent, but no matter what you did it played out exactly the same.

The final time you had ever tried to escape went much like all the others, up until you neared the tree line. You paused, eyeing the divide between the forest and grassland that would lead you down into Umberfell.

Though you could not see him, Ivos was watching you intently, ready to pounce upon you at the last possible moment. A growing sense of unease gripped you. You even started shaking. No no. You couldn't go forward... Ivos would have you on the ground and fuck you into the dirt... It was all pointless.

You turned and ran back to the dragon's tower.

Ivos smiled brightly from his hidden position in the trees. Your training was complete, you knew what would happen if you tried to do something silly like running off. Now he could, at long last, execute his idea.

It did take much longer than Ivos would have liked, but the alpha was patient and ultimately he had gotten the results he wanted. Taking you out to hunt, letting you prepare and cook your own meat half the time, taking you out for some good old fashion monster slaying, not doting on you too much outside of your heats while at the same time tending to your biological needs by supplying you with all the dick and musk you could want, had gradually made you happily in love with him.

It was much better than your old life, you came to realize that. Being allowed to do things that alphas typically did and no longer having to repress your scent and omega instincts was liberating.

What’s more, you no longer had such weighty responsibilities. The burden of the kingdom’s safety, a kingdom that would have shunned you had they known your secret, was an immense weight to shoulder. And if you had made it back what would have happened anyway? Be a hermit forced to live alone as an alpha for the rest of your life? Thrown into a life of dishonor for refusing the king’s request that you marry his son? No matter what, you would have been miserable.

Ivos had actually freed you, and you loved him deeply.

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter one: marigolds & measuring tapes

| next chapter

summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter. But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop. For free. Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics.

Joel pushed open the glass door to the run-down diner, the bell above it jingling in protest. His eyes immediately found Tommy, already settled in one of the front booths, grinning like he had no place better to be. Tommy had insisted they get lunch—something about "brother time." Whatever the hell that meant, Joel wasn’t sure—it sounded like an excuse for Tommy to talk his ear off.

Still, Joel trudged over, sliding onto the worn leather seat across from him. He barely had a second to get comfortable before his stomach twisted—because, of course, you were here.

Standing at the counter, you leaned forward slightly as you spoke to the waitress, your voice too soft for Joel to hear over the hum of the diner. But he didn’t need to. He knew how you sounded—warm, patient, like everything that made his skin itch.

Tommy was your friend, though Joel never understood why. You doted on him like he was some kind of damn prince, always checking in, always making sure he was taken care of. It was ridiculous. You weren’t his wife. Hell, you weren’t even his girlfriend, but you looked at him like he hung the damn moon. And the worst part? Tommy let you.

Joel hated it.

He hated how you laughed at Tommy’s stupid jokes, the way your hand would rest on his arm absentmindedly. Hated how you never showed that same effortless affection toward him. No, with Joel, it was different. More careful. More…guarded.

A shadow passed over the table as you approached, carrying a plate and two steaming mugs.

"Got you some coffee and pancakes," you said, setting them down in front of Tommy with a smile that could warm an entire room. Your touch lingered for a second, fingers grazing the edge of the plate like you cared whether he ate enough. Then, your eyes flickered to Joel—briefly, uncertain—before darting away like you hadn’t looked at all.

"Coffee, just how you like it," you added, softer this time. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, "Mind if I sit?"

Tommy beamed, already scooting over to make space. "Course you can. Joel and I were just catching up—having some brother time."

Joel grunted, his gaze locked on you. You knew, didn’t you? Knew damn well that he didn’t like you, didn’t want you here. And yet, you smiled anyway, sliding into the booth beside Tommy like it didn’t bother you in the slightest. Like he didn’t bother you.

"That’s good," you said, reaching for your coffee. You didn’t look at Joel or acknowledge him when you spoke.

It shouldn’t have annoyed him.

Tommy threw an arm around your shoulders, grinning. "So, how’s business?"

Joel clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around his coffee cup. The heat bled through the ceramic, grounding him, but it wasn’t enough to stop the irritation from creeping in.

It was one thing to tolerate you. One thing to see you in passing, to nod stiffly when social politeness forced him to.

But sitting here, watching you smile at Tommy and lean into him like he was the only person in the world worth your warmth—that was something else entirely.

"It’s been good, actually." You traced the rim of your coffee mug, voice light but edged with something quieter. "Didn’t think the flower shop would ever take off."

Your eyes flickered to Tommy, soft with appreciation—but there was hesitation there, too, like you weren’t entirely sure you believed in your own success.

Tommy, ever the optimist, gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "C’mon now, you do a real good job running that place. ‘Course it was gonna be successful."

Joel curled his fingers into a fist under the table, nails pressing into his palm. The whole exchange—it was too much. Too easy. Too natural. How Tommy touched you like it was second nature, the way you let him. The way you looked at him.

His irritation boiled over before he could stop it. "Do you two always gotta be so goddamn buddy-buddy?" The words came out sharper than he intended, a growl low in his throat.

Your head snapped up, a faint scowl replacing the warmth on your face. "Tommy’s a good friend to me."

Joel huffed, eyes narrowing. "Oh, really?" His voice dripped with doubt, the kind that crawled under his skin and stuck.

You frowned, glancing at Tommy as if he might have an answer for Joel’s problem. "We’ve been friends for… two years now?"

Tommy nodded. "Something like that."

Joel leaned back against the booth, arms crossed over his chest, his stare heavy on you. "Y’all hang out a lot?"

There was something in his tone, something pointed—but you couldn’t tell what. Suspicion? Judgment? Something else entirely?

"Whenever we can." You lifted your coffee to your lips, pausing before adding, "Usually, we grab lunch or go to a bar..." Your voice trailed off, confusion creeping in.

Why did it feel like an interrogation? Why did Joel always act like you were the problem? And despite the sharp edge in his voice, why did it seem like he was daring you to push back?

Joel scoffed, shifting in his seat like he was settling in for a fight. "Oh, I see." His arms folded tightly across his chest, muscles taut beneath the worn fabric of his flannel. "You two are just best of friends, then." The words dripped with something bitter, something he barely bothered to mask.

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around your coffee mug. Without thinking, your eyes flicked to Tommy, silently pleading for him to smooth over whatever this was.

Tommy sighed, setting his fork down with a clatter. He’d known Joel all his life—stubbornness was in his damn blood—but this? This thing he had against you? It never made sense.

"Joel," Tommy said, voice edged with exasperation. "Stop bein’ so damn rude to her. She’s my friend."

Joel’s jaw ticked.

You stayed quiet, watching the tension stretch across the table like a rope about to snap. Tommy was trying to keep things light, to brush past Joel’s temper like it could be ignored. But you weren’t stupid—you could see how Tommy’s shoulders squared, and Joel’s fingers drummed against the table like he was holding something back.

Joel wasn’t just being difficult. He was being deliberate.

His gaze flickered between you and Tommy, unreadable. "Why should I?" he shot back, low and cutting. His knuckles pressed against the table, a restless energy rolling off him in waves. "I’m not obligated to play nice, y’know."

Joel couldn’t understand what made you so damn special. Why Tommy liked you so much?

What did he even see in you?

You were a pain in Joel’s ass, all sunshine and softness in a way that rubbed him the wrong way—too warm, too open, too damn much. Why couldn’t Tommy see that?

But before Joel could snap out something sharp, you spoke first.

"Joel’s right."

The words came easy, calm. No bite, no sarcasm—just simple, matter-of-fact acceptance.

It caught all three of you off guard.

Tommy’s brows shot up. Joel blinked once, slow, like he hadn’t heard you right.

"He doesn’t have to play nice just for my sake," you added, lifting your coffee to your lips like his attitude didn’t touch you at all.

The silence at the table stretched thick and unmoving.

You exhaled softly, carefully setting your mug down before turning to Tommy. "I should go anyway."

Joel expected sarcasm, a little sting in your tone—hell, a glare at the very least. But instead, you smiled at Tommy, warm and genuine, like this wasn’t anything new. Like you weren’t the least bit bothered.

And that somehow irritated him more than anything you could’ve said.

"No, stay," Tommy insisted, cutting in before Joel could protest.

Joel’s jaw flexed, something unspoken brewing behind his eyes. His patience was already thin, but now his damn eye was twitching as he scrambled for a response—anything to regain some kind of ground. But for once, he had nothing.

You stood anyway, smoothing out the wrinkles in your sweater. "It’s okay," you assured Tommy, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I gotta get to the flower shop."

Then, just to twist the knife a little deeper, you reached down and patted Tommy’s cheek, all affectionate and casual, like it was something you’d done a hundred times before.

Joel’s stomach tightened—with what, he refused to name.

"Enjoy the pancakes," you said, flashing Tommy one last smile before turning on your heel and heading for the door.

Joel watched you go, watched the way the early afternoon light spilled through the diner windows as you stepped outside.

The door shut behind you, the bell chiming softly.

Tommy shook his head with a low chuckle, reaching for his coffee. "Y’know, for someone who claims to hate her, you sure as hell stare a lot."

Joel gritted his teeth, reaching for his coffee like it might wash away the irritation—or whatever the hell else was creeping in.

"Shut up, Tommy."

Joel’s eyes stayed locked on the door, his fingers absently tightening around his coffee cup. He told himself he was just zoning out—but his damn gaze lingered like he was waiting.

Waiting for you to walk back in.

Waiting for another glance, another soft word, something he wouldn’t name.

Tommy watched him, unimpressed. "Stop pulling my leg," he said flatly, his stare pressing into Joel like a weight.

Joel grunted in response, ripping his gaze away from the door and taking a slow sip of coffee. He avoided Tommy’s glare but could feel it—heavy, expectant like Tommy was waiting, too.

"What the hell’s your problem with her, anyway?" Tommy finally asked voice edged with irritation. "Why do you even care if she’s my friend?"

Joel scowled, his grip tightening around the ceramic mug. "I don’t care."

His voice was too sharp, too quick. Even he could hear the lie in it.

Tommy snorted, shaking his head. "Bullshit."

Joel exhaled sharply, pushing Tommy’s plate away as the pancakes had personally offended him. "She’s your friend, not mine," he shot back, the words coming out harder than he had meant them to.

Tommy leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes narrowed. "She is my friend. That’s why I care. You’re bein’ a goddamn asshole to her for no reason."

Joel scoffed, rolling his shoulders like he could shake off the conversation. "I don’t have to play nice with her just ‘cause you do, Tommy." His voice was low and tight, but something else was creeping in—something defensive.

Tommy let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Jesus, Joel."

Joel ignored him. "She’s annoying and stubborn, and I—" He stopped himself, jaw clenching before forcing the words out. "I don’t like her."

They felt wrong the second they left his mouth, as if he was trying to convince himself more than Tommy.

Tommy stared at him, unimpressed. His expression slowly morphed from frustration to something closer to realization.

"You are so full of shit."

Joel bristled. "I’m full of shit?"

Tommy huffed out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "You do like her. You just don’t know what the hell to do with it."

Joel shot Tommy a warning glare, but his brother wasn’t backing down. If anything, he looked more pissed off by the second.

"She ain’t stubborn or annoying," Tommy said, voice edged with frustration. "She’s the most kind-hearted person I’ve ever met."

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers curling into a fist beneath the table. Of course, Tommy would say that. Of course, he’d defend you like you were the damn saint of this town. It only made Joel’s irritation settle deeper, hot and restless in his chest.

He scoffed. "Sure she is," he muttered, rolling his eyes. The words were dry, dismissive—meant to push Tommy off his back.

But even as he said them, something about them didn’t sit right.

Tommy shook his head, muttering as he cut into what was left of his pancakes. Joel tried to ignore how his brother glared at him like he was some lost cause.

The diner felt too warm, too small.

Joel shifted in his seat, fingers drumming against the table, trying to shake the uncomfortable feeling gnawing at him. It didn’t make sense—none of it did.

Because, sure, you were annoying. Always so damn nice, always doting on Tommy like he was something special. And that smile of yours? That soft, warm, inviting smile? It pissed him off for reasons he couldn’t explain.

His scowl deepened. You were just some irritating… too-kind… beautiful—

Joel cut the thought off before it could go any further, clearing his throat like it might scrub the idea from his brain.

He didn’t like you.

He didn’t.

But then why did it feel like every conversation with you left him stuck in this goddamn cycle—him pushing, you barely reacting, just meeting him with that quiet, knowing patience that somehow made him more irritated?

Why, even now, long after you’d left, was he still thinking about you?

[radawaycunt]

Veni, Vidi, Amavi

Also on AO3

Part I // Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.8k words

Summary: After your first encounter, you attend the next games to watch Lucius fight, and celebrate his victory with him after.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY MINORS DNI), canon naval battle with some canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood and death, reader is a courtesan (so SW), some angst, mutual pining, semi-exhibitionism (there are guards around), sort of audio voyeurism, unprotected p in v, aaaaand I think that's it but lmk if anything else!

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

The roar of the crowd was near deafening as you made your way to the Emperor’s box behind Queen Lucilla, General Acacius, and Senator Gracchus. Hundreds of feet pounded in a war-like rhythm, all eager — or more like absolutely salivating — for a good spectacle. Snapping and jeering like rabid, bloodthirsty dogs.

You would never understand that insatiable, sadistic need to see another’s brutal destruction. Nobody ever thought they would watch somebody they loved be subjected to it, just strangers who weren’t really people in their eyes. But it was more common than most would like to admit, the sand forever stained not just with crimson, but also with the salt of mourning tears.

You hid your unease behind a cool, placid mask, smiling back at Senator Gracchus as he glanced at you over his shoulder. He had been curious when you had first requested to attend the games with him, but having just found out about Prince Lucius’ return and rising fame in the arena, he was amused at your antics. 

Your patron might be old, but he was no fool. Gladiators always caught the eyes of pretty, young girls like you, especially ones such as Lucius. It was really no wonder you’d want to see his glory for yourself, so he had conceded if only to indulge you.

And when he’d helped you off the litter that had carried you to the Colosseum, he had not been surprised to notice you were hiding a garland of myrtle inside your sleeve. A common enough offering to Venus, goddess of love. He made no mention of it, though, content to just watch how things played out. 

Once you’d arrived at the box, each of you knelt in front of the twin emperors and kissed their rings. Emperor Geta smiled down at you in that enigmatic, impish way of his, but his brother mostly ignored you. Not that you really minded escaping his notice, though. Better than his scorn or, worse, his interest.

“Let us begin,” Geta said, his excitement palpable as he rose to address the crowd. “We are all in for a real treat.”

You went to stand next to Queen Lucilla, sensing that her tension matched yours, even if she was perfectly poised and regal. She’d had many more years of experience hiding her true emotions, after all. You shared a small smile with her, both silently recognizing it as a moment of solidarity.

“Citizens of Rome!” Geta called out, his voice rising above the crowd. “Today, in honor of General Marcus Acacius' triumph in taking over Numidia, you will be witnessing no mere games!”

A heavy, metallic noise resounded throughout the arena as it seemed to shift, the ground underneath you shaking fiercely. But what you heard next made dread sink into your stomach like a heavy stone – rushing water. A flood’s worth of it. Soon enough, the arena was immersed and massive sharks were fed into it, menacingly circling about. At opposite sides, great iron gates groaned open to reveal two war vessels flying different colors – Roman and Barbarian.

And captaining one of them was a figure you recognized all too well, even at a great distance. You felt as if a fist were closing in around your throat, robbing you of breath. Instinctively, you stepped forward to try to get a better look, but Senator Gracchus put a hand on your back to stop you from going past the thrones. 

This seemed to anchor you back to the present, and you reminded yourself that the Lucius that you saw in the arena was not the tender one, but the fearsome warrior.

Let him live, you thought pleadingly, clutching the garland tighter. Oh, Gods, please let him live.

General Acacius waved at the crowd, muscles tensed even as he smiled, thanking them for the great honor. Emperor Caracalla, infected by the madness of bloodthirsty enthusiasm, jumped to his feet. 

“It is war!” he cried, smiling sadistically from ear to ear. “Real war!”

If it was even possible, the crowd roared louder, the cacophony railing against your eardrums. Queen Lucilla clenched her jaw, gripping the headrest of one of the thrones tightly. With a shaking hand, you accepted the wine Senator Gracchus offered you and clinked your glass against his.

The two vessels circled each other closely, quickly searching for any weaknesses and readying to strike. The Roman fleet was cocky, though, moving in without a shred of uncertainty. The Barbarian vessel narrowly missed their initial attack, but they came close enough that a few Roman fighters jumped onto their boat.

The loud clash of swords followed, a few bodies falling overboard, some still living. The waters bloomed crimson, the sharks going into a frenzy at the scent of blood. You spotted Lucius again in the chaos, driving his sword through the last invading Roman fighter and yelling out commands to his fellow gladiators. 

Both Emperors leaned over the edge of the balcony, shouting and jeering along with the rest of the Roman populace. General Acacius hovered near them, but he watched as somberly as the rest of you. The vessels came close again, but in a cunning move, Lucius made his rowers pull the oars at the last moment before impact. 

The oars of the Roman vessel tore into the side of the Barbarian one, tipping it sideways but effectively getting them both stuck together. Fighters from both sides clashed once more, desperation seeming to take place as both boats were threatening to capsize. 

Without noticing, you grasped Senator Gracchus’ arm as you waited for the outcome. He placed a hand over yours, watching just as raptly. Numbers dwindled quickly in favor of the Barbarian fighters, and you felt like you could almost sight in relief. But what happened next was so fast that you almost thought you’d imagined it.

Before anyone could actually be declared victor, an archer loosed an arrow that sailed towards the emperor’s box, landing between their thrones. Chaos ensued, the two of them crying in outrage and surprise. Immediately, General Acacius and the Praetorian guard moved to safely evacuate them. 

“Let’s go, all of you!” he commanded, voice booming.

Senator Gracchus ushered you and Queen Lucilla to follow as some guards encircled the three of you. You tried getting one last look at the arena but saw nothing more than the splintered masts of the vessels. Thankfully, Lucius was still alive, at least for the time being.

But just in case, you sent a prayer up to the Gods that nobody else noticed he was the one to shoot the arrow. 

—--------------

A small torch was your only source of illumination as you navigated through the streets of Rome to the prison where Lucius and his fellow gladiators were being kept. After relaying Lucius’ demand to see you, Queen Lucilla insisted on sending one of her guards with you. He marched at your side, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready for any possible assailants leaping forth from the dark. 

You hid your face under a hooded cloak and let your companion speak to the jail’s guard as you arrived at the iron gates. The jail was cavernous, damp, and cool, and oppressive in the darkness of night. You shuddered, unable to fathom being imprisoned in such a place, even for a day. Your heart ached for those who already were, ignorant of when – or if – they might be released.

He guided you to Lucius’ cell, opened the large, heavy padlock, and let you in. Both guards waited outside of the cell to give you some privacy, and you removed your hood so Lucius could see you. He stood up from his cot, a smile slowly breaking out on his handsome face.

You let him take you into his arms and kiss you, leaving you swaying on your feet. You pulled away just enough to look him over as if reassuring yourself he was alive and all in one piece. His smile didn’t falter under your assessment – in fact, it seemed like he was proud to have proved himself to you, keeping the promise he’d made at the bathhouse. 

“Today was… I don’t even have the words to describe it,” you said, hugging him close. “When I realized it would be no ordinary fight, I feared for you… I still do.”

He placed one of your palms on his chest, right over his heart. “You have nothing to fear. I’m here.”

You glanced over your shoulder to make sure the guards weren’t watching, then lowered your voice to a whisper.

“What you did at the end, it was beyond foolish,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “I made an offering to Fortuna for all the favor she bestowed on you today. I do not think anybody else realized, or else we would not be standing here.”

“Another reason to celebrate,” he said, not bothered in the slightest. “Perhaps it was even luckier that the arrow didn’t strike true.”

“You really meant to kill one of the Emperors?” 

He shook his head. “Not them. Acacius. But in reality, I wouldn’t have minded if either of them had fallen.”

“I suppose it was a good thing the rest of us were out of range,” you murmured, looking down.

“I would never harm you,” he said gravely, grasping your chin and making you look him in the eye. “Never.”

You were nearly floored by the sincerity in his gaze, but even more so by the passion you found there, as well. It went beyond lust, even. Nobody had ever looked at you in such a way. You leaned forward and kissed him gently, letting him know that you trusted him.

“I know, Lucius,” you said.

“Then, let us not concern ourselves with anything, or anyone, else for now,” he said. “Tomorrow, the sun will rise and Rome will still be Rome. In the meantime, there is only us.”

The echo of his words at the bathhouse made you smile softly. A part of you wanted to ask more questions about his wanting to kill Acacius, but there was a slight edge of finality to his tone. Regardless, it wasn’t like you wanted to waste what little time you had together lecturing him. 

You reached up to undo your cloak, intently holding his gaze, and let it fall on his cot. “Claim your prize, then, fierce warrior. I am all yours.”

With a glance outside, he extinguished the torch in his cell and closed the distance between you. His lips melded against yours desperately, tongue slipping into your mouth. With ease, he lifted you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.

He sat on the cot so you could straddle him, his hands wandering down your back and settling on your ass, giving it an appreciative squeeze. He groaned into your mouth, his chest rumbling against yours. He pulled your dress over your head as best as he could, leaving you in your thin shift. 

His hands traced the curves of your hips and waist, like a sculptor working clay into a masterpiece. He cupped your breasts, your nipples poking through the fabric, and you leaned back to give him access. He managed to pull the shift down to your midsection, revealing your chest. He trailed open-mouthed kisses on your sternum, moving lower. 

His tongue teasingly flicked one of your nipples, making you suck a breath through your teeth. He lavished them both with attention, the graze of his teeth and the pinch of his fingers igniting a fire within you. You continued trying to be as quiet as possible, even if he made it extremely difficult.

You reached between your bodies to palm his growing erection over his tunic. His hips bucked upward, seeking more of your touch. One of his hands cupped the back of your neck, leaning your forehead against his.

“How does it feel,” he rasped. “To be the only one who can disarm me so completely?”

You felt a heady, triumphant rush, nipping at his bottom lip. “I’ll keep the secret for you.”

He chuckled, surrendering to another fervent, dizzying kiss from you. You hiked up your shift as he lifted you slightly so he could free his cock from beneath his tunic. You spat on your hand and reached down to spread it on the sensitive head, moving to grip the base so you could line it up with the entrance of your cunt. You sank down slowly, your face so close to his you seemed to share breath. 

“Just like that,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips tightly. “I needed this more than you know…”

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, letting out a breathy moan, head tipping back in ecstasy. 

You felt like you were filled to the brim by him, clouding all your other senses. He slid in and out of you easily, your arousal dripping down his length and pooling on his sac. His mouth was on your chest again, your fingers weaving through his hair. 

“Oh, Lucius…” You sighed dreamily. 

He pulsed at the sound of his name on your lips. In order to prolong the pleasure for both of you, he rolled you onto your back on the cot, keeping himself sheathed inside of you. He pushed your legs back, driving your knees past your elbows, his weight pinning you down. 

His thrusts were deep and hard, but not fast, intent on letting you feel him in his entirety. Your face contorted with pleasure, the intensity of it all nearly too much for you to bear. He groaned your name with the intensity of a supplicant. His sac tightened as he felt you squeeze around him, knowing he wouldn’t last too long no matter how much he tried. 

“Say my name again,” he said, eyes blazing. “Say who you belong to.”

“Lucius,” you panted deliriously, tears gathering on your lashes. “Ah, Lucius!”

His thrusts picked up the pace, frenzied, the sound of flesh slapping together unmistakable. You cupped his face in your hands as you felt yourself coming apart under him, trembling. A cry threatened to escape you, but he covered your mouth with one hand, muffling it. 

He shushed you gently, but his breathing became ragged as he reached oblivion himself. You felt warmth flooding your cunt, his last thrusts shallow, fucking his spend deeper inside you and making sure no drop was wasted. He uncovered your mouth and kissed you as if in apology, both of you dazed and content.

He rolled over to lie very closely at your side, the cot barely big enough for the two of you. His strong arms enveloped you once more, making you feel safe perhaps for the first time in your life. There were still a few hours before sunrise – before Rome and everything else that came along with it became real again – so you could languish with him for a little while longer.

The last thing you wanted was to untangle yourself from him, anyway, instead nuzzling closer. Your fingers softly traced patterns on his forearm as you pondered what this might mean for the two of you.

“Do you… really intend to stake your claim on me?” You asked tentatively. “Outside of this?”

You deliberately avoided any specific labels, not foolish enough to presume anything. Things were still precarious and new, but you already felt bonded to him in a way you couldn’t truly explain, and a part of you had to believe he felt the same way.

“Of course,” he said, but seemed hesitant to say more.

You shifted onto your belly to look at him, his fingers now tracing up and down your spine lazily. 

“Are you certain?”

He nodded, sighing deeply. You’d already known there was a lot weighing on him that he did not speak about, and while you didn’t want to add to his burden, you needed to know this. If only to save yourself some pain.

“There are a great many things at stake right now, including my freedom,” he said, looking up at the ceiling pensively. “Much of what I still have to do is dangerous, and only the Gods know the outcome of it all. I intend to do everything in my power to protect you, in the meantime, and I cannot allow you to become a part of what must happen. I cannot risk losing you.”

You weighed his words for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “You are lucky, patience is a virtue I possess in great quantities.”

He looked back at you and kissed the tip of your nose affectionately. 

“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep,” he said, lacing his fingers through yours. “And I can promise you that as soon as I walk a free man, the first one I will run to is you.”

-------

[venmondiese]

SUBTLE LOVE, DARING WORDS

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

-ˋˏsummary: Aemond is in no hurry to take a wife, yet once he realizes that he doesn't value what he has until he might lose it, he takes action. (based on THIS request!)

✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader.

✧word count: 3.1k

✧tags: fluff and comfort, aemond is BAD at feelings, reader doesn't really admit anything either, slight? slowburn?, overall fluffy!!, this is really vague about in which year happens, lol

The first time he met you it was in the library.

He had his mind on the whole commotion at court, the tournament which he had refused to entertain, much to his mother's dislike because of his position as a royal. To him, it seems like a foolery, as if he was willing to participate in making himself a fool such as Mushroom. 

When he came to the library, intending to search for a book to comfort himself, he found a lady leaning down one of the staircases, where there were lots of books stacked only for maesters, with him as an exception… but not a lady surely, less one that seemed to be looking for something below. He was astonished, for many reasons. 

He watched her big, puffy dress, in rich red velvet and gold details. It was definitely a Westerlands style, so he was more confused as to why she was in this part of the library, only for maesters, and… well, him. How did the guards allow her to enter? How did she do it so confidently, as if he couldn’t make her life hell for it?

“Ehem” he scoffs, as if trying to get her away. The least of his worries was having a lady on the forbidden library corner… for now. “Get out. You are in a forbidden part”

“I am aware” your voice comes from down the staircase you had even moved some books! That made him slightly… annoyed.  As you move your head out to see the prince above you, and you make a movement with your head as if doing a courtesy. “My prince”

He was not amused, at all. You had green eyes, and the most golden hair he had seen in ages. The small lions on your dress allowed him to know who you were: A Lannister. And he definitely never wanted to deal with any of your kin. 

“And I said-”

“My cat is down there” you say, as if he cared. 

“Okay. Take it out of here”

“I can’t” you say simply, watching him with a grin. “She seems to be in labour. I didn’t know she was pregnant at all…”

He has many questions, and he frowns at your reasoning. He would take the cat and throw it out himself if he had to. 

“It is your cat, just take it away”

“Well, my father gave her to me two weeks ago!” You make a face, almost whining about it. Of course he could know which Lannister is your father. “I didn’t know she was pregnant, and she is still getting used to me. She will scratch me, more if I get closer to her babies”

“A scratch won’t kill you”

“Just sit” you say softly, watching the cat and sitting on the ground to wait. “You can even keep one of the baby cats”

“My grandsire has brought enough cats already” Aemond says, walking to grab some wine for him and the lady. He wasn't impolite to be rude to a lady, much less one with your status and beauty. “They come to my bed when I am sleeping, and I wake up to cats in my chest”

“Well, I think they are cute” You say, taking the cup of wine, thanking him as you sip the wine. “Cats are felines, like lions. So I think having a cat is reasonable, better than a lion”

“Don’t you want one?”

“I have one back at home” you say shrugging, smiling widely. “He is called Brightroar”  

Of course you named it like the ancient weapon of Lannisters. “And this one?” 

“I wanted to call it Brightroar second, but it turned out to be a she. So she is just called Gemma” 

He can’t deny that he is amused, watching you being so nonchalant about it all, as if you owned the world. He raises an eyebrow as he has a slight smirk, as he sits near. 

“Gemma” he scoffs. “A very…”

“Lannister name” you say smugly. 

“Hm. I was going to say… common, perhaps” he adds.

“You would love for Lannisters to be commoners, my prince. Yet you seem to rely on our gold” you notice, raising one eyebrow. So you weren’t a silly lady, he realises, you had the wits.

“Hmm… Our gold seems a bit excessive, my lady. It is your father who is the head of your house” he reminds you, leaning back on his chair. 

You smile softly. He thinks you are Cerelle, probably. Mostly because you know Cerelle was still a kid and never been presented to the royal court.

“Mine or not, I still am more entitled to it.”

“I have a dragon.” He adds, as if this was a debate between you both. He was actually enjoying it. He had totally the wrong impression of you and he… was enjoying it. “The biggest dragon”

“Yeah, and?” 

“And I could burn your silly little castle” he shrugs, taking a dip of wine. 

“No, you could not” 

“I’m pretty sure I can”

“No, actually. I know you haven’t gone out of these four walls and this... city, my prince, but I remind you out of the kindness of my heart: Casterly Rock is literally… a rock” 

Aemond rolls his good eye, yet his smirk doesn’t leave his face. As if your cat was forgotten, he keeps on his point. 

“As if has stopped a dragon before” Aemond says simply. “Because I am as kind I shall remind you of Harrenhal, perhaps?” 

“And I shall remind you that Harrenhal is a castle made of rocks.” She shrugs softly. “Not exactly a rock. Casterly Rock is literally a castle inside a rock.”

“Some parts are out of it”

“Not the part where we keep our gold, not really”

Aemond squints his eye, and you look back at him. You amused him, looking like a defiant cat that got away with their mischief. It was fun to see, and he could hear the wails of your cat. You didn’t seem worried, neither was he. Perhaps that was the circle of life, and you knew your cat would manage. 

As you speak of such trivial matters, waiting for your cat to end her labours, he couldn’t help but admire your wits, as much as your beauty. Your velvet gown, of a strong red and some gold details did wonders with your appearance, and your brains only made you brighter. 

“What are you doing here?” It was Tyland Lannister, coming with a Maester behind, probably who sneaked your position in a forbidden library. “You know ladies can’t be here” 

“Father... My cat is giving birth” You say, frowning as if it was the most obvious thing. 

“My prince” Tyland makes a courtesy to him, a bit rigid and tense. You had heard how the prince would often terrorise your father, making him do the silliest things as if that amused him. Your uncle Jason often had a laugh about it. 

“I was not aware your daughter was…” Aemond says, turning his gaze to you “All grown up”

He knew about you, but your father talked about you as if you were a babe. You were practically his own age, for what he could tell.

“Yes, my little lion is certainly… grown” Tyland agrees, his hand on your hair as he spoke. “Come on; let’s not bother the prince…”

“It is not a bother” Aemond cuts him, serving himself more wine. “She is rather amusing”

“How dare you-!” You say, offended as you come to your defence.

“Sweetie” Your father tries to calm you, with a tense smile as if telling you to shut up.

“I am not a jester” 

“No one said you were” Aemond says, amused as he smirks. 

“You are such a…”

“Apologise” your father murmurs. 

“But fath-”

“You heard me”

“I am sorry, my prince” You say mockingly, and he smirks, even more amused.

Tyland seemed as if he was about to have a stroke, because he had enough things on his plate, and he didn’t need the prince making his life at the small council harder. 

Aemond sees Gemma, bringing her cats to show you how they were, all of them bloody, and squirmy, a bit pink and small. You petted them as you didn’t mind the blood.

“Come on. Servants will need to clean the blood” Tyland says, making a notion for you to stand up “Grab the kittens and let’s go”

“Ew, no. They are all bloody” You say frowning. “You take them” 

How lady-like. He thinks, as you didn't seem to mind the blood two seconds ago.

Even with your persistence, your father took the small and weak kittens, and your cat kept meowing at him as if he would kill him. 

“How did your cat even come here to give birth?” Your father asks as he tries to not get Gemma to kill him.

“I have no idea, father…” You say, and Aemond sees you standing up. 

He sees the pile of books in your hands, behind your back as you walk behind your father. You smart wench, he thinks, as you had just successfully stolen forbidden books by setting up your cat to give birth here. You even had him fooled. No one else notices, since your dress was puffy enough, and he noticed it by shamelessly trying to see your ass. 

You watch him, and press your index finger in your lips, as you walk behind your father and his complaints about your cat. 

“Do not bother the prince, darling” Tyland says once you get out of the library.

“I think he is quite handsome” you admit, when you know the prince won’t hear you. You father watches you shrug, walking forward him, not allowing him to see your hands. He sighs, as Gemma starts meowing loudly. 

While the rest of your interactions have been brief, he notices that you are more of a troublemaker than you let yourself look. You had that mischievous smirk always, arching your eyebrows in such a way when you had a plan. 

Yet, you were sweet. He notices how you play with your cousins, Cerelle, braiding her hair, and with Loreon, the small heir to Casterly Rock, a kid that enjoyed running around, and you often entertained his antics. 

“And there will be so many ladies, Aemond. In this time, we need alliances…” His mother says, as they walked through the castle. He hears the step of Cole behind them, guarding them, and probably hearing how his mother tried to make him a lovebird.

“It does not interest me”

“It doesn’t have to interest you. It is a matter of duty-”

“I won’t marry, mother.” Aemond shrugs, as if that was the way of his life. “Not yet. I have things ahead of me yet” 

“You inscribed on the tourney?” The queen inquires, curious. 

“No” he says shrugging, slyly trying to seek for you in the royal box, to no avail. “I am not in a hurry.”

He greeted noble ladies, of course. As he was seated on the royal box, bored and waiting, he could see girl after girl doing courtesy and smiling in a flirty way to him. It did not amuse him, and he was polite enough, almost rude. 

“She is trying really hard, you know” A voice joins his thoughts. It is you, sitting by the empty chair by his side, where Aegon is supposed to be, but he never is on time.

“Who isn’t?” He rolls his eye.

“I didn’t know you were so in demand. High valued. Sought after” you list, as you fan yourself as it was indeed a hot day. 

“Very amusing” He murmurs.

“Come on, my prince. There must be a lady who catches your attention.” 

“I am not blind” he says, rolling his good eye. “Of course there are women I find beautiful”

“Oh my... Having feelings now, congratulations, the Seven indeed are capable of the most... unthinkable miracles”

“You just woke up being so funny” he says, looking at you, raising his eyebrow, yet the small way his lips curved allowed you to know he was amused.

“I am always funny, my prince” you say watching the crowd get settled, squinting your eyes due to the sun. “My cats are good, thanks for asking. Gemma is quite the mother, even if she tried to eat one of them.”

"How... vivid." He says, raising his eyebrows in slight disgust.

"I saved them. Since they are four, I named them: Elia, Joy, Alyssa and Teora"

"And what if one of those silly cats was to be a male?" he asks, as if seeing a flaw in your cat-naming thing.

"Pff, none of them will be. I know it. And if they are, I won't change the names"

He remains quiet, surprised by how bold and petulant you could be. It was amusing to him, and he enjoyed talking to you more than he cared to admit.

“You stole from the library.” he reminds you.

“I have no idea what you are about” you say, still looking at the crowd, smiling softly. The red of your dress made your gold hair bright even more. “Ladies do not read such matters”

“Yeah, right. You are unlike any lady”

“Quite the contrary” you finally turn to see him “I am just like any other lady” you says, smiling. "It just happens that I am friends with the prince, so I am allowed to speak freely"

"Who said..." He says, opening his mouth and turning his face to you, a bit impressed by your silliness "How come you think... you suppose that we are friends?"

"Since you have neither sneaked about the time at the library, or told me to shut up and leave you alone, it is a logical conclusion, if we have in mind your previous reputation to anyone else." You say smiling. "And do not worry, if you do not consider me as such, doesn't matter, because I do and I appreciate you even if you hate me"

"You are..." He scoffs, grinning like a fool "Unbelievable"

"I know. One of my many charms. That and being a matchmaker. I love it. It is wonderful to make couples at court, and more if they end up together, being all happy and..."

“Huh.” He hums, thinking of how odd you were. “Talking about the wonders of a married life”

“I didn’t say that. I merely stated that… marriage isn’t the worst. I intend to find a husband very soon as well. I would very much like to be a wife”

“I shall pray for the poor soul who calls you wife” He murmurs as he looks at the field below, where the knights were preparing, yet you hear his grumbles. 

“And I shall pray to see prince Aemond besotted for a lady” you say teasingly, standing up, not before doing a small courtesy and leave to sit by your father, who had just arrived, frowning a bit as to why you were with prince Aemond.

The tournament does not bore him at all. He is very into the way the fight develops, and he takes mental notes when he sees some weaknesses in the participants. He regrets, just a bit, not joining, because he thinks he could have won. 

He sees you, on the seats below him, jumping in excitement as the fight develops. You are into it very much, clapping and screaming as any commoner does outside the royal box. It was improper, but it was… cute. 

He can see the rest, clapping politely, not overly excited yet proper for the occasion. You were unlike the rest, yet at the same time, you were just like any lady. It amazed him, and he did not understand.

He soon realises that he is not the only one that has you in mind, when the winner of the tournament comes closer to the stands, riding triumphantly in circles while the audience cheers him on, the crown of the Queen of Love and Beauty on his lance.

“The Winner, Ser Dale Dondarrion shall find his Queen of Love and Beauty”

He hesitates for some moments, he thinks he shall name his niece Jaehaera to win the favour of the royal house, like his ancestor once did to little princess Daenerys at the early reign of King Jaehaerys. 

Yet his smile faints when he sees that the queen of beauty’s laurel falls into your lap. 

“Lady Lannister, I hope I am deserving of dedicating my victory for you, and shall your reign be full of joy, even if lasting one night”

You take the wreath of flowers, almost jumping in sight and squealing some thanks as Tyland accommodates the crown onto your braided hair. Your crowning came with an ovation full of applause, from the box and from the commoners… but him. 

It was an odd feeling, stirring something in him, as he watches your cheeks pink from the compliments of all, and most of all; having a suitor. Being named queen of love and beauty was not anything like a dull compliment of court merely because it was proper. It was being publicly courted, and often something many ladies wished, because there was no better feeling than being shown off to everyone. 

He was quiet the rest of the day. Humming when ladies talked to him, in hopes to gain his attention and be courted; when Aegon mocked him; when Helaena placed one of her bugs in his lap, which Maelor ended up squeezing on his grip; when his mother presented him a lady of a high castle with expensive clothes and a sweet behaviour, pure, and devoted. He paid little attention to it all.

It was when your reign was coming to an end that he asks for Tyland to come to the empty throne room. He was watching the throne, carefully inspecting it, as he calculated of his next words. He was being irrational, clearly driven by his emotions and desperation rather than the logically he usually had. 

“My prince” 

Tyland was no stranger to the formalities of court, yet he never let himself be intimidated by lords that tried to impose themselves. He was the second son, yet he had established a name for himself and earned respect in his position; there was nothing for him to feel belittled about

Yet intimidation comes natural with prince Aemond around. 

He has the impression that his one eye is wide open, and the smirk that naturally was on his lip was one of amusement in the suffering of the rest. Always stoic, never doing things out of impulsivity... Which was even worse. His hands behind his back, as he remained as still as a statue.

It did not frighten him, but he knew Aemond was as cold as unforgiving. And slicing his head won’t make the prince feel regret.

“Lord Tyland” Aemond greets him softly. 

A silence follows, as Tyland feels his hand sweating slightly. “An idea for the small council?” He tries to guess. “I am sure it can wait, my prince, I should be with my daughter, since it’s her day…”

“Exactly. That’s what I wanted to speak about”

Tyland is a smart man, and he quickly realises the problem.

“I know she can be presumptuous and slightly spoiled, my prince” He starts, feeling Aemond’s eye on him as he turns to face him. “She takes the title too seriously, when it isn’t, Mushroom was just hyping her up, and she is just still a girl, and I apologise on her behalf for trying to impose herself as Queen, when her reign only lasts for a day, and she really is…”

“I want to marry her” Aemond tells Tyland simply. “Her reign shall not end. She can be a princess.”

Lannisters usually aren’t left speechless. They had never been known for their silence, yet here he is, silent.

“Ser Dondarrion made the same proposal hours earlier, my prince, and I…”

“And you will allow your daughter to marry a Ser instead of a prince? I have already told you. I want to be her husband” He insists, his tone not certainly soft as he loses patience. His soul craves you. He needs to be yours. He can’t let you go away. “She is smart and she has the wits. She is spoiled, and she loves to have her way. She is kind, sweet, and funny. And I want to be her husband and give her anything she asks for. Is that so hard to get?”

What wakes up Queen Alicent is her son with a stoic expression, not even entering her rooms to speak.

“I was wrong” He says simply “I shall marry Lady Lannister, mother. I am in a hurry. So I ask you to prepare the wedding. Good night and Seven blessings”

Almost a year later is when your father comes closer to your chambers once again, seeing how your ladies in waiting do a courtesy out of politeness, and he watches prince Aemond at your door, waiting for him.

“Came as fast as I could…”

“Hm” Aemond says, as he walks toward the open doors.

Tyland could have his distance with Prince Aemond, but he couldn’t deny how good a husband he was. He wasn’t a man of many emotions, in his perspective, yet he was a devoted husband. He danced as many times you wanted in the ceremony, sighing every time you made him stand up from his seat. He didn’t wear the eye patch on your wedding, just as you requested.

“That is the worst idea ever, darling” He said to you, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Well, he will have to if he wants to marry me”

And so he did. When you wanted to travel to Volantis, he arranged it all. When you wanted for him to meet Brightroar, he took Vhagar and rode into the Westerlands with you. 

“Was it all well?”

“Everyone in the castle heard a lion roar” Aemond says walking past the maesters. 

You seemed so little, in Tyland’s eyes, all sweaty and tired, like the time you got so sick he was afraid you would die. He had brought the very best maesters he could find, just to assure you were safe. 

“It is a girl” It’s the first thing you say to your father, smiling a bit. “A healthy baby”

Tyland leans, to kiss your forehead, as you extend your babe to him. It was a small thing, yet chubby and all pink still. She had small, silver hair, very thin, but present. He could see the little gold spot, as if gold hair would grow on some of her hair. It was indeed curious, and yet he couldn’t think she was anything but perfect.

“A bit squirmy” He comments, as the baby yawns, opening her mouth as she whines slightly. 

As he tries to coo the small thing, he watches how Aegon sits by your side, at the edge of the bed, passing his hand behind your shoulders to caress your shoulder. You lean against him a bit, and say.

“It is a pain to breastfeed, why didn’t you tell me?”

He chuckles a bit awkwardly, he had never gotten used to your bluntness and honesty. “I never knew anything about that”

“Well, it is. I thought babies knew how to do it, but she takes a long time” You say, looking up at Aemond.

“She is still very little, my love” Aemond reminds you. 

“I know, but what if I am doing it wrongly? Mothers usually know those things, and I find myself clueless. Aunt Joanna says it comes naturally, but she has successfully raised kids who have survived childhood.” You say, looking at Aemond. “So has your mother. How comes I don’t know?”

“Because you are a mother from little more than a day.” Aemond reminds you “And they had help. So you do. You have me, of course. You have wet nurses, maids, maesters, and my own mother and of course, you have the brightest mind. We’ll do”

“Did you know Aemond cried, father?” You tell him, and he finally looks away from his little granddaughter. 

He blinks, a bit confused, watching the prince. “Oh, did he?” 

“Yeah, it was rather cute” Aemond rolls his eye amused, as your hand was on his knee. 

“It’s the only natural response.” Tyland says, his finger caressing the skin of the sleeping babe, who squirmed a bit at the feeling, like a cat. “She is delightful. Have you named her?”

Aemond looks at you, amused, expecting you to answer the question. You had the smug grin on your face, and nodded. “We had a deal. If she had golden hair, she would have a Targaryen name. If she had silver hair, she would have a Lannister name”

“And?”

“Well, she is rather… peculiar. She had silver hair, but you can see how some gold hair has grown too? It is the oddest of things, but the Maesters said it was natural. You know how cats have different hair colours?”

“Don’t compare her to a cat” Tyland makes a face, softly rocking her in his arms.

“She has both silver and gold.” Aemond says, as if reminding you to keep on trail. 

“Ah, yes. Since it’s most silver, we agreed on something that you will find the brightest things, father.” You look at your husband and then your father. “Gaemma. It’s a bit… weird to say it, but with time it shall be delightful”

Tyland looks at you, and he blinks. “Like your cat?”

“Well, thanks to her I and Aemond met.” You remind him. “She deserves some credit” You add.

“I like it” he murmurs. “Don’t make your mama lose her mind” He says, as the baby yawn, extending her arms. 

“She will, after all she is her mother’s daughter” Aemond says, taking her back, and he adds “You should have seen how loud she wailed once she came.”

“I am here, world. Hear me roar” you say, as if trying to translate Gaemma’s cries. You smile widely, and Tyland knows that even if you were always going to be his little girl, you were in the best hands, and that Aemond adored the ground you walked on. Even if you name their child after your cat. 

[abbyfmc]

Yandere Story Idea #16:

Yandere Yandere (Fatherly) Emperor and Empress (Maternal) x Daughter! Reader:

Think about it.

I imagine that after a long line of princes, the yandere empress finally has a princess, and both parents are delighted with her, since she was the first daughter after many years of trying. Your father, the emperor, agrees that you be raised under the care of the empress (your mother).

From the moment you were born, you were never left alone for a single minute. When the Empress wasn't with you, the Emperor himself was. Your mother always made you follow her everywhere she went, as well as sharing her tastes and hobbies, since having only had princes prevented her from doing that. You had a close mother-daughter relationship, and with your father it was something more or less similar.

As you grow up, your parents become more overprotective of you, so much so that they even limit your contact with your older brothers, the princes. Not only would they give you nice gifts, but the best teachers, doctors and servants would be at your disposal (even better than those of your older brothers), although your brothers would probably be jealous of you.

They wouldn't let you walk alone for even a second.

If your father has a harem of consorts and concubines (like other emperors), then the empress will be more paranoid about you, since even though princesses do not inherit the throne, she knows that her enemies can harm you.

Once, when you were five years old, a maid broke a porcelain doll that your father had given you after returning from one of his trips. Unfortunately for that maid, the emperor was returning with you just when the doll broke, so he saw it and got SO angry that he asked his butler to take you out to the garden for a walk, so that you wouldn't see your father the emperor whip the poor maid to death. All this because he considered that maid to be reckless in daring to do that to your things, even if it had been an accident.

Even if more princesses were born, you were the object of your parents' overprotection and adoration.

Even your older brothers didn't dare to do anything bad to you. Once a new maid spoke ill of you (even though you hadn't done anything), and the empress herself slapped her in the face.

They hired servants who document your EVERY move.

The Emperor adores you so much that he will delay any kind of engagement or marriage alliance. He will reject any proposal, and silence anyone who mentions the subject. He does not want you away from him.

If it were up to them, you would stay locked in your room all the time so that nothing would hurt you, and they would tell you that they do everything for your own good.

You were punished by being locked up for an indefinite period of time, followed by the classic punishment of writing the same sentence repeatedly for a long time.

No trying to escape from the palace. The emperor would have experienced guards and servants around you to prevent that.

And if you do get married, then your parents will make sure that you have no choice but to live near the palace, no matter what.

They would be capable of killing if something happens to you.

If you fall ill, they will make sure you rest and eat well, even if it is against your will. If you were to die, they would both go mad with grief, especially the empress.

If you were to die, they would use your chambers as a sanctuary to you, where they would go to pray for you, and in the process force EVERYONE to mourn you.

Your emperor father would not let you have any contact with his family, as there is a power struggle going on where even his own brothers, cousins ​​and uncles could be his enemies and would do ANYTHING to get the throne; even if that includes kidnapping or killing you just because you are the emperor's daughter. Your mother would know this, and every time her brothers-in-law come, she will make you stay with her in the central palace.

With the Empress's family it's a different story, since there are no problems of inheritance of the throne, things are easier unless there is someone who tries to hurt you or pressure you like they do with your mother.

-The End.

What do you think?

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 2

Part 1 2 3

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, smut (piv, loss of virginity, fingering, semi-public sex, Daemon talking you through it), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation/murder, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i am surprised I got as many comments as I did on chapter 1 🥺🫶 it's not that I think my writing is bad... Well... Idk it felt aimless when I started so I am grateful for the positive reinforcement. 👉👈 I am once again asking for more pls comment n reblog I would love u forever if u did | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

Daemon heads to your chambers, eager to shake you awake and ruin your morning once more. When he arrives to the room, he stops in his tracks, disappointed to see you were risen. That is, until he realizes the state you were in.

You roused long before the sun had and could not find sleep no matter how badly you searched. You decided to draw yourself a warm bath in hopes of finding sleep in the tub; you only find more restlessness and simply accept your fate.

You hear Daemon's entrance and turn to him from the vanity you were wallowing. You were half dressed. Your corset was undone and you had given up on braiding the sides of your head. You smile weakly at him, "good morrow."

Nothing about your tired, sullen eyes agreed with that, and it irritates him to know that you're one of those people. Pretenders.

"Well, finish up then," Daemon furrows his brows, "get dressed. We have yet to accomplish our task."

You mimic his expression, brushing your dark hair back, "task?"

He rolls his eyes, "I do not believe yesterday counts as an introduction."

Upon realizing he meant the introduction to Caraxes, your body tenses. You look sick. You stand to try and convince him out of it, but Daemon reaches you before you can get on your feet. He places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. Your heart thunders when he brushes your hair to one shoulder. He secures your dress from behind, and your breath grows heavy as you watch him from the mirror.

"It is not so bad, riding a dragon," the prince says to plant a false sense of trust in you, "who knows? You might enjoy it."

There is an unnatural warmth that spills across your form when your husband then completes your braids. He weaves in a manner far gentler than Gwayne ever has. It makes your lips part.

He brings you to your feet. Daemon takes in your expression, lips curling slightly, "there you are, wife."

Your brows knit.

He knew his artificial gentleness has you off-guard. There is no better moment to have you do his bidding than now.

One might be surprised to know that Caraxes actually enjoyed having you on his back, as did Daemon, not because they suddenly liked you— gods no, but because the sound of your screams were oh-so satisfying.

You could do little else but release cries of terror as you clung to your husband from behind. Daemon made it a point to do flips and all sorts of unnecessarily moves whilst flying, hoping your hold would falter. The time you spent in the air felt like eternity. It seemed your husband was set on touring the entire 7 realms.

You never thought you would be so ever happy to see the pit. The pit could not say the same about you however. You spill your guts out to the floor exactly like the first time you were here.

Daemon makes a face. He turns to the keepers and orders them to clean your mess up, lest it get on Caraxes' claw.

Woe is you who is forced to repeat the exact thing the next morning. You could not even plead your case, for your throat was sore. The sound of your screams this time were not as entertaining to Daemon, as your voice is hoarse. At some point, the terror is too great, you cannot scream. Because of this, he cuts the flight short in boredom, excited instead at the promise of watching you suffer through another retch. But, oh, by the gods, were you an inconveniencing woman.

Instead of remaining consistent, you just had to make a show and faint into him, did you?

He could not care less for you, which is why he chucks you off into the arms of a dragon keeper, but the damned old man could no longer carry such a weight, and so he was begrudgingly forced to throw you over his shoulder and bring you to a maester himself.

In truth, he'd all forgotten about his wife fainting until the next morning, when he came to the maester's quarters to ask for something to soothe his hammering head from his heavy drinking the night before. He was, in fact, offended, when the maester insinuated that he had come to check up on his bride.

Before he could give the greying maester a piece of his mind, he hears a terrible voice barking from the ward. Its grating timbre made it clear to Daemon that Lord Hand Cunttower was off on a yapping session again.

He walks deeper into the room. Weeping sounds become audible.

"—no, you do not understand," Otto snaps, hunched over at the side of your bed.

Ah, twas you who was being terrorized.

You dare not turn to your father, for you knew your throat would only tighten more that it already has. You force yourself to take deep breaths, but it's easier said than done. You remain still on the bed you laid on.

"You must sire as many children as your body can take, or you will die," the man says.

But you were dying anyway.

"The process will not be pleasant."

Nothing is pleasant.

"It will hurt-"

Everything hurts.

"-but it is a better fate than-"

"Enough!" you snap, glaring at him with angry, red eyes. You repeat, though your voice is weaker, "enough, enough, eno-"

Otto gravely speaks your name. Your body recognized the danger, but having realized upon waking up to the face of a maester, it mattered little where or who it came from, you were destined to hurt- to die.

"Do not fall complacent be-"

"You are no longer my lord," you quip. Sweat forms on your nape. This is the first time you've ever interrupted your father.

He is gobsmacked. He is bewildered. His back straightens, "what?"

You feel yourself descend into heavy fraught. Your saliva tries to choke you.

"What," he presses, "did you say, girl?"

"You are my father," your voice falters, "but not my lord."

Otto's face warps.

Your breath grows shorter and shorter, "my liege lord is my-" pant "-husband, and what he-" pant "-desires, I will-" pant "-do."

Daemon's ears and brows perk at your misplaced loyalty. Part of him wants to laugh out loud and make himself known, but then he sees, even from where he stood, how it got Otto twisted. He chuckles to himself instead.

Your father enunciates as though he means to stab you with them, "you stupid fucking whore."

You crumble like chalk. You fall into another round of body arresting tremors. Your chest is tight and you screw your eyes painfully shut. It becomes apparent to Daemon, as it would anyone who'd witness, where your condition sourced. Otto grabs your shoulders, "you know nothing of-" but then recoils.

Daemon shoves him away, glaring as he says, "unhand her."

Otto manages to balance himself, but he looks as though the veins on his temples were about to pop. He clenches his jaw, "I am speaking to my daughter."

"You mean at her," his silver hair slips over his shoulder as he turns to you, "she does not look like she can hold conversation."

"This is personal matter," Otto steps forward.

"Mmm," Daemon turns back to him, "I do say, I am glad to have interrupted," he shifts on his leg, linking his fingers together, "a dutiful husband should know all personal matters of his wife. Don't you agree?"

Though you were still wrestling with yourself, you heard every word. You knew if you did not interject, they will fight each other for your carcass. You feel lightheaded, but you force yourself to open your eyes and speak.

Of course, the only sound you manage to make is a strangled and pained one.

Otto averts his attention to you, and tries to come to your side.

Daemon steps in front of him and tilts his head back, "oh... I would adore it if you give me a reason to kill you."

You choke out, "Daemon."

Your father stiffens as he looks past the said man to inspect you, missing the way the said man smirks. Otto turns back to Daemon, feeling bile spread in his mouth as the prince says, "see. She does not want you."

Otto's lips curl and his hands ball into fists.

Your husband waves a hand, "go away. You're clearly upsetting her."

Otto does the most to remain calm, "she is my da-"

"She is my wife," Daemon snaps, imposing upon him.

You gulp with difficulty as you catch the way your father's jaw clenches. You force yourself to sit up and open your mouth to speak, but everyone's attention is averted to the Kingsguard that walks into the room.

Daemon's forehead curls at the Cargyll knight, "my prince. Lord Hand."

"Which one are you?" asks the prince.

"Arryk, my prince."

"State your business, Arryk."

"I-"

"I requested a ward for the princess," Lord Hand answers instead.

Daemon makes a face at him and chuckles dryly under his breath.

Arryk looks between the two again then slowly continues, "I and my brother have been awarded the honor of serving ward to the Princess of Dragonstone. I take first watch today."

Daemon chuckles again, "a bit late, aren't you?"

The white cloak stiffens then bows, "I was just given word this hour."

"Hmm. Well, Arryk," he motions, "why don't you go escort the Lord Hand out of the room before someone dies."

He stiffens again, but turns to the said man nonetheless. He does not question it and merely does what was instructed.

Or at least tries to.

"I do not trust you with my daughter's well-being," Otto steps forward, pointing a finger to the ground, "you are the very reason she is in that bed."

Daemon gasps dramatically. At this point, you finally had enough wits about you to speak, "please-" but your voice is easily drowned out however.

"Do you not remember thanking my brother for the, what was it," the prince pretends to think, "joyous union? Or would you like to watch me stake my claim upon he—"

Otto's face twists in horror and repulsion, but that is not why Daemon's words are cut short. It is because of the cold, clammy, trembling hand that takes his own that he looks down. He watches as you sigh out, "leave us, father."

The said man turns to you in grave offence. In your fear, you do not notice the betrayal that is mixed with it. His anger flares and he scoffs. He gives you one last look, and you knew exactly it was just that. This would be last time he would ever look upon you. When he storms away, you feel it in your chest: this is the last time you will ever call him father. You were forsaken, truly forsaken.

Otto is seen out by Arryk.

Your hand slips from Daemon's, as you no longer had the strength. You muster all your remaining energy to reach the drink propped on your bedside table. It was a futile attempt though, as instead of grasping it, you knock it over, which only leads you into another fit of tears.

Daemon curses and shakes his foot that's gotten soaked. He did mean to snap at you for it, but you were already clearly suffering. Your breathing is short and it seemed like you were mumbling something.

He hunches over in an attempt to hear you, "what?"

It takes a myriad of repetitions for him to realize you were apologizing.

His face contorts, "gods," what pathetic creature had he been given to?

Daemon's upper lip curls and he can no longer bear the sound of your whining any further. He calls for the maester, asking for another cup of water because you had knocked over your own. Just as the maester goes off to get you another drink, he remembers he came here for his own affliction because his head begins to hammer again. He rubs his temples and sits on the vacant bed besides yours.

"Here, my prince," the maester says upon arrival, "milk of the poppy enough for the both of you."

Daemon squints as the man places a tray on your bedside table. Daemon is handed a cup first, but does not drink it until after he watches you be helped to drink your own fill. After, the maester promptly leaves with a curt nod. The drink does not take effect on you until after Daemon finishes his own

Your voice shakes, "t-thank you."

Daemon puts his cup down.

"You did not have to come," you say softly.

"Do not flatter yourself," he scoffs, "I did not come for you. I came for my headache."

"Yet it remains," you turn to him, face tight and gleaming from all the tears you've shed, "you did not have to come."

He stares at you for a moment. You looked so frail, so devoid of hope. Truly, death would be mercy to you at this point.

Just then, ser Arryk returns. He finally sees you and gives you a deep bow, "princess."

Being addressed as such makes you feel sad... and lonely.

"I am ser Arryk Cargyll. I will be your ward, along with my twin brother, Erryk, who you will meet after my shift." The kingsguard straightens up, "I will do all that I can to ensure your health does not falter and that you are always seen to."

You think of your own twin as you take in the man's features. The idea that your father purposefully chose twin brothers as your ward made you feel sad and sick, but it was hardly Arryk's fault Otto liked mocking you, so you smile at him, "I have a twin."

The man nods, offering you a smile far more genuine than yours, "aye. Ser Gwayne Hightower. He is deft with the short sword."

You turn to your hands, recalling just a few days ago when you had watched him train. Your lips curl upwards, "though, not as good as I."

Daemon pulls his head back, face contorting. He is taken aback when Arryk's sniggers. The latter nods, "perhaps you will show me your tricks, my lady."

There is a twinkle in your eye as you turn back to him, "perhaps."

Daemon raises a brow at the interaction and decides to stand, "come," he reaches a hand to you, "some fresh air would do you good."

Fresh air? Your jaw slacks and you turn to Daemon with a fallen expression. Be as it was, you were no fool. You did not believe your husband had your best interest in mind, and yet, it was not like you had much of a choice. Against yourself, you to take his hand.

He pulls you up and Arryk comes to your side to assist you. He helps you to your feet, hand on your arm and shoulder.

Daemon is annoyed by his fussing. "Yes. Very good, Cargyll. I can manage to bring her to the dragon pit myself."

You close your eyes and sigh. Just as you dreaded.

"Dragon pit?" Arryk repeats.

"Yes. She needs fresh air." The prince narrows his eyes, "do you contest me?"

Arryk releases you and shakes his head, "I would not."

"Good," he motions with nod, "out of the way then."

You see, after being scorched by the fire of your maker— your father, the sight of Caraxes emerging from the depths did not strike as much fear into you as it did before. In fact, the promise of malice from the beast felt... cathartic, and for once, you welcomed Daemon's insistence on being brought to its maw.

You stumbled against Caraxes' scaly cheek. Having done nothing but lay in the maester's chambers, your hair was not tied or braided in any way. As the wind blew, it tickled against the dragon's face. Caraxes did not seem to enjoy the sensation, and so he growled and snapped his teeth.

Daemon was quick to chastise his mount, and for that, he did not realize your lack of self-preservation. Oh, but Caraxes did; he even growled again, only to be met once more by your unflinching demeanor.

Daemon would only realize your change after taking flight and landing on a beach. Upon dismounting, Caraxes takes it upon himself to screech as you hover. The prince doesn't know who is more bewildered, him or his dragon, when you screech back.

Your neck veins pop and spit comes out of your mouth at the intensity of it all. A harsh wind blows your hair and your skirt. You heave after releasing such a harsh noise.

In truth, perhaps Caraxes is more perturbed as, unlike Daemon's who presses forward, the beast pulls back and shakes his head. He bleats as he watches his rider grab your arm.

The prince means to berate you for your insanity, but then, gods, you rather conveniently succumb to another arrest to your heart and lungs. He does not know why he catches you when your legs give in but he knows exactly why he suggests: "get in the water."

You look up at him, your glassy eyes meeting his violet ones.

He lets you crumble to the ground and bends down to undo your dress, "a swim would do you wonders."

"N-no- you will regret-" you sputter.

But Daemon ignores you, not that it took much effort, for you were incoherent soon enough.

He pulls you out of your dress until you're in nothing but your slip. You sob, and he hushes you, assuring he will be by your side. He removes his tunic. Soon, he is dragging you down deeper and deeper, and you are choking and spitting saltwater.

Daemon decides to simply release you and wait until your body floats lifeless. With how you were gasping, it would not take long. He turns his head when his face is splashed by your flailing arms. When he looks back, the water is calm and your body is nowhere to be seen.

... well, that was rather quick.

He waits for a moment, watching bubbles float up. After a while, he purses his lips and decides to go back ashore. He should have done this sooner.

He freezes when you emerge in front of him, pushing your brown hair off your face. He is perturbed by the serenity across your features; it was as though you were reborn.

You sigh, "I told you you would regret it."

Daemon blankly stares at you.

"There is a great river in Oldtown," you wade around, "the water there is not nearly as pleasant or warm as this, but still... swimming was one of the only ways I could calm myself."

His jaw clenches. He does not even try to hide his disappointment.

You lick your lips at it and turn to Caraxes, who was happily soaking in the sun from the sandy shore, "take heart. Your dragon might entertain himself by eating me yet," you turn to him, "or perhaps my Lord Hand will kill me himself."

His face twists, "what?"

You shake your head and roll your eyes.

He pulls his head back, offended and confused by your sudden nerve.

You allow your body to float up in the water, "you need not pretend. I know you long to kill me."

Daemon is insulted by your brashness. He grabs your floating hip and pushes you down until you're once again face to face. Not a semblance of fear is on your features. It only angers him further.

He snaps, "I could have your tongue for that."

He cannot deny the way his stomach rolls when you place your hands by the base of his neck. The complete change in your temperament puts him on edge. Have you been playing him all along?

"Would it not be simpler to have my head?" you speak plainly, as though you were genuinely curious of his response.

His nostrils flare.

Before he can act, you are swimming off. You emerge from the water, dripping wet. Your clothing is sheer and hugs every part of your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. He could not help but look, but then he was sorely insulted all over when you pet Caraxes head and he lets you.

It was a twisted hallucination. He is suddenly reminded of the milk of the poppy he'd drank; you've probably poisoned him and planned all of this with your cunt father like the conniving whore you really were.

You do not hear him emerge, but only know he did because he is upon you. He forces you around through a severe squeeze on your arms, "what is your game, Hightower cunt?!"

Your body seizes, but you do not succumb to the thundering of your heart, as you had just been relaxed.

He shakes you, making you gasp, "SPEAK!"

"There is no game!" you whimper.

He chuckles dryly, shaking you harshly once more "perhaps it should be said that I need no assistance from my dragon to kill you."

A shiver runs down your spine, "please-"

"Then tell me th-"

"-just do it."

The sound of Caraxes huffing brings Daemon back to reality. And yet it takes you speaking, "just kill me," for him to realize you meant exactly what he thought.

He stills where you descend into further torment. He knows then that it is true. There was no plot, or at least not one where this creature of agony could ever oversee. You were calmed by the water, but not cured. Very truly, he thinks again death would be mercy, convenient for him as well. Yet, in his nature, Daemon does opposite of what he is told and pries his hands off. He mutters under his breath, "ao mūdas run," you terrible thing.

You sob, as if you understood him.

You shed tears unlike the others he's witnessed; there is no panic or fear, only pain.

"Surely you agree it is better than living this way."

The clarity of your voice takes him aback. He turns away, uncomfortable of your sudden agency.

"I have been this way since I can remember," you confess, "and they've all have counted my days for just as long."

"Why must I bloody my hands for you?" he squints, "if you despise living so much, do it yourself."

Your laugh is haunting. You shake your head and wipe your face, "I am not as brave as you. I could not even kill the fishes Gwayne caught for me, though I ate them."

Daemon is unmoved, twice so at the mention of your brother.

"And Gwayne..." you sigh, "he would blame himself." You turn to your feet, warmed by the sand beneath it, "I would not do that to him." You shake your head again, "but again, take heart," you smile, "it will happen soon enough."

His forehead curls.

"I can feel it in my gut," you rub your belly, "it is putrid and festering... whatever it is."

He tilts his head, "then do me a favor and wallow in silence—" he walks off, sparing one last glance, "and try scheming with your cunt father somewhere you will not be caught."

You manically laugh and rip at your hair, "he is my illness, if it is not plain to you."

He stops and turns back to you.

"I am the way that I am because I-" you poke your chest, "am he, had he been born a woman." You rub your sternum, "he loathes me because he is I. I am his hair, his nose, his temper, his... weakness, only amplified because I did not inherit his cock.

"When I pray..." you sniffle, "sometimes I think the gods keep me alive for I am his reckoning— that I must torment him for all the years he has tormented others... tormented me."

Daemon watches the salt from your eyes join the salt on your slip. He stares at your pert nipples then watches you chew your lower lip. He licks his own, "did you mean what you told him?"

You watch as he inches closer, "what?"

"That he is no longer your liege lord," he reaches for your arm, "that I am."

"I-"

Daemon pushes the shoulder of your slip dress down.

Your hand darts to his chest, "i-it is the truth."

He hums and tilts his head. You gasp when he kisses your neck. He licks the saltwater off your skin, enjoying the sound you make when his teeth graze you, "very well then."

Goosebumps form when he pulls your skirt up your thighs.

"It would be beneath a prince to withhold aid for such a tormented spirit."

You do not speak for soon his mouth is claiming yours. It is not as horrid as you imagined it would be. You did not think someone who's shown nothing but aggression could behold you so tenderly. You shiver when he continues to rid you of your sopping clothes. When you break away for air, you manage to mutter, "someone c-could see."

Daemon's expression is changed as stares at you and pushes you to the ground. You gasp as you find yourself atop the garbs he already managed to remove. He undoes his breeches, "who? My dragon?"

You do not know if he means Caraxes.

"You are my wife," he drops to his knees, grabbing yours, "the sin lies with the looker," he pushes your legs apart, "not us."

You bite your lips, feeling the the need to repel him, but decide against it. You simply close your eyes and dig your fingers into the sand.

His loins burn at the sound of your sigh. He sinks into you and relishes your submission. He wraps your legs around him and rocks his hips into yours. You mewl and dig into his back. He bites your lobe before whispering, "you belong to me."

You scratch your nails up his back as his rocking hips send bolts of pleasure in your body.

"Say it."

"I-I-" you heave, "belong to you."

He squeezes your thighs, "you are to do what I so desire."

You gasp softly when he grabs your jaw, making you turn to him.

"-especially if it is against your father, yes?"

You gulp, unable to speak. You simply nod.

Daemon's eyes become hooded. He releases your jaw, claiming your thigh again, "good."

You both remain this way, kissing and rubbing, but then you begin to grow impatient. You bring your mouth to his to catch his attention but do not kiss him. He is taken aback by your unintentional tease and digs his fingers into your flesh. This is why you whimper as you speak, "you- can... enter."

He is broken from his trance, "what?"

"I," you scratch his skin gently, as if to encourage him, "know you are ready. You do not have to hold back. I am accustomed to pain."

He knits his brows, then tilts his head, "how could a virgin know such things?"

He watches bashfulness claim you. You shake your head, "I read it."

"Did your book not tell you it need not be painful?"

"I-" you let out a loud noise when you feel his fingers touch your womanhood, "Daemon-"

He purrs at the sound of his name, "I will show you how good it can feel so that you can tell your father all about it."

The horrifying thought does not even register as he makes you feel things you did not know possible. You begin to shiver and whine, but it is entirely opposite to what your body is accustomed to. Your breath begins to shorten and you instinctively begin to panic, but Daemon's voice keeps you grounded.

"Breathe," he licks your pulse, "it feels good, does it not? Breathe and think of how good I'm making you feel."

You are entirely subservient to him, to his baritone, to his fingers, to his hips. There is nothing but sand and Daemon. You whine when you feel a hard intrusion. The sensation is foreign, and it causes your belly to tense.

He kisses the line that forms between your brows, "relax, my wife. Now is not the time for pain," he hooks his hands behind your knees, "it's a time for pleasure."

It's all a blurry haze after this. Daemon moves into you in a way that makes you wonder how this could ever hurt. Every thrust sends ripples of bliss down your spine. Every hit draws out the lewdest of sounds from your throat. You understand then why they call it love making; you love every moment of it. Your bliss is heightened when he touches something inside you, and again, and again-

For once in your life, as your breath grows heavy, you do not feel like you're about to die.

Daemon alternates tempos, but ultimately resigns to fast and hard. He does not cease until your rigid body goes limp beneath him. The pressure in your stomach breaks into a million burning pieces, and just as it becomes all too much, he pulls out, propping himself up on one arm. You gasp at the heat thats spills on your thigh as he strokes himself. Soon, his arm gives out and he collapses beside you.

You behold the mess of red and white between your legs, but find no shame, only arousal, which you did not expect. You turn to your husband, watching his chest heave, his temples sweat, and his tongue lick his lips.

He's... he's beautiful.

[riddlesbunny]

Blood Lust

summary: With his ego inflated after Rook’s Rest, Aemond makes another move against the blacks — taking you.

pairing: Aemond x Niece!Reader

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: Explicit smut, dark!Aemond, incest, oral sex (f recieving), p in v sex, heavy dubcon, loss of virginity, mention of blood, knife play, angst!!! 18+ MDNI

Destiny was a fickle thing but Aemond Targaryen knew three things for certain: he was destined to lose an eye, destined to claim the largest dragon of the known world and destined to be with you.

For as long as Aemond could remember, he wanted you, dreamed of you. The mere thought of you made his cock ache at any moment.

It was not as if Aemond had no other options. There were plenty of Lord’s willing to send their daughters to King’s Landing to be married off to a prince.

As lovely as those girls might have been, they all shared the same detrimental flaw: they simply were not you. You were a member of House Targaryen — bastard born or not, the blood of Old Valyria ran deep within your veins. You were a skilled dragon rider, you carried yourself with grace, held a quick wit, spoke your mother tongue. Above all else, you had been there for Aemond when no one else was. You were perfect.

Aemond had no interest in being betrothed to a Baratheon or a Lannister, nor an Arryn or a Stark; even the most beautiful girl the Tyrell’s had to offer would simply never compare. After a denied proposal for a betrothal and you being taken away to Dragonstone Aemond felt powerless — until now.

Your entire body aches as you make out your surroundings. You had been taken in the middle of the night, forced onto dragon back with your hands and feet tied.

“Listen to me,” your uncle says as he crouches in front of you, “if you scream the guards will come and you’ll be thrown in the dungeons. You have no friends here except me. Do you understand?”

You nod your head in agreement, desperate to be free of the makeshift gag he had made for you.

“Aemond, this is treason,” you state plainly.

“Treason, would be betraying the crown, sweet niece,” he responds, “I am the crown.”

“Fuck you!” you grumble at him.

“Iksos bona skoros ao jaelagon?” Is that what you want?

Against your better judgment, you spit right in his face, observing him nervously as he wipes it away.

“Fiesty little thing you are.”

“What do you want with me, Aemond? Will you force me to kneel before you? Carve out my eye? Perhaps I’ll suffer the same fate as my brother?”

Ah, Lucerys. He was waiting for you to bring that up.

“While I’m sure that seeing you on your knees is a glorious sight, I have other plans for you.”

“I have no desire to bed you, Aemond. I am betrothed.”

The smirk on his face slightly drops at that. Betrothed.

“And where is Lord Stark now?” He questions casually.

“Preparing his army for war.”

“I wonder how it must feel?” he goes on, “to be whored out? Practically sold like a broodmare so that your pretender of a mother can build herself an army?”

“Better to be his whore than your war prize.”

The mask of cruelty on Aemond's face fades for a moment, and for a second, he almost looks hurt at your words.

“Is that what you think? That you’re merely a ‘prize’? You wound me, dear niece. Do you not remember that I love you?”

Ice fills your veins at his confession and your heart drops into your stomach. Things could’ve been different, they should’ve been.

“I don’t understand why things had to escalate in this way, Aemond,” you say as you start to cry, “you could’ve —“ you choke back a sob, “you could’ve had me.”

Aemond takes your chin in his hands as he lets out a laugh.

“I do have you, baby.”

Fear courses through you at his words. Aemond unsheathes a knife from his jacket pocket and holds it to your chest for a brief moment before pulling away.

“Hold still,” he demands as he cuts the rope that holds your ankles together.

You wince as Aemond forcefully spreads your legs apart, violently cutting a hole into your undergarments, exposing your cunt to him.

“Tell me, has Stark fucked this pretty little pussy yet?”

He knows he hasn’t, he knows you and Cregan still have yet to meet. He wants to hear you say it.

“N-no,” you stutter as you continue to cry. Gods, you look so pretty when you cry, Aemond thinks to himself. He only smirks in response.

“You are still a maiden, right, sweet one? You haven’t let little Lord Strong defile you, have you?”

“Gods, Aemond. No.”

“Hm,” Aemond frowns, “a shame for him, really. Now he’ll never have the chance being that you will never see him again.”

“They’ll come for you,” you tell him.

“If they wish to keep me away from you and your perfect cunt they’ll have to kill you,” he muses, “But even then…”

A darkness takes over your uncles face and you soon realize the Aemond you once knew is gone. You are dealing with a whole new monster. He is an animal, a beast — and you are merely prey.

“Do you touch yourself?” he asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“S-sometimes,” you whisper, feeling ashamed, but finding it difficult to lie to him.

“What do you think about when you do?”

“Not you,” you retort.

He runs two fingers through your soft folds, causing you to gasp, before bringing his fingers up to the light.

“Liar,” he states as his fingers glisten, coated in your slick. “You know you don’t have to lie to me, baby. I think about you, too…”

You can’t help but notice the evident bulge in your uncle's pants, his cock strains against the delicate fabric. You can tell how big he is. You try your best to divert your gaze elsewhere.

“Now, I’m going to untie your wrists. Might I remind you of what I said earlier: You are far better off in here, with me, than out there,” he says, pointing to the door with his dagger.

You’re not sure if you believe him. At this point, you might prefer to be thrown in the dungeon with the rats, left to starve. Instead of arguing, you simply nod your head as Aemond cuts you free.

You feel wobbly as you stand on your feet, Aemond holds your hands as you gain your composure. Your ankles and wrists feel sore, but Aemond rubs his thumb against your wrist soothingly.

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as that familiar ache between your legs begins to grow. You know you shouldn't be aroused by this behavior, but your body is betraying you.

Aemond picks you up swiftly and places you onto his bed. There was a time where you dreamed of this. If only your younger self could see you now.

Your thoughts are interrupted once again as Aemond’s large hand wraps around your throat. He squeezes lightly, trying to keep you in your place. You make a feeble attempt to push him away, but he is too strong and you can’t break free.

“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” he pleads, “I need you,” the timbre of his voice is so low that you aren’t sure if he meant for you to hear. His free hand moves to your breast, massaging it roughly through your chemise.

"You are so beautiful," he says, leaning over you. You feel him press himself against you, his cock rubbing against your leg, pre-cum leaks out of the tip and smears onto your thigh.

He pushes back and nestles himself comfortably between your thighs. His dexterous fingers part your folds ever so gently, exposing you to him completely.

“Gods, you’re perfect. The most perfect girl in the entire realm,” he groans before his face is buried between your thighs. His plump lips suck at your clit as he prods at it with his tongue before moving up and down your slit. You feel yourself getting wetter, arousal leaks from your core and Aemond laps it up eagerly. On instinct, you spread your legs even further apart, your body betraying you once again.

Aemond licks harder, and you feel the soft muscle of his tongue slip inside you. A loud moan erupts from your chest as a tight knot forms in the pit of your stomach. Your hand shoots down to to tug at Aemond’s silver tresses.

You’re so close, you’ve never been touched like this before and one final glide of his tongue pushes you over the edge. You cry out loudly as you cum, your vision going blurry as your cunt contracts around him.

Aemond pulls himself from your core and stands up, grabbing your hips. He harshly pulls you to the edge of the bed and you feel his cock pressing against you. You eagerly push towards him this time. There is no point in fighting him. You gasp as he enters you fully, filling you completely. The stretch is overwhelming, a tight burning sensation. The fullness begins to feel good as your silky walls flutter around him.

“Just relax,” he coos, “I know you want me.”

You feel his cock twitch inside you slightly as he groans, leaning down to bite your shoulder.

“Fuuuck,” he drawls, “you’re so tight and wet, baby, so perfect; just like I dreamed you would be.”

Your cheeks bloom crimson at his praise and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as he fucks into you. The sharp pain soon fades into pleasure. The fat tip of his cock relentlessly bullies that sweet spot inside you that you were never able to reach on your own.

Aemond reaches up to paw at your breast, pinching at your nipple roughly, and a wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your spine tingles and your toes curl, causing you to moan in response.

"You think Stark could fuck you like this? Make you feel the way I do? That anyone could?" He rasps as his thrusts become relentless. He slaps your face when you fail to give him an answer. A shameful whimper escapes you.

"Answer. Me." he demands between thrusts, his teeth gritted together, his thumb swiping over the rosy, delicate flesh where he hit you.

“N-no, Aemond! Only you, just you! I'm sorry!” you all but choke out to him.

“That’s right, my sweet. You were fuckin’ made for me,” he grunts before pausing his thrusts, his hips stuttering before he pulls his cock out of you almost entirely. Making note of the blood that coats his shaft, hoping you don’t notice.

“You know it, I know it, your mother knows it,” he grits out, “you’re mine.”

“Yes, Aemond, I’m — fuck! I’m yours,” you mewl.

“Do you love me?" he asks, your mind is hazy, and stars blur your vision as he continues to drill into you. Even while he is taking control, his insecurity still has a way of shining through his cruel demeanor.

You loved him once, long ago. Maybe you could love him again? You know the answer he is looking for is not ‘maybe.’

"Kessa, Avy jorrāelan." Yes, I love you.

Aemond grins at this, impressed with your knowledge of your shared mother tongue.

He slams his cock into you full force, stilling as he presses hard against your cervix, making you cry out again. His hand tangles in your hair as he places his forehead against yours.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he tells you.

You grip at his hips, pulling him into you.

“C-cum inside me,” you moan through bated breaths, “claim me as your own, once and for all.”

“You’ve always been mine,” he says as he complies, pushing into you deeply as he shoots his hot cum inside of you, warmth blooming in your chest as he does so; before collapsing on top of you.

“What happens now?” you ask, as he gently pulls himself out of your heat, allowing his seed to seep onto the bed sheets.

“This is just the beginning.”

[yandere-wishes]

Okay idea for your Batwoman!fam

Okay so you know how Cassandra Cain was raised in the League of Assassins to essentially be the bodyguard of Ra’s Al Ghul, what if Damian’s darling was raised in the League of Assassins as well but she was raised with a different purpose, to be the future wife of the heir, aka Damian.

Just some food for thought

⋆ ˚｡⋆Damian Wayne x Superhero! Reader ⋆˚｡⋆

જ⁀➴Notes: DARLING, YOU HAVE THE BIGGEST GALAXY BRAIN OUT THERE!!!!!!!!! THE THINGS I COULD WRITE FOR THIS. I'M FROTHING AT THE MOUTH!!!!

No cause like now, I'm thinking of Talia and Ra's selecting the best assassins out of the league and making them get married. They are told that their firstborn daughter is destined to become the bride of the Demon's hair. (Kinda like Dune's breeding program)

Talia practically raises you, an aunt/older sister/second mother/mentor whatever you'd like to call her. She raises you in the ways of the League. Trains you alongside her son. She dictates everything for you. Your clothes, personality, preferences. She molds you to be perfect. And while her tactics are dictatorial at best she does truly utterly love you. You are destined to be her daughter, to be her precious Damian's wife. You will continue her legacy. Thus she must raise you to be flawless…

In many ways, Damian likes to think that he knows you better than he knows himself. He tells himself that he's memorized every alcove and aperture of your ethereal soul. That your essence is as familiar to him as the dawn orisons. Damian al Ghul likes to think he knows his future bride-to-be.

And can you blame him? Can you really blame a boy for believing so earnestly, so passionately in a beautiful tale he's been told since birth?

He watches as you tend to the newborn goats on the farm. Run your fingers through the fawn's snowy coat. "Damian!" you call out waving to him excitedly. "Come see the new billys. We must commence in naming them at once." Your face is so serious as you look up at him. Eyes sparkling brighter than any star. He dares to wonder if you'll look at him with the same expression while you cradle your firstborn. Demanding that their father pick an adequate name immediately. Damian can't help the blush that ghosts across his cheeks.

Fairy tales are real. This is the conclusion Damian has come to. Dragons do exist, and they serve their purpose of stealing away hopeless damsels in the dead of night. Only now Damian doesn't know if he's truly fit to be the prince that comes and saves you…

Weeks prior the League's fortress had the misfortune of welcoming a guest from Gotham. 'A red-haired woman with a crazed bloody smile' as some of the members had described her. He had been training with his grandfather and was ordered to remain in the training rooms and practice while Ra's went to entertain this guest. You had been with Talia at the time and had the misfortune of meeting this monster too. Or at least that's how Damian believes the story goes.

"Master Damian" you greet. He can't help but shudder at the frosty smile you offer him. Day to day he feels your soul wander away never truly present. He reaches out, desperate to feel your warm skin grace his, to cradle your cheek as if it were the whole world. But he's only met with the silky wisp of your hair as you walk away. He doesn't like the way his heart aches, doesn't like the phantoms that occupy your mind.

Damian remembers the day you disappeared in shambles. Fragments of a nightmare that haunts him all through the night. There had been an alert in the middle of the night. Someone had broken in, taken out the guards. By the time the furor settles Damian and his mother notice what the thief had taken.

Not precious gems or priceless treasures.

Not the countless documents on every important figure in the world.

Not the tomes of endless knowledge his grandfather stores in his personal study.

No…

The thief had simply taken one thing.

You.

And in the process, Damian's heart as well.

The nightmare still haunts him. Even if only a mere few days later, the League had been attacked again. He was forced to be separated from his mother and his home. Fleeing to a foreign land to live with a father he's never known. Throughout all of this, Damian's heart still longs for you. He promises he'll find you again no matter where in the world he is.

It's been a long miserable year before Damian sees you again. His father is hosting a gala. An excuse of some sort to gather all of the Wayne enterprises under one roof. Damian cares little for the reason and cares less about the people. Too preoccupied with the inconvenience of having to be here in the first place.

"Damian, you've met my cousin Kate Kane before, right?" Bruce walks over to him, and the rest of his brothers approach too. Bruce has that look in his eyes. Something important is about to be said, Damian knows it. His adrenaline spikes, hope bubbling in his throat. Has there been a breakout in Arkham? A rogue attack somewhere? He'll take just about anything right now to get out of this dull gathering.

Kate clears her throat. Mentions that about a year ago she adopted a new daughter. She makes excuses for why it's taken her so long to formally introduce this new addition to her family. Damian only half listens. Bored once more. Until he notices an all too familiar face. And that familiar ache blooms in his chest once more.

He sees you hiding behind that wretched woman. You beam at her the way you used to do to his mother. Have you replaced the woman who raised and cherished you so easily? Have you replaced him too? You greet Damian with a court nob and avert your eyes. Desperate not to look at him, not to be reminded of your past.

Damian watches as the new hero, Batwoman's new sidekick, Corvid as she's taken to calling you. Swings across the city skyline. Intercepting one of Two-Face's hists. "She was my bethrode back during our time in the league." Bruce is sitting next to him, listening in the somber way he always does."Do you miss her?" he finally asks. "More than air, should it be robbed from my lungs." Bruce laughs, a short dark noise. His large palm pats Damian's shoulder before he marches into the darkness. It takes an endless moment for Damian to understand what that means, to understand the blessing the Dark Knight has bestowed upon his blood son.

Damian watches as you hug your new "mother". Feels the betrayal slither across his throat. He suffocates on the pain, the jealousy. Suffocates as he swears he'll take you back no matter the cost. You will be his once more, you will fulfill your destiny. As it has been written.

Damian heads home, he needs to contact his mother. Needs to tell her that you are safe. It'll calm her restless heart to know her beloved little girl has been found…

Okay I am going to have total nerd moment. Cause like what if this was kinda mixed with the original assassins?

[sophie-looks-at-things]

A Wolf in the Dragon's Den

Pairing: Aemond x Stark reader

Summary: The Greens have won The Dance of Dragons, and your family has offered your hand to Prince Aemond as a means of forgiveness for your part in the war. But what shall happen when a wolf meets a dragon in its den?

Warnings: SMUT, mdni 18+, p in v, kind of mean Aemond? but he gets better lol, Aegon being Aegon, use of pet names like Little Wolf or My Dragon, fingering, soft to rough sex, uhhh language for sure haha if I missed anything let me know y'all!! It's also not proof read so forgive any mistakes haha

AN: Well ... sorry this took me so long y'all! I guess my summer classes caught up to me a bit but that's ok cause after long last here it is!! A good old-fashioned Aemond x Stark reader fic. I hope you guys enjoy haha, I'm working on a request next, but let me know if there's anything else y'all wanna see! :)

King’s Landing was a hot, humid, fish-smelling shit hole. The warm temperatures were much too hot for your usual furs, heavy cloaks, and skirts. Even your horses were succumbing to the heat, panting more than usual, the poor things. You could have rode in the carriage, along with your mother and younger siblings. But you preferred horseback, the wind in your hair, and the breeze on your skin. Although, the air here was salty and thick. 

Your father and brother, Cregan, rode beside you. “Hells, could it be any hotter,” your father murmured under his breath, sweat beading on his brow.

“Those vapid Targaryen’s couldn’t bear it any other way, something about the ‘dragon’s blood–” 

“Careful brother, they could have your head for that–” You chuckled a bit, but you all knew there was truth to the statement. The Dance of Dragons had proved as much, the Greens' force and display of violence was wide and plentiful. “Rash and brash” as your father had put it once. Especially that of your betrothed, Prince Aemond One-eye Targaryen. Or “the one-eyed cunt” as many northerners took to calling him. The betrothal, much to your dismay, had been arranged by your father, in a weak attempt to repair your house's relationship with the monarch. 

“Hmph, well if I had my way we wouldn’t even be here at all. Those ‘dragons’ wouldn’t survive a damn minute in the North. Their blood would freeze, and then maybe we’d all be rid of their problems.” Cregan said the word “dragons” with a mocking tone, a scoff in his voice. 

“That’s enough, your sister is right boy, they would have your head for that. Or perhaps feed you to one of their dragon’s” And with that, your father put an end to that potentially treasonous conversation. Cregan however, had muttered something under his breath about “told you to stop calling me boy”. 

Having had enough of the bickering, you tapped the sides of your horse, trotting ahead by several paces. Your dire wolf, Snowcap, had evidently decided to part temporarily from the group, to hunt or to shade herself you didn’t know. But you couldn’t blame her either way, the journey from the Winterfell to King’s Landing was a long one, and not a particularly comfortable one.

The gates to the Red Keep came into site ahead of you, the streets leading up to it peppered with Gold Cloaks and guards. The people of King’s Landing pay little mind to your small party, too busy with their buying and selling. You had chosen to travel light, there were no copious amounts of banners flying, or any regalia at all really. You would be surrounded by plenty of that kind of thing soon enough. 

To say that your greeting was lackluster, would be an understatement. Ser Criston Cole stood beside the Dowager Queen Alicent atop the Red Keep’s stairs. Besides another dozen or so Gold Cloaks, that was what there was. Cregan scoffs in annoyance from beside you, he must have caught up to you somewhere along the way. 

“He cannot even come to meet his bride-to-be, what a disrespect, pathetic,” You made a bit of a noise beside him, urging him to keep his mouth shut. You were in the dragon’s den now, who knows who could be listening in? Another glance around the unfamiliar faces does confirm your brother’s statement. Your betrothed was nowhere to be found. Even the training yard remained empty, and from what you’d heard, Prince Aemond could often be found there. 

As you dismount your horse, Queen Alicent begins to make her way down the steps, towards you and the rest of your family. Your father and eldest brother move to stand to your left and right. Your mother and younger siblings finally join you, to your left. Your mother gives you a warm smile and a pat on the shoulder as she moves to stand beside your father. You curtsey as the Queen approaches, she takes your hand in hers. Her palms are soft and warm, gentleness radiates from her person. 

“My Lady Stark, how nice it is to finally see you arrive. I hope the journey south wasn’t too unpleasant” She gives you a small smile, not as lovely as your mother’s, but kind nonetheless. 

“It was alright, long, very long, but alright,” You say, matching her smile. Queen Alicent releases your hand and carries on to greet the rest of your family, Ser Criston following closely behind her. Still no sign of your betrothed, nor his elder brother, the King. Although you supposed he must be occupied with his duties on the Small Council. You know you will hear an earful from your brother later on the matter. Had Creagn been born a Lady, he would indeed circulate most of the gossip around Court.  

— — — — — 

The Red Keep was massive in comparison to your expectations of its size. The halls appear more like an intricate intertwining of mazes rather than passageways. Your footsteps echo and reverberate off of the stones. Tapestries depicting great moments in Targaryen history line the walls. Lit torches line the halls, the windows, and the arches looking out onto bustling the city below. Servants, guards, and other nobles wondered about, gossiping, rushing to and fro. Ladies, lords, and servants alike whispered to one another as you and your family walked by, being led by Ser Cristin and the Queen. 

It was no secret that your brother had sent Northeners and Graybeards to fight in Rhaenyra’s name. “Fight like Northerners they will,” your brother had said once. And they did indeed, the bitter cold and long winters having hardened them into mighty soldiers and fighters. Barbarians, some called them. Your father had handed over the duties of Winterfell to Cregan as he grew older. Your father had hardly left the North in all his years of life, but he had become confused and temperamental in his older age. It had ultimately been Cregan’s choice to join the Blacks, a decision he is now trying to repair. Or it would be more accurate to say you were trying to repair. Since you were a wolf being offered up to the dragons for slaughter. Perhaps the only reason that the Greens hadn’t burned down Winterfell, and your family around with it, is because they know the importance of your family to Westeros. And if the North falls, we all fall, and no one knew the North better than the Starks. 

As you continue on your walk through the winding halls of the Red Keep, you finally come to stand before a set of doors. Modest in comparison to some of the others you’ve passed by. Metal filigree winds its way up from the handles like vines, the rest of the door was rather lackluster. Ser Cristin steps forward, dutifully opening the doors for your party.

There in the middle of the small council room, stood your betrothed. After long last you finally laid eyes on your betrothed. Aemond stood proud and tall, his long silver hair pulled back into one thick braid, tied together at the bottom with a strip of black leather. His back was turned towards you, hands clasped behind him. He was dressed in what appeared to be his riding gear, perhaps he had just come back from a flight with Vhagar.

“Aemond, there you are. You missed the arrival of your betrothed,” Alicent chided her son, who could not be less interested in the conversation at hand. 

“Mhm,” He hummed, “I was–” He paused thinking, “ –busy”. From beside you, you can hear Cregan scoff a bit. Your mother puts a warning hand against his back, he was never one for formalities. But then again, most Northerners weren’t. The Prince finally turned towards your party. The famous leather eye patch covering the sapphire in his socket. The faint pink lines of his scar peeked out on either end of the patch. He’s beautiful, you think, in a macabre sort of way, but beautiful nonetheless. He looked ethereal standing there, backlight from the evening sun shining through the windows. 

His lavender eye rakes itself over your form, as your mother pushes you forward a bit, to better meet his gaze. He lets out another hum, of approval, or disapproval, you cannot tell. A cord of annoyance strikes through you, not having the wherewithal to be subjected to such petty scrutiny. 

Alicent places a guiding hand on your waist, walking you forward, closer to the One-eyed Prince. You curtsey once you reach him, the lessons your mother taught you as a girl kicking in and taking over.

“I did not know you Northerners were capable of such manners,” Aemond scoffed as he said this as if he was telling a bad joke. Your teeth grind together, hands clenching into fists in your skirts. Behind you you can hear the scuffle of footsteps, and then a halt. Presumably, your brother acting out again, or perhaps your father this time. Typically, your family wouldn’t care much about appearances, but you were all treading on thin ice, and you knew it. 

Rising back up to your full height, which annoyingly still made you have to look up at him, you say: “We are rather steeped in our traditions in the North my Prince. We value honor decency, and the truth of one's word,” You glare at him through your lashes as you say this last bit. If it were not for the threat upon your entire house and bannermen then you would not be here, wolves were not creatures made to bow, even in the face of a dragon. 

Surprisingly, Aemond lets out a hardy laugh. You chance a glance over at his mother, she looks to be just as stunned as the rest of you. Silence befalls the room. 

“Smart mouth you have, huh, my Lady Stark?” He chuckles some more, then leans closer, intending his next words to only be for you. “Watch your tongue in my court, or I shall have it served to you on a platter at our wedding feast,” and with that, he straightens, and walks away. Yelling something over his shoulder about the training yard, and Ser Cole come with. 

“I–” Alicent begins to say, but you cut her off, rather impolitely, “ It’s quite alright Your Grace,” You offer her a smile. You liked Alicent, the poor woman had been through enough as it is, and the arrogance of her son wasn’t any help. “I am just pleased to finally have arrived here at court, and to settle in at my new home,” It was most certainly a half-truth, but there was no need to make tensions rise any higher. 

— — — — —

The following next few days were spent quite the same. Your little party with the guidance of Alicent took tours of the Red Keep as well as its many gardens and docks. One afternoon Alicent and Queen Helaena accompanied your mother and yourself down to one of the traveling markets of King’s Landing. It was rather grand, merchants coming from all across Westeros to sell their wares. Helaena had shown you a favorite merchant of hers, a man who made intricate gold and silver jewelry in the shapes of little bugs and small creatures. You had purchased a ring depicting the head of a dire wolf.

Aemond had remained illusive, he only graced everyone with his presence at meals. Choosing to sit far away from you, his brother, the King, talking about who knows what was next to him, but all the while his lavender eye remained fixed on you. It made you squirm a bit, being under his heavy gaze. Overthinking how you raised your fork to your lips, or where you held your cup of wine, on the stem or the rim as you’d always done. 

With your wedding on the morrow, your nerves became more frayed than usual. Your mind is plagued with silly thoughts like: Will he think I’m pretty? Will he learn to love me? But as soon as those thoughts enter they are replaced with others such as: Why should I care? He’s been nothing but unpleasant and rude. But the younger, little girl in you still hopes to have a fruitful marriage, one filled with respect and love. Much like that of your mother and father’s. Although you know now that that is an anomaly in this world. 

Your night is filled with restless sleep. Your body follows a pattern of waking for an hour and then sleeping for another. The heat of King’s Landing did not aid in this, the covers bunched down by your feet as you tossed and turned. Shortly after the sun had risen, maids had burst into your room, wedding gown in hand. You spent the next couple of hours being dotted upon like the princess you were about to become. 

It wasn’t a large service by any means, not that you minded. Something smaller and more intimate was more to your liking. Your father walked you up the long aisle to meet your soon-to-be husband. Aemond stood at the altar in the sept, his house cloak in his hands to drape around your shoulders. The closer you got to him the more you could see his eye attempt to devour your appearance. Surprisingly, he gently held your small hands in his. His fingers and palms were calloused from many hours of training with a sword, and flights upon Vhagar. He was a handsome man you thought, too bad his arrogance made him ugly. Perhaps a bit naively you thought, I can change that. But maybe it was just wishful thinking. Your mind already trying to fix something potentially broken. 

Aemond’s lips touched yours, forever sealing your vows to one another. Unlike his hands, they were smooth and soft, and uncharacteristically gentle. He was a good kisser you think, but then again the only other boy you’d kissed was a farm hand back at Winterfell when you were much younger. 

Aemond thought you were beautiful, the moment he laid eyes upon his Little Wolf he thought perhaps this union will not be one of suffering and strife. At least she will be pretty to fuck. As his lips touched yours in the sept in front of the Gods, he tasted honey and black tea. You smell like vanilla, spices, and what Aemond assumed fire to smell like. His hand came to fist in your hair, possessively anchoring you to him.

When you part you suck in a breath of air, cheeks red. Such a sultry kiss in front of your family and the Gods caused a rush of embarrassment to course through you. Aemond however, gave you a wicked smirk in response to the color in your cheeks. Still clutching your hand tightly in his, he guides his new bride down and out of the sept, to return to the Red Keep for the evening's festivities. 

— — — — —

The great hall was filled with the aroma of cooked meats, potatoes, wine, and the heavy laughter of your party guests. Your mother and father sat with you and your new family at the head table, looking down slightly upon the rest of the partygoers. Where the ceremony may have been smaller, the feast after it was not. Several more houses and bannermen of your brother’s came to celebrate the historic union. Boltons, Lannisters, Freys, Greyjoys, Hightowers, and the like filled the hall. You chose to remain seated beside your new husband, the ever-dutiful wife. You knew and had seen many times how rowdy Northmen could become at such a venue. You preferred to keep your distance, although it was not unusual to find you dancing with your younger siblings back home at Winterfell. 

By the looks of it, your brother had loosened up a bit, a tanker of ale clutched in one hand.

The king had joined him and the others closer in age for what looked to be some kind of drinking game. Meanwhile, Aemond’s hand absent-mindedly made its home on your thigh, stroking up and down. The gesture was a stark contrast to his previous words and actions. 

“You have barely eaten wife,” He noted as he glanced at you, “You must be well full and ready for what I have planned for you.” The same small smirk crosses his lips once again. Leaving you with a funny feeling in your stomach. But you can’t help the small wave of heat that strikes your core. Your mother once told you that men can become rather possessive of their women, and it can be quite cumbersome most of the time. Restricting one's freedom, constantly wanting you in their presence, she had said to expect this with someone like Aemond. But she mentioned that sometimes, in the confines of your marital chambers, it can be very — riveting to lay with such a man. It wasn’t until now that you began to understand what she had meant.

“I am afraid I have no appetite, my lord husband. My nerves do not allow me to eat it seems,” Aemond’s gaze darkened at the use of the word “husband”. Prince Aemond was not a man who did anything halfway, if he were to do anything, it was to be done fully without exception. A wave of dark possession seeps into his gut. He had already claimed a dragon but now he wishes to claim a wolf too. 

From across the hall, his thoughts are abruptly interrupted by his brother's drunken yelling. 

“ – the bedding ceremony! Come now little brother it is time for the bedding ceremony,” Aemond’s fists clenched, the hand on your skirts bunching in the fabric. “Will you fuck her like a hound brother? Woof Woof hahaha,” The hall had fallen eerily silent. Aemond’s chair clatters to the ground from the force of his standing. From beside Aegon, you see your brother place his cup of ale on the table, hand reaching for his sword. Your father is already a step ahead of him, hand on the hilt of his dagger. Your mother goes to stand in front of your younger siblings, shielding them. If you had no appetite before you certainly don’t have one now, your hands had gone cold and clammy, your head feeling light at the insults thrown your way. From beside you, Alicent stands, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“That is enough Aegon,” She begins to say.

“Oh come now Mother it was only a jest. Can I not be proud of my little brother?” Alicent opens her mouth to respond but Aemond beats her to it.

“You can take your ‘jests’ down to your whores on the Steer of Silk but you will not speak in such a way in front of my wife, let alone her family.” His voice is dangerously calm, ready to snap, and bubble over into pure rage at any given moment. 

“Always so uptight little brother, as if someone has shoved a stick up your ass–” It is your turn to stand now, the feet of your chair scrapping the stone floor beneath you. 

“I am quite tired, husband will you escort me back to our chambers?” You look at Aemond, a stern, silent plea evident on your features. 

“Certainly wife,” He responds with the same tantalizing calmness. Offering you his hand, which you take, grasping on tighter than perhaps necessary, you both make your way out of the great hall. Leaving the mess that is Aegon behind for someone else to clean up. It was your wedding day after all and you needn’t worry yourself with such matters. 

The walk to your marital chambers is quiet and tense. Your hand still firmly grasping Aemond’s, although he now squeezes yours back. The heels of your shoes echo off of the palace walls in an attempt to keep up with Aemond’s long strides. After an eternity of uncertainty at what was to come next, you reach Aemond’s, and now your, chambers. The room is large and furnished quite cozily. A large four-poster bed makes its home in the center back wall of the room. A table of what looks like chess pieces and a map sits by the open windows.

Aemond however reaches for the pitcher of wine on another small side table, pouring a cup for himself and downing it in one go. He pours a second, and a third for you. He offers it to you, you shake your head, afraid you cannot stomach the drink after what had just happened. 

“I am sorry–” You break the silence. Aemond raises a hand to silence you. 

“It is I who should apologize. My brother is a foul and evil creature who feeds off of the discomfort of others. But never had he dared to do so so boldly before,” He pauses, taking a sip of wine. “I have been absent since you arrived at the Keep and I believe I owe you an explanation,” 

You cross your arms over your chest, the air coming in from the harbor seeming chilly now. “Yes I do believe you do,” you say.

Aemond quirks an eyebrow at your sass, a small smile spreading across his lips. “They told me women of the North have sharp tongues and poor manners,” You scoff, his smile widens, “but I must say I’m rather enjoying that thus far.”  He moves toward you, one hand still holding his cup of wine, the other reaching up to cup your chin, turning your face to meet his eye. 

“I must admit that when I learned that your treacherous brother’s offered your hand to me I was quite – unnerved. I had no desire to marry, let alone marry a traitor,” A cord of anger courses through you, and Aemond notices this. He sets his cup down on the table next to you, the one with the chess pieces. Your eyes follow the movement, better taking in the contents of the table, a war game perhaps, you think. 

“I didn’t want to be chained to a dull, meek little pup for the rest of my life,” His now free hand comes to rest on your hip, and his thumb and forefinger move from your chin, to trace the shape of your lips, then your jaw, and down the column of your neck. “But I must say, that you have certainly exceeded my expectations. I shall enjoy breeding you,” His alkaline nose moves to smell your hair, and you inhale a sharp gasp at the vulgarity of his words. You feel him smile into your neck as he continues his ministrations, placing the whisper of a kiss here and there.  

“I do not understand you. You show me kindness, even apologizing for the acts of your brother, but then you insult me and my heritage. What is it that you want from me, Prince Aemond Targaryen?” You question him, hoping your voice comes out as steady as you command it. Aemond pulls back laughing, both hands now finding purchase on your hips, he begins to guide you backward towards the bed. The backs of your knees hit the wooden frame. 

“Perhaps I wish to see how far I can push you Little Wolf. I enjoy your banter and wish to hear more of it. It pleases me that I’ve been matched to a woman who is not afraid to speak to me in such a way. People so quickly cower and whisper when I am near, it is refreshing to be met head-on.” His blunt statement surprises you, you had not expected such a confession from the Prince.

“Perhaps–” You pause, choosing your next words carefully, “ – perhaps then we can learn to love one another in this marriage.” You almost whisper the last bit, uncertainty in your voice. 

“Yes, I think perhaps we can,” Aemond whispers back to you, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. The tension in the air is palpable, maybe he was waiting for you to make the first move. To see how far he could push you as he had said a moment ago. Deciding to test this hypothesis you stand on your tiptoes, slotting your lips against his, just as you did in the sept. A hungry growl leaves Aemond’s throat using his grip on your waist to pull you flush against his chest. He kisses you back with ferocity. 

A hand grapes your throat, guiding you down towards the bed, your back hitting the feather mattress. You gasp against Aemond’s lips, swallowing the sound, he continues his assault. His hand against your throat tightened, although not unpleasantly, heat rushing to your core. His lips begin to retrace their path down your jaw and the column of your neck, biting and sucking red marks in their wake. 

“Aemond– someone will see–” He parts from you only for a second, looking into your eyes. 

“Let them, after all, isn’t that what my imputant brother wanted proof of our coupling? Perhaps it will give him something to pleasure himself to–” The thought makes Aemond’s cock harden impossibly more in his trousers. The fact that he could pleasure his wife to a level that his brother could only imagine, was nearly enough to drive him over the edge. 

“Husband that is not reason enough to leave –” You're interrupted by a particularly sharp bite to the collarbone. A moan of pain and pleasure escapes past your lips, spurring your new husband onwards. With a sharp tug, Aemond pulls the bodice of your dress down, exposing your chest to him. He murmurs a simple “beautiful” under his breath before latching onto one of your nipples, sucking and nibbling at the flesh. Your back arches slightly in response, desperate to bring yourself closer to his touch. 

As he continues his ministrations he begins to unlace the remainders of your gown, shimmying them down your body, to pool at his feet. You feel his calloused hands roam up and down your body. Sketching your shape into his memory. His fingers knead the flesh of your breasts, your thighs, your ass. Finally, he swipes his fingers between your folds, you emit a soft whine at the contact. 

He raises an eyebrow, “I’ve barely even touched you yet Little Wolf, and you're already soaking my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you around my cock–” He trails off, mesmerized as he begins to pump two fingers in and out of your core. Your cheeks flush a deep scarlet at his words. Your hands find purchase in the sheets of your new bed. 

“Oh– oh Aemond –” You whisper in between breaths. 

“Say it again, say my name again,” It’s almost a plea, begging to hear it again.

“Husband– Aemond– My Dragon –” Aemond harshly withdraws his fingers from you. You nearly scream at the loss of the delicious contact. Discarding the remainder of his clothes, tossing them haphazardly to the side, Aemond grabs you by the ankles pulling you down towards the end of the bed where he stands. You catch site of his cock as he gives it a few tugs in preparation. The tip angry and red, glazed in his arousal for you. Your eyes widen a bit, your mother never prepared you for what might happen should your lord husband be too – big. 

Aemond sees your moment of concern, he positions himself over you, cock aligned at your entrance. His hand carresses your cheek, as he says “I shall be gentle, if you ask me to.Give you time to adjust –” 

“No,” Your answer surprises the both of you. “I want you, I am not some small flower, I can take what you give me. I want whatever you shall give me Husband.” You lean up to kiss the tip of his nose, as if to reassure him that what you say is true.

“Seven fucking Hells, you are something did you know that?” He rests his forehead agaisnt yours, as he ever so slowly begins to sheath himself inside of you. 

You let out a small giggle, whispering back “I know–” 

Aemond bottoms out inside of you, his cock fully enclosed by the walls of your cunt. He could die like this, he thinks. Cock sheathed in the cunt of his gorgeous Little Wolf. Your walls squeeze him perfectly, he needs to take a moment to catch his breath. He had fucked women before, whores in the Street of Silk. His brother having dragged him there once, and to seek some kind of perverted comfort there during The Dance. But none of them compared to this moment, none of them –

“Husband, Gods move please,” Aemond is brought out of his thoughts by your pleas, you voice hoarse with want and need. 

“With pleasure Little Wolf.” He begins to thrust, moving his hips at a slow and steady pace. It’s for his own sake as much as it is yours. He’s afraid that should he move to fast he won’t be able to carry on for very long. Beneath him your hands clutch the sheets of his bed, your cheeks are flushed the most lovely red, your hair played out in a halo around you on the pillow. If he could burn the image into his mind forever, then he certainly would. 

Aemond’s cock stretches you out perfectly, boardering on pain and pleasure, but only for the first moments. His thrusts are steady and calculated, but never the less delicious. The movement causes friction on your clit, sending a wave of pleasure to your core. It’s lovely, you think, but you want more. Moving from their place in the sheets, your hands settle on his hips, urging him to move faster.

“Aemond– more,” His lilac eye flits up to your face, asking for silent reassurance that that is indeed what you want. “For Gods sake Husband, move faster please I–” Not needing to be told twice, Aemond picks up speed. Where his thrusts were slow and sensual, now they are fast and hard. He fucks you like a man starved, as if he was told this is the last woman he will ever lay with. Which in his case, was true, since you were married after all. 

Your tits bounce at the force of his movement, your hands that were previously on his hips, begin to rake down his back. Your legs come up to circle his waist, drawing him impossibly closer. 

“You like this then, huh, Little Wolf. Treated like my own personal whore, to fuck how I please?” The sounds that fill the room are egregious, skin against skin, moans, whimpers, and screams. 

“Louder Little Wolf, howl for me, let the whole Keep hear how I pleasure you so,” Perhaps that same small part of him wanted his brother to hear. As if Aemond had something to prove to him, that he made a better husband, a better lover than Aegon ever will. 

“Aemond, Aemond, oh Aemond–” You chant his name like a mantra. His cock hits that sweet spot inside of you, you gasp eyes widening at the feeling. 

“Seems I’ve found where you feel pleasure best. Is that right Little Wolf?” 

“Yes, Gods Aemond, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna –” Hearing that was all the motivation he needed to pick up his pace even more. To fuck you even harder than before. He grips your hips pulling you closer to him at the end of the bed, from this angle he has full control over your body, and can fuck you as you so desire him to.

The force of his thrusts, and the friction against your clit cause you to see stars behind your eyes. With one last scream of his name, you cum around his cock. Your walls pulling him in, attempting to root him to you. Aemond however, does not let up, chasing afer his own release. 

“Just a moment more, my sweet, perfect Little Wolf. I’m going to breed you, and watch you swell with my pups. Wouldn’t you love that huh?” Aemond continues to piston in and out of you, the feeling almost too much, but still just as lovely as before. Nonsensical moans leave your lips, and Aemond laughs at you babbling, although not rudely. 

His hips begin to stutter as he nears his end, his heavy balls slapping against your cunt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” He mutters under his breath as you feel his seed coat your walls. The feeling warm, and full and lovely. Aemond remains seated inside of you as he rests his forehead once more to yours. You kiss his nose again, a new favorite spor perhaps. He offers you a small smile in return.

You both groan as he pulls out. Your cunt perfectly overstimulated and happy. Wordlessly Aemond leaves the bed, and begins to rummage around some drawers in one of the many pieces of furniture in the room. You worry for a brief moment that he will leave, and that he meant none of what he said. But as he brings a damp cloth between your thighs to clean you, your worries wash away. He tosses the rag aside, to be dealt with on the morrow. For now, all he wanted was to lay with his wife in his arms as he drifts off to sleep. 

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you move to covers to lie beneath them. Aemond pulls you to him, tucking the top of your head under his chin, he kisses your hair. You both think that perhaps this marriage will be fruitful, that over time you will learn to love one another. It seems as if you both are on a lovely start for that though as is. 

“Good night ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved),” Aemond mutters into your hair. 

“Sleep well, My Dragon,” you say in response. You both drift off into a peaceful sleep, held comfortably in each other's arms. No one knew what the morrow would bring, let alone a fortnight from now. But you both knew you would see it through together as equals, husband and wife, dragon and wolf.

Tag List:

@helaenaluvr @anukulee @darylandbethfanforever9 @stuckinaf4nfiction

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - Northern Frost Southern Sun

Summary - In the unforgiving North, a Southern princess struggles with her political marriage to Cregan, feeling like an outsider. As she voices her insecurities, their bond deepens, transforming their alliance into a passionate connection that bridges the divide between their worlds.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x Martell reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2124

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Born into nobility, my life had always felt scripted—a path inked not by my own desires but by the hands of the men around me. 

My father, my uncle, my brother, even the echoes of my grandfather shaped the walls around me. 

As a daughter of House Martell, the rulers of sun-drenched Dorne, my existence was predetermined, my fate a strategy in the game of thrones woven by my father, Prince Qoren Martell himself. 

A Martell daughter, after all, was a prize to be bartered, and he had chosen a formidable match.

He pledged me to Cregan Stark, Lord of House Stark, in the distant, unforgiving North. 

A union as calculated as it was unfeeling, our marriage was intended to bind the desert heat of Dorne with the ice and shadows of Winterfell. 

It was a pact, a quiet promise to fortify our realms and maintain a precarious balance in the ever-shifting powers of Westeros. My father assured me it was for our people, for peace. 

But I knew what the alliance would cost me: the endless winds that sliced through bone, the chill that would burrow into my soul, the lonely shadows that clung to Winterfell's walls like phantoms.

The North was all I had dreaded—an imposing land where silence lingered thickly in the air, and winter settled in more than just the stones. 

Every breath was laced with frost, every glance held a guarded judgment, as if they wondered if this southern-born woman could ever survive in a world so different, so grim. 

And always, there were whispers—"the Dornish wife"—spoken softly yet deliberately, trailing me like spectres through the dim corridors.

Yet amid the cold and the solitude, Cregan Stark surprised me. 

He was not the man I had envisioned: distant and unyielding, a creature as cold as the land he ruled. 

Instead, Cregan had a quiet strength, a kindness that seemed out of place in such a harsh land. He understood, perhaps better than I, the challenges I faced here. 

With subtle gestures and quiet assurances, he tried to ease my discomfort, his attentions more thoughtful than I'd dared hope. He never pressed, but he was there—a grounding presence, a warmth that, little by little, began to soften the edges of my isolation.

A moon had passed since our union. I was neither entirely happy nor entirely sorrowful; I was simply... here. 

Somewhere between contentment and restlessness, caught in a place that wasn't mine yet somehow, piece by piece, was becoming so. 

Winterfell was no closer to being home, but Cregan's attentions made the frigid halls more bearable, his patience an anchor as I drifted, my heart searching for familiarity in a sea of foreignness.

One evening, as twilight painted the snow in hues of indigo and grey, I stood on the balcony, gazing out across Winterfell. 

The frosty landscape stretched endlessly, an ocean of cold where dawn seemed forever on the edge of arriving but never quite here. 

As I watched the endless expanse of snow, I remembered the hot, golden sands of Sunspear. 

In Dorne, the sun-kissed our skin, the scent of ripe figs and sea salt filled the air. Here, every corner held a chill, every shadow seemed to whisper secrets.

In that stillness, I heard a voice—a voice I had come to know well, warm yet edged with the subtle command of a lord.

"What's on your mind?" Cregan's words reached me, low and tender.

Startled, I turned to see him leaning on the railing beside me, his gaze thoughtful. His presence was a welcome warmth, and yet I found myself instinctively closing in, the winter wind cutting through my gown.

"Nothing," I replied, a feeble defence as my voice carried softly into the chill.

He studied me quietly, his eyes catching the slight shiver that ran through me as the wind nipped at my shoulders. 

"Doesn't look like 'nothing,'" he said, his voice low. "You're cold. Come inside." 

Without waiting for my reply, he draped his cloak over my shoulders, guiding me toward the warmth of our chambers, stopping by the hearth as the flames crackled to life.

"I don't belong," I murmured, staring into the fire. My fingers traced the thick Northern fabric of my gown—a cloth I'd hoped would make me feel less like an outsider. 

The weight of the words hung between us as if spoken aloud for the first time, stirring the silence in the dim room.

"What do you mean, my love?" Cregan's voice broke the quiet, a softness I hadn't expected. 

He turned to face me, his eyes searching mine with a rare vulnerability as if my answer mattered more than the words themselves.

I took a long, steadying breath, watching the flames dance and trying to gather the right words. 

"They still see me as different," I whispered. "A stranger, from a land they neither know nor trust. I try to blend in, to be... what I think they want. But sometimes, I wonder if they'll ever truly see me as one of their own." 

My voice trembled as the truth spilt out, deeper than I'd intended. "They whisper, Cregan when they think I can't hear. They don't trust me. And some days, I'm not sure they ever will."

Cregan listened in silence, his gaze steady and unwavering. 

Without a word, he reached for my hand, his calloused fingers rough yet gentle as they enveloped mine, grounding me in the midst of my insecurities.

"Give them time," he said softly, his voice like a balm. "The North can be as harsh as winter itself, slow to warm, but it's not unyielding." 

His hand lifted my chin, guiding my gaze up to meet his. In his eyes, I saw not just kindness, but an unwavering strength, as if he could will my doubts away by the force of his conviction alone.

"You belong here, with me," he said, his voice a quiet promise. "No whispers or frost will ever change that."

I felt his words settle over me like a cloak, their warmth reaching parts of my heart I hadn't realized were cold. But still, uncertainty lingered, stubborn and unrelenting. 

Perhaps sensing my hesitation, Cregan shifted closer, his presence wrapping around me like an unbreakable fortress.

He cupped my cheek with a tenderness that both surprised and soothed me. 

"You are the heat I've always been missing," he murmured, his voice low and thick with meaning. 

Slowly, his hand drifted down, sliding under the folds of my gown with a touch that sent a shiver through me—a sensation born not of the cold, but of something deeper.

"What are you doing?" I asked, a laugh escaping as I fought back my nervousness.

"Showing you." His voice was gentle, a playful glint in his eyes. "Showing you that you belong."

With a tender confidence, his hands moved, sending ripples through me that melted the tension from my body. 

His touch was warm and steady, his fingers tracing up my sides, and for the first time since coming to the North, I felt my fears begin to ease as if his presence alone could erase them. 

The doubts, the whispers—they all faded as his hands explored, each caress a quiet reassurance.

His gaze held mine, unwavering, and in that moment, there was an intimacy that transcended touch, a promise woven in the quiet between us. 

He leaned in, his lips finding mine, capturing them with a gentleness that made me feel like I was being seen for the first time. His kiss was both soft and fervent, his lips warm as they moved against mine, igniting a fire that outmatched any northern hearth.

As his hands roamed over my body, rough and calloused from years of wielding steel, they were uncharacteristically gentle, tracing the lines of my skin as if memorizing each curve. 

His fingers held a kind of reverence, as if I were something precious, not just the wife bound to him by a political alliance but a person who was cherished.

In that moment, he lifted me, guiding me slowly towards the bed, never once breaking the kiss. 

I felt myself sink into the softness of the furs as he laid me down, the flickering fire casting its amber glow across the room, cocooning us in its warmth. 

There was a tenderness in his touch as he caressed me, his movements slow and purposeful, each gesture a quiet declaration.

The world outside the chamber ceased to exist; there was no cold, no looming suspicion, no whispers echoing down the corridors. 

Only Cregan and the fire between us, burning bright and fierce.

His lips trailed down my neck, each kiss a spark that sent warmth radiating through me. He paused, his gaze seeking mine as his hand found the ties of my gown, his touch both reverent and questioning. 

I met his eyes, giving him the permission he silently sought, and with careful, deliberate movements, he began to untie it, each pull of the fabric a slow unveiling.

As the gown slipped away, leaving me bare before him, I felt no vulnerability, only an overwhelming sense of being cherished. 

Cregan's eyes held nothing but admiration, and in that look, he banished every doubt, every whisper that had haunted me since I'd arrived in the North.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice raw and thick with emotion. "So beautiful."

His words soaked into me, warming those fragile places hidden within, and I felt myself drawn to him, my fingers threading into his hair, pulling him close. 

His warmth was a balm, a grounding presence I needed as his lips found mine, slow and deliberate, speaking promises only we could hear.

With a practised, fluid ease, he shed the last of his clothes, his gaze never breaking from mine. 

His bare skin met mine in a press that was both electric and soothing, each inch of contact igniting a surge of feeling, of completeness that made me gasp. 

His hands traced down my sides, exploring the curves and lines of my body, as if they held secrets he'd yearned to know. 

Every touch, every brush of his fingers sent shivers across my skin.

He lowered himself, aligning our bodies with a reverence that made my heart ache. 

When he settled between my thighs, his touch shifted, moving from a delicate exploration to a quiet, steady possession. 

His grip on me tightened, anchoring me beneath him, and his eyes held a ferocity that was matched by the tenderness in his touch. He was wholly mine, and I, his.

"You're mine," he whispered his voice a low growl that sent a thrill through me. "Mine."

"Yes," I breathed, my fingers pressing into his shoulders as I clung to him, letting myself believe it. "Yours."

He moved with a deliberate rhythm, each thrust a declaration, an unspoken vow that silenced the doubts within me. 

Every part of me, every fragment I thought too broken to matter, felt seen, treasured. 

The warmth grew between us, winding up in intensity as he continued, his movements steady, yet laced with a simmering need that built with each passing moment.

His hands roamed over me, possessive yet reverent, fingers tracing gentle lines along my skin. His lips left trails of warmth, soft whispers mingling with our breaths. 

The connection between us thrummed with a strength that felt sacred, binding us beyond words, deeper than the physical.

Our rhythm intensified, his hands gripping my waist, his lips capturing my moans as we chased the rising wave together. 

The air was thick with the sounds of our bodies, the soft crackle of the fire, the murmurs of our whispered names.

In that moment, there was no North or South, no whispers of "the Dornish wife." There was only Cregan and me, bound together by a love that had taken root in the most unlikely of places.

When the climax came, it hit with a force that left us breathless, a bliss that surged through us like fire and water, fierce yet softening. 

He held me through it, our breaths mingling as we trembled in the aftermath, our hearts beating as one.

Cregan collapsed beside me, his arms wrapping around me as he pulled me close. We lay there in the afterglow, our bodies entwined, the fire casting a soft glow over us.

"You belong here," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to my soul. "With me."

"I do," I replied, my heart swelling with a newfound certainty. "I belong with you."

As I drifted off to sleep in his arms, I knew that no matter the challenges we might face, we would face them together. 

The North might be cold and unforgiving, but with Cregan by my side, I felt a warmth that could withstand any storm. 

And in his embrace, I found not just a home, but a love that would endure.

A/n - I am such a sucker for any Dornish reader works 😝

Cregan tag list - @veesuguru

[baelarys]

i like aemond and his niece marriage live with they children they so adorable. but i wanna see the children spend day with grandparent like with alicent look like or with rhaenyra when they go to dragonstone. and perhaps do criston ( reader true father ) as grandpa in secret look like….

𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚

Aemond Targaryen x reader velaryon¡Niece!

Word count:1727

Warninig:fluff and more fluff

Pt2 pt1 pt4

Your heart was beating with an enthusiasm you could barely contain as you made your way to your mother's chambers. The news of her arrival, delivered by one of your ladies that morning, had been a ray of joy in your day. You decided to bring Laenor with you, as the other children were immersed in their usual activities.

As you reached the door to the chambers, the guards opened it wide. You entered with a mix of excitement and nervousness, searching for your mother around the room. You found her resting on one of the luxurious pieces of furniture, her figure elegantly serene.

"My sweet girl," Rhaenyra exclaimed upon seeing you, her eyes shining with a warm, maternal light. She extended her arms towards you, and your heart overflowed with nostalgia as you saw her familiar face, as radiant as ever.

"Mother," you said in a trembling voice, feeling how time faded in her presence. "Father," you added, addressing Daemon as well. The prince, with his usual roguish charm, greeted you with a smile full of affection.

"I’m so glad you’re here," you said, taking a seat beside her and wasting no time bringing Laenor closer to her arms so she could see him better.

Rhaenyra took the baby with great care, avoiding waking him, as her eyes scanned every detail of Laenor's face with a mix of wonder and joy. She rocked him gently, and you couldn’t help but feel immensely proud at that moment.

"He’s so beautiful," she murmured, her voice filled with sweetness as she stroked the fine, delicate hair of the baby with a trembling hand.

Daemon approached to observe the little one, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it tenderly. "He looks like you," he commented with a sincere smile, which you mirrored on your face.

"Where are Jace and Luke?" you asked, looking for the children around the room. You only saw Joffrey, who was playing with his toys on the floor. You stood up and approached him with a smile.

"Where are Jace and Luke?" you asked, looking for the children around the room. You only saw Joffrey, who was playing with his toys on the floor. You stood up and approached him with a smile.

"Somewhere in the castle," your mother replied, her attention entirely focused on the baby.

"Joff," you called softly, crouching beside him. The dark-haired child turned at your presence, his eyes shining with excitement and surprise.

"Y/N!" he shouted with joy, throwing himself into your arms. You welcomed him in a warm embrace, letting out a small laugh as you held him close.

"Look how much you’ve grown," you said, running your hand through his thick, curly brown hair. "Has your dragon hatched yet?"

"Yes, yes, it has," he responded enthusiastically, extending his hands into the air to show you how big it would become. "And it will grow this big."

"I don’t doubt it," you said, smiling as you took his hand and stood up. "By the way, I have something to show you."

You guided Joffrey to where you had been sitting before, carefully bringing him closer to Laenor, who had now awakened. His violet eyes scanned the room with curiosity.

"This is your nephew, Laenor," you said, taking Joffrey's hand and gently guiding it to touch the baby's cheek. Laenor directed all his attention toward the boy in front of him. "What do you think?"

"Laenor," Joffrey repeated, seeming to reflect on the name. Suddenly, Laenor smiled and let out a few babbles towards Joffrey, bringing a smile to the older boy’s face. "Look, Mama! He’s smiling at me!" he exclaimed excitedly, looking at Rhaenyra with joy.

Rhaenyra, touched by the scene, watched her children with a tender expression. "So it seems," she commented, her voice filled with emotion.

They spent some time talking and enjoying their time together until Laenor began to show signs of hunger. You decided to leave to feed the baby, allowing your mother to rest after her long journey.

You walked down the hallways towards the nursery, the place where your children usually played. Just as you turned a corner, you saw Luke and Jace walking back to your mother’s chambers.

"Guys," you called with a smile, and they turned at the sound of your voice. Recognizing you, they quickly approached, with Luke being the first to embrace you immediately.

"Oh, look, Jace," Luke said, pointing to Laenor, whom you were holding in your arms. Without hesitation, Luke extended his arms and took the baby in his hands with a gesture of admiration.

"Where were you?" you asked as you took Jace by the arm and started walking towards the nursery. The two boys followed, with Luke completely absorbed in playing with Laenor.

"In the yard," Jace replied, running a hand lazily through his hair.

"What’s his name?" Luke asked, lifting the baby in the air. Laenor let out a series of giggles and small cries of joy, delighted by the game.

"His name is Laenor," you answered with a smile. Jace, upon hearing the name, looked at you with an expression of surprise and nostalgia. "Laenor," he repeated, his voice laden with an emotion that seemed to evoke memories.

They continued walking until they reached the nursery, where you found Aerion, Vaera, and Vaerys, already entertained with their usual games. They weren’t alone; Queen Alicent was there, smiling sweetly while playing with the twins, their golden hair shining in the light streaming through the window. Ser Criston Cole, standing nearby, was conversing softly with Aerion, offering a patient smile to the boy, who seemed to be listening intently.

Upon entering the nursery, you paused for a moment to observe Queen Alicent, who looked up from her game with the twins upon noticing your presence. Her face lit up with a friendly smile, but there was still that assessing look that always seemed present in her expression. You inclined your head in a respectful bow. "Your Majesty," you greeted courteously. Jace and Luke, following your example, also bowed, though you noticed the stiffness in their movements, clearly tense in the presence of the queen and her knight.

Alicent returned the greeting with a nod, though it was evident her eyes were now on the baby in Luke's arms. "Y/N," she began in a kindly tone, "I see the little ones are well accompanied today."

"Yes, Your Majesty," you replied with a faint smile. "I wanted my children to spend time with their uncles." Alicent nodded slowly, although a fleeting expression of discomfort crossed her face. It seemed she had noticed the tension in the air.

Ser Criston, ever observant, stepped forward with a slight bow, clearly more directed towards you than your brothers. "Princess," he greeted formally, before stepping back a little from Aerion, giving you the space you needed.

Alicent turned to Criston and nodded slightly, as if they had shared a silent understanding. "Perhaps we should let them enjoy a family moment," she suggested with a polite smile. "Aerion, Vaera, Vaerys," she called softly to the children, "I’m afraid I must go, but I hope you continue to enjoy your day."

The children nodded obediently, although Aerion seemed slightly disappointed that his conversation with Ser Criston had been interrupted. Alicent waved them off with a gentle gesture before turning and leaving the room, followed by Ser Criston, who gave you one last bow before following her.

With the departure of the queen and her knight, the atmosphere in the nursery immediately relaxed. The children looked at you expectantly, their eyes bright with curiosity as they observed the two boys accompanying you. You smiled, noting the impatience on their faces, and leaned down toward them, ready to make introductions.

"Children," you began, adopting a jovial tone, "I want to introduce you to my brothers. This is Jacaerys, but you can call him Jace," you indicated the older of the two boys, who flashed a friendly smile and nodded. "And this is Lucerys, but we call him Luke," you added, pointing to the younger one, who greeted them with a shy bow.

Aerion, always the most curious of your children, immediately stepped forward, his eyes shining with excitement. "Are you princes?" he asked with a mix of wonder and admiration, his voice full of interest. "Do you have dragons too?"

Luke smiled at the child’s direct question. "Yes, we are princes," he replied modestly, "and we do have dragons. My dragon’s name is Arrax."

Aerion's eyes widened even more, and he wasted no time in asking another question. "Is Arrax big? Does he fly fast? And what about Jace's dragon?"

Jace let out a small laugh at Aerion's enthusiasm, crouching down to be at his height. "My dragon’s name is Vermax," he replied with a warm smile, "and yes, he’s very fast, although not as big as some other dragons. But someday he’ll grow much larger."

While Aerion continued bombarding Luke and Jace with questions —"What’s it like to fly? Is it scary or fun? Have you ever fallen?"— the twins, Vaera and Vaerys, approached Jace with cautious steps. One of them, Vaerys, gently tugged on his sleeve, her big violet eyes filled with curiosity.

"Is your dragon very pretty?" she asked innocently, her voice sweet like a child’s melody.

Jace, moved by the girls' tenderness, crouched to their level and nodded. "Yes, Vermax is very pretty. He has scales of a deep green color and golden eyes that shine like the sun."

Vaera, the other twin, looked at Jace with growing fascination. "Will you teach us to fly on him someday?" she asked, her cheeks flushing with excitement.

Jace laughed softly. "Well, that might be a little complicated," he replied kindly, "but perhaps we can watch him fly from the ground. I promise you, it's an impressive sight."

The twins exchanged excited glances and squeezed each other, clearly delighted by the idea. Aerion, not stopping, continued firing off questions, while Jace and Luke answered with patience and occasional laughter.

Meanwhile, Laenor had been left to his own devices on the floor, and with the determination of a curious baby, he began to crawl across the ground. Slowly, he made his way toward you, his violet eyes fixed on your face. When he reached you, he grabbed onto your knees, trying to pull himself up with little murmurs of effort. You couldn't help but smile at his perseverance.

"Come on, little warrior!" you encouraged him softly, leaning down to help him get a better grip. Laenor wobbled for a moment, but with a proud smile, he managed to stand up, leaning on you for support. The children's laughter echoed again, contagious with the joy of the moment.

[nebulaafterdark]

Dragonseeds (Pt. 1)

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Cole)!Reader

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

18+ ONLY MDNI

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

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

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

He often tells her, to which the princess smiles.

“As dearly as I love you.”

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

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

“You did not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then we must try again.” Y/N grins.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you helping me?”

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

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

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

“And my mother?”

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

————————————————————————

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

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

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

“Have a bit of fun.”

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

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

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

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

“No.” Aegon shakes his head.

“Think of the babe.”

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

Alicent swallows hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again she nods.

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

“No,” she clutches him a bit tighter.

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

“My brother is dead?”

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

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

“You must.”

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

“You are with child.” He reminds her.

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

“You could not have changed it.”

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

“My heart, you should not be alone.”

“Please,” she insists.

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

————————————————————————

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

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

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

Y/N blinks at him.

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

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

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

Part 2

Aegon taglist: @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @niyahnotnia

[jiminrings]

if-then

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 7k

glimpse: you're an alien in prince jungkook's planet — both literally and figuratively.

alternatively, jungkook gives his nickname for you to someone else in a fit of anger, and you've never been more upset.

[ fluff, angst, painfully oblivious n dense alien koo, mutual pining (yes MUTUAL!!!!), the glaring concept of not being good n whole enough to deserve love (yikes but i Swear it gets better), mentions of injuries ]

notes: after being asked for literal years to write an alien au, it's finally here!!!! mwah thank u for patiently waiting :D

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook’s fond of appraising things.

He’s fond of assigning values to things that may or may not hold some bit of importance to his life, whether its value proves itself in the present or the future. Jungkook likes setting his literal ducks in a row, and the little inanimate yellow tokens that his brother brought back from Earth serve as a discreet (not really, though) reminder that he may have some hoarder tendencies.

Jungkook’s not really a hoarder-hoarder; it just happens that he likes keeping things, sometimes for no apparent reason at all.

He likes swiping the flashlights that the night guards use to stash in his own personal “emergency” (not that there’s ever been one, nor will there ever be) cabinet, just because he wants to be prepared for a natural catastrophe that won’t probably ever happen in his area. He’s already seen a couple of films that humans have made, and if ever comes a time that Planet Twell has a dinosaurian monster battle it out with a gigantic prehistoric ape, Jungkook’s proud to say that he has a couple flashlights for him and his brothers to use.

In addition, Jungkook likes picking flowers just before they go out of season. His eldest brother’s already cussed him out for it, but he’ll still do what he does best (?), if best means “preserving” the flowers by drowning them in water every ten minutes so they wouldn’t wilt and he’d still get to see them during off-peak days.

Prince Jungkook likes appraising things in his own definition and pace. They’re never categorized in his head for what they actually do, but for what kind of unexplainable fulfillment fills his chest whenever he thinks about the item.

The youngest prince of Twell didn’t like it when there was a commotion at the lily field and the citizens ran out to see what it was about, instead of eating their slices of cake with the fondant that he made out of scratch. Jungkook didn’t like the fondant either because there must be something insanely wrong with itself (or it’s just that he made it just as bad), but he didn’t like being alone either when finding out about the taste.

He didn’t like seeing the tiger lilies he planted himself squished underneath an unknown figure, who may or may not have fallen from the sky, judging by the way you’re wincing alone with no aircraft, no parachute, nor any other person with you.

Jungkook didn’t like seeing you, an alien, who’s just as confused with the entire ordeal. You can’t remember anything about how or why you’ve gotten here — all you know is your name and who you are, and unexpectedly so, the first prince who’s gotten to where you are isn’t so thrilled about the fact.

He’s fond of appraising things, and although he’s not extremely excited about you just as he had been when Yoongi brought home trinkets from him during his trip to Earth (including the very seeds for the tiger lilies you’ve destroyed), he’ll make do.

Jungkook will try and make you mean something, if not everything, to him.

.

.

.

Prince Jungkook has come to learn that you’re part human.

You’re neither fully his kind nor his type (or atleast that’s what he thinks so) and he doesn’t know what to feel about that. He doesn’t know what to feel about only the slight panic that filled you knowing that it’s still unexplained of how or why you’re in Twell; even more, he doesn’t know what to feel that you’re neither scared nor intimidated by him.

You don’t know what to feel either when Jungkook, who’s only mildly shocked about your existence in general, delivers his first question to you and it’s not of the sort that you expected. He looks soft and round, unlike the hearsay about his kind that only amounts to half of you. He doesn’t look aloof and unaccepting at all — if anything, he looks at you like you’re the one who’s cruel instead of him.

Jungkook almost completely does not care about who you are or where you’re from, but what he cares about is if you have any trinkets with you that he could possibly have. Out of anything he could possibly solicit from you, he only asks for so little, no matter how odd.

“T-trinkets?” you squeak, brows raising in surprise. “I’m sorry, Prince Jungkook — y-you’re asking if I have trinkets so you could have them?”

“Yeah,” he nods, lips pursed and cheeks puffed out as he confirms your confusion. “It’s my birthday, and I want to have a trinket.”

“Oh,” you blink once, twice,  a small smile playing on your lips to replace the fact that you’ve been confused for the entire half hour since you came back to consciousness. “Happy birthday, prince.”

“I see.” 

“It’s thank you,” you mutter automatically, coughing lightly when he only knits his brows at you. He’s cute this way — innocent, even. “I-I mean you’re supposed to say thank you when someone greets you, or when someone does something nice for you in general.”

“Okay. My brother forgot to teach me that,” Jungkook hums in recognition, eyes briefly glowing with a bluish hue before he regains his composure. “Thank you.”

You wonder if staring is also frowned upon in this planet.

You wonder if it would get you a mean glare or a sarcastic snicker if you were to stare at Prince Jungkook a little longer without any thoughts floating in your brain, except for the fact that you are completely unaware that you’re already zoning out on him. 

You wonder if it would be wrong for your eyes to take in every single detail of him from his short hair that softly falls onto his forehead, to his supposed birthday attire that only consists of a white button-up, to his gleaming royal jewelry that rightfully so, only looks like it would belong to him and him only.

“Trinket?” he reminds you, head tilting and eyes widening as he cranes his neck to look at you beyond the table that separates the both of you.

“Oh! U-uhm,” you scour your pockets immediately just to present something, and bluntly put, you haven’t even checked your well-being, much less the possessions you have on yourself. You feel more than relieved to know that it isn’t empty, because oddly enough, you’d feel a little upset— a little down if you were to disappoint a prince you just met not more than an hour ago. “I have this handkerchief, I guess.”

“Perfect!” Jungkook exclaims, leaning to grab the baby blue square from you that’s embroidered with your initials that are unfamiliar to him. He clutches it into his hand tightly with a smile on his face, the happiness later dwindling when he realizes he has no clue of what he’s holding. “What is it supposed to do?”

You blank at that, meekly scratching your temple. “Nothing, I think. It’s just there for most people, but I’ve never had to use it.”

“You’ve never had to use it, but you still take it with you?” he attempts to clarify, a slight frown embedded into his lips as he looks down on your averagely prized possession.

“I don’t mean never as in never ever, and I’ve used it a couple of times like everyone else does, but it’s just-…” you trail off, shrugging helplessly because you can’t describe the concept of nothing to him easily. “It’s just there.”

You’re more than fatigued and a lot more confused (albeit less worried) about the semantics of your presence here in Twell, specifically in Prince Jungkook’s office, but the latter doesn’t seem to take mind as he takes you with an open mind.

“Okay. Thank you. I’ll have it,” he announces, shifting his eyes between you and your (his now) handkerchief that he’s slowly and hesitantly unraveling, only to put back into its original square form after every move.

“You will?” you almost snort, a tiny bit amused that a prince is clenching your handkerchief like its the most interesting thing in the galaxy.

“Yes,” he hums distractedly, looking up at you as he lightly scratches the embroidered teddy bear at the corner of the fold. “I will have you too.”

“You will?! You’re not going to dispose me or anything?” you straighten immediately, eyes more frantic and disbelieving to hear that you’re being taken care of (or something of the sort) than just awhile ago when you were unsure of your fate. “Why?”

“Don’t know,” Jungkook shrugs just as easily as you do. “I just want to.”

( ♡ ) 

Prince Jungkook isn’t so bad, and neither is Twell.

The planet isn’t so bad in the sense that although you don’t feel the most welcome you have ever been in your entire life, there’s a recognition that seeps into your bones that some of them, if not most, would set out a plate for you if ever Jungkook came into their homes. He’s the social butterfly of his family; the baby lamb that’s set out into the field to check up on everyone else and act as a mannequin of sorts that’s a little less superficial, and a little more warm.

Jungkook isn’t so bad either in the sense that although it’s the bare minimum to do so, he doesn’t throw his kindness back to your face even in the most critical situations, with now being the sole exception.

With the exception of now, Prince Jungkook has not ever acted rashly towards you. He wasn’t annoyed with you when you kept asking him questions of what it would mean to act as his security detail, and he wasn’t irked either when your questions about your heritage (and his by extension) toed personal lines that no one else would dare cross.

With the exception of now, Jungkook’s never acted rude towards you. He wasn’t as guarded with your existence like his older brothers were; as a matter of fact, he even came to your defense when some of them theorized that you were only here in their planet to act as a precursor for their downfall.

With the exception of now, Jungkook’s never been this cruel; with the ultimatum of his pride over your heart, he’s never made you feel this different and alienated from him — with, of course, the exception of now.

Heartbreak is a human emotion.

The weakness of the concept is disturbingly human and vulnerable. There’s no escape from it, even if the said percentage of human in your blood is barely half and could light a candle to your more evolved, far more powerful Twellian genes. It’s a sickening emotion to feel, much more have it get you carried away from what you have to do at hand.

The grip that said heartbreakhas on you is unimaginable, far more different than what your people, not humans, tell you how it’d feel like. There had already been an uproar when it was announced that you were appointed as Prince Jungkook’s guard, the news of an impure Twellian bearing the coveted position receiving every reaction possible — from fear, to distaste, and even to genuine amazement.

All of the kingdom’s advisers had theorized that despite you of being impure heritage, youwere superior in terms of physical capabilities. With everything else you’ve been theorized to lack at, you bite at the possibility that the ache in your chest is attributed to your stunted emotions.

You feel painfully human. You feel what heartbreak is, and compared to what others have made it out to be, it’s an emotion that you can’t put into words.

“You can’t, Jungkook,” you firmly say once more with your ears ringing, not because the volume of the club makes you want to get down on your knees, but because you’ve perhaps heard something far worse; far more grating, and far more overwhelming than what your heart could even bear. "All of your brothers specifically insisted for me to bring you back before midnight."

They say that your hearing’s supposed to be better. They say that you could see far more colors than what your alien counterpart could ever do. They say that for everything else you lacked, you made up for with the way you’re more physically advanced and therefore adept to protecting the planet’s youngest prince.

No one’s ever said that you’ll be safe from Jungkook himself.

"Jungkook, let's go home. Please," you plead through your teeth, the word you’ve last spoken being the latest term you’ve taught him. Jungkook, along with everyone else, is not familiar with begging; they’re not familiar with desperation so wrung out, there’s actually a word made just for it.

Jungkook only scowls at you, eyes turning a bright red as opposed to his usual pink allotted for you. "Butt out," he murmurs, tightly crossing his arms as his nostrils flare involuntarily. ”You promised me I could be out tonight."

You’re starting to get over the heartbreak little by little, the tantrum thrown by the young prince making you indifferent. 

Maybe you just misheard a few minutes ago — maybe, it was only a fluke and you didn’t hear it correctly the first time. Maybe it’s only your faulty impureness that made you susceptible to just hearing your nickname out of nowhere. Maybe, it’s not heartbreak that you were feeling, but rather only a subdued version of it by seeing Jungkook disappointed at you doing your job.

It’s your fault, you guess. Perhaps it’s the fault of the bustle of the club and the hundreds of dialects you could hear all at once finally got to you, overwhelming you to the point that you heard Jungkook calling for your name, despite not looking at you all.

You’re about to plead even more for the both of you to go back already; to save him from a lecture from all of his brothers and for you to be spared an even harsher scolding because they think you’ve gone too soft for him — but then you hear it. Again. 

Jungkook clenches his jaw tightly, eyes glowing a bright magenta before he opens his mouth.

"Come on, princess," he calls you by his term of endearment for you, yet his hand is outstretched for the female Twellian on his side.

He’s not calling you — he’s not even paying attention to you. Jungkook isn’t giving you a shred of his focus but he wants you to hear him call someone else the endearment he had playfully made up for you, to which you grew accustomed to without fail. He wants you to see how he gives it to someone else easily, the syllables falling from his tongue easily getting into the girl’s head.

Jungkook wants you to know how angry he is over you doing your job, he hits you where it hurts. He has no idea what heartbreak is supposed to feel like, but he doubts that you’d even feel that emotion over what he’s done — and if you actually do over something seemingly simple (for him atleast), he could only think that everyone else is exaggerating what it felt like.

Your heart, whatever is human of it, skips. It tightens and it loosens alarmingly so, almost as if you have no control for the liquid hurt that compromises you.

“I’ll show you a good time tonight, princess,” Jungkook whispers to her ear loudly for good measure, eyes darting up at you, only for him to see that you’ve been watching the whole time. 

You almost can’t tear your eyes away until Jungkook crashes his lips into hers, your nickname easily falling out of his lips as if the endearment is free for everyone; as if it’s never been yours in the first place and you only borrowed it out of desperation.

Your whole flight home is quiet.

Jungkook makes it back home before midnight, but you don’t.

( ♡ ) 

Jungkook’s been looking for you the whole day.

He’s been looking for you since he woke up, and that was fifteen ungodly hours ago when he had risen in a cold sweat. Jungkook felt sick to his stomach, and despite his insistence that something must be severely wrong with him for him to feel that way, the palace doctor (along with every other physician, healer, and reader he knew of) confirmed that nothing was out of place.

Jungkook’s supposedly okay, yet it feels like every part of him is being wrung dry. There’s an ache to his chest that renders him stupid because he feels like he’s forgotten every word, every lesson, and every vaguest bit of semblance that would detail about what he felt.

All of a sudden, Jungkook feels like he’s forgotten what the palace looks like. It’s as if he’s forgotten how tiles are supposed to feel cold on bare feet and how bleak his days are when he doesn’t have you by his side, even if the palace is also occupied by his brothers and the grounds are teeming with staff.

The young prince suddenly feels that he’s forgotten the very layout of his home because his mouth is agape at each room he walks in, simply because you’re not there. He’s practically turned the palace upside down just to grab a whiff of you somehow, and yet you’re nowhere to be found. 

Nothing from his or his brothers’ belongings are missing. There’s not a single piece of furniture that’s tilted askew. Nothing has been taken from Jungkook except his peace of mind and the capacity to just stay still because your sudden disappearance unsettles him like no other.

.

.

.

You’re back home, except you’re no longer dressed in the same outfit you left him in. 

Your uniform’s been ditched for something more casual — something more worn and lived in to the point that it looks like a shirt that’s never been yours in the first place. The sight of you, dressed in clothes that’s not yours, puts a bitter taste to Jungkook’s mouth.

He’s never been that selfish before. He’s generous and lenient as far as a prince could go, and yet he’s never felt this territorial over something seemingly as trivial as a shared garment.

The concern feels too vulnerable to the point that only a silly human, something Jungkook’s not, would consider it as a burden.

“Where were you?” he asks with the gentleness he didn’t think he’d possess after being worried shitless about you, the panic he had harbored for the longest time immediately dissipating at you.

Jungkook wants to be mad at you so, so, so badly. He wants to be angry at the way it was irresponsible for you to be alone because after all, your strength wouldn’t compensate for the gleaming fact that you’re not from here in the first place.

“I was on my leave,” you answer simply, keeping your hands behind your back as if this was any other outing with Prince Jungkook and not just Jungkook, the same man who’d call you princess for fun and hold your hand just for the sake of it.

“I didn’t say you could be on leave,” he lowers his voice, jaw tightening at the sight of you being indifferent towards him.

“I asked your brothers.”

Jungkook feels that sickness again. He feels that tinge of metal that lingers in the roof of his mouth and he wants to spit it out in front of you just to see if he’d find something else that’s not the sensations he’s been experiencing since you came around; if he’d find something else that’s not your doing yet affects him just as much.

“What if I needed protecting, hm? What if something happened to me while you were gone?” Jungkook half-taunts, shrinking on himself despite doing his hardest to appear big by crossing his arms.

“I knew you were in good hands, prince,” you tense, the tide that comes with your tone washing over Jungkook until he drowns in the realization that you were there while she was in his quarters. “I made to sure to hear that you were in very good company before I left.”

( ♡ ) 

Jungkook’s on a self-imposed break from his duties.

The prince’s duties almost exclusively involved chatting and being charismatic in general, along with the occasional goodwill event wherein he had to be all over the place just to take care of things, and not once did he ever take this long of a radio silent break — or atleast that’s what one of his brothers said.

He’s been cooped up in his room since you came back two weeks ago. Despite your absence (if you could even call it that) that barely lasted for an entire day, along with your confrontation just spanning within minutes, it’s been theorized by one of Jungkook’s brothers, again, that it’s because of your doing.

The youngest prince is theorized to be sulking over you and you simply cannot believe it.

You refuse to believe that Jungkook is bedridden with sadness because to begin with, his kind isn’t even supposed to feel such type of intense emotion. He shouldn’t be swayed by you — he shouldn’t be preoccupied with such pathetic, human emotion that you thought only you could feel because of him.

You rebuff the idea that he’s paralyzed with guilt, not only because you feel that it’s physically impossible for him to be, but because it’s him. Someone of Jungkook’s power and influence wouldn’t be so ridden with guilt that he refuses to show his face to you because he’s ashamed of hurting you.

You reject with your whole heart each and every idea that his brothers pitch you. You stay stationary with Jungkook and yet you will yourself to amount to something, even if it isn’t for him, just so the sickening feeling of being replaced won’t ever creep up to you.

You’re in love with him and it’s terrifying.

What’s even more terrifying is that you’re not the only one who knows so.

“I suggest not falling in love with Jungkook.”

You look up so sharply, your neck aches at the speed. Yoongi stands above you with a perfunctory smile, and with just the tiny bit of effort for him to come near you almost makes you forget that he’s Jungkook’s brother who had been particularly vocal about being wary of you.

“I’m sorry?” you murmur in disbelief, eyes wide and unblinking as you take into account his perfect tone.

“It’s obvious, you know?” he smiles tightly, pulling a chair to sit himself down across from you. Yoongi looks relaxed as he takes you in, almost as if he hasn’t spent half a year avoiding you. “I’ve seen the way you look at my brother. I’ve seen it over and over again when I was sent for a mission on your planet.”

You want to ask him why he’s telling you this. You want to ask badly why he’s saying this now when you’ve been certain for the longest time that your adoration for Jungkook wasn’t apparent in a land of creatures that don’t know what love, in your own terms, is supposed to look like.

You want to ask Yoongi why it shouldn’t be Jungkook, but you can’t bring yourself to — not because you know the answer deep down in your subconscious, but because you’re afraid that he would only make sense—

That he’d only solidify why Jungkook should never be in your orbit.

“Oh,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “How do you like my planet then?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“I’m sorry, my prince,” you immediately apologize, looking down on your lap as you wait for the impeding lecture; maybe even the impending punishment (you’re not sure what it is, but you know it would hurt someway and somehow) that comes with loving the prince, even by the sidelines.

“Jungkook is a wildcard at best,” he trails off, exhaling heavily as he listens for the heartbeat in the room behind you that houses his brother. “He’s brash and stubborn. He’s driven by emotions we are not even supposed to have.”

If Yoongi stands up now and jiggles the knob to Jungkook’s room with just the slightest bit of force, he can guarantee that the latter would be falling face-down to the floor, just because of the way he has his ears pressed to the door.

Jungkook is moping and sulking and to this day, he does remain miserable — the aforementioned factors don’t stop him from being desperate and nosy.

“What I’m saying is that he’s weak, Y/N,” Yoongi sighs. “The strong isn’t for the weak. That’s always been the case.”

“I know I’m weak, prince, but I-…”

“What?” the prince laughs out loud, the smile on his face wide and cheery. He’s so amused with you that his eyes glow into pink, throwing his head back as he regains his composure. “Jungkook’s the weak one. Not you, obviously,” he snorts. “He’s basically a loser with a crown on his head. He’s the one who doesn’t deserve you and not the other way around.”

You’re not the one who’s being insulted, and yet it feels like it. Your throat tingles and your ribs burn at the sudden urge for you to protect Jungkook, even if he’s in no real threat; even if it feels like all the baser parts of you are coming together just to make sense of the way you grow simultaneously weak and strong for him.

Jungkook, the actual subject who’s being insulted and is proving his brother right by being weak because he’s wallowing in his room out of self-deprecation, sadly hums to himself in agreement.

“I’m not-…”

“Don’t refute it — that’s an order.”

“Prince Yoongi,” you relent, trying to find the right words. “May I ask why you’re telling me this?”

“Because Jungkook’s weak,” Yoongi answers simply. “I’m just saying that you don’t have to be weak with him and for him.”

( ♡ ) 

You’re eating dinner by yourself in the staff room when Jungkook walks in.

It’s the first you’ve seen of him in three weeks. He’s evidently moving on from what seems to have been a rough period for him, right when you’re at your lowest that you’ve ever been.

Prince Jungkook decides that after three weeks, he should take you by surprise and meet you in the staff room wherein you’re alone, pushing your dinner around your plate instead of doing any other menial task you’ve assigned yourself just so it would feel like you’re in use.

You’re just there. You just happen to be there and no one, even you, could do anything about it. You just happen to be there with no exact purpose and it’s gnawing at you from the inside out.

It feels all over again that your family is the runt of the entire extended bloodline. It feels that you’re not remarkable enough for your relatives to surround you and that you don’t amount to anything enough, in whatever aspect it is, to get a shred of attention that isn’t pity,

It feels like the sinking sensation in your chest wherein you have to see that all your mom could contribute to the table is her trusted homemade recipe during holidays, lost amongst a sea full of pre-ordered meals that only your relatives could afford. Like it’s how your dad’s side of the family is borderline batshit crazy and he’s the only one that turned out to be good, and you can’t do anything but watch strangers your have for blood relatives belittle you. Familiarly so, it’s like you’re a kid again with your siblings sitting on the carpet and cleaning up wrapping paper from gifts, not because the gifts are for you, but because you just happen to be there.

You feel like the alien that you are wherein you don’t belong; wherein your family has to sit on the spare chairs dug up from the basement, situated on a portable table outside of the actual, solid dining table where everyone’s sat. 

Jungkook sits with you at that dusty, old portable table. He sits himself on the flimsy chair that’s only used for stepping and for laundry.

Jungkook sits with you, not because he just happens to be there, but because he’s there for you.

“I’m… sorry for calling someone else princess.”

“It’s no problem,” you murmur, putting your fork down as you keep your hands glued to your knees underneath the table.

“But there is a problem,” Jungkook counters, lowering his head to get you to look at him yet you don’t budge. “I’m not okay with calling anyone else princess other than you.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“Then suit yourself,” you quip, even with your voice shaky and your vision blurry.

“I’m-…” Jungkook starts again, racking his brain for the limited vocabulary he has that surely isn’t enough to make up for his grave msitake. “I’m very sorry for making you feel bad. It must have hurt.”

“It’s no problem.”

“There’s a problem,” he insists. “I’m saying sorry because I hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

“But I did,” he frowns, beyond confused to why you keep denying the fact that he’s hurt you in ways he can’t even imagine.

“You really didn’t.”

“Why do you not want me to say sorry?” Jungkook questions, voice raising yet he still looks confused— innocent, even. “Did I… hurt you that much?”

It’s the last straw for you. The pure innocence in Jungkook’s words is and should be the last straw for you because it only makes you realize that he’d never understand you. It resonates in your head, more than ever, that you’ll never be able to understand him fully either because you’ll never be the same.

The only option the universe provides you is for you to love Jungkook halfway.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Prince Jungkook. I shall go back to-…”

“Can I not say sorry to you?” Jungkook bursts, darting his hand out blindly to get a hold on you before you leave.

“You can’t say sorry to me because all of this would feel real,” you ramble, shaking your head vehemently. “You should not say sorry to me because that would mean that I’m hurt because I love you.”

Jungkook looks at you innocently with his eyes wide and lips parted, blissfully unaware of the name to the sensation that keeps tugging at his chest to the point that it feels like it would burst open, yet above all else, he still dives in head-first.

“Can you not love me, princess?” he tilts his head. “Is it not allowed?”

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi’s words lie heavily on both you and Jungkook.

The prince’s sentiment stays on your chest like a paperweight that only grows heavier the more that you try to push it off. You know Yoongi means well, no matter how his words come across otherwise, but the longer that you think about his own suggestion regarding his brother, the more you feel unsure.

Jungkook’s made complete sense of his brother’s words on the other hand, and instead of being filled with a type of rage that only bubbles up when being looked down on, oddly enough, he comes to the truth quite easily.

He knows the truth that he’s weak despite painting himself the opposite, and he feels it the most now that you’re the one who’s distancing yourself from him. Jungkook feels like swallowing the sun and chasing it down with water when you respond to princess, even if it’s jokingly uttered by his brothers and not said sincerely by him alone.

He knows the truth that he’s the weak one in the family, if not the weakest, whenever he stands next to them. Jungkook may be the poster prince for the citizens but he knows the most out of everyone that he’s not as vital to the kingdom as the others are. He may get an assigned seat at the actual, solid dining table, but he knows that he’s not at the head of it.

He knows he’s weak, with and for you, and that’s never bothered him until it actually did.

Jungkook’s eyesight isn’t as good as yours.

Unlike you, he’s restrained by the entirety of his Twellian blood from immediately focusing his gaze on anything. There’s a lag that registers whenever he fixes his sight on anything, just like everyone else but you, and that hadn’t been a bother to Jungkook the whole time.

He had falsely assumed that since you’re the only one who’s different here, the only exception in the planet by being impure and partially human, you’d be the one who’ll have a hard time adjusting your daily life to his — not the other way around.

Jungkook, who had not once ever felt insecurity before, suddenly feels inferior. He feels like dirt and yet he’s angry, not because of the fact that he comes second to your abilities, but because he can’t do shit when it comes to you.

The prince’s eyesight isn’t good enough to notice the tiny little expressions that litter your face whenever something remotely intriguing happens to you. His hearing isn’t on par with yours because he can’t register the laugh in your voice as quickly as you could recognize his. He’s not on the same level as you and it’s only now that it bothers him—

The realization creeps into Jungkook, slowly yet unsettlingly, when he sees the cut on your cheek; the liquor of inferiority, chased down by Jungkook’s own rage, only hits him the moment he sees that a nasty bruise is blossoming by the corner of your eye.

Jungkook grips your jaw lightly out of nowhere, making you look up at him unexpectedly when you had been only preoccupied with fixing him his drink. The prince, no matter the unmistakeable rage that’s brewing in red, is the softest he’s ever been when it comes to addressing you.

“Who hurt you?” 

He has all his attention on you and it’s almost sickening with the way he doesn’t want to break off. Jungkook’s hand is still on your jaw and his eyes are still fixed on yours and yet his mind, whatever remains rational of it and not just vengeful, is going a million miles per hour.

“Get your hands off me,” you spit, suddenly overwhelmed by his presence and the vitriol that spills out of him so clearly, the air around both of you shifts.

“I asked you a question,”Jungkook repeats, putting is hand on your wrist firmly instead. He makes the grave mistake of looking down, though, because as soon as he realizes that there’s blood caked underneath your nails and that your knuckles are stained with your own blood, Jungkook can no longer hold himself back. “Who. Hurt. You.”

Jungkook’s reflexes are slow, but the moment your bottom lip trembles in vulnerability and pure bitterness, he feels as if time has caught on to the point that it’s only your anguish that sharpens his senses.

His feelings, even.

“If I tell you, would it make a difference? If I’m considered weak, Jungkook, then that means you’re even weaker,” you scoff, eyes trained on the ground with your head low so you could muffle the tremble in your voice; not that it would make your prince any less attuned to you.

Jungkook’s eyes remain narrowed at you, breathing heavily as you only state the facts not to insult him, but to remind the both of you of your place — or whatever is left clear of it because Jungkook can’t even think straight the longer that he looks at you hurting.

“What, prince? What are you gonna do about it?” you spit as the last resort, standing up abruptly to storm off and make an escape for it just once so you’ll be free of the burden of being yourself in Jungkook’s existence, yet he doesn’t let you.

The grip that the prince has on your arm is unstable yet unyielding at the same time, as if it’s taking everything in Jungkook to remain standing despite wanting to hunch over by the unexplainable tremor that roots from his chest.

(It is taking everything in him.)

“Burn,” he utters. “I’ll burn everything.”

“You’re-…”

“Weaker than you? I know that,” Jungkook interrupts, his lips set in a straight line as he lets himself be swept by the current that is you. “All the more reason to do everything for you then.”

The young prince doesn’t even break his gaze from you once, even if his pupils are trembling and his teeth are chattering out of the sheer trepidation that comes with being scared for someone else who carries your heart with them.

He doesn’t break his gaze from you, even for the briefest second, as he fishes out his (your) handkerchief from his pocket that’s there, not because it just happens to be, but because it’s allotted for you.

To love and to be loved is to feel the sun from both sides, and Jungkook no longer wants the star to swallow him whole because he doesn’t want you to be burned.

Jungkook wants to love you all the way.

[ceoofglytchell]

Caterpillar (Prequel to “Butterfly”)

| Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2 |

Summary: Before you were Aegon’s cherished little butterfly, you were nothing more than an insect he wished to crush under his shoes. Over the years his feelings grew from hatred, to indifference, to friendship and to the beginning of a young love that was doomed from the very moment he first laid his eyes on you. This is the story of how the young prince and the princess slowly began to fall for each other.
Pairing: Young!Aegon II Targaryen x Strong!Niece!Reader 
Word count: 5936 words
Warnings: incest, Reader is described of having Strong features, Reader is Aegon‘s niece and Rhaenyra’s second child, enemies to friends to lovers, young love, brief mention of abuse from Otto and Alicent, fluff, longing, hurt/comfort, bittersweet ending, no mention of Y/N 
Notes: I AM BACK! For the lovely anon who requested a prequel to „Butterfly“. This is my first requested fic and I had much fun writing it. Enjoy 💛

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Aegon, second of his name and a proud boy of almost four years, stared with an expression of disgust and disinterest at the small newborn babe in his half-sister's arms, who was still lying exhausted in bed, sweat dripping down her forehead and neck, while you screamed so loud as if there was no tomorrow.

Next to him stood his father the king, staring down at his firstborn daughter with an expression of pride - an expression he had never seen in his eyes whenever he looked at him. His own mother was not here with them and he wondered why. Where was she? Did she not want to meet you?

"Would you like to hold her?" Rhaenyra asked the king exhaustedly, holding out her newborn to him. It was a little girl who was actually only due in a few weeks, but you had apparently decided to come earlier than, for example, your brother or Aegon with his own mother, which is why you were smaller and more delicate. At least that's how the midwives explained your delicacy.

"I would feel honored," said King Viserys the Peaceful with a little laugh and took you in his arms while he gently rocked you back and forth.

Aegon had actually just wanted to play, but he had been sitting in the library with his Septa earlier, who chatted far too much and whom he could hardly listen to properly, which is why it was just right when a guard asked him if he wanted to meet his niece, who had just left the womb at that time. Of course he had ran off immediately, but you were somehow... ugly. Your loud crying and screaming hurt his ears and he had to hold back from making a face.

Suddenly his father leaned down a little so that he could get a better look at you, whereupon his half-sister sat up a little in bed as if she didn't trust him, even though he was only a little boy and didn't know what kind of burden he would one day carry on his shoulders. The king's firstborn son, but he was not the heir to the Iron Throne. He was a prince who inherited nothing. A life without meaning. Of course, he didn't realize that at the time.

"Look... it's your little niece."

Rhaenyra whispered your name once and the young prince nodded and tried to remember it. Another face had seen the light of day and another sound of happy laughter would soon echo through the cold corridors of the Red Keep.

Of all his half-sister's children, you were by far the one he disliked the most. Aegon came to this realization when he was almost ten years old, when, out of boredom, he asked you instead of your older brother Jace if you would like to play with him, but after you tripped and accidentally fell you immediately started crying as if you had been impaled with a lance, and his mother later gave him a slap in the face behind closed doors that he could still feel on his pale cheek days later.

You had simply fallen over the ends of your dress when you were playing a game in which he had to catch you, but hitting your forehead on the hard stone floor of the Red Keep was definitely too much for a delicate thing like you to bear.

But while you, at the age of six, had already stood up for him and assured your mother several times that he had not pushed you on purpose, Queen Alicent forbade her eldest son to play with Rhaenyra's only daughter again, not because she really cared about your wellbeing, but because in her eyes you were nothing more than a bastard who did not deserve to be called a princess.

Instead, the silver-haired prince had taken to annoying his younger brother Aemond and called for the help of his brown-haired nephews, always excluding you and Helaena.

To the world you seemed like a happy girl, always friendly and always carrying a smile on your face, but you too secretly felt lonely. You never really understood Helaena and you were very afraid of everything that crawled and had more legs than four, which is why you avoided the other girl rather than spending the day with her. Aemond was the same age as you and you liked reading books with him in the library, to be engrossed in thick history books with him and your nose being buried deep in a fairy tale, but at least you could talk to the younger Targaryen prince and share some nice moments.

At least until Aegon and your brothers started making fun of you, which had quickly made your only friend leave your side, as he had already heard enough jokes about how he hardly spoke a word or especially about how he did not have a dragon.

Neither did you, but that didn't seem to interest either of them, except maybe sometimes Jace and Luke, who at the end of the day from time to time apologized for their statements and also for Aegon's taunts. The prince, however, never apologized.

The hatred that you believed your uncle had for you was about to change on a cool summer evening on the day of your eighth birthday.

Dressed in a yellow gown that reminded you of the petals of a sunflower and with your brown hair intricately braided, you sat alone in the garden of the castle, leaning against the Weirwood tree that had probably been growing here for centuries. On your lap lay a new book about fables and songs from the distant lands of Essos, which your "father" Laenor had given you.

You were not stupid. Of course you were aware of the fact that Laenor could not be your father, since you looked too different, but your mother had forbidden you to bring up the subject. She hadn't even answered your question about who your real father was and what the deal was with her and Ser Harwin.

Completely lost in thought, you hadn't realized how a person had slowly and quietly approached you from the side, until he suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders and made you scream loudly.

"Aegon!" you shouted angrily, while the boy just held his stomach in laughter, a full cup of wine in his left hand. When had he started taking his drinks with him?

"Oh, come on! It was just a harmless jest, niece," he answered you, giggling, while he collapsed onto the grass a little further in front of you, which was still glistening with dew, the action not looking particularly graceful. He seemed slightly drunk, which made you wonder why no one took the cup away from him if you had noticed it yourself. Why didn't his mother, the Queen, pay attention? Or his grandfather, the Lord Hand?

"Jest or not, you scared me," you grumbled, folding your arms in front of your chest, while a pout formed on your face that even he couldn't miss.

"Hey, don't pout. Today is your name day, remember?"

"Yes. And you have not thought of giving me a gift, Uncle," you noted in a slightly disappointed tone, while your dark eyes searched his.

"Yes, I did," Aegon countered and threw something at you that you were only able to catch so quickly thanks to your reflexes. "Here you go."

"What is this?" you asked him, confused, as you took his gift in your hands and examined it curiously. You had already wondered why he was the only one in the family who hadn't given you a gift when even the queen had entrusted you with a bracelet from her hometown.

In your delicate hands was a small wooden box, which you did not open yet in fear that it might be one of his jokes again and that there would be something disgusting in it. Hopefully it wasn't a spider...

"Open it. The woman I got it from told me girls like that kind of stuff," Aegon said with a shrug, as he brushed his long wavy curls out of his face.

Carefully and with an expression of suspicion, you opened the small wooden box a crack and stared at its contents with wide eyes. Inside was a beautiful golden brooch in the shape of a coiled dragon, whose eye was represented by a fragment of a pearl. It was beautiful...

Aegon looked at you unnoticed as you looked at the brooch he had given you in awe. He had not thought that this little piece would impress you so much. The best thing was that he didn't even have to pay gold for it, since the old woman had just given it to him when she saw his silver hair. He himself didn't wear such junk, but you in your pretty dresses and shimmering earrings and necklaces would certainly appreciate the piece of jewelry and apparently he was right.

With eyes sparkling with joy and a wide grin on your lips, you took the piece of jewelry out of the box and immediately put it on your dress right above your heart and when you looked at him, he needed a moment to come to terms with his thoughts.

It was probably the wine that was clouding his senses, wasn't it?

"And? Does it suit me?" you asked him excitedly in your normally gentle voice.

He swallowed. "Yes... it's pretty. You are pretty.”

For a moment you just stared at him, unable to believe that he-of all people!- had just called you pretty and given you the most wonderful gift of the evening. You liked the dragon brooch even more than the book and also much better than the wood carvings that your brothers had given you.

"I-I think I'd better leave you alone again now," the prince said suddenly and began to stand up, whereupon you quickly shook your head and instinctively reached for his hand in the hope that he would stay and maybe keep you company for a while. He might annoy you sometimes, but you certainly didn't hate him for that.

"Stay! Please..."

You batted your eyelashes and if Aegon had been stronger, he might have been able to resist. But he wasn't.

With a sigh, he let himself fall back into the grass, whereupon his cup tipped over and the dark red liquid soaked the ground next to you, but for some unusual reason he didn't care.

"And what do you think we'll do, princess? I see neither dancing fools nor musicians for our amusement.”

You seemed to think for a moment, then your gaze fell on the book, which was now lying neglected on the ground next to the tree. You picked it up and held it right in front of his nose.

“I could read to you! It is a collection of legends and songs from Essos. Perhaps you will appreciate them more than your brother.”

His shoulders sagged a little and a quiet sigh escaped him, but he nodded his head anyway, because after all, you were the one who had the special day and had turned a year older. Today was your day to make decisions.

“Fine. Read to me then,” said Aegon, leaning against the bark of the old tree that had stood in the courtyard of the Red Keep for generations, a face carved into its center that sometimes seemed to stare at him judgingly. He didn’t like it.

His little niece immediately moved closer to him, almost snuggling into his side, and opened the book to the page she had stopped on before he had interrupted her. Appropriately, it was even a legend from Oldtown, the home of his mother the queen.

Her soft voice immediately enveloped him like a warm blanket as she began to read to him and his initially stiff posture eased as he began to allow himself to relax.

He hated to think about it, but maybe you weren't as bad as he had thought.

The first time he thought about kissing you was on a quiet evening when nothing really special had happened except that you, now a girl of almost eleven, had secretly gone riding with him.

Sitting on your snow-white mare, your long brown curls blowing in the wind, a wide grin on your pretty face, and your arms stretched out to feel the headwind, you looked like a midsummer night's dream. The brooch he had given you a few years ago hung on the fabric of your coat.

It was early in the morning and the two of you had sneaked to the stables before anyone else but you and a few guards had walked through the corridors, but he had managed to get you past the watchful eyes of the King's Guard unnoticed. You had mounted your horses as quickly as you could and ridden together into the King's Wood until you found a clearing that seemed good enough to rest for a while.

You sat on the grass in the shade of a tree and ate cakes that he had secretly stolen from the kitchens before as a surprise for you. You had managed to talk him out of the wine.

Crumbs were lying on your lap and you held your hand over your mouth to hide your laughter after he had been frightened by a bug that had crawled onto his arm, causing him to screech as if he were the girl and not you.

His usually pale cheeks were red with embarrassment - as red as the ripest strawberries you loved to eat for breakfast - and he crossed his arms grumpily in front of his chest, but he couldn't blame you for laughing. After all, he often made fun of you because he loved to see you sulk.

But suddenly your happy laughter froze when you felt something on your head. A small white butterfly had landed on your hair and was slowly flapping its wings up and down. Your laughter disappeared and you looked at him with wide eyes. Aegon's heart skipped a beat.

"Aegon... what is that?" you asked him fearfully, not moving a single muscle.

"Well... it's huge. Horrible. The biggest bug I have ever seen," he lied with a mischievous gleam in his purple eyes, causing you to whimper softly and he could swear tears began to form in your eyes. How sweet.

"Make it go away. Help me." You begged him with a trembling voice. Apparently you had actually believed his lie, which made him feel proud.

Very carefully he slowly moved closer to you until your elbows brushed, which made him feel hot on the inside, and you felt the same, even if you didn't notice it, too afraid of the monster that had settled on your hair. You had no idea what innocent creature had chosen you as its resting place.

The prince stretched out his hand and very carefully approached the butterfly with his fingers. He felt you and the little insect looking at him, and it was then he did notice that you were just as delicate and lovely as the butterfly. Perhaps you had been born into the wrong house? You were not at all a dragon.

The butterfly fluttered its wings and hopped onto his index finger, which he held in front of your nose with a wide, triumphant grin on his lips. A sweet blush immediately spread across your cheeks and your slender shoulders sagged as you realized that you had made a fool of yourself.

In front of him of all people. In front of the boy you had secretly admired for several weeks at this point.

"Oh..." you murmured quietly to yourself and looked down at your lap while the butterfly continued to rest on the tip of his finger.

"Look how small and delicate it is... just like you."

You blinked up at him again and at that very moment the little insect jumped off his finger and fluttered away until it finally disappeared behind a nearby rose bush and you were both alone again, your only company being the birds that flew over your heads or nested in the nearby treetops.

"That was not funny, Uncle," you grumbled quietly to yourself and crossed your arms in front of your chest once again, while a small pout adorned your lips, which he found absolutely adorable.

"I thought so, little butterfly," he replied with the hint of a smile on his face, which was slightly tickled by the warm rays of sunlight that fell through the canopy of leaves - at least his nose was.

"Little butterfly?" you repeated the nickname he gave you with a wrinkle of your nose, because you yourself didn't know whether you should feel flattered or insulted. How did he always manage to make you question your feelings over and over again? It was a phenomenon.

"You heard me."

His smile widened and you couldn't help but try to smack him on the arm as best you could, but he just chuckled at your efforts, because it felt like anything but a punch. In his eyes, you were a butterfly, sweet, pure and innocent, deserving to be protected as far away from the scum of House Targaryen, Hightower and Velaryon as possible. You deserved better than this. At the same time, the thought of you leaving him and living somewhere else made him furious.

He wanted you to be happy, but he also wanted you to stay right where you were and where you were comfortable - with him, your annoying, drunken uncle who couldn't wait to see the girl he was sitting with grow into a mature, beautiful woman he could claim for himself.

And hopefully, when the day came, you would want that too.

Laena Velaryon was dead and House Targaryen had gathered for her funeral on the island of Driftmark to mourn the loss. At least those who knew her, which the young children did not and therefore stood rather bored to the side.

Heleana was talking to a spider, Aemond was standing around alone, and the sons of Rhaenyra stood with the daughters of Daemon. Two, however, had sneaked away from the funeral and sat down on the beach, a jug of wine in one hand and a plate of cake in the other.

Aegon, now sixteen years old and almost a man grown, sat to your left on the white sands of the island. He was dressed head to toe in green - on the orders of his mother and grandfather the Hand - and his hair now fell to his chest, even though he secretly wished it were shorter. He didn't really like the length and the tradition behind it. The expectations.

You sat next to him, now almost thirteen, and you were getting more beautiful by the day. Your brown hair, the proof of your mother's shame, now fell to your elbows and your petite body was wrapped in a purple dress and black cloak, due to the grief you had to pretend to feel, even though you had never known this woman. Your mother had wanted to force you to wear red again, but you had stood up to her and bravely confronted her, telling her that this constant hostility was foolish.

Such disagreements were becoming more and more frequent between your mother, your brothers and you, because you and the eldest prince had become truly inseparable in recent years. The bond that bound you together was strong and apparently unbreakable, because even though he continued to make jokes and antics and you mostly felt insulted and hurt as a result, you still felt this feeling. This warmth around your heart, this tickling in your stomach that felt like little butterflies that were locked inside you like in a chest.

You had learned to love him and without your knowledge he had learned to love you too.

"She told me again today to stay away from you," you told him, staring into the horizon and hoping that fate had other plans for you.

"I know, sweet butterfly. Just don't listen to her. What does she know about us anyway? Nothing. She knows nothing.” Aegon replied, instinctively holding his cup, which was filled to the brim with Dornish wine, tighter in his hand. Actually, he felt no hatred towards his half-sister - your mother - but he disliked the way she told you over and over again that his company was not good for you, that his ways were spoiling you like a worm spoils a ripe apple.

Perhaps his own mother was right and Rhaenyra would seek his life at some point. He would not be surprised, as much as she seemed to despise him. What had he ever done to her? Or was it his very existence that she detested?

You stared down at the cake that was on the plate you held in your hand. You had been hungry a moment ago, but now you were not anymore.

“I don’t understand why we have to be here at all. None of us knew this woman." The prince grumbled, swirling the wine around in his cup, slowly moving it back and forth.

"She was my aunt-"

"But did you know her?"

You shook your head, one of your brown curls falling over your face and hiding half of your features from him like a veil. Sometimes he caught himself imagining a life with you, and lately his thoughts were not so innocent anymore. More and more often he woke up in the morning, desire burning through his veins, and he thought about you, how beautiful you were and how much more beautiful you would become if your curves continued to develop.

Criston had told him such desires were normal for a young man, but if the prince had admitted that you were the one who kept him awake at night, the man who was a second father to him probably wouldn't have understood either.

He carefully reached out his free hand to you and gently tucked the wild strand of hair behind your ear so that he could once again look into your dark eyes, which had always reminded him of a young doe. "What's going through your mind, niece?"

"Nothing. But... won't the others wonder where we are?"

Aegon was about to contradict you and tell you that you had absolutely nothing to fear when he suddenly heard his grandfather's loud, stern voice echo across the beach: "Aegon! Come here. Now."

You watched your friend anxiously as he straightened up and walked with slumped shoulders to the stone steps that would lead from the beach up to the fortress where the funeral was being held. You couldn't see exactly what was happening, but you swore that the old man grabbed his grandson's arm hard. The words he spoke to him did not seem particularly kind or compassionate, as the young prince quickly pulled away from him and disappeared in another direction.

However, he did not come back to you. He left you sitting alone on the beach with nothing but a glass of wine and a piece of cake. Now you had lost your appetite once and for all.

It was evening when you saw him next. The sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon and most people had returned to their chambers for the night or were getting ready for bed.

You did not know where your mother had gone or why there was suddenly no trace of Prince Daemon when he seemed to be in such a good mood at the funeral, even though he had just become a widower, but you were sure that you could not go to sleep without knowing where your friend was and how he was doing.

You found Aegon on the stairs that led to the beach behind. He was leaning drunkenly with his back against the cold, wet stone and his eyes closed. Next to him lay an overturned gold cup from which a small puddle of red liquid was running.

You had never seen him so drunk before.

Had he drunk himself to the point of unconsciousness?

This was the first time. The previous times you had seen him very drunk, he had at most strolled through the corridors slurring his words - or rather stumbled - and you or Aemond usually had to lead him back to his chambers, where he usually immediately fell onto his bed and sank into a deep sleep. But he had never fallen over because of the alcohol. You wondered what his grandfather had said to him that his first reaction was to get so drunk that he simply fell over.

You approached him carefully and knelt next to his sleeping form. Slowly and careful not to startle him, you reached for the now empty wine cup and put it to the side before gently placing a hand on his shoulder in the hope that he would open his amethyst colored eyes again. But he didn't.

"Uncle? Uncle, can you hear me?" you asked him timidly, leaning closer to him, so close that if he were awake he could feel your warm breath on his snow-white skin.

A mumble was all you got in response, but you couldn't understand any of the words or even guess what he was trying to say. Maybe he shouldn't drink so much... That couldn't be good for him in the long run.

When he didn't answer the second time either, you gently shook his shoulder and then finally his eyes fluttered open again and he blinked a few times in a row, as if he didn't understand where he was or why you were sitting so close to him, almost as if he couldn't remember what he had done before.

"What... what happened?" he asked you dazedly and sat up a little, whereupon a small, tortured groan escaped him.

"I was just about to ask you that," you replied with a smile on your soft, rosy lips. "You suddenly disappeared."

The older prince shrugged and stretched out his arm as if he wanted to reach for the wine cup that he assumed was at his side, but he only grabbed for air, as you had fortunately put it away a few seconds ago.

"I wasn't well. Nothing to worry your pretty head about, darling."

His answer wasn't enough for you, as the memory of Otto Hightower grabbing his arm and whispering angry words to him had not yet left your mind. There was more to it. You knew not what it was, but you suspected that it had something to do with you - or rather your features.

Your mother didn't want to name it, but you knew what you were. A bastard.

"You know that you can always be honest with me, Aegon. You don't have to hide anything from me. I am not your enemy."

At your words, his shoulders sagged and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine, but at the same time a warmth spread through him that he couldn't control and that burned in his eyes like the fire of his young dragon. He would not cry in front of you. He wanted to be strong for you.

"What was it?" you asked him again carefully, stroking his silver curls over his shoulder with one hand so that he would not be able to hide his face from you. You were already well aware of his tricks and you could guess what storm was sweeping through his head and throwing his thoughts into disarray like a hurricane over the sea.

"Did he scare you again? Told you you would be king?"

With every word you spoke, his heart tightened more and more in his chest and he could feel the tears burning hot in his eyes, ready to roll down his cheeks and disappear under the green fabric of his coat. You were too good for him, far too good. You were innocent and pure and he was corrupt and filthy. What had he done to deserve your affection? No one else seemed to think like you.

"Did he tell you to stay away from me?"

Without him being able to stop it, the first tear fell, then the second and suddenly he was sobbing bitterly and you could do nothing but take him in your arms and let him lay his head on your shoulder while you laid your cheek against his hair. He held on to you as if you were the last thing that bound him to life, as if you were the Mother herself who had wrapped her protective arms around him.

"He... he said the future king doesn't bother with the likes of you and that... that I would soon be married anyway and you too..." he sobbed into the fabric of your dress, while his arms wrapped themselves around your slim body and he pressed himself tightly against you, like a plush pillow he could bury his face in.

"That's not true and you know it. Mother would never give me to a man as a bride just yet. She wouldn't do that." You assured him while gently stroking his back. However, you didn't understand why this fact hurt him so much. One day, each of them would be married and bring more heirs into the world. That was the order of things, as the Septa's had taught you.

"But I don't want you to get married. I don't want you to be taken away."

More and more tears fell from his eyes and he couldn't help but tell you all the things that had been going through his head for weeks, months, and maybe even years. All his deepest desires, all the thoughts he hoped would never come to light, he laid at your feet like on a silver platter.

He only hated himself all the more for it.

"Why would they take me away from you? The Red Keep is my home. Mine and yours." You tried to talk to him, keeping your voice calm and collected, but you could feel yourself becoming more and more confused with every second that passed and with every word he whispered. He was falling apart in front of you and yet there was nothing you could do to ease his pain. You felt powerless.

"I don't want to marry just any woman," he murmured, hoping that you would recognize the pleading in his tone and understand what he longed for without him having to say it. He couldn't.

"She will be beautiful, Aegon. Beautiful, kind, smart and witty.”

Your list didn’t make it any better, because in his eyes you embodied all of those things. You were the woman you described, the one he wished he would marry sooner or later, but how would you know? How could you even guess what a bad friend he was to you. He was a bad man, a bad prince, a bad son, a bad brother and now a bad friend as well.

You listed other attributes that you hoped would calm him down, because what prince wouldn’t want a woman like that? Sometimes you wished you could be that one woman for him, the one he would spend his life by and learn to love. One who could call him “husband.” But that would probably never happen. You were just a foolish girl with equally foolish dreams.

“But I don’t want just any woman. I want… I want…” He couldn’t say it. He couldn't bring the words out of his mouth and instead he just clung to you tightly, burying his head even more in your shoulder before he managed to actually whisper those words that would haunt you from now on.

"I want you."

For a second it felt like the world stood still. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore stopped and the cool breeze of the evening wind only felt like a gentle touch, a light pat. There was a chance that you had misunderstood him, but you knew what you had heard. You knew it exactly.

"Uncle..."

"No, no, please listen to me," he begged immediately when he felt your arms, which were wrapped around him, loosen just a little and you tried to wriggle out of his grip. It was very important that you listened to him now.

"My little butterfly, you are the only one who sees me for who I really am and I know that I am not always easy, but you have to understand that you are the most important thing in my life. You mean everything to me."

You leaned back and let your eyes wander over his face, hoping to find a sign that this was just another one of his jokes and that he wasn't actually pouring his heart out to you. It reminded you of the books you loved to read. The poetry and the romance.

He wasn't lying. His eyes were honest and from the way he looked at you, as if you were the most precious thing to him, you knew that your relationship would be even more difficult in the future than it already was. The friendship between you two was not accepted by your family, but love? Like in the stories, this love was also forbidden, but in all the books the couples always had a happy ending with each other. Maybe everything would turn out well for you in the end too?

"My mother... she would never allow it," you muttered, shaking your head. and now you were the one who could feel your heart tightening painfully.

The prince shook his head firmly and he placed his hands on your cheeks, cradling your face in his palms while his thumbs gently stroked your cheeks, which were red from the cold and his words.

"I don't care. I promise you that one day I will marry you. I will take you as my wife, no matter the cost."

Without thinking, you closed your eyes and gently pressed your forehead against his. Your breath mingled and he closed his eyes too, continuing to gently hold your face in his hands. It wasn't a kiss, but for the two of you this moment had about the same meaning. It was the start of something new, something wonderful.

At that point, none of you could have guessed that not far away from you, a young, brave Aemond was approaching Vhagar with the intention of claiming the old dragon for himself. You did not know that he would soon lose his eye at the hands of his brother, nor that a discussion would then take place in the halls of Driftmark that would tear the two sides of your house apart, forever.

You could not have known that the very next day he would see you one last time and that you would then be torn away from him for six long years. How could you have known that beforehand?

But in that moment, in that embrace, everything was fine for you and you imagined together what your future might look like.

It would certainly be different than you had hoped, but your story would also come to a happy end eventually.

The dragons would dance and yet your souls burned to become one with each other.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅