#tyland lannister fanfic

[annwrites]

⸻ being jason & tyland's younger sister would include:

· tags: twincest, canon-typical incest, double-penetration, possessiveness, jealousy

Since you were a babe, your older brothers have doted on you.

You may be nearly half their age and a girl, but they never made you feel an outsider to your own family.

When you were little, they showered you with gifts & attention, which only multiplied tenfold as you grew older.

They wanted to ensure you wanted for absolutely nothing.

As a child, they would bestow upon you only the finest porcelain dolls, tea sets, ribbons for your shimmering blonde curls, sweet, decadent treats, one of the finest ponies from your house's stables: one of pure white, with silver tassels hanging from its mane, painted spinning tops, and much, much more.

They watched with glee as you smiled, giggled, and cooed over your presents, their hearts warmed by the mere sight of you.

When you bloomed into womanhood and became more of who you're truly meant to be, so, too, did those gifts change in nature.

They became gowns and corsets, pearls and jewels, golden brushes for your hair, a gleaming handheld looking glass, a polished leather saddle for your horse, with a lovely handwoven blanket to rest atop it, a silver flute and a gilded harp for your music lessons, along with a set of bells, paints and a cherry-wood easel...in truth, the list is practically never-ending.

A large hand comes to rest gently over your eyes and your lids flutter closed while a small smile spreads across your lips. "I've brought you a present," a familiar voice softly coos before settling something in your lap. Even without seeing his face—rather, more specifically, his hair—you already know that it's Jason. There's small, nigh-on imperceptible differences between the two men, including the tenor of their voices, which aid you in telling them apart. You seem the only one able to do so, at that. You giggle quietly, then rest your hands gently atop the package he's given you. Jason then seats himself beside you while winding a curl, which resembles freshly-spun gold, around his index finger. "Go on, my sweet, open it," he tells you with a twitch of his lip.

Another difference between the two are their nicknames for you. For Jason, it includes 'my sweet', 'young lady' (which, at times, he uses if he is cross with you), 'little doll', etc. While Tyland prefers 'my love', 'darling', or just your name. Jason hardly ever calls you by the latter.

Even their respective treatments of you differ in nature.

Jason can be more sarcastic and almost...flirtatious in nature (then again, that seems to be his disposition in general, you've noted, so you think little of it anymore), while Tyland is far more gentle and serious.

You pull loose the light-pink satin ribbon tied around the box, then set it to the side so it can be added to your collection. You then begin to peel back the crisp brown wrapping paper wrapped around it before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it playfully at Jason's face. He grins. "I should put you over my knee for that, young lady." He leans in closer while gripping the back of your chair. "And not stop until your backside is raw and you're begging for mercy." You blink at him while blushing from nerves, then return your attention to the box in your hands. You lift the lid and your eyes grow wide at the collection of small pelts within. You lift one gingerly and run your fingertips along the feather-soft, light-brown fur. "I prefer bigger game, as you well know, but I wished for you to have them," Jason remarks. You remove another, which is white as snow, and another beneath it that's fur is as black as the inky night sky. "Rabbit?" You ask quietly while glancing to him. He nods while caressing the back of your head in his callused palm.

Jason often enjoys having you accompany him for horseback riding through the western woods.

The two of you race one another through open fields of greenery and flowers, or between tall oak trees that cast the afternoon sun in dappled light across the forest floor.

Sometimes, you break for small picnics together, or Jason watches as you strip down and wade through warm summer waters in only your shift.

You hardly ever notice the way his gaze darkens as he takes in your bare feminine form through the thin linen that hangs from your frame.

Hiding his arousal isn't possible, however, when you emerge drenched, with the item of clothing clinging to you—thus leaving nothing to the imagination.

You pad over to your eldest brother to retrieve a strawberry from your picnic, until he grabs your hand and tugs you down beside him. "Jason!" You call through a fit of voracious giggles while he leans over you, sliding a hand along your damp waist. "I think," he says, settling his weight atop you, allowing you to experience the full length of his manhood, hoping it stirs something within you. "You are the most comely girl in all the realm." Your brows furrow slightly and you shift beneath him before pressing your palms gently to his chest. "I doubt that." He tangles his fingers in your wet strands. "Mm, I don't, my lovely little dove." He considers for a moment—his blue eyes flitting between your own, and then he presses his lips softly to your flushed cheek. He drags them across your skin and you snicker at the feel of his beard scratching against you, until he places a featherlight kiss against the corner of your full lips. And then his own come to hover just overtop of them—yours and his touching as he speaks. "For I've seen every inch of you. So I know what it is which I speak of."

You and Tyland typically spend your time together either taking leisurely strolls through Casterly Rock's gardens, sitting together outside and overlooking the Sunset Sea as you dine together, or you sit with him before a roaring fire as he reads quietly to you as you rest your head upon his shoulder and keep your arms wound tightly around his own.

Tyland presses a loving kiss to the top of your head and your eyes flutter closed as you smile warmly. "Would you like for me to continue, my love?" He asks, turning a page from the history book he's currently reading to you. You nod, sliding a palm up his arm. "Yes, please." He smiles for a moment, though you cannot see it. "I love you," he whispers, his heart full of adoration for you. You slowly lift your head and gaze at him from beneath hooded lids, as the warmth of the fire and the sound of his voice are both lulling you gradually to sleep. "And I you." He cups your cheek, then kisses your lips tenderly—mere brotherly affection, you're sure—before returning to the book in his other hand.

A number of balls and masquerades are held within the kingdom Jason serves over as warden of.

And you're invited, of course, to all.

"Please, please, may I go?" You ask excitedly as you stare up at Jason with wide eyes. His mouth tugs into a frown. "It's all the way at Ashemark, my sweet. And you know I have duties I must attend to here, so I can't accompany." You shift unhappily on your feet—your blonde curls swaying around your waist. "What of Tyland? He can come as my chaperone. There are two of you, you know." He raises a brow and crosses his arms—meaning that he is now growing cross with you, so you shrink away. "You know how he detests crowds, and does not do well to be shoved into the middle of them." "But—" "I won't force him to subject himself to an evening of frivolity, all so young lords with only one thing on their mind can try to get in your good graces, so as to tarnish your reputation. Or to otherwise flock to Tyland to try and earn our house's favor, if not a bit of coin, or land." Unshed tears burn in your eyes and you watch as Jason's eyes flit to somewhere, or perhaps something, behind you. "It's better for you to remain here," Tyland calls from the doorway, before stepping closer. Your chin wobbles—you detest when you don't get your way, because the times of it occurring are so few and far between, for they both adore spoiling you so. 'No' is hardly a word within their vocabularies when it comes to their darling little sister. You look away from Jason and sniffle quietly. "I just...wanted to enjoy myself for one evening. But instead, you'd rather keep me locked up here." Just then, you feel Tyland pressing his frontside to your back, while sliding his hands up your arms before coming to firmly grip your shoulders. Jason takes a step forward and he tucks a curl behind your ear, pressing his chest against your own while gazing down at you. "This is where you belong," he replies quietly, the look upon his face one of certainty. "Between the two of us," Tyland adds. Jason takes your face between his hands and brushes his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks while Tyland winds his arms around your waist. And then Jason leans in for a kiss.

After that day, you begin to think back through all the times spent with your brothers.

Which is a difficult feat, as they've always been there.

So you focus on more recent events and occurrences.

Like that time at the lake with Jason when he laid his body atop yours and you felt…part of him pressing against you.

Or all the times he and Tyland have kissed you directly on the lips.

Or allowed you to fall asleep in their beds and when you woke, it was to them holding you.

And how many times have they entered your chambers when your handmaids were readying you, only to dismiss them so they could instead aid you in dressing the rest of the way?

Or when you bathed… So many times have they come in and kept you company while you were doing so, then held a towel out for your naked body once you were finished. 

And showering you with gifts, praise, attention, and undying and unfaltering love…

Surely what you’re thinking—rather, suspecting—can’t be true.

They’re not…in love with you, are they?

Such a relationship could never occur. 

For you are not Targaryens.

You wonder if they care about that fact.

Somehow, you doubt it.

And you smile at the thought.

Jason is ecstatic about your family’s invitation to attend the Royal Hunt.

You and Tyland less so, but you both know that you are nevertheless expected to come along with your eldest brother.

And so you have your servants pack you, perhaps, one too many trunks, but you merely tell them sheepishly that you only mean to ensure you’re well prepared.

A few shake their heads with playful smiles.

When the three of you arrive, your tents are already, quite thankfully, ready.

You each break for lunch as the servants take your trunks and bags into your respective tents and unpack your things while you fill your bellies.

Jason glances to Tyland who sits next to you, across the table from him. He chews his roast duck thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "Just ensure me that the pair of you aren't going to be remaining sequestered away inside your tents for the duration of this trip." Tyland briefly studies him, then slightly shrugs. "Perhaps we will." He wraps an arm around your shoulders then, so you release your fork as you stare up at him, while he remains meanwhile looking at his twin. "Worry not, Jason, I'll keep our little sister well-entertained, I assure you." With that, he presses a kiss to your cheek and releases you and you could swear that Jason seems to be... Well, if you didn't know any better, the look on his face makes him appear to be absolutely seething. "Mayhaps I will have to steal her away into the woods, then," he remarks. "For I can think of no finer quarry." Jason picks up a warm roll from a carved wooden bowl positioned in the middle of the table. "On that, we agree."

Many young lords seem to admire you from a distance over the next few days, but with Jason and Tyland attached to your side at all times, hardly any attempt at conversing with you.

You nervously clutch Tyland's arm and half-hide yourself behind him as a young lord speaks with Jason, asking if the two of you may take a walk together around the camp grounds. With your brothers, you're more than open and comfortable. Around others...not so much. The young man gives you a gentle smile. "Hello there, My Lady." You press yourself against your brother shyly while staring at him with wide eyes. "Hello," you reply quietly, only half your comely face even visible to him. He thinks you resemble a frightened fawn. Not quite as interesting as he'd been hoping you would be... Jason steps over and slides a hand down your silky mane of golden hair. "She's rather timid around strangers, I'm afraid. Poor thing." He glances back to the man while cupping your cheek protectively. "I think it best she remain at my brother's side for the day instead." He quickly escorts the man out of the dining tent then, glad to be rid of him.

Not even once it is late and the stars are shimmering in the sky as the royal encampment goes to their tents and beds do your brothers leave you be.

“Which of us would you like to stay with tonight, my little doll?” Jason asks, running a knuckle softly down your cheek while Tyland sips idly from a glass of arbor red across the way. You hold your satin robe more tightly to you, then cross your arms. “I’m not a child anymore, Jason. I can sleep in my own bed.” Tyland sighs and rises from his seat, padding over to the both of you. Jason merely smirks, which you feel an urge to smack off his face. Instead, however, you merely glower at him from beneath your long lashes. You’re cross enough with him right now after his pathetic little proposal to the ‘princess’ that afternoon. As if the spoiled little brat doesn’t have enough men lusting after her, she doesn’t need your brother, too. Because he’s just that: yours. Not hers. “I’m staying in my own tent tonight,” you spit. You make to step away, until you feel a hand suddenly gripping your forearm.  You jerk your head to the side and narrow your eyes at Tyland and try to yank it away, but he holds firm. “Get into bed,” he says softly, nodding toward the head of the tent. “No,” you say, then take a small step back, slipping your arm from his grasp. And then you promptly bump into Jason’s chest. “What—” “Are you jealous, my sweet?” Jason whispers while leaning in closer to your ear. Tyland cups your face between each of his hands. “O-of what?” You ask, turning your head slightly back toward him. “I think you know,” he replies, sliding his hands beneath your robe while Tyland unties the front of it and it falls to the floor, pooling around your feet. Jason ghosts his lips along the sensitive skin of your neck while Tyland leans forward and presses his lips to your own. Your heart jumps into your throat and you jerk under their roaming hands. “What’re you—” “Do you think I truly desire her?” Jason asks, sliding his hands up your stomach, then cupping your breasts. You stare up at Tyland with wide eyes and then he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “You’re all I want.” Tyland’s eyes flit away from you and instead to Jason. “All we want,” he adds.  “I saw an opportunity for our family,” Jason explains.  “As I was…unsure,” he says, pressing his hard cock into the small of your back. “If you felt similarly as we do.” “So you…propose to—” He comes around to the front of you then while Tyland positions himself at your back and he begins running his fingers through your curls. “A foolish mistake,” Jason states as you gaze up at him. “But rest-assured, my pearl, that I never intended to part with you.” “You will stay at Casterly Rock,” Tyland whispers. “You will stay…with us.” Jason leans forward and crushes his lips to yours while Tyland reaches down to the hem of your nightgown and begins to push it up, until he’s reached your neck, and you and Jason break from your kiss long enough for him to remove it. And then one of them spins you around—you’re unsure whose hands are to blame—and Tyland grips you beneath your thighs before carrying you over to the bed.

Every inch of you is being tended to by your brothers.

Every part of you is put to use.

Their hands roam along your skin, your breasts, your thighs, between your legs...

Each of them takes turns making love to your cunt with their mouths.

And each of them takes turns inside of your own.

They gently pump their cocks away between your lips, giving you loving words of encouragement of how well you're doing, how good you feel, how things have always been meant to be like this between the three of you.

They tell you how much they love, adore, & cherish you. They assure you that no other men could ever compare. That you are meant to belong to them and them alone.

Before long, you're begging the both of them with tears in your eyes to take you. And that you want the both of them to claim your virginity at the same time.

It is the way you need it to be.

You tell them that you wish for it to be perfect and that is the only way that it can be.

You lie down on Tyland's chest and he wraps an arm around you while his other strokes his cock. Jason positions himself behind you and slides his hands along your hips before taking himself in-hand as well. Your eyes flutter closed and you nuzzle against your brother's neck happily. "Are you ready, my love?" Tyland asks one final time, his eyes flitting to his twin's. You nod gently. "I am," you whisper. They each rub the weeping tips of their cocks against your slick, dripping entrance and you bite your lip at the feel. And then they each begin to ease inside of you.

You would be lying to say it was not initially painful.

But once they were past your threshold and buried deeply inside of you, and your cunt was stretched to its limits around them... Gods, you never knew such pleasure was possible to feel.

They each fuck themselves gently inside of you, appreciating this most perfect moment.

The three of you bound together in such an intimate and private way.

Joined as one at last.

You kiss Tyland repeatedly, mewling and whining against his lips and Jason moans from behind you as he grips your supple hips tightly in his rough hands.

They each repeat to you time and again how much they love you. And you repay the sentiment. And then they proceed to assure the other of their love as well.

The sound of ragged breathing and slapping skin and moaning fills the tent.

Your eyes sting with tears of happiness.

They each spill their seed inside of you.

Your wedding is carried out in a Sept near Casterly Rock.

It's a grand occasion.

Jason spares no expense.

He and Tyland each have new suits tailored for them, each of red and gold, while your gown is of pure white.

Even if you know your maidenhead had already been claimed before your wedding night.

There are flowers and food and music, and a pile of gifts taller than either of your husbands.

Even if many scoff and disapprove of a young woman taking for herself two husbands—especially with them being your siblings at that—but none of you care in the least, for you've never been happier.

And once they have each sealed their love for you with a kiss, to many attendees' chagrin, they too kiss each other.

You smile with tears in your eyes at the sight.

Soon enough, all of you move into one bedroom together—the mattress more than large enough to fit all of you.

You make love nigh-on nightly.

And you fall asleep in their arms—the three of you a mere tangle of limbs.

And when you fall pregnant, there is no debating over who the father is, because they each agree: it is all of yours.

And if you thought your life was already like something out of a fairytale...

You had been so wrong.

For now....it truly is.

Your children are darling little cherubs.

Little lion cubs made between you and the two men you love.

And you all three dote on them.

But still ensure to do as much with one another when time allows.

You run through the gardens, dodging marble statues and giggling excitedly all the while. And then you slam into a solid chest while another form suddenly comes up from behind you and grips your upper-arms, holding you in-place. "Well," Jason says with a smirk, while Tyland slides his hand along your waist. "It appears that we've won." "So," Tyland continues, caressing your jaw between his fingertips. "What is our prize?" You smile. "You already have me for a wife and mother of your children. What more could you possibly desire?" Jason cups your cheek while Tyland presses his lips to your hair. "Not a thing in all the world."

[errruvande]

I NEEDED THIS AS I NEED AIR OMG LIKE OH MY FUCKING GOD

this was so bshnssjbdakjzsmoxndksls HOT AND ABSOLUTELY F STUNNING

Fucking baby Taylo was ravished to pieces, this was a full blown sexual assault but what could he do, he was struck down with pussies and tongues and fingest and ahhhhhh fuck

I've been desperately looking for Tyland fics for so long on that godforsaken site and finally a kind person delivered it and I'm in full blown ecstasy THANK U SO MUCH

PS can we appreciate how he f pointing out that his name is Tyland while eating a pussy? Do u really care at this point????

Say My Name

Sharako Lohar invites Tyland Lannister to share a night of passion with her many wives.

Warning: NSFW, 18+, Smut, Orgy

Word Count: 1,972

Masterlist

~~~

“How many wives do you have?”   

The moment Tyland asked the question, he regretted it, and the answer seemed of little importance, because even one woman, warm and willing, was more than enough. More than he could wish for, and it had been a while, too long in fact, since he’d last shared a night with anything other than his hand.  

“Why don’t I show you?” Lohar said, slapping her thigh before jumping onto her feet, and once more, he found himself marvelling at this strange pirate Admiral. He’d never seen anything like her, and if he was honest, he'd never hope to again. The world could only stand to harbour one Sharako Lohar, and perhaps one was one too many.  

“Come,” she insisted, hauling him up under his arm.  

“Right now ?” he confirmed, and the look in her eye was positively feral.  

He should have just gone to bed, should have never asked that dammed question. But curiosity had gotten the better of him, or perhaps he was giving too much credit to his mind, when it had been his cock which had done the talking.  

She laughed, as though his question was absurd, and perhaps it was absurd to a person with more than one wife.  

Then she began to lead the way, and Tyland followed, to a place where the revelry of drinking and sea shanties were dimmed but not forgotten. To where a heavy curtain pulled back, revealing a room draped with plush fabrics in every colour and pattern imaginable, rugs and cushions lit tering the floor, and women, so many women.  

He counted at least twelve. Some sleeping, some talking, some... he swallowed hard, doing other things.  

“These are your wives?” he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking, as he gestured across the room, trepidation inching into his veins with far more strength than desire.  

“ Some of them,” Lohar grinned, treading carefully as she made her way into the swell of bodies, so not to step on the silky-smooth limbs sprawled across the floor.  

“What say you, Tylo ?” she asked, hand on her hip, goblet of wine raised in the air.  

“ Tyland, ” he reminded her, and not for the first time since their meeting.  

“Well? Which wife would you like to plough first?”  

He coughed, choking on the gasp of shock which tried to escape his lips. He hadn’t thought her offer an entirely serious one, she didn’t seem to take anything too seriously. But the way her wives were all looking at him, was anything but a joke.  

They could eat him alive. Nay, they would eat him alive.  

He tugged a steadying hand at the front of his tunic, straightening his spine, as though his stance or masculinity held any authority in this room, and it didn’t. It certainly didn’t.  

Hands grasped his hands, two women pulling him into the middle of the room while the curtain closed behind him. Then he was on the floor, more hands pulling at his buttons, unbuckling his belt, stroking through his hair, a kiss on his cheek, a caress across his thigh.  

He didn’t know where to look, what to feel, or what to do except, take it , and all of it under the watchful eye of Lohar, who paced a circle around the scene, drinking intently from the goblet clutched in her hand.  

He was naked in no time at all, and he was hard, of course he was hard, these women were beautiful and all so different, a true feast for the eyes and the hands, and... quite frankly, his cock.  

“ Fuck ,” he gritted out, he rarely swore and never in front of a lady, but there were no other words, no other feeling. Just fuck .  

Hands touched him everywhere, their light caresses breezing across his skin, then one of the wives leaned in to kiss him, her eyes so dark they were almost black, before he was tasting the sweet wine on her skillful tongue as she took control of his mouth.  

He needed to touch her, to tangle his fingers with the tight coils of hair falling across his cheek, but his hands were held back, and so were his feet, not that he wanted to fight it, what man would fight this?  

The woman was still kissing him, his bottom lip trapped between her teeth in a nibble which boarded on the right side of painful, when he felt one of those wandering hands brush across his cock.  

It twitched, alert , and he drew in a tight breath, wanting to see who it was that touched him there , but his body was not his own, and his vision was shielded by breasts, and hair, and hands, and kisses.  

A second wife took turns with the first to kiss him until he could barely breathe, then a third took him into her mouth, carefully , just the tip, her tongue flat and teasing, and so slow, so painfully slow.  

He tried to rut his hips up, to feel more of her, but Lohar was standing over him, her bare foot pressed onto his chest, holding him down, making him wait, and wait, until his cock was finally sheathed in the hot embrace of a stranger's mouth.  

Then she freed him, and he didn’t want to move at all, just feel, tongue and pressure, up and down. Soft hands still exploring, he couldn’t last much longer, not like this. He felt the pressure building and tried to think of anything to stop it from bubbling over.  

Mud pits, Aegon, Vhagar, Caraxes... oh fuck.  

He was half drunk on pleasure, when he noticed Lohar settle on the ground, laying on her stomach so she could watch the way his face contorted, his muscles tightening, holding on, desperately holding on.  

“You like this?” she asked, that bright white smile reappearing, almost laughing.  

“ Yes ,” his voice was strained, everything was strained, and strange, and so fucking marvellous.  

And Lohar seemed pleased by this, her attention flicking to a place behind him, where he could only imagine another wife was waiting. “Sit on his face,” she said.  

“What?” he gasped, barely able to hold a conscious thought, before she knelt either side of his head and lowered herself just close enough for him to taste her.  

“Eat up Tyler , take your fill, there’s plenty of pussy for all of us,” Lohar laughed, and she was sitting up now, with a wife on her knee, her fingers reaching between the woman’s legs, rubbing, spreading, pushing inside.  

“It's Tyland,” he said again, but his voice was weak, and who fucking cared what his name was, when there was a womans pussy glistening right in front of him.  

He arched his neck, so he could get closer, his tongue soft and slick as it explored between her legs with one slow lick. He didn’t even know what she looked like, but she tasted good, sweet and wanting, his tongue finding her swollen bud and swirling pressure across it in time with the soft sway of her hips.  

Then his hands broke free from restraint, or perhaps he was released, so his fingers could press tightly into the wonderful curve of her arse. He needed her closer, needed his tongue to sink into her, to feel her. She cried out, her body shaking, on the very edge of bliss, and he intended to send her spiralling.  

He replaced his tongue with two fingers, pumping them in and out of her, while he lapped again at that swollen bud, faster and faster, until her next cry was one of release.  

He watched her afterwards, coming down from the high, her hands clutched to her breasts, so beguiling and so unlike any woman he’d seen in the Red Keep.  

But the sound of her pleasure, had only made him more desperate for his own. He thrust his hips up, craving touch, craving his own release, only to realise there were no more tongues torturing the length of his cock, and perhaps that had been a good thing.  

“You want more, Typot?” Lohar said, and he didn’t need to answer, when one wife moved, another was upon him.  

Not on his face, but on his thighs, her hand wrapping tightly around his desperate cock, pumping it, teasing it.  

He was about to beg for more, when she held him straight and true, and sank her body down onto his, the tight embrace of her pussy grasping him from root to tip until his toes were curling.  

“ Seven save me ,” he hissed, thinking he should slow the pace she began to set upon him, but finding it too compelling to resist.  

This room of pirate wives was a realm of pleasure he had never imagined, and if he died tomorrow, it would be with a worn-out cock and a smile on his face.  

He closed his eyes, giving himself to these women. To more touches, hands and tongues, and the unrelenting thrust of pleasure, which worked up and down his cock, winding the need for release tighter and tighter.  

He was so close now. He needed to come, and he couldn't wait any longer, so he began to match her thrusts with his own. Grinding up into her, despite the hands still trying to hold him down. Then she stopped, and his eyes sprang open, to see Lohar, resting a steadying hand on her wife's shoulder.  

“I want to see how you really fuck her,” she said, before tugging the wife up, and guiding her onto all fours.  

His cock felt cold, and more needy than ever before, so he didn’t need telling twice. He could hardly move fast enough, feeling no shame at all, in the way the women watched as he lined himself up at her entrance and pushed back inside.  

His head fell back, relief, sweet relief, then he began to move, slowly at first, his hands tracing the wonderful shape of her figure, before finding a home on her hips, so he could hold her steady while he took her with more intensity.  

Again, he could feel the mounting pressure, his balls tightening, then Lohar was on him, kneeling behind him, her hips pushing into his, controlling his thrusts, as though it was her cock which fucked this woman, and he was just a tool. To be used, to be milked dry, and he’d be damned if he didn’t love every moment.  

“Make her come,” Lohar demanded, her tongue sliding across the shell of his ear, and who was he to disobey an order from the Admiral?  

He reached between the wife's legs, finding the spot which would tear her apart, while Lohar kept control of his body, guiding him harder, slamming him into her wife.  

He wasn’t sure how much more stimulation he could take, holding onto his release was becoming impossible, and then he felt her, this stranger, her pussy flooding with warmth before it pulsed with an orgasm and claimed the last shred of his resolve.  

“Say my name,” he all but roared, his hips jerky, despite the press of Lohar’s control.  

“Tyland Lannister,” she whispered in his ear, like a secret, like a promise, as he finally unleashed his pleasure and filled this woman with the hot ropes of his seed.  

“Good,” Lohar commended him, slapping his arse, “now let us start on the rest.”  

Delirious, Tyland struggled to catch his breath, before he opened his eyes to look at the other wives, who were all waiting, like a pack of rabid cats, for their turn.  

Swiping his hand across his face, he hoped he didn’t look as worn out as he felt. This might take all night, but if it was for King and country, he supposed he could muster the energy to fuck the whole damn fleet.  

~~~

Thank you for reading! I just couldn't stop thinking about these two and needed to write something for them. I hope you enjoyed it <3

[idkyetxoxo]

Tyland Lannister - Veils of Duty

Summary - A queen, trapped in a loveless marriage with a king who sees her as a mere obligation, finds fleeting comfort in the arms of her secret lover. Their forbidden passion starkly contrasts the cold, mechanical duty she endures with her indifferent husband.

Pairing - Tyland Lannister x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), infidelity

Word count - 2227 

Masterlist for Tyland • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

It's wrong to desire another man when you're married, and even more wrong to act on it while your husband remains blissfully unaware but guilt was a stranger to me.

After all, my dear husband Aegon, the king of the Seven Kingdoms, often found more comfort between the legs of a brothel whore than with his own wife, the queen.

"I will return later, I must speak with a few members of my council," Aegon said, dressing himself with the practised indifference of a king who had long since lost interest in his queen.

I nodded absentmindedly, barely registering his words. Since his ascension to the throne, it had become increasingly difficult for me and my secret lover to meet. Aegon was insistent on producing more heirs, a duty he fulfilled with mechanical regularity.

Once he left, I reclined on the silken sheets, lazily twirling a strand of my hair around my finger. The chamber felt emptier in his absence, but not for long.

The door creaked open, and I sat up hastily, clutching the sheets to my chest in a moment of panic before recognizing the intruder. Relief washed over me as Tyland strode into the room, his steps quick and purposeful.

A smile broke across my face. "What are you doing here?" I asked as he closed the distance between us, his lips seeking mine with urgent need.

"Visiting," he replied simply, my eyes darting to the chamber doors.

"You're mad," I whispered, my voice a mix of fear and excitement. "What if you get caught? He could return any moment."

"They would have my head for bedding the king's wife," he said nonchalantly, a smirk playing on his lips. "But it would be a worthwhile death, knowing I perished because I could not resist the breathtaking queen," he added, cupping my face gently in his hand.

Tyland's presence was a dangerous comfort, a reminder of the passion that still existed within me. 

Each touch from him was a sweet sin, a balm for the wounds inflicted by Aegon's coldness. 

Yet, beneath the pleasure lay a gnawing fear, how long could we dance on the edge of a knife before it finally cut too deep?

His lips found mine once more, I knew we were playing a perilous game. The walls of the castle held many secrets, and the price of our indiscretion could be steep. 

In those stolen moments, the weight of my crown seemed to lift, replaced by a sense of freedom I had almost forgotten.

Tyland's kisses were fervent, filled with a longing that mirrored my own. "If only things were different," I murmured against his lips, the words a lament for the love that could never be fully ours.

"But they are not," he replied, his voice a whisper against my skin, heavy with unspoken regret. "And that is why each moment with you feels like both a gift and a curse."

His words rang true, a bitter acknowledgement of our reality. Our love was a defiance of duty, a rebellion against the roles we were forced to play and in the confines of my chambers, away from the prying eyes of the court, we allowed ourselves to be who we truly were.

He began to undress, each piece of clothing falling to the floor with a deliberate slowness that heightened the anticipation between us. His eyes never left mine, filled with a tenderness that was as intoxicating as it was rare. 

Unlike Aegon, who approached our couplings with the detachment of fulfilling a royal obligation, Tyland made me feel cherished and desired.

As Tyland joined me on the bed, his touch was gentle yet insistent, his hands exploring my body with a reverence that made me shiver. His fingertips traced the curves of my waist and hips, sending waves of anticipation through me. 

He kissed me deeply, passionately, his lips trailing down my neck, igniting a fire within me. Each kiss was a promise, each touch a declaration of his desire.

I bit my lip, stifling the moan that threatened to escape. Any moment now, the door could swing open. Any moment, and this would all come crashing down.

His mouth travelled lower, worshipping my skin with a tenderness that made my breath hitch. He took his time, savouring every inch of me, his eyes dark with hunger and affection. 

When he reached the valley between my breasts, his tongue flicked out, tasting my skin, and I arched into him, a quiet moan escaping my lips.

"Does this please you?" he whispered his voice husky with desire, his breath warm against my ear.

"Yes," I breathed, my hands clutching at his back, pulling him closer. "More than you can imagine."

Tyland's hands moved lower, parting my thighs with a gentle insistence. He positioned himself above me, his gaze locking onto mine. He entered me with a care and consideration that Aegon had never shown. 

He paused, allowing me to adjust to the sensation, his eyes searching mine for signs of delight.

Every movement was deliberate, each thrust measured and controlled. He rocked into me with a rhythm that built slowly, his hips grinding against mine in a way that made me gasp. 

His hands roamed my body, caressing my breasts, brushing over my sensitive nipples, and sending shivers of pleasure coursing through me.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his lips finding mine again, kissing me deeply, his tongue dancing with mine. His thrusts grew more insistent, his pace quickening, but never losing that underlying tenderness.

Our lovemaking was a dance of mutual need, a silent conversation where our bodies spoke the words we could never utter aloud. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper, urging him on. 

The friction between us intensified, and I felt the tension building within me, spiralling tighter with each passing second.

"Tyland," I moaned, my nails digging into his back, leaving marks that would fade but never disappear entirely.

He responded with a groan, his movements becoming more urgent, his control slipping as he chased his own release but even in the throes of passion, his focus remained on me, on my pleasure. 

He angled his hips, hitting a spot deep inside that made stars burst behind my closed eyelids.

With a final, powerful thrust, we both tumbled over the edge, our cries of ecstasy mingling in the air. He held me close as we rode out the waves of our climax, his body shuddering against mine.

In the aftermath, we lay entangled, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. Tyland's arms wrapped around me, his hands stroking my hair, my back, grounding me in the reality of our shared intimacy. 

For a few precious moments, the world outside my chambers ceased to exist, and there was only us.

"Stay with me a little longer," I whispered, my fingers tracing the contours of his face, memorizing every line, every angle.

"Always," he replied, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. "For as long as we can."

In Tyland's arms, I felt truly seen, truly loved. He was attentive, his every action a testament to the depth of his feelings for me. 

With him, there was no pretence, no duty, only the raw, unfiltered expression of our forbidden love and in those stolen moments, I allowed myself to believe in the possibility of happiness, no matter how fleeting it might be.

Suddenly, a sharp knock on the door shattered our intimate bubble, startling us both. My heart raced as we froze, listening. Tyland's eyes met mine, fear reflecting in them.

"Your Grace," a voice called from the other side of the door, muffled but unmistakably authoritative. It was one of the Kingsguard. "The king requests your presence immediately."

I groaned inwardly, the weight of reality crashing down upon us. "Now?" I called back, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.

"Yes, Your Grace. It is urgent," came the reply.

I sighed heavily, feeling the tendrils of duty tighten around me once more. Tyland's hand gently cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek in a soothing gesture. 

"We must bid each other farewell," he said softly, a touch of sadness in his voice.

"I know," I replied, reluctantly untangling myself from his embrace. "But I wish we had more time."

"As do I," he whispered, his lips pressing one last lingering kiss to mine.

I rose from the bed, the cool air of the chamber a contrast to the warmth we had shared. I moved to the dressing table, hastily pulling on my robes. My hands trembled slightly as I fastened the intricate clasps, the urgency of Aegon's summons gnawing at me.

Tyland watched me, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and resignation. "Remember, my queen," he said, his voice low and earnest, "I am always with you, even when we are apart."

I nodded, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. "And you with me," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

A quick knock sounded again, more insistent this time. "Your Grace," the Kingsguard urged, his tone leaving no room for delay.

With a final glance at Tyland, I steeled myself and walked to the door. The Kingsguard stood there, his expression stoic and unreadable. 

"The king is waiting in his chambers," he said, stepping aside to allow me to pass.

I cast one last look over my shoulder at Tyland. He gave me a small, encouraging nod, his eyes holding mine until the door closed between us.

As I walked through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, I felt the weight of my role as queen settle heavily on my shoulders once more. 

The passion and connection I shared with Tyland were moments stolen from a life of duty and obligation, moments that sustained me in the face of a loveless marriage.

As I stopped outside Aegon's chamber, the crown on my head felt heavier than ever, a cold reminder of the throne that kept my heart imprisoned. 

Yet, deep within, where no one could see, the fire of our love still burned, defiant, unquenchable, and damning.

I took a deep breath and composed myself. The guards outside the door announced my presence, and I was ushered in. 

Aegon sat at his desk, surrounded by parchments, the flickering candlelight casting harsh shadows on his face.

"You called for me?" I asked as I entered.

"Yes," he replied, not looking up from his papers. "We need to resume our efforts"

His words were delivered with the same cold detachment he applied to matters of state, a reminder of the duty that bound us together. I swallowed my frustration and nodded, moving closer to him.

"Of course," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil within me.

Aegon finally looked up, his gaze appraising and indifferent. "It's important for the stability of the realm," he added as if to justify his clinical approach to something so intimate.

I forced a smile, knowing any resistance would be futile. "I understand," I replied, suppressing a sigh.

He rose from his chair, shedding his robes with the same mechanical precision he applied to his royal duties. As he approached, I steeled myself, trying to push thoughts of Tyland from my mind. 

Aegon's touch was devoid of warmth, his kisses perfunctory and dispassionate. I closed my eyes, allowing my thoughts to drift to the moments of true connection and tenderness I had shared with Tyland.

My mind drifted back to the warmth and tenderness of his embrace. The contrast between the cold, duty-bound king and my passionate lover was stark, and yet it was a contrast I had learned to navigate.

As Aegon moved over me, his movements were practised and routine, lacking the deep care and passion that Tyland had shown. Each thrust was mechanical, a duty to be performed rather than an act of love. I suppressed the urge to flinch, reminding myself that this was the price I paid for my position.

"Is this satisfactory?" Aegon asked, his voice flat and devoid of any true concern for my feelings.

"Yes," I lied, my voice barely above a whisper. "It is fine."

His eyes briefly met mine, flickering with something that almost resembled sorrow but it was gone in an instant, replaced by the steely resolve of a king whose heart had long since hardened.

I focused on the ceiling, counting the seconds until it would be over until I could retreat back to my thoughts of Tyland and the love that sustained me through these cold, indifferent encounters. 

As Aegon finished, he rolled off me without a word, returning to his papers as if nothing had happened.

I dressed quickly, eager to leave the room and the suffocating weight of my duties. "I will see you later," I said, my voice steady but distant.

As I fastened my robe my fingers found the gold locket at my throat, a gift from Tyland. Inside it, a single rose petal, now dried and brittle, just like the love we dared to nurture in the shadows.

Aegon merely nodded, already absorbed in his work. I left the chamber, the door closing behind me with a sense of finality. As I walked back through the corridors, I felt the familiar ache of longing for Tyland, the only one who made me feel truly alive.

For now, I would play my part, fulfill my obligations but in the secret corners of my heart, I carried the memory of our stolen moments, the love that defied the crown and that, more than anything, gave me the strength to endure.

A/n - Payback for the Aegon 'No Control' fic perhaps

[kingsanddragonsandgods]

⁂Early life:

Princess Visenya Targaryen of Runestone was born on the last day of the year 90AC, at her mother's ancestral home.

The newborn child was named after the Conqueror Queen, Visenya, by her father and anointed by holy oils seven days after her birth at the Sept-by-the-Sea in Runesport.

Queen Alysanne, who held the child during the ceremony is noted for having remarking that ‘the girl has all of Viserra’s beauty, but Alyssa’s temper’ to which the King is said to have answered ‘Gods be good’.

As Princess Visenya grew, her parents continued to battle, using the young girl as a pawn in their conflict, with both parents appealing to the King and Queen to take their side on occasion.

During her early years she grew especially close to her natural born brother, Orys Stone, the illegitimate son of Prince Daemon by Lady Rowena Royce, Lady Rhea’s older third cousin. The young boy was brought into Lady Rhea’s household in the year 90AC, following the passing of his mother.

From the age of five, her parents’ estrangement was permanent, with Prince Daemon returning to the Crownlands and Lady Rhea and their daughter remaining at the Vale. After royal intervention it was agreed that the Princess time was to be split between living in Runestone with her mother, and between the Red Keep and Dragonstone with her father, alternating during the seasons, summer and winter was spent on the Vale, while spring and autumn in the Crownlands, special celebrations were shared.

Her education appears to have been strict and somewhat old-fashioned, thus, in addition to her studies, Grand Maester Runciter notes in his journals, she was taught spinning and weaving and had an innate talent for weaving intricate tapestry. From the year 92 forward, Visenya, who had been betrothed to her newborn cousin, Prince Aerion, was expected to become Queen Consort, and her education reflected it. Her betrothed passed away in his cradle two years later, and Visenya was then betrothed to his newborn brother, Prince Aelor.

Her tutors at the time, Maester Adelin, Archmaester Vaegon and Master Petrarca of Volantis, regarded Princess Visenya as an extroverted, lively, highly intelligent, and strong-willed girl. Prince Daemon was reported to be proud of her horsemanship and marksmanship.

Because of her outstanding intellect, and his blunt favoritism, King Jaehaerys named Princess Visenya as his cupbearer in the Year 96AC, at the age of six.

The young princess often was allowed to discuss the classics, philosophy, and the affairs of state with ambassadors and envoys visiting the court of Jaehaerys. Moreover, she was personally acquainted with the painters, musicians, writers, and scholars who lived in and around the royal court.

Princess Visenya if often considered one of, if not, the best educated women of her generation.

The year 96AC marked another milestone for Princess Visenya: on the eight moon of the year, the young princess bonded and became the first rider of a she-dragon she named Huraxes. The same dragon that as a hatchling had been brought to Princess Daenerys Targayen. Huraxes had pearly scales and iridescent wing membranes, with pale and pinkish flames. The princess was allowed to bond with the she-dragons by royal decree after falling ill with a bolt of Spring Fever that nearly took her life.

Matches for Princess Visenya started being discussed by the Small Council, brought up by the Lord Hand. Thought Visenya was heiress to the largest fortress in the Vale and to the Ladyship of Runestone, it was argued that as she was a Princess of the Realm, the matter of her marriage was a prerogative of the King, which infuriated Prince Daemon, who at the time occupied the seat of Master of Law, the Grand Master agreed that such line of thought might anger the Vale, as the Princess was highly regarded by her people and her second cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn. Lord Corlys suggested his own son as a match for the princess, four years her junior, most likely to tie another dragonrider to his house. His Grace put down all talks of marriage for his niece, agreeing that such was the right of his brother and good sister to choose her match.

For the celebration of his niece's fifteenth nameday, the king ordered seven days of celebrations, with a tournament and grand feasts. The Queen's absence was noticed, excused as Her Grace was in the early stages of her final pregnancy, and Visenya was allowed to sit in the seat usually reserved for the consort; she was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by the Dornish Ser Eldric Dayne, the Star in the Morning.

Since the Princess's return to court early in the spring of 104 AC, Visenya had caught the king’s eye, and it is reported that Viserys and his niece have become very close, spending hours each day in each other's company, promenading in the gardens, hunting in the Kingswood, and dancing together during feasts and balls.

The king is said to have spoiled his niece with lavish gifts, including presenting her with a manse in King’s Landing, a country estate crossing the Blackwater Rush and later a sea palace in the Reach.

⁂Marriage and Queenship:

After the death of Queen Aemma Arryn in the Year 105 AC, Princess Visenya, aged 15, became the 2nd wife and Queen Consort of her uncle, King Viserys I Targaryen. Their betrothal was announced a month following the queen’s passing, and a private ceremony was held three months later in Dragonstone.

It was a scandal at the time, as not only the King’s new marriage was announced a moon after the late queen’s passing in childbed, but it had also been rumored for some time that Viserys and Visenya had been lovers.

More salacious tales propagated by the fool Mushroom during the Dance of the Dragons tells of the princess sitting on her uncle's lap during feasts, kissing him shamelessly, and nibbling his fingers sensually as he fed her like a beloved pet; of the king fondling her breasts in public, and announcing to his courtiers that he and his niece would retire to make love. These have no contemporary support, with Septon Eustace calling such tales absurd and slanderous.

Over the matter of his marriage to his niece Viserys claimed that the marriage was in the public interest and ordered a grand celebration for the occasion of his new queen's coronation, to happen after the end of mourning period for Prince Baelon. Visenya was the first Queen Consort crowned in a separate ceremony from the reigning King. During the occasion the apparent advanced state of the queen's pregnancy caused a new wave of rumors that Visenya had been the King's mistress while the queen was still alive and that their child was conceived out of wedlock.

In their more than two decades of marriage, Visenya and Viserys had fourteen children, all survived into adulthood, something that the maesters attribute to the queen’s management of the nursery. Visenya’s role as a mother was glorified throughout the realm, their young new queen’s obvious fertility was seen, by the smallfolk and nobles alike, as both a bless from the Mother and a sign from the gods. With the birth of her twin girls, Princess Viserra and Princess Rhaelys, coins were issued, portraying her as the Mother, an allegory that would repeat itself many times for the remaining of her husband’s and son’s reign. If in her maidenhood, as a young princess, Visenya posed as a model for sculptures of the Maiden, in motherhood and queenship, she was now the Mother.

Although it was not the norm of the age, and in fact, apart from the late Queen Alysanne, no other queen receive such a honor, King Viserys granted Visenya a seat on his Small Council, leaning on her for advice on varied subjects due to his respect for her opinion and good judgment. She became a formidable figure with far-reaching influence during this time. According to some sources, her influence was such that Queen Visenya effectively ran the government alongside the Hand of the King.

In the year 115AC, around the time of her stepdaughter’s wedding to Ser Leanor Velaryon and in the years that followed, the Queen Consort started to work and put her own trusted people in ever higher positions to strengthen herself and her sons through them.

Visenya acted as her first husband’s regent after his health decline, sat in her eldest son’s war table following Viserys’s death.

⁂Personality:

Some historians have contended that to some extent she deserved her negative reputation propagated by her stepdaughter following the death of King Viserys I, despite the inaccuracies of the claims that she was sexually disreputable or regarding the legitimacy of her children, other criticisms of her were valid: she was ambitious, proud, obstinate, and masked her cunning behind a sweet-toned voice and flawless manners.

Princess Rhaenyra described her as a woman of reckless extravagance and wantonness, who seduced a grieving man, and whom the King nonetheless loved passionately and faithfully. It is widely known that those part of the Black Court of the Princess of Dragonstone took to call the queen ‘the King’s Great Whore’ and ‘Lady Concubine’, however always away from both the queen and the king’s ears as well as her supporters, further spreading the rumors of an extramarital affair while the late Queen Aemma still lived and questioning the validity of the legitimacy of their children. Despite rumors spread on her sons legitimacy supported by the queen's supposed lasciviousness, all of Visenya’s children resembled those of her lineage.

In her youth, Visenya was celebrated as ‘the most beautiful creature in the world’ and that there was ‘nothing lacking in her that the most beautiful girl should have’. Ser Alyn of Hull would reflect later in her lifetime that regarding her appearance ‘there were few women who could compete with the Queen in her prime’.

Visenya was fiercely independent, a trait she shared with her mother. Mellos described her as having ambitions to match her pedigree. However, Archmaester Gyldayn notes that Visenya was fully aware that a woman in Westeros could not hold power in her own right. Instead, Visenya orchestrated the rise of her sons.

Capable of acts of extreme ruthlessness, she, in contrast, was also able to demonstrate uttermost kindness and charity.

⁂Issue:

At four and thirty of age by the time of their weeding, Viserys was already considered in his middle age. The union however proved itself to be a happy one, and together they had 14 children, nine sons and five daughters.

Visenya had been taught the importance of receiving an education and came to play an extensive role in her children' education, resulting in the creation of a "superior breed of princes."

Queen Visenya was know to call her children her 'precious jewels', and took great pride in all of them, she was particularly close to the princesses Alyssa and Elaena, however it is said, that from all her children, her favorite was Prince Aegon.

edited on 11/04/2024

[kckt88]

The Picture of Aemond Targaryen II

Summary:

Aemond continues his life of debauchery and sin, but soon discovers that his indulgences come at a price.

Warning(s): Language, Drugs, Sin, Indulgence, Debauchery, Kissing, Smut – P in V, Murder, Death.

VICTORIAN ERA AEMOND TARGARYEN

INSPIRED BY THE BOOK/MOVIE - THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Word Count: 7157

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

As Criston Cole observed Aemond's increasingly erratic behaviour, a sense of concern gnawed at the edges of his conscience. The once noble scion of House Targaryen seemed to be descending further into a spiral of debauchery and sin, his actions betraying the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of his flawless facade.

"Aemond, my dear friend," Criston began tentatively, his voice tinged with worry as he approached his troubled companion. "I cannot help but notice a change in you as of late. Your indulgences in the pleasures of the flesh have become-excessive, to say the least."

Aemond's eyes flickered with a mixture of defiance and guilt as he met Criston's gaze, his demeanour guarded as he struggled to maintain the facade of composure. "I fail to see how my actions concern you, Criston," he replied coolly, though the tremor in his voice betrayed the turmoil that raged within.

Criston's brow furrowed with concern as he reached out to grasp Aemond's shoulder, his touch gentle yet firm. "Because I care about you, Aemond," he said earnestly, his voice laced with sincerity. "I fear that you are on a path that can only lead to ruin, that your actions will bring nothing but sorrow and regret."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Aemond's features as he regarded his friend's earnest expression, a sense of shame washing over him like a tidal wave. "Perhaps you are right, Criston," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps I have lost my way."

But even as he spoke the words, Aemond knew that the allure of his own desires was too strong to resist. For in the depths of his soul, he was haunted by a darkness that threatened to consume him whole – a darkness that could only be quenched by the fleeting ecstasy of the pleasures that beckoned him ever closer.

And as he turned away from Criston's concerned gaze, Aemond knew that he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, the abyss of his own desires yawning before him like a gaping dragon's maw. But still, he could not resist the call of the darkness that lurked within, a darkness that whispered promises of ecstasy and oblivion in the depths of his own mind.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” asked Aemond as he discarded the last of his clothes.

Alysanne shook her head slightly, she wanted Aemond, and she loved him deeply, he had promised to marry her. He’d even presented her with a ring so beautiful that she couldn’t stop admiring the way it looked on her finger, the way the stone shimmered in the light.

Aemond was to be her husband-laying with him wasn’t truly a sin. They would marry, they would have children and they would live happy-together.

Aemond placed his hand on Alysanne’s shoulder and directed her to lay down. He laid between her open legs, supporting his weight on his left arm as he reached down and took his hard cock in his hand and placed the tip of it against Alysanne’s entrance.

Alysanne shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath as Aemond sheathed himself within her.

Aemond stopped as she shrieked loudly in pain. He lifted his head and noticed that she had her eyes screwed shut.

"The pain will fade" whispered Aemond, his breath hot upon her skin.

The tears rolled down Alysanne’s cheeks as Aemond rutted against her. The pain was unbelievable, how was this supposed to be pleasurable for the woman? Was this her penance for laying with a man before exchanging the matrimonial vows?

Aemond gave a surprised moan as she involuntarily clenched around him. Alysanne grasped at Aemond’s shoulders as the pace of his thrusts increased.

Then she felt it, a gentle ebb of pleasure radiating around her body from where they were joined.

His hard cock, moving against something inside that made her toes curl.

"Aemond" breathed Alysanne, she was the edge of something-a peice of string stretched to the point of breaking-until it snapped. It felt like an explosion, her legs shaking as she came down from her high.

Aemond buried his face into her neck and let out a long low groan as he spilled his seed inside her. Eventually he pulled his softened cock from her and sat on the edge of the bed.

“A-Aemond” whispered Alysanne.

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond quietly.

“Bit sore, but I’m sure I’ll be fine” muttered Alysanne as she reached forward to take Aemond’s hand only for him to stand up and begin pulling on his clothes.

“I need to go-I’m meeting Tyland and Criston” muttered Aemond as he pulled on his cotton shirt and began doing up the buttons.

“I wish you would stay” whispered Alysanne sadly.

“You know I can’t, if your brother catches me here-he’ll not be very happy”.

“I know but maybe a few minutes” exclaimed Alysanne.

“Alys-my sweet lady. I shall linger for a moment longer” replied Aemond as he finished dressing and sat back on the bed, allowing Alysanne to embrace him.

His thoughts were never far from the painting hidden under the cloth in his attic. The reflection of his sins twisting his features like a knife. Was this another mark on his dark soul, his besmirching of Alysanne’s innocence, his lust for her clouding his mind, until he couldn’t stop. He had to have her, and he did.

But her arms around his body, felt like chains. Shackling him to a life he didn’t truly want. He was dishonest in his quest to bed her and now he would no doubt pay for his deceit, his portrait twisting with grotesque purpose even more than before.

He had to leave, he needed to be free of Alys’ womanly ideals, he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be a husband, her life goals did not align with his and he would only taint her with his darkness should he remain by her side.

“It’s getting late-I should be going” uttered Aemond.

“Shall I see you tomorrow?” asked Alys softly.

“I’m having some remodelling done-I cannot leave the workers unattended” replied Aemond as he moved away from Alysanne and took his long black coat into his arms.

“The day after?” questioned Alys.

“Maybe-“ muttered Aemond as he pressed a quick kiss to Alysanne’s forehead before leaving the room.

Ignoring the fleeting sound of Alysanne’s muffled sob as he shut the door.

As the echoes of their night together lingered in the air, Aemond Targaryen found himself consumed by a sense of unease. The connection he had once felt with Alysanne Rivera now seemed to wane with each passing day, replaced by a growing distance that he couldn't quite explain.

Avoiding her repeated attempts to seek him out, Aemond retreated further into the shadows, his heart heavy with guilt and uncertainty. What had once been a blossoming romance now felt like a burden too heavy to bear, weighed down by the weight of his own sins.

And as Alysanne reached out to him with words of affection and longing, Aemond found himself pulling away, his interest in her fading like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

But even as he turned his back on his Alys, Aemond couldn't shake the feeling of regret that lingered in the depths of his soul. For in the darkness of his own desires, he had found a fleeting ecstasy that could never truly replace the warmth of her embrace.

And as his feelings for his lady Alys faded into the distance, Aemond knew that he had lost something precious – something that could never be reclaimed. But still, he could not bring himself to reach out to her, the weight of his own sins dragging him down into the wanting embrace of darkness.

Heart heavy with apprehension, Alysanne sought out Aemond, determined to confront him about the distance that had grown between them. With each step, her resolve wavered, but she knew she couldn't ignore the gnawing ache in her heart any longer.

"Aemond," she called out softly as she approached him, her voice trembling with emotion. "We need to talk."

Aemond turned to face her, his expression guarded and aloof. "What is it, Alysanne?" he asked, his tone cool and distant.

Tears welled in Alysanne's eyes as she searched for the right words, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't understand what's happened between us," she confessed, her heart breaking with each syllable. "We had something special, Aemond. What happened to us?"

Aemond's features hardened as he regarded her, his gaze cold and indifferent. "You were a distraction, Alysanne," he replied curtly, his words like a knife to her heart. "Something to pass the time, nothing more. I told you what you wanted to hear, but it was never meant to be anything everlasting."

Alysanne's breath caught in her throat as she recoiled from his callous words, her hands trembling with a mixture of hurt and betrayal. "How can you say that?" she whispered; her voice thick with tears. "What we had-it meant something to me. I thought-I thought it meant something to you too."

But Aemond's expression remained unchanged, his eyes devoid of warmth or remorse. "You were mistaken, Alysanne," he said dismissively, turning away from her as though she were nothing more than a passing shadow. "What we had was fun, but it was never meant to last. You would do well to remember that."

With those words, Aemond walked away, leaving Alysanne standing alone amidst the wreckage of their shattered dreams. And as she watched him disappear into the distance, she knew that she had been nothing more than a fleeting distraction in his eyes – a casualty of his own selfish desires.

The air hung heavy with tension as Arthur Rivera, Alysanne's older brother, confronted Aemond, his eyes blazing with a righteous fury that burned like a beacon in the darkness.

"My sister is dead," Arthur began, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.

Aemond's facade of composure wavered for just a moment, his features contorting with a flicker of shock before settling into a mask of cold indifference.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice icy and devoid of emotion.

Arthur's gaze bore into Aemond's soul like a dagger, his words cutting through the silence like a sharpened blade. "Alysanne drowned herself," he spat, his voice thick with grief and anger. "And she was carrying your child."

Aemond's breath caught in his throat at the revelation, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of shock and horror. But still, he remained stoic and unmoved, his expression a mask of cold indifference.

"That's impossible," he replied flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Alysanne never told me she was pregnant."

Arthur's eyes flashed with fury as he took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides. "She didn't have the chance," he seethed. "You cast her aside like she was nothing, a mere plaything to be discarded when you grew tired of her. And now she's dead because of you."

Aemond's jaw tightened with barely contained rage as he fought to maintain his composure in the face of Arthur's accusations. "I had no idea," he insisted, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

But Arthur would hear none of it, his grief and anger consuming him like a wildfire in the night. And as he turned to leave, leaving Aemond standing alone amidst the wreckage of his own making, Aemond knew that he could never escape the consequences of his actions – that the darkness that lurked within his own soul would haunt him for the rest of his days, a constant reminder of the price of his own cruelty.

As the news of Alysanne's tragic death reached Criston Cole's ears, he couldn't help but notice the unsettling lack of reaction from Aemond Targaryen, his dear friend and companion. Despite the gravity of the situation, Aemond remained stoic and indifferent, his demeanour a stark contrast to the turmoil that raged within Criston's own heart.

"Aemond," Criston began tentatively, his voice laced with concern as he approached his troubled friend. "I couldn't help but notice-your reaction to the news of Alysanne's death. It's-troubling, to say the least."

Aemond's gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable as he absorbed Criston's words. "What would you have me do, Criston?" he replied coolly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Her death, while tragic, is of no consequence to me."

Criston's brow furrowed with confusion as he regarded Aemond's cold indifference, this man standing in front of him was becoming more unrecognisable as each day passed. A once promising young man descending beyond the precipice of darkness to which he would never return from.

"But Alysanne was more than just a passing acquaintance, Aemond," he insisted, his voice tinged with frustration. "She was a kind and gentle soul, taken from us far too soon. How can you be so callous in the face of such tragedy?"

Aemond's lips curled into a thin line as he turned to face Criston, his eyes like chips of ice that seemed to pierce straight through to the depths of Criston's soul. "I am not callous, Criston," he replied evenly, though the words rang hollow in the silence that hung between them. "I am simply realistic”.

But even as he spoke the words, Aemond knew that they were a lie – a feeble attempt to conceal the turmoil that raged within his own heart. For in the depths of his soul, he could not shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at him like a hungry beast, driving him further and further from the truth that lay buried beneath the surface of his own indifference. And as he turned away from Criston's concerned gaze, Aemond knew that he could not outrun the consequences of his own actions – that the darkness that lurked within him would haunt him for the rest of his days, a constant reminder of the price of his own cruelty.

But Criston would not be deterred, his freind was hiding something and he was determined to find out what it was.

Criston heart raced with anticipation as he ascended the creaking stairs to Aemond’s attic, eager to lay eyes upon the portrait that his friend had hidden away with such secrecy. But as he reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the heavy door, his excitement turned to horror as he beheld the grotesque visage that lay hidden within.

The once flawless features of Aemond Targaryen had been twisted and contorted beyond recognition, the lines of the painting reflecting the darkness that lurked within his soul. It was a macabre masterpiece, a testament to the depths of depravity to which Aemond had fallen.

Criston's breath caught in his throat as he recoiled from the twisted portrait, his hands trembling with a mixture of fear and revulsion. "What... what have you done, Aemond?" he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.

But there was no answer, only the eerie silence of the attic as the shadows danced around him like spectres in the night. And as Criston gazed into the depths of the painting, he knew that he had stumbled upon something far more sinister than he could have ever imagined – a darkness that threatened to consume them both if left unchecked.

With a sense of dread weighing heavy on his soul, Criston wanted to flee, but he was rooted to the spot, the twisted portrait haunting his every thought like a ghost in the night.

He knew that he could not unsee what he had witnessed – that the darkness that lurked within Aemond Targaryen was far more dangerous than he had ever dared to imagine.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Criston recoil in horror from the twisted portrait, his mind racing with desperation as he realized that his darkest secret had been laid bare before his friend's horrified gaze.

"You can't leave, Criston," Aemond pleaded, his voice trembling with feigned desperation as he blocked the doorway with his body.

But there was a glint of suspicion in Criston's eyes as he regarded Aemond's frantic demeanour, a sense of unease settling over him like a shroud. "What- what is this Aemond? This can’t be real surely" he demanded; his voice tinged with fear.

Aemond's gaze flickered with malice as he reached for a shard of broken glass that lay discarded on the floor, his mind consumed by the darkness that lurked within his own soul.

"It’s very real Criston-my portrait bears the marks of my sin whilst I remain untouched," replied Aemond coldly, his voice devoid of remorse.

“Y-You need help Aemond-“ urged Criston.

“Why?” asked Aemond cocking his head to the side.

“Something is very wrong-we must destroy the painting,” said Criston.

Destroy the painting? No Aemond could not allow that, it needed to be preserved, his soul was ensconced within the very essence of the painting.

Aemond watched as Criston seized the painting and looked wildly around the room, no doubt looking for something to aide in the destruction of his work.

With a sudden burst of violence, Aemond lunged forward, the shard of glass glinting in the dim light of the attic as he drove it into Criston's neck.

The painting slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground with a loud thump.

Criston crumpled to the ground, his lifeblood staining the floorboards beneath him, Aemond felt a sense of twisted satisfaction wash over him like a tidal wave.

For in that moment, he knew that he had silenced the only witness to his darkest secret – a secret that could never be allowed to see the light of day. And as he stood over Criston's lifeless body, he knew that there would be no turning back from the darkness that now consumed him whole.

With a cold determination gripping his heart, Aemond Targaryen dragged Criston lifeless body across the attic floor, his mind numb to his actions. With each step, the weight of his sin pressed down upon him like a leaden shroud, but his focus fixed solely on the task at hand.

Struggling against the weight of his friend's corpse, Aemond managed to hoist Criston's body into the trunk that lay discarded in the corner of the attic. The wood groaned in protest as he forced the lid closed, sealing away the evidence of his crime beneath a veil of darkness.

Heart pounding in his chest, Aemond dragged the trunk down the stairs and out into the moonlit night, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the deserted street. With each step, the weight of his burden seemed to grow heavier, but he pressed on, his mind consumed by the need to rid himself of the damning evidence.

Reaching the edge of the riverbank, Aemond paused for a moment, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stared out into the murky depths below. With a final surge of strength, he heaved the trunk over the railing and into the water below, watching as it disappeared beneath the surface with a muted splash.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the silence broken only by the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. And as Aemond turned away from the river, a sense of relief washed over him like a cleansing tide, the weight of his guilt lifted – if only for a fleeting moment.

But deep within the recesses of his soul, Aemond knew that he could never truly escape the consequences of his actions – that the darkness that lurked within him would haunt him for the rest of his days, a constant reminder of the price of his own cruelty. And as he disappeared into the shadows of the night, he knew that he was forever bound to the darkness that now consumed him whole.

Years had passed since the night Aemond Targaryen had silenced his friend Criston Cole, his guilt and shame driving him to flee from the city that had once been his home. In the quiet solitude of the countryside, he sought solace in the shadows, his past a dark spectre that haunted his every step.

But as the years slipped by like grains of sand through an hourglass, Aemond found himself drawn back to the city that had once been his playground, the lure of its bustling streets and glittering society impossible to resist. And so, with a heavy heart and a sense of trepidation, he returned to London once more, his arrival met with whispers of surprise and disbelief.

For while the faces of his peers had grown lined with age and weariness, Aemond remained unchanged, his features as youthful and handsome as they had been on the day he had fled from their midst. It was as though time itself had stood still for him, leaving him untouched by its relentless march.

As he moved through the crowded streets of the city, Aemond felt the weight of their scrutiny upon him, their whispered rumours like a dagger in his side. But he paid them no mind, his gaze fixed upon the horizon as he sought to reclaim his rightful place in the world that had once been his playground.

And as he mingled with the upper echelons of society once more, Aemond could not help but revel in the shock and awe that his presence elicited, his youthful appearance a stark contrast to the aging faces that surrounded him. It was a cruel reminder of the bargain he had struck so many years ago – a bargain that had granted him eternal youth and beauty at the cost of his own soul.

But even as he basked in the adulation of those who marvelled at his ageless beauty, Aemond knew that the darkness that lurked within him could never truly be escaped – that the sins of his past would forever taint the facade of perfection that he presented to the world.

As Aemond re-entered London's high society, he found himself once again drawn into the orbit of Lord Tyland Lannister. But as they reunited after years apart, Aemond couldn't help but notice the marked difference in Tyland's appearance – where once he had been a picture of youthful vitality, now he was aged and weathered by the passage of time.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" Tyland remarked with a wistful smile as he gazed upon Aemond's flawless features. "Youth seems to cling to you like a second skin, while the rest of us are left to wither away with age."

Aemond's lips curved into a practiced smile as he shrugged off Tyland's observation, his eyes betraying none of the turmoil that churned within his soul. "Luck, perhaps," he replied casually, though the words felt like ash on his tongue. "Or good genes, if you believe in such things."

But Tyland's gaze lingered upon him with an intensity that sent a shiver down Aemond's spine, his eyes searching for the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface. "There's more to it than luck, Aemond," he said quietly, his voice tinged with curiosity. "I can see it in your eyes – the weight of a secret that you carry with you wherever you go."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his secret, his facade of composure threatening to crumble beneath the weight of Tyland's scrutiny. But with a practiced ease born of years of deception, he pushed the fear aside, his expression remaining unchanged as he met Tyland's gaze head-on.

"You read too much into things, Tyland," he replied smoothly, his voice betraying none of the turmoil that raged within him. "Some things are best left unsaid, don't you think?"

And as they moved through the crowded halls of London's high society, Aemond couldn't shake the feeling that Tyland's suspicions lingered like a shadow between them, a reminder of the darkness that lurked within his own soul. But still, he pressed on, his secrets buried deep beneath the flawless facade of perfection that he presented to the world.

As Aemond Targaryen's youthful appearance continued to defy the passage of time, Lord Tyland Lannister couldn't shake the growing sense of unease that gnawed at the edges of his conscience. Though he had initially dismissed Aemond's flawless beauty as nothing more than luck or good fortune, there was something about his friend's demeanour that set off alarm bells in Tyland's mind.

As they mingled amongst the glittering elite of London's high society, Tyland found himself studying Aemond's every move with a newfound sense of scrutiny. There was a calculated precision to his actions, a careful mask of indifference that seemed almost too perfect to be genuine.

But it was in the moments when Aemond thought no one was watching that Tyland caught glimpses of something darker lurking beneath the surface – a flicker of malice in his eye, a hint of cruelty in his smile. It was as though he were hiding something, something that he would go to great lengths to keep hidden from prying eyes.

And as the whispers of scandal began to swirl around Aemond once more, Tyland knew that he could no longer ignore the nagging sense of suspicion that tugged at the corners of his mind. For beneath the flawless facade of perfection that Aemond presented to the world, there lurked a darkness that threatened to consume them all.

With a sense of determination burning in his heart, Tyland resolved to uncover the truth – whatever the cost. For he knew that the secrets that Aemond Targaryen carried with him were far more dangerous than anyone could have ever imagined, and it was only a matter of time before they were laid bare for all to see.

Under the cover of darkness, Lord Tyland Lannister slipped through the shadows like a ghost, his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way towards Aemond Targaryen's opulent town house. Though he knew the risks of his clandestine mission, the nagging sense of suspicion that gnawed at the edges of his conscience drove him forward, propelling him deeper into the heart of the darkness that lurked within.

With practiced ease, Tyland picked the lock on the grand entrance, the door swinging open with a soft creak that echoed through the silent halls. As he moved through the empty corridors, his senses heightened with anticipation, he felt the weight of Aemond's secrets pressing down upon him like a suffocating shroud.

And then, at last, he found himself standing before the door to the attic, with trembling hands, he pushed the door open, the air thick with the musty scent of neglect and decay.

But as he beheld the portrait that lay before him, horror washed over Tyland like a tidal wave, threatening to consume him whole. The once flawless features of Aemond Targaryen had been twisted and contorted beyond all recognition, the lines of the painting reflecting the darkness that lurked within his soul.

A scream caught in Tyland's throat as he recoiled from the grotesque visage that stared back at him, his mind struggling to comprehend the depths of depravity that lay hidden within Aemond's heart. It was a macabre masterpiece, a testament to the darkness that had consumed them both.

With a shaking hand, Tyland reached out to touch the twisted canvas, his fingers tracing the lines of Aemond's distorted face with a sense of disbelief and horror. How had he allowed himself to be deceived by the facade of perfection that Aemond had presented to the world? How had he failed to see the darkness that lurked beneath?

With a sharp intake of breath, Tyland recoiled from the painting, his heart hammering in his chest as a sense of dread washed over him. And then, to his horror, he watched as the grotesque visage on the canvas seemed to shift and contort, as if alive with a malevolent energy of its own.

A strangled cry escaped Tyland's lips as he stumbled backwards, his eyes wide with terror as he watched the twisted figure in the painting leer at him with a mocking grin.

Aemond Targaryen's heart skipped a beat as he ascended the stairs to the attic, a sense of foreboding gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled with unease as he pushed open the heavy door, revealing the twisted portrait that lay hidden within.

But to his surprise, it was not solitude that greeted him, but rather the figure of Lord Tyland Lannister standing before the painting, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. And yet, despite the horror that lay before him, Aemond felt a strange sense of calm wash over him, a serenity born of resignation and acceptance.

"Tyland," he said softly, his voice a mere whisper in the silence of the attic. "I see you've discovered my secret."

Tyland's gaze flickered to meet Aemond's, his expression a mask of disbelief and horror. "What-what have you done, Aemond?" he whispered, his voice tinged with fear.

Aemond's lips curved into a serene smile as he regarded his old friend, his eyes glinting with a madness that seemed to dance just beneath the surface. "I have embraced the darkness within me" he replied calmly, though the words sent a chill down Tyland's spine. "I have made a pact with forces beyond your comprehension, and in return, I have been granted eternal youth and beauty."

Tyland recoiled from Aemond's words, his mind reeling with disbelief at the depths of depravity that lay hidden within his friend's soul. And yet, despite the horror of the revelation, there was something about Aemond's demeanour that chilled him to the bone – a sense of calm and serenity that seemed almost unnatural in the face of such darkness.

"You dare to gaze at me with such disgust, Tyland?" Aemond's words were laced with venom, his gaze boring into Tyland's with a ferocity that left no room for doubt. "You, who revelled in the pleasures of the flesh without remorse or regret? You, who preached the gospel of hedonism to all who would listen?"

Tyland recoiled from Aemond's accusation, his own anger flaring in response. "I may have indulged in the pleasures of life, but I never stooped to the depths of depravity that you have, Aemond," he shot back, his voice thick with disdain. "You are the architect of your own downfall, driven by a darkness that I cannot begin to comprehend."

Aemond's laughter echoed through the attic, a hollow sound that sent shivers down Tyland's spine. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, Tyland?" he sneered, his eyes blazing with a madness that seemed to dance just beneath the surface. "That I am the monster, and you are merely an innocent bystander?"

Tyland's fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of Aemond's taunts. "You are responsible for your own actions, Aemond," he replied through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with anger. "You alone bear the burden of your sins."

But Aemond merely smirked at Tyland's words, a cruel twist of his lips that sent a chill down Tyland's spine. "Perhaps," he conceded, his voice dripping with malice. "But you, Tyland, are the one who made me what I am. You and your hedonistic worldview, your constant insistence on giving in to temptation at every turn. allowing me to take without the fear of cencequnce"

As Lord Tyland’s eyes scanned the cluttered attic, searching for any clue that might shed light on the darkness that lurked within Aemond Targaryen's opulent town house, they fell upon a small object lying discarded on the floor – a scarf, stained crimson with dried blood.

With a sudden surge of realization, Tyland's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the scarf as belonging to Criston Cole, his dear friend whose life had been taken, his death shrouded mystery. And as he reached out to pick up the blood-stained fabric, a sense of horror washed over him like a tidal wave.

For in that moment, Lord Tyland Lannister knew the truth – that Aemond Targaryen, his once-friend and confidant, was responsible for Criston's untimely demise. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place with chilling clarity, the portrait in the attic serving as a damning testament to the darkness that lurked within Aemond's soul.

As Lord Tyland’s trembling hands clutched the blood-stained scarf, a primal instinct surged within him, urging him to flee from the attic and the horrors it contained. With a strangled cry, he turned towards the door, his heart pounding in his chest as he scrambled to escape the suffocating confines of the room.

But before he could take a single step, a cold voice cut through the silence, freezing him in his tracks. "Leaving so soon, Tyland?"

Tyland's blood ran cold as he turned to face Aemond Targaryen, his eyes wide with fear as he beheld the man who had once been his friend. But now, there was a darkness in Aemond's gaze that sent a shiver down Tyland's spine, a malevolence that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

"Aemond-" Tyland's voice was barely a whisper, choked with fear and disbelief. "What have you done?"

Aemond's lips curled into a twisted smile, his eyes glinting with madness as he took a step closer, his presence looming over Tyland like a spectre in the night. "I have done what needed to be done," he replied calmly, though the words sent a chill down Tyland's spine. "I have rid myself of those who would seek to expose my true nature."

Tyland's heart raced in his chest as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of Aemond's crimes. "Criston-" he whispered, his voice trembling with horror. "You killed him."

Aemond's smile widened into a sinister grin as he nodded in confirmation. "Yes" he replied, his voice dripping with malice. "I killed him. Just as I would kill anyone who dared to stand in the way of my desires."

With a surge of desperation, Tyland turned and lunged for the door, his mind consumed by the need to escape from the madness that surrounded him. But before he could reach safety, a strong hand closed around his wrist, pulling him back with a force that sent him stumbling to the ground.

"You cannot escape me, Tyland," Aemond whispered, his voice a menacing whisper in the darkness.

As the flames consumed Aemond Targaryen's opulent townhouse, a crowd gathered in the street below, their faces twisted with shock and disbelief as they watched the inferno rage with an intensity that seemed to defy the darkness of the night. The crackling of the flames echoed through the air, a symphony of destruction that filled the silence with a sense of foreboding.

Among the onlookers, whispers of speculation began to circulate, fuelled by the fear and uncertainty that gripped them like a vice. Some speculated that it was an accident, a tragic twist of fate that had reduced the once-grand mansion to a smouldering ruin. Others whispered of foul play, their minds consumed by the possibility of arson and murder.

But amidst the chaos and confusion, one thing remained certain – the charred remains of a body had been discovered in the attic, its identity shrouded in mystery. But as the smoke cleared and the flames died down, the body was identified only by the rings on its fingers, rings that were known to belong to Aemond Targaryen.

With a sense of solemnity, the authorities announced the tragic news to the waiting crowd, their words echoing through the stunned silence. Aemond Targaryen, once a pillar of London's high society, was now little more than a charred husk, his life snuffed out in a moment of madness and despair.

The group of girls wandered through the museum, their expressions a mixture of boredom and disinterest as they glanced over the various displays of ancient artifacts and historical relics. Their attention waned with each passing exhibit, their minds elsewhere as they idly chattered amongst themselves.

As they rounded a corner, their eyes fell upon a display showcasing artifacts discovered at a long-forgotten townhouse, the name "Aemond Targaryen" emblazoned on a plaque beneath. A few of the girls exchanged glances, their interest piqued for a moment before quickly waning again.

"Ugh, more old stuff," one of the girls muttered, rolling her eyes as she brushed past the display without a second thought.

"Yeah, who cares about some rich guy from forever ago?" another chimed in, her voice tinged with sarcasm as she continued on without a backward glance.

The girls moved on, their attention already drifting to the next exhibit, the artifacts of Aemond Targaryen forgotten in an instant amidst the hustle and bustle of the modern world. And as they disappeared into the depths of the museum, the relics of a bygone era stood silent and forgotten, their secrets lost to the sands of time.

As the group of girls continued their aimless meandering through the museum, their chatter filled the air with a lively energy. But their conversation came to an abrupt halt as they rounded a corner and collided with a figure standing in their path.

Apologies spilled from their lips in a flurry of hurried words as they stumbled backwards, their eyes widening in surprise as they took in the sight before them. Standing before them was a man of striking beauty, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders, his sharp features chiselled and refined, the sapphire nestled in his missing eye only adding to the allure of such a man.

For a moment, the girls were rendered speechless by his arresting presence, their gaze lingering on his flawless complexion and piercing gaze. He offered them a charming smile, his eye twinkling with amusement as he took in their stunned expressions.

"Sorry about that," one of the girls managed to stammer, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she regained her composure. "We weren't watching where we were going."

The man's smile widened, a knowing glint in his eye as he inclined his head in acknowledgment. "No harm done," he replied smoothly, his voice a melodic lilt that sent shivers down their spines. "It's not every day that I have the pleasure of such delightful company."

The girls exchanged nervous glances, their hearts fluttering in their chests as they struggled to find their words. There was something undeniably captivating about the man standing before them, a magnetic charm that left them spellbound.

Emboldened by a surge of courage, one of the girls stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest as she met the man's gaze with a determined expression. "Um, excuse me," she began tentatively, her voice betraying her nerves. "I couldn't help but notice-would you mind giving me your number?"

The man's smile widened at her boldness, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes as he reached into his pocket and produced a sleek smartphone. "Of course," he replied smoothly, his voice a velvety purr that sent a shiver down her spine. "I'd be delighted to."

With practiced ease, he entered his number into her phone, his fingers dancing across the screen with effortless grace. And then, with a flourish, he handed it back to her, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that left her breathless.

"There you go," he said with a charming smile, his voice soft yet commanding. "Feel free to give me a text or call anytime."

The girl's heart soared with elation as she thanked him profusely, her fingers trembling with excitement as she clutched her phone to her chest.

As the man prepared to take his leave, a nagging curiosity tugged at the girl's mind, prompting her to speak up once more. "Wait," she interjected, her voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "You didn't tell me your name”

The man turned back to face her, his smile widening as he regarded her with a knowing glint in his eyes. "My apologies," he replied smoothly, his voice as rich as velvet. "You may call me Aemond."

As Aemond prepared to depart, the girl's mind raced with a sudden realization. His name echoed in her thoughts, stirring a memory from earlier in the museum. With a furrowed brow, she spoke up once more, her voice trembling with curiosity.

"Aemond," she began, her words cautious yet determined. "As in Aemond Targaryen?"

A flicker of amusement danced in Aemond's eyes at her question, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You could say that" he replied enigmatically, his tone hinting at a deeper truth that lay just beyond her grasp.

As she watched him disappear into the crowd, her thoughts consumed by the enigmatic stranger she had just encountered, she knew that there was much more to Aemond than met the eye. And as she returned her attention to the museum display, her mind buzzing with excitement, she couldn't help but wonder what other secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of his captivating persona.

Aemond returned to his luxury penthouse, his mind still lingering on the chance encounter with the girl at the museum. As he stepped into the opulent surroundings of his home, a sense of satisfaction washed over him, a rare moment of contentment amidst the chaos of his existence.

With a graceful flourish, Aemond made his way to a reinforced room hidden away from prying eyes, his steps echoing through the silence of the empty halls. With practiced ease, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, the air thick with anticipation as he approached a large, covered object at the centre of the room.

With a flick of his wrist, Aemond lifted the cover from the object, revealing the twisted painting that lay beneath. In the years since its creation – and the sins it bore the mark of – the painting had become unrecognizable, its once-flawless visage now warped and contorted beyond all recognition. Jagged teeth protruding through festering skin, the eye rotten in the socket.

But as Aemond gazed upon the grotesque masterpiece before him, a sense of satisfaction washed over him, a reminder of the darkness that lurked within his own soul. For in the twisted lines and distorted features of the painting, he saw a reflection of his own inner turmoil – a reminder of the price he had paid for eternal youth and beauty.

As Aemond stood in his reinforced room, contemplating the twisted painting before him, the gentle buzz of his phone broke through the silence, drawing his attention away from the dark thoughts that had consumed him. With a curious glance, he picked up the device, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the name displayed on the screen – Cerelle.

A smile tugged at the corners of Aemond's lips as he read the text message from the girl he had encountered at the museum, her invitation to join her for a drink filling him with a sense of anticipation. Who was he to turn down such a beautiful young lady, after all?

With a swift reply, Aemond accepted Cerelle's invitation, his fingers flying across the screen as he typed out his response. As he set the phone down, a sense of excitement coursed through him, a flicker of anticipation igniting in the depths of his soul.

For in that moment, Aemond knew that his encounter with Cerelle was only the beginning.

[ilikefelines]

Looking for a beta reader. Preferably someone experienced with fanfiction but beggars can't be choosers lol.

This link provides the specifics. It's Fire and Blood/House of the Dragon fanfic and none of the characters will be placed on a pedestal/overhyped/bashed. Please be nice in the comments.

[errruvande]

House of the Dragon masterlist

Sending them a spicy picture hc - Small Council members (Aegon II, Aemond, Tyland, Larys, Otto)

[dragonstonelurker]

Sketches of my Oc’s for firstborn of Rhaenyra according to the AU’S in my series “The Husbands of Rhaenyra Targaryen” https://archiveofourown.org/series/3082740

1. Visella Targaryen. Firstborn daughter and heir of Rhaenyra Targaryen/Samwell Blackwood from The Time of the Young https://archiveofourown.org/works/54566476

2. Visenya Targaryen. Firstborn daughter and heir of Rhaenyra Targaryen/Tyland Lannister from Dragon's fire, Lion's Teeth https://archiveofourown.org/works/43941288

3. Aerion Targaryen. Firstborn son and heir of Rhaenyra Targaryen/Qoren Martell from The Beauty of Marriage https://archiveofourown.org/works/41258193/chapters/103439316

4. Baelon Targaryen. Firstborn son and heir of Rhaenyra Targaryen/Baelon Targaryen from Bloody, Bare and Untamed https://archiveofourown.org/works/41970378

[vague-in-vegas]

Day seven - creampie

Ship: Aegon x Tyland

Additional tags: Creampie, vaginal sex, breeding, intersex Aegon, dubious consent, top Tyland, bottom Aegon

Words: 1,737

Ao3 link

Tyland had thought it was a joke when Aegon first brought it up. He had a habit of making ridiculous attempts to be funny, all of which amused no one except for himself. As of late, Aegon had particularly been fond of trying to make Tyland uncomfortable whenever he could. 

"If another heir is so badly needed then Tyland can give me one," Aegon had said during a council meeting when he was pushed to lay with Helaena again. 

It was too soon, Tyland knew that. Neither of them seemed ready to try again after Jaehaerys and he knew Helaena was even less ready for it. No one was surprised they hadn't started trying again. The words caught the entire council off guard, though. 

"Won't you, Tyland?" Aegon asked, turning his attention to him. 

Everyone had stared at him, shocked and awaiting his response. His mouth opened to say something, but he quickly closed it again. He truly didn't know what to say, what could he say? Aegon's sharp laughter had broken through the room a moment later, sparing him from having to answer. Alicent had scolded Aegon and Tyland thought that was the end of it. Simply an uncomfortable joke at his expense, nothing more, and he could have handled that. 

He'd very quickly learned that was not the end of it, though. A few days later, he had returned to his chambers and found Aegon there, lying naked in his bed. They had argued a bit over it at first, Tyland insisted that Aegon put his clothes back on and leave his bed. Of course, that attempt hadn't been very successful. In fact, Aegon had just laughed at him and spread his bare legs further apart. 

"Do you enjoy what you're seeing, Tyland?" Aegon teased when he caught Tyland glancing over his body.

The words brought a blush to his face and he averted his eyes. He thought it was only natural to stare at a fully nude person in his bed, but that didn't stop shame from filling him. He shouldn't have been looking even if he couldn't blame his curiosity. It wasn't every day that someone was naked and waiting for him in his bed, let alone someone of Aegon's status. Aegon's body itself drew his attention. 

He wasn't necessarily surprised by what he saw. It was common knowledge that some Targaryens were gifted in this way. He'd never seen it himself, of course, but he'd heard all of the stories. 

A Targaryen that seemed noticeably male, as pretty as any Targaryen was, but with a deeper voice and none of the soft curves of a woman. Yet their clothing kept a small set of tits and an only semi-formed prick concealed. Most importantly, a cunt and a womb rested between their legs, fully capable of carrying on the Targaryen bloodline. 

From what he had heard, the inverse was also true. There were some with child-bearing hips and a fuller chest, softer voices and prettier features. They had a slick cunt nestled between their thighs like all women, but a heavy cock also rested there. 

It has been whispered for a long time that Aegon and Helaena both were affected by such a condition. Those rumors had been proven true when Aegon had been the one to swell with their babes. Tyland had always ignored it, but he was directly confronted by it now. 

"Fuck me, Tyland. That is an order from your king," Aegon told him and Tyland paused. 

He shouldn't, he really shouldn't. He should gather up Aegon's clothes for him and help him dress, not stopping until Aegon was out of his champers. All he did instead was nod and begin undressing himself. 

"There we go," Aegon cooed, his voice a sickly sweet. "It shouldn't take too long anyway, should it?" He teased and Tyland prickled at the jab. 

He didn't enjoy the jokes and he wondered if Aegon spoke this way to all of his partners. He highly doubted it, though. Aegon had always loved to pester him specifically.

Tyland did his best to ignore the jokes, knowing he wouldn't be able to fulfill what was demanded of him if he didn't. He reached down once he was fully stripped, wrapping his fingers firmly around himself. His eyes closed and he imagined what would normally help him along. Images of a faceless woman on his lap flooded his mind, her cunt tight around him and her heavy chest bouncing in front of his face. 

It didn't take more than a handful of strokes to get himself hard, but he stroked even beyond that. He lost himself in it for a moment, almost forgetting he was being watched. He could feel Aegon staring at him, though. He'd never been watching like this. It was off-putting, but he powered through it. He stopped touching himself once he was sure his erection wouldn't flag. 

"I'll be gentle," Tyland promised him even though it was more than Aegon really deserved. 

His words earned another bark of laughter. He moved into the bed and over Aegon. Settling between his thighs, Tyland took a deep breath and gave himself one more chance to back out. 

Instead of walking away, he grasped his cock and nudged the head between Aegon's slick folds. He rubbed his cock along his slit once, twice, and then trice to make sure Aegon was wet enough for him. 

"Tell me if it hurts," Tyland told him once he was content with how easy the glide against Aegon's skin was. 

He paused to give Aegon time to reconsider this too, but when it was obvious he wouldn't, he began pressing inside with a shaky exhale. Aegon's eyebrows furrowed as Tyland sank inside of his tight heat, chewing at his lower lip. He never said to stop, though, and Tyland knew Aegon was rarely quiet about his discomfort. So, he didn't stop pushing until he bottomed out. 

Seconds ticked by unbearably slow as Tyland gave them both time to adjust to the intrusion. He forced his hips to keep still, focusing on simply breathing for a moment. It had been too long since he'd slept with someone, he realized. Already, the tight coil of pleasure wrapped itself around his insides. He knew he likely wouldn't last very long and he couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not. 

On one hand, he wanted this to be over as quickly as it could. On the other, he knew Aegon would likely make fun of him for finishing too soon. 

"Move," Aegon murmured, breaking Tyland out of his own head. 

He nodded and started to ease out of him, thrusting back in a moment later. His movements were still slow at first. Despite his annoyance, he didn't want to actually hurt Aegon. The man below him had grown eerily quiet. Mocking words no longer escaped him and Tyland thanked the Gods for small mercies. It made it a lot easier to focus and just enjoy this as much as he could. 

It wasn't a very difficult feat. Aegon was as tight as a virgin and hot around him, his body slick enough that the movement was easy. He took Tyland so well, soft and pliant beneath him. He looked at Aegon's face, seeing his eyes wide and his soft lips parted slightly. His eyes were looking down between them, staring at where their bodies connected. 

If he was a normal, Tyland would have taken the opportunity to kiss him. He would have pressed their lips together and fucked harder into him, licking into his mouth. Even with Aegon being himself, he considered it. He thought better of it. He wasn't sure it would be welcomed, uncertain of whether he himself even welcomed the desire. 

Instead, Tyland tried to slip a hand between their bodies. He'd never fucked anyone like Aegon before, unsure of how to touch him, but how hard could it really be? His hand has just slipped past Aegon's stomach when Aegon slapped it away sharply. 

"Don't touch me," Aegon snapped, catching Tyland completely off guard. 

Just when he thought he'd figured Aegon out, he went and did something like that. Tyland didn't pretend to understand it, but his hand did retreat. Aegon didn't want to be touched, that was all he needed to understand. His hand went back to rest near Aegon's head again, giving himself more leverage to fuck into him a bit deeper. 

It seemed safer to just focus on finishing. Aegon did seem to be enjoying himself, for what it was worth. His head had laid back against the pillows. Quiet noises left him every other thrust, breathy little gasps and moans. His hands rested limply at his sides, a bit awkwardly, but it didn't put Tyland off too badly. 

His own eyes closed, unable to keep them open much longer. Pleasure was overtaking him and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. His movements had become more erratic, losing his rhythm and thrusting into Aegon unevenly. The coil in his stomach tightened as he grew closer, shivering at the noises their bodies made. 

Aegon had grown even wetter by now, slick sounds filling the air as he fucked into him. The sound of their skin connecting overshadowed that noise, though. Tyland's own ragged breathing had joined the symphony at some point, loud in his own ears. 

He didn't bother warning when he grew close, not seeing a point in it. His pleasure took him fast and rough, hitting him harder than it usually did. When he first spilled, he forced himself in as deeply as he could, pushing his seed further into Aegon. It felt nice to finally be able to finish inside of someone without having to worry about pulling out.

His hips gave a few more weak thrusts, cock pulsing inside of Aegon as his body tightened and squeezed around him. He stayed deep for a few moments, letting himself catch his breath. He was careful as he eased off of Aegon's body and pulled his cock out. For a brief time, he stared in between Aegon's thighs at his now slightly puffy cunt. 

He didn't see himself dripping out of Aegon even after he'd pulled out. Tyland smiled to himself, satisfied with how deeply he had finished. There was only a very slim chance that Aegon didn't end up with child from this. 

[superprincesspea]

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[writingwenches]

Pirate Admiral Sharako Lohar is just a HE/HIM out here to cause some MAYHEM!

[idkyetxoxo]

Tyland Lannister - A Dragon and a Lion

Summary - A relentless lion, pursues the princess with determination. Their flirtation reaches a peak during a charged moment, only to be interrupted by her uncle's reprimand. Despite this his persistence reignites their bond, hinting at deeper affection and the prospect of a shared future.

Pairing - Tyland Lannister x Targaryen reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2150

Masterlist for Tyland • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

Tyland Lannister was the epitome of regal intensity, embodying the majesty and fierceness of a lion when he pursued his desires. He was a man who knew exactly how to achieve his aims, and at this moment, his focus was firmly on me, the Targaryen princess.

It was no Herculean task for him. Over time, I had responded to his flirtatious advances and gentle insistence with a measure of interest, something that seemed to only fuel his determination. 

His attention had become a dance of flirtation and charm, with each interaction building upon the last.

As he approached me in a secluded corner of the gardens, his fingers clutched a small box. The tranquil setting and the soft rustling of the leaves seemed to amplify the tension in the air. He looked both resolute and anxious, the weight of the moment evident in his demeanour.

"Princess," he greeted me with a voice as smooth as velvet. I smiled, extending my hand for him to kiss, a gesture that had become a familiar and anticipated ritual.

"Lord Tyland," I responded, meeting his gaze with a steady look that spoke of both curiosity and acknowledgement. 

With a brief, knowing smile, he let go of my hand and withdrew his other arm from behind his back.

"I have a gift for you," he announced, his voice carrying a note of hopeful excitement. My eyes widened as I followed the movement of his hand. 

Slowly, he revealed a piece of jewellery, a stunning gold necklace with an intricately designed lion pendant.

My breath caught in my throat. "This is beautiful," I said, reaching out to touch the golden lion. Its craftsmanship was exquisite, a true testament to the artistry of its creator.

"May I?" he asked, holding the necklace out with a hint of nervous anticipation. I nodded, moving my hair to one side as he positioned himself behind me.

I tilted my head slightly as he fastened the necklace around my neck, his fingers warm and tender against my skin. The contact was delicate, almost reverent, as he adjusted the chain with a careful precision. His touch lingered a moment longer than necessary, creating a palpable closeness.

As he finished, I moved my hair back into place, feeling the weight of the necklace settle comfortably against my skin. Tyland's presence was close, his breath gently grazing the nape of my neck as his hands rested lightly on my shoulders.

"You wear it well," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. His thumbs traced small, gentle circles on my shoulders, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Thank you," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. I could feel the heat of his body against my back, an intoxicating warmth that drew me in.

Tyland's hands slid down my arms slowly, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of my dress. "I'm glad you like it. It suits you, Princess."

I turned slightly to look at him, our faces only inches apart. "You have a talent for choosing the perfect gifts."

He smiled, his eyes locked onto mine. "It's easy when the recipient is as inspiring as you."

The intimate moment was abruptly interrupted by a booming voice that seemed to slice through the serene ambience of the garden. "Princess, Lord Tyland."

We both flinched at the sudden intrusion. I turned to see my uncle, Daemon, emerging from the shadows, his expression a mix of disapproval and irritation. His presence was commanding, his gaze fixed intently on us.

"Uncle?" I questioned, a note of surprise in my voice. I hadn't expected to see him here, especially not at this moment.

Daemon's eyes moved to Tyland, his tone clipped and authoritative. "Lord Tyland, I believe your presence is required elsewhere, perhaps with the king."

Tyland's face reflected a brief moment of disappointment, but he masked it with a respectful bow. "Of course, my prince," he replied, his voice tinged with a note of restrained frustration.

As Tyland took his leave, his steps echoing softly against the cobblestones, I felt a pang of irritation rise within me. The disruption had been unwelcome, and the abruptness of Daemon's intervention stung more than I cared to admit. 

I watched him go, feeling a mix of disappointment and anger.

I turned to my uncle, my voice barely concealing my frustration. "Uncle, was it really necessary to intrude like that?"

Daemon's eyes darkened his expression as cold and unforgiving as winter's chill. He stepped closer, the faint scent of smoke and dragonfire clinging to his clothes. 

"You should be grateful it was only I who caught you in such a compromising position. Your behaviour was entirely inappropriate for someone of your status. It's disgraceful." 

His words were laced with both venom and a protective edge, as though he saw me not as kin but as a reckless threat to everything we stood for.

My temper flared at his harsh words. "Disgraceful? We were just talking. How is that inappropriate?"

"You were not 'just talking,'" Daemon snapped, his eyes blazing. "You were allowing a man to touch you in a way that is unbecoming of a princess. Have you no sense of decorum?"

"Decorum?" I shot back, my voice rising. "And what about the way you conduct yourself? Are you the arbiter of what is proper now?"

"Do not deflect this onto me," Daemon warned, his tone dangerous. "This is about you and your reckless behaviour. You risk bringing shame to our house."

I took a step closer, my defiance unwavering. "And what if I care for Tyland? What if I want more than just to be a pawn in this court's games?"

Daemon's eyes narrowed, his expression hardening further. "Caring for someone does not absolve you of your duties. You have responsibilities that extend beyond your personal desires."

"And so do you," I countered, my voice steady. "But it seems you often forget that when it suits you."

A flicker of confusion crossed Daemon's face, quickly replaced by anger. "You tread on dangerous ground, niece. Be careful with your words."

I leaned in, my voice lowering to a sharp whisper. "And you should be careful with yours. I am not a child to be scolded. I know what I want and what I am doing."

"For your sake, I hope you do," Daemon replied, his voice cold. "Because if you falter, it will be more than just your reputation at stake."

"Is that a threat?" I asked, my eyes locked onto his.

"It's a warning," he said. "Do not take lightly the position you hold."

I felt a surge of defiance rise within me. "And what about you and Rhaenyra? You think your actions are beyond reproach?"

Daemon's eyes widened in surprise, his stern facade momentarily cracking. "What are you implying?"

I leaned in once more, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I know exactly what you and Rhaenyra have been up to. Your secret meetings, the whispers in the dark. You're no paragon of virtue, Uncle."

For a moment, Daemon seemed taken aback, his shock palpable. He struggled to maintain his composure, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for a suitable retort. 

The accusation hung heavy in the air, shifting the balance of our confrontation.

Daemon's expression darkened, a mixture of anger and embarrassment flashing across his face. He straightened, forcing his voice to remain steady. "You are playing a dangerous game. Your actions and your words carry weight. Do not mistake my leniency for weakness."

I straightened, meeting his gaze with a steely resolve. "And do not mistake my silence for ignorance. I am aware of the realities of this court and the compromises that come with it."

Daemon's eyes narrowed, but he took a step back, his demeanour slightly less assured. "Just remember your place. The consequences of crossing boundaries can be severe, even if you think yourself protected."

With a final, penetrating look, Daemon turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps echoing with a mix of frustration and reluctant acceptance. 

The garden, once a sanctuary of soft exchanges and warm touches, now felt like a battleground of hidden agendas and veiled threats. 

As I watched him go, the weight of our encounter lingered, a reminder of the precarious dance of power and propriety that defined our lives.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

A couple of days had slipped by, and as I wandered through the opulent corridors of the castle, lost in thoughts of the day's duties, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows. It was Tyland Lannister himself.

"Lord Tyland," I greeted, my voice carrying a note of genuine pleasure. His face lit up with a matching smile, the warmth of our previous encounter still evident in his eyes.

"Princess," he responded, his tone as smooth as silk. "I see you've been wearing my gift."

His gaze dropped to the necklace resting gracefully against my chest, the golden lion pendant catching the light and shimmering softly. The sight of it seemed to please him, a quiet pride evident in his smile.

"Indeed," I said, reaching up to lightly touch the necklace. "It has become one of my favourite pieces. You have an excellent eye for craftsmanship."

Tyland's eyes sparkled with a blend of satisfaction and amusement. "I'm glad to hear that. I had hoped it would be something you would cherish."

"More than cherish," I replied, my tone playful. "It reminds me of you, and I find that thought quite agreeable."

"Ah," he said, leaning in slightly, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. "Then perhaps it serves its purpose even better than I intended. I hoped it might inspire more than just admiration."

I laughed softly, the sound echoing lightly through the corridor. "And what exactly were you hoping to inspire?"

Tyland's smile widened, and he leaned in further, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "Perhaps a bit of affection, or at the very least, a distraction from the monotony of court life."

"Affection, you say?" I tilted my head, studying him with a mischievous glint in my eyes. "And how far would you go to seek such affection?"

"As far as necessary," he replied with a grin, his eyes twinkling with playful intent. "I am nothing if not persistent."

"You certainly are," I teased, stepping closer so that only a breath separated us. "But persistence alone may not win what you seek."

Tyland chuckled a rich sound that resonated in the quiet hallway. "Then perhaps I should employ a bit of charm to aid my cause?"

I raised an eyebrow, my expression one of amused scepticism. "Charm, Lord Tyland? Are you not already employing that in abundance?"

"One can never be too charming," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in. "Especially when the stakes are so high."

"And what are these high stakes you speak of?" I asked, playing along with the flirtatious banter.

"Winning your favour, Princess," he replied earnestly, his gaze locking onto mine. "It is a prize worth every effort."

I paused suddenly, causing him to stop in his tracks. A look of panic crossed his features, his confidence wavering. "Princess, if I have overstepped—"

"Tyland," I interrupted, my voice steady. "I am no child. I am fully aware of your persistence. If it is permission you seek, then you have it."

His shoulders relaxed visibly, a sigh of relief escaping him. "So, I will not be overstepping if I vie for your hand in marriage?"

I shook my head, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Not at all. Though, such matters require more than just our mutual consent."

Emboldened, Tyland took a step closer, his voice a soft murmur. "Then may I ask for something simpler, yet just as meaningful? A kiss?"

I raised an eyebrow, my expression a blend of amusement and challenge. "Before marriage? That is quite bold of you, Lord Tyland."

He cowered slightly, realizing the impropriety of his request. "Forgive me, I did not mean to—"

I silenced him with a gentle touch on his arm, a smile spreading across my face. "But boldness is a trait I admire." Leaning in, I placed a soft kiss on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin against my lips.

Tyland's eyes closed briefly, savouring the moment, and when he opened them again, they were filled with a mix of gratitude and affection. "Thank you, Princess. You honour me."

We continued walking, our steps light and our conversation flowing effortlessly. The gentle murmur of our voices mingled with the distant sounds of the castle, creating an intimate bubble around us.

As we reached the entrance to the library, Tyland paused, his hand lightly brushing against mine. 

"It has been a pleasure, Princess," he said, his voice sincere. "I hope we have many more moments like this."

I smiled, the warmth of his words lingering. "As do I. Your company is always welcome."

With a final, lingering look, he bowed slightly and turned to leave. I watched him go, a sense of anticipation and excitement bubbling within me. The promise of more shared moments and deepening connection hung in the air, filling me with a newfound sense of possibility.

A/n - She kinda gagged Daemon x

[bluemargotrobbie]

AEMMA Y LA BESTIA | NO PROVOQUES

La capital estaba bajo el dominio de la Reina Rhaenyra Targaryen, pero también descubrieron que las arcas reales estaban vacías, se debía encontrar el oro cuanto sea posible.

Para algunos las amenazas de Aemma eran insignificantes y carentes de valor, pero cuando había la posibilidad de el Lobo de Invernalia sea quien las haga.

📚: 𝗔𝗘𝗠𝗠𝗔 (publicado)

🖋: LunaticaBlack (wattpad)

🌎: HOTD

💌: Aemond, Aegon T& Cregan Stark

👤: Aemma Velaryon

[all-about-that-rec]

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: House of the Dragon (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Alicent Hightower/Rhaenyra Targaryen Characters: Alicent Hightower, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Tyland Lannister, Otto Hightower, Jasper Wylde, Lyman Beesbury, Harrold Westerling, Criston Cole, Grand Maester Orwyle (A Song of Ice and Fire) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e09 The Green Council (House of the Dragon), Canon-Typical Violence, No Beta-We die like Lyonel Strong, Lesbian Alicent Hightower, Bisexual Rhaenyra Targaryen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Summary:

Tyland Lannister, son of Casterly Rock, and Master of Ships, is summoned to an early morning meeting of the Small Council.