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seancekitsch · 2 days ago

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The Sword and the Quill: Chapter Six

Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Reader

In the weeks leading up to little Daeron's departure to Oldtown, Queen Alicent finds herself trying to entertain the unmarried ladies of court. As one of her ladies in waiting, you agree to an anonymous penpal in one of the men at court, and end up spilling your heart to him. He is your perfect match, your equal. The only issue? The Queen's brother Gwayne Hightower will not stop teasing you as you try to uncover who responds to your letters.

****tw/ this chapter only for an attempted mugging ****

Dearest Y/N,

I apologize for any harm or shame I’ve caused you. I know that as you were corresponding with these letters, you most likely did not want it to be me. I admit, a part of me did not want it to be you. But that is not the truth of the matter, and the entire time we were communicating with each other. Without being presumptuous, we fell for each other. Even without knowing that you were the one with the pen, I picked those flowers for your Love and Beauty crown with you in mind. Searching for my writer was not at the front of my mind when your smile graced a room. Now, I understand very much that you and I have differing opinions on where to go from here.

I would still wish to court you, as your words have moved me and while yes I have mocked you I never mocked your looks. I was never joking when I called you pretty.

I feel like you would rather not have me. Which, I will respect. If it would please you, I will go back to Oldtown early, as to not cause more unneeded harm to you. I do not wish for you to leave my sister because of my presence. She and the children clearly need and love you.

I have said many things over the ages, but especially the past few months that I wish I could take back. Even more, there are words I haven’t said yet wish I had.

Unfortunately yours,

Gwayne Hightower

So he does not hide his name anymore, or yours? Has he not thought of the implications of that? What people could assume might have transpired between the two of you if these were to be found? Love and beauty, the coin with the naked woman on it, these letters, the dance you shared; it is all too much. Evidence of a love affair that has not happened. These letters would shame you, you think. Enough to ruin any marriage prospect, enough to tear you from pious Alicent’s side. What would she think if rumors of an illicit affair out of wedlock with her brother of all people surfaced? You do not even consider the fact that these rumors would be completely untrue. People talk, and hearsay is often more powerful than the truth. There is probably already talk of a bastard Flowers in your belly.

And for a moment, you consider burning the parchment in the flame of the candle before you. Instead you place it to the side, the ring on your pinky clinking against the pewter cup to sip your beer. You sip long and hard on the beer, watching the amber liquid swish in the bottom of the cup as you gulp. The castle had felt all too stuffy and uncomfortable tonight, the same as it had felt every night since the feast.

You have spent the last week embroidering and dining with Alicent, walking her children to and from their lessons, and walking Maegor’s tunnels the moment the little royals were put to bed. Each night, you come to this tavern with the letter, and each night you agonize on how- or if- to respond. Tonight you are determined to respond, to have some way to save dignity or appearance in this. Often Helaena was the child that gave you odd riddles, but tonight it was little Aemond.

“Did you know that some of these walls are hollow?” he had asked you, and you had to wonder if he knew about the tunnels from a history book, or if the six year old was warning you. You decided not to take it as a warning, and told the little prince that the walls were stone and stone could not be hollow.

Your ring glitters in the candle light as you sit there and with your own blank parchment and your quill. The barkeep keeps the beer flowing and you think of what to write. You drink and read and drink and read. You place your pewter down as your eyes scan the letter again.

What he has written vexes you, angers you, saddens you. You aren’t exactly sure if his leave would grant you peace, as you know it would discontent Alicent and take Daeron from you. And what of you? To say that his presence is an issue is just as equal to his absence being an issue. Part of you wants to believe him, as it did feel nice to be in his arms; it felt nice when barbs were traded for more gentle jokes.

But even so, this is Gwayne Hightower. This is a man who has so often worked to make you look and sound like a fool; a man who has said horribly nasty things without caring that you were near, begets pleasure from making your temper rise. Surely, this is just another joke of his.

A well thought out, time consuming joke at your expense. Another embarrassment at his hand. To write these letters, to make the crown of flowers, to dance with you; it is all to fuel the rumor mill of court, one he understands well and understands the consequences within. It is a farce to make you look like some simpering maiden following around a knight, to make Alicent’s closest companion seem capable of scandal.

And surely, scandal is already spreading after you all but took flight from the feast. Certainly, he has made you a topic of discussion.

With a hand raised for another round, you finally know what to write to him.

You use the flame from the little candle upon the table to heat the wax before you seal your parchment. There is no need or use to disguise your parchment anymore, you think, now that he and you are unmasked. You settle up with the barkeep as it hardens, a sad smile on your face after you drain the pewter cup for the last time this evening and press the silver coins into his hand. You press your finger to the wax, testing its seal, before pulling the cloak up around you again and going back out into the night.

Your feet are unsteady under you as you travel the alley ways back towards the keep. Just three city blocks from here is a small door which looks like an average cellar, which in truth conceals one of the entrances to Maegor’s tunnels. This is a path you know well, a path you have trod every night this week alone. Your parchment clutched in hand, you tipsily make your way back so that you may collapse into bed for another dreamless sleep. Your boots clack against cobblestone, echoing as the wind blows at your cloak. The parchment in your hand flutters and flaps like a bird against the cage of your hand.

You turn a corner, and another corner, the alleys crowded with patrons of taverns and pleasure houses and dance halls raucous and crying and cheering in the night. It seems, you think to yourself, that despite all of the jewels and privilege of your station that the common people seem to have more fun. At least, they have since Viserys’ coronation. You’d heard from your Lord Father of the strife that had taken Prince Aemon and how it had been ended many times. Viserys inherited peace from his father’s bravery. Alicent though, had never met Viserys’ father. As a child, Otto had her read stories to old and dying King Jahaerys, and then her father had her comfort Viserys similarly when Queen Aemma died. Perhaps more royals live their life in servitude than one would think, you ponder, your eyes feeling wet with sympathy for your friend.

“Oh, excuse me,” you mumble as your shoulder accidentally clips someone’s arm, and you turn a corner.

You turn another corner, more wobbly now than before as the warmth from the beer settles into your bones. Maybe, tipsy optimism tells you, everything will be okay if you can just get back to your bed without stumbling too hard. Maybe somehow the Gwayne problem as you have been calling it would go away if you could just get back to your warm and soft bed. He could just stop being himself or stop tormenting you somehow? Some sorcery or potion could be invented to stop tongues from wagging? Silly thoughts, really. No use in continuing them. You stumble over the toe of your boot as you put the thoughts to rest. The cobblestones seem to come up to meet your feet as your boots push you forward, the worn leather of them no longer shiny in the streetlamp lights from years of use.

“A Lady shouldn’t walk out here alone,” a man’s voice calls to you, and you pull your cloak closer to yourself. You figure if you ignore the voice and keep walking you can put enough space between yourself and the man. This is, admittedly, not the safest part of town. The nearby pleasure houses attract terrible men, but the hired guards positioned at the entrances tend to watch out for women on the street. There is a letter opener in your bag, so you are not exactly unarmed, but you would rather reach the nearest entrance to Maegor’s tunnels without having to use it. You move a little faster, now eager to reach the next corner to turn.

“Did you hear me, M’lady?” The voice calls again, and your blood runs cold. How did he know? Footsteps pick up behind you, and you pick up your pace to try to out walk him. If you can make it to the next street, certainly he wouldn’t try to grab you with so many witnesses.

You reach just a few mere meters from the opening of the alleyway before hands grasp at your arms. Defensively, you put your forearms up over your chest, clutching the letter tight and wrinkling the parchment.

“Been followin’ you,” Rancid breath wafts over your face, “No common whore wears rings like that.”

Fuck. Now you finally remember. Before leaving your chambers, you always remove all jewelry. You always put on your plainest clothes. A simple garnet on your pinky finger has given you away. Fear courses through your bloodstream, but so does a steady mourning. This too now, you can never have again.

“All this trouble for a ring?” you ask, beer making you bolder. Anger, sadness, fear, all rolled into one as you hold your defensive stance. If only you can reach into your bag for the letter opener.

“All this trouble for whatever else you’ve got,” He sneers, and something in you tells you now is the time to fight. You kick your leg back, boot connecting with what you think is his knee as you wriggle out of his grasp, tearing your cloak and knocking yourself down to the ground in the process. You gasp as your knees land hard on the stones, trying your hardest not to cry out in pain. The man recovers a lot quicker than you expected, stumbling back to his feet and muttering curses at you. You hold your hands up weakly, as if the crumpled letter in your hand is a shield.

“Bitch! I should cut off your finger for that,” he tells you, and a dagger now glitters just as brightly as your garnet.

But no blade makes contact with your skin. Instead, you look up to see the man grabbed by the collar by none other than Gwayne Hightower. He, too, is dressed much more civilian than you are used to seeing. He wears a simple brown cloak and tunic. Only, his boots are fancy thick riding boots. Gwayne slams the man against the wall of the alley, a sickening crack as the back of his head hits stone.

“Do not touch her again!” Gwayne more or less roars, anger you have never seen before radiating from him. You scramble to stand as he presses the man further, his free hand now resting on his sword.

“I should have your hands for this,” Gwayne bares his teeth, animalistic in his rage towards the man, and the man seems well and terrified.

“No trouble,” the man chokes out under the hand on his throat, “I’ll be no trouble.”

It’s only then that Gwayne relents and releases the man.

“Be gone, and do not ever let me see you again,” he warns, and the man gathers himself to leave immediately.

“Keep your bitch on a leash next time,” the man mutters, and it’s the last you hear from him as he departs. Gwayne’s arms come around you immediately, snaking around your form and pulling you close into his chest. He smells of sweat and wine and now coppery blood as well.

You feel pressure on the top of your head, and for a moment you think it may be his lips. But no, you write it off, you are tipsy and imagining things.

“You stupid woman, do not scare me like that again,” he sighs, breathless and still on high.

“I had that handled!” You nearly shriek, and then falter, “I mean, there is a letter opener in my bag. I could have stabbed him myself, I could have put out his eyes or jabbed between his-“

“Handled? You fool, he was ready to dispatch you over a ring,” Gwayne cringes at his own words, as if his fear for your safety even scares himself.

His hand cradling your head is warm, holding you close to his chest as if you are his. You lean into the embrace, not quite holding him back, but because the comfort outweighs the desire to stand straight. This is twice now, that he has insulted your intellect, but you bury annoyance for the moment. He did, in fact, make sure you were to go home with all of your fingers tonight.

“Fine,” you pout, looking up at him, “I guess some thanks are in order.”

His face immediately softens as you gaze up at him, a faint smile on his lips as he takes in your appearance.

“I appreciate that, My Lady.”

“Do not think this puts you back in my good graces, Ser Gwayne.”

“My heroism is not enough? Might you believe it is me now?”

Not you. Not you. The words swirl in your head. Not him.

“I believe you are out of the Keep late at night, nothing more.”

His arms do not leave you, but his embrace of you loosens.

“And what are you doing here? A noble lady, this close to the Streets of Silk? You might as well be on them.” His voice is strained with anger and worry, his hair out of place and sweat evident on his brow. For a moment, you almost feel bad he is in such a state. He is clearly distressed, maybe harmed, because of you. A part of you wants to reach out to him and check for any sore or tender spots, but equally, you want him to just stop making that face.

But then it cuts through your tipsy haze what he has truly said, what he himself has revealed.

You scoff, incredulous and seeing red. You push him off of you as if he had been the one to cause your injury tonight.

“Good Ser,” the title spits like venom from a serpent, “I think I need not ask what you are doing near the Streets of Silk.”

He is silent for a moment, a damning silence as he looks to the shine of a puddle settling between the cobblestones.

“You are lucky I spotted you when I did, Y/n.”

Hot, humiliated tears threaten to spill from your eyes, nevermind that Gwane will not meet your eye and looks just as wounded as you feel. He was on the Streets of Silk, he all but admitted, no doubt chasing women with the crown’s coin and roughing up with his men. The smell of sweat on his tunic is not from defending you from that man, you realize. Truthfully you always knew where your tavern was located, but it had not been an issue until tonight. Until Gwayne Fucking Hightower had to play hero and humiliate you even further as some silly chivalrous interlude in a knight’s evening of debauchery. After everything he had written, the apology he had given you, he has proven he is still just the knight you always thought he was. He could not possibly be genuine in his affections for you if he could so easily come here, you tell yourself. Surely, this is only more fuel to the fiery cavern burning distance between you. He will not see you cry, he mustn’t.

“My hero,” you mutter, and shove the crumpled parchment to his chest as you walk past him.

You hold your tears until you reach the tunnel.

#gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne x reader

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povofjustme · 2 days ago

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House of the Dragon

Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen adopted daughter (Dark skin, black hair, green eyes)

(Didn’t check grammar, have fun!)

- You were abandoned on the beach

- Laenor had just came back from training

- He tried to get some alone time with joffrey so they went to a private part of the beach

- They both kept hearing a cry… they found you!!

- Laenor pick you up from a little adopted beat up boat on the tidewater

- “We have to go take her to my mother now” Lb

- Rhaenys looked at Laenor and asking why he has a baby in his arms but when he told her to look at your eyes

- Your eyes where green

- Just like Queen Alyssa Targaryen

- With everything else with you, you could really pass as a Velaryon’s princess but the best part is your black hair, just like her mother

- She sent for Corlys and called for the Grand Maester.

- “She looks strong and healthy, but she is small. I will say 3 or 4 moons old” gm

- Corlys took one look at you, your eyes, your skin and your hair! you could of passed as his and Rhaenys child

- “We should keep her” r

- “She could be passed as one of are own” c

- “Leanor go get leana, we have to talk” r

- That night they had a family dinner, everyone that night agreed to have you be passed at Y/N Velaryon the youngest daughter of Corlys and Rhaenys

- You came at the perfect time

- Corlys and Rhaenys haven’t been to kingsland in over 11 moons, they would say that Rhaenys was pregnant and due to her health. She wanted to keep it to themselves

- Once the king got note of his cousin new addition, He wanted to throw a 7 day feast just for you!

- Growing up, you ended up being the family favor, and once getting older and joining them in court, you become one of courts highly favored lady, all due to family

- The Velaryon Pearl~they call you

- Your Father (Corly’s) in his eye, you are perfect. His favorite child. You listen to him, and adored him since you were a kid without question. Which let him know you where ready you learn. Even if you wasn’t Velaryon by blood, you was going to be raised like one. He raised and tried you to be the best Velaryon in history.

- “(Your name) Velaryon, lady of Driftmark” He see your future in stone. He was the one that said history remember names, not faces.

- Your Mother (Rhaenys) she did teach you history of The Baratheon family. You looked more on her mother’s side than a thing. And she wanted to stay that way. She had no idea if you had any Targaryen in you but that doesn’t matter because you were “Velaryon” and didn’t need a dragon. You could stay on land where she knows you’re safe.

- Your Older brother (Leanor) as your big brother, it’s law that he protects you. In the halls, you could see him walking hand and hand with his 4 year old little sister with a little crown on both of their heads. He stared your training at the age of 7.

- Like your father, Leanor wanted you to be the best of the best but most importantly, he want you to be safe if you wasn’t by his side already. But growing up, Leanor can see the sea in you, maybe even the future lady of the tide. That’s another reason why he train you. When the time comes, nobody could try to over throw you.

- Your older sister (Leana) She teaches you how to be a confident lady. To the hair, make up and dresses. At 5 summers old, you would sit and watch her get ready for the day. Leana would dress you both to match. Hair as will. She teaches you everything you need to know about being a lady and how to present yourself to the people. Leana is your best friend growing up and she loved having a mini-me around her and dress up.

- Your Uncle (Vaemond) Teaches you about the tide. Ever since you was a kid, he grow to love you as family. And when he did, he took you under his wing. Everything you know about the boat or the sea and ocean is from your uncle. His very close to you because of the sea. Just like your father, he can see as the lady of tide

- Even though you were spoiled since they first met you, you were the most humble, persistent, and kindest person they knew.

- Growing up, you would get a feeling that you was somewhat different then your family. Yes everyone else had white hair but have been told that you had your grandma long thick black hair that fell to your waist, your father darker skin and your green eyes just like your great cousin

- But sometimes it’s didn’t feel right, but your choice to be the best you can be in their eyes. You are very grateful and show it.

- They never told you anything about your upbringing, but you have a loving family right here! Nothing will change you.

- Like - (You go to the market in The tides and spend extra money on the small business. You helped out in the orphanages since your were 7 summers old and donate most of your dolls, dresses and sometimes jewelry that out fit your or you believe some of kid would be happier with the toys. Every name day, the orphanages around Driftmarks would get big donations from the feast to feed them)

- The people see your kind heart, but also see how beautiful your “Valyria” future looks, your siblings and you are know as “pretty Valyria”.

- After Leanor got married and had his “first” child, He went to his father wanting to make you the future lady of the tide after him.

- He would send leana letters about it

- Leanor knows his not gonna have children of his own but he trained you for the age of 7 to be a leader, and his father agreed

- Corly or Leanor didn’t tell anyone but Vaemond. You ever needed there help when it comes to the people. You won there hearts over the years, they wouldn’t have a problem knowing that Driftmark would be safe in your hands.

- By the time Joffrey was born, you would become an helmsman, chief mate under your uncle watch then a captain to your own boat that your father gifted you.

- They knew they made the right decision, but sometimes you just wished your sister was here to see it.

- But she never got too. The night of her funeral all hell broke loose. The kids were trying to kill each other. Mothers are arguing. And all you could think about was your big sister.

- The whole day was a blur but you seem your nieces hiding behind your parents.

- That night you had the twins sleeping in your room, but the night wasn’t over just yet

- The girls where sleep in your room when you heard a loud noise, not your older sister but your big brother is now dead.

- Few years later, your uncle thought it was time for a new ruler. Your father has been at sea and no one knew if he was gonna make it are not.

- Now you are standing in the red keep. Your uncle just defended your position to being Lady of Driftmark, Rhaenyra was about to take her stand when the king walked in.

- At the end of it, your mother announced that your father and brother agreed to have you as the Future Lady of the tide…..

“To the future lady for Driftmark..” -King Viserys

#black reader #corlys velaryon #corlys velaryon x reader #game of thrones #hotd #hotd imagine #rhaenys x reader #rhaenys the queen who never was #rhaenys velaryon #leanor velaryon #laena velaryon #lady laena #house of the dragon #poc

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mysteryinkkat234 · 1 day ago

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Trafalgar Law Rockstar Headcannons

This was an idea I got from this post, and my friends and I came up with some fun ideas. And then I thought of maybe writing one-shots or a full chaptered story of a Rockstar Law x Reader.

Let me know what you think and if you have any requests for one shots, One Piece related, my DMs are open

DISCLAIMER: these headcannons have talks of drug addiction, Doflamingo and his bullshit, and NSFW topics such as bondage and dirty talks

Hope you enjoy!

* grew up with his parents wanting him to become a doctor, instead he started a rock band, called the Heart Pirates with Shachi (Bassist), Penguin (Keyboard and 2nd Guitarist), and Bepo (Percussion) and a bunch of other people

* He’s both a guitarist and singer, playing mostly Hard Rock, Prog Rock, and Alternative Metal like Blue Öyster Cult, Queens of the Stone Age, Slipknot

* They mostly play at underground stages, bars, Law tries to keep it indie and not spread too quickly

* They do start getting fans, but also majority of them, mainly feminine individuals, who really like Law. I mean how can you not? Tattoos, tired eyes, nice voice, chill attitude.

* Law’s family is actually pretty stacked, his mom and dad being both Doctors and his sister Cami studying to be one. He doesn’t really tell people about his family though

* As he was going to medical school he sadly fell into a bad crowd, following them to a group called the Donquixote Family. He soon was kicked out of school. He couldn’t tell his parents about it either, being homeless for a while.

* He soon meets Rosinante, a DEA agent and Doflamingo’s, the head honcho of the Donquixote Family, little brother. He lets Law live with him in his apartment, helping him with rehabilitation.

* Sadly, he’s unable to get him out of Doflamingo’s debt, Doflamingo asks for Law to work for him once in a while, playing music and entertaining guests at his local clubs and casinos, all while doing doing his Heart Pirates band, now with an ‘anonymous’ sponsor

* How Law meets the reader was a classic meet-cute. A record store, the reader was organizing records and bumps into Law. They bond for a bit, banter.

~~~

“You know I play guitar, in a band.”

(Sarcastic)”Seems that every guy that comes to me says they’re in a band.”

“Hehe, yeah sorry, did they invite you to their shows?”

“No, they say ‘we’re still looking a place to let us play’ and then forget about me.”

“Trust me when u say I have a band that has done a bunch of shows, lots of underground places if you’re interested.”

“Mayhaps~”

~~~

* and that’s how Law and reader met, and soon fell in love. The Heart Pirates get introduced to them, they rag on Law for being a softie but the reader likes them, they’re good to her.

* As Law and the reader are dating, she lets me sit in the green room, watching on a TV of the show, cheering for their boyfriend without the sound of other people gooning for him.

* Does Rosinante know about Law’s partner? Yeah but also he’s out of the house most the time, they’ve never bumped into each other before. Law tells his partner that they’re roommates and that’s all.

~~~

NSFW Headcannons:

* He doesn’t tell his fans that he has a partner, stuff like crazy fans trying to fight them in real life

* He’s heard some wild stuff at concerts yelled out by people. And in the back of his head, he’s reminded of his partner… and all the naughty stuff he’s going to do when he goes home

* Law likes the dirty talk, and the praise. “Every time I’m on stage, I think of fucking you in the green room, and no one would know.” “You’re the only fan I’ll fuck, and I’ll fuck you good. You have all of me, and I have all of you.”

* He likes fingering their partner while wearing rings, he likes to see them shiver from temperature play

* And bondage, loves tying his partner to the post of his bed, or partner tying HIM to the bed.

* Sex has never left the apartment, there have been some heavy make-outs in the green room and some perverted touches but he soon kept it cute and sweet in public in front of his friends.

* Shachi and Penguin will recommend the wackiest kinks to then get beat by Law.

#headcanon #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #modern au #one piece au #donquixote doflamingo #rockstar au #dms are open #send me dms

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theswedishcatlord101 · 2 days ago

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Old wc oc redesign and a drawing

Lore:

Gloomkit was born to Goldenwing(the golden cat), the medicine cat of sunclan, and Oakleap(not in the drawing), a warrior of moonclan, alongside her litter mates Foxkit(the red kitten), Glowkit(the golden kitten), and Shadowkit(the blue one), in a small cave far from camp which is where they lived for half a moon till Goldenwing took them to Sunclan camp claiming them to be abandoned kits she found, Gloomkit grew up and found herself interested in the herbs her litter mates found boring or disgusting. When she reached six moons she started training under Goldenwing to be a medicine cat, soon at 12 moons she proved herself a true medicine cat after helping a queen deliver her litter. Gloomsplice was never one to talk to her clan mates but after a tom kept ending up in her den they became friends the tom and her soon caught feeling and since she knew she loved him over all she switched, becoming a warrior instead to be with her love. The two soon had a litter of one, a small, black she-kit they named Ravenkit, her life was perfect… everything was going great… but soon it all would cash down on her… a fire had started in the field the cats lived in and soon the clans needed to escape. Gloomsplice tried to save every cat she could but her former mentor was too injured to be saved. “No! No no!” She hissed but not out of anger… “I can’t leave you here!” The tortie held tears back as the old she-cat smiled “Don’t cry Gloomsplice…” Gloomsplice felt her paws quiver as she heard stones fall and the fire spread, “We have to go! Come on Goldenwing you can still be saved!” The cream she-cat layed down. “No… Listen to me Gloomsplice.” Goldenwing’s tone was serious as she layed down on the ground. “I have taught you to save cats no matter what, that includes you. Your the only hope this clan has… don’t let yourself die with me…” Gloomsplice cried as she stood up her eyes not leaving the old she-cat. “But there’s one thing I have to tell you…” She continued, “I’m your mother Gloomsplice…”. Gloomsplice goes on to new territories as a medicine cat again with the clans and after training a white tom by the name of Beepaw(soon Beewing) dies of age.

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slaytheusurper · 4 months ago

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⭑ Our sweet sister ⭑

Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: Aemond has been waiting for years to marry his favourite sister, Aegon agreed it was the only way of keeping her close of making sure she only belonged to them. But her being given away to a dornish prince changes everything.

Warnings: NSFW, +18 mdni, targcest, murder, threesome (my first), making out, mastrubation, grinding, fingering, oral (both m and f receiving), vaginal sex, breeding kink, mommy kink, titty sucking, creampie, switch Aegon, dom Aemond and Aegon being drunk as always.

Word count: 3.3k

The early morning rays shone through your window in the Red Keep as your handmaiden finished up with your hair. She always had a need to have your hair perfect, not one strand out of place. With some pins she adjusted the headpiece with the sheer black fabric and green and gold details. Your mother, Queen Alicent, could arrive any moment with your twin sister Heleana, to pick you up for prayer at the sept.

You absolutely despised it but you could never disobey your mother. You were her favourite daughter after all. She always tried to get close to Heleana but you knew your twin preferred to keep her distance from everyone. Even though you were twins, you didn’t really look alike. Both of you of course had the silver hair and lilac eyes of house Targaryen but your facial features were different from hers.

The door opened and your mother and sister entered your chamber. “My dear, how did you sleep?” Alicent asked as she adjusted your headpiece a bit, at which your handmaiden frowned. “Fine, shall we leave?” You stood up and Alicent stopped fussing with your hair, following you out instead. Strolling through the halls with your mother and sister in front of you, Aemond walked passed giving you a small smile. To which you mouthed a silent “Help me”, he chuckled as he gave you one last sympathetic smile over his shoulder.

You thanked the gods the morning passed swiftly, for you were already on your way back to the Red Keep. When you reached the door of your bedchamber you hurriedly went inside as your handmaiden stood at the ready for your, often daily, dragon ride with Aemond. She helped you quickly change into your dragon riding attire. You and Aemond have always been extremely close, always there for each other, both the favourite children. But ever since Aemond started to grasp for more power, he started to lose the favour of his mother, her now fully turning her attention to you.

Your eldest brother, Aegon, had never been much loved by your mother. And because of your maturity and grace, he started to cling to you instead. This was the root of your complicated but deep connection with your older brother, everytime he got scolded or drunk he would turn to you. Now this used to be in an innocent way but lately the winds started to shift, Heleana was more distant from him then ever, his mother had just been ignoring him and his father on the doorstep of death. You hadn’t seen him yet today, so you assumed he was still asleep, you would check on him later.

As for now, you would take to the skies with your other brother. You couldn’t admit it but the way people were terrified when the two of you flew together made you feel so powerful. Yes the two biggest dragons of the realm were a godly sight indeed. You claimed Vermithor, The Bronze Fury, at age ten and two. That evening at Dragon Stone with your family was an interesting one. Everyone either preparing for bed or still drinking and talking was disrupted by the notice of your absence and the terrifying screeches and roars from the Bronze Fury below. Your mother demanded you to be rescued at once, for Vermithor was known to be relentless and fierce, having not accepted a rider after the old king died. But you were much like the dragon when it came to fierceness, you weren’t afraid. And so when the guards, dragon keepers and your family arrived at the cave where the dragons resided. You stood there, in your nightgown, hand on Vermithor’s nose. After years the Bronze Fury had been claimed... by a little girl.

Aemond joined you in the training yard where your horses were waiting to take you to the outskirts of the city, for Vermithor and Vhagar were both too big for the Dragon Pit. You were both quick to mount and race through the city to get to your dragons. When you arrived, Vermithor and Vhagar were both resting next to each other, they too, formed a close bond, as they only had each other outside the dragon pit. Both of them lifted their heads and grumbled and roared at the sight of the two of you, knowing they could fly with their riders again. You both climbed on your mounts and took to the sky, frightening the shit out of towns beneath you.

It felt good to be with Aemond, natural but powerful at the same time. You knew his desperate want for the throne but that still couldn’t change how you saw him. By the time you came back the sun had begun to set and you both knew supper would be soon. So you returned with your brother to the Red Keep where two guards were waiting to take you to the dining room. As you both entered your mother wore a disapproving look on her face, she didn’t like the two of you flying for so long but when it also cut into her time with her family she really got annoyed. “You stink of dragon.” She began. “We only just got back mother, time gets away from us on dragon back.” Aemond defended. You took your seats next to each other, Aemond to your right. Aegon to your left. Heleana to his left. Her head down as she mumbled to herself. Aegon slumped in his seat as always, probably already drunk and waiting for supper to end so he could sneak out to his whores.

There was a tension in the air, your mothers and grandfather's eyes were on you. Only then did you really take in your mother, teary eyed, red cheeks, looking down. Weird. You thought, you looked at your grandfather, the hand of the king, questioningly. “You are twenty years old already,” He began, you still looked at him confused but deep down you knew where this was heading, again. “For 4 years I have been searching for a good match for you, I have tried again and again to match you with someone you could grow to like, maybe even love and yet, you refuse them.” Otto stood up from his chair, “Alas, I have had enough. Your father, sadly, cannot make these decisions anymore, so I have. Now an opportunity has arisen, one that I have been waiting for.”

“House Martell is looking for a fine lady to marry their second son, prince Robyn. I sent a letter a while ago and they have agreed to accept your hand.” Two hands slammed on the table as Aemond stood up in rage. “You will do no such thing! She is a Targaryen princess! She will not be married off to some Dorne cunt!” He yelled, you could only look down. You knew this day would come, where they would be fed up with your defiance and force you to marry. But it seemed your brother would not give up without a fight.

What you didn’t expect was for Aegon to stand up as well. “My sister is the most beautiful and fine Targaryen princess of the realm, I stand with Aemond. You will not marry her off to some plain man of house Martell.” You were taken by surprise, Aemond’s reaction was expected but you didn’t know Aegon cared so much too. Otto Hightower leaned slightly over the table. “She will marry him, he and his family should be here on the morrow. End of discussion!” He sneered. You stood up and left without a word. You went to bed that night knowing your calm, easy life in King’s Landing was alas over. Aemond however, thought otherwise.

After everyone had gone to bed he was still awake, mauling over the dinner. In a fit of rage at the memory he left his chambers and almost ran to his older brothers. He could hear the disturbance inside yet he did not care, not when his beloved sister was about to be sold off like a broodmare. He passed the guards and pushed open the door. Aegon's bedchambers were completely destroyed, cups, tapestries, pillows, blankets were everywhere, glass and wine splayed on the grounds and walls. Aegon was standing over a small table that used to hold his wine. “Brother.” Aemond urged. Aegon looked up, his eyes bloodshot and fist balled up. “There is only one way to stop this, to keep her here.” Aegon didn’t even respond, he just nodded. They were very different from each other but they both had one thing in common, they loved you.

You woke up from a restless sleep to the entire Red Keep in disarray, you could hear shouting and arguing from inside your bedchamber and just as you were about to open the door. Heleana entered your bedchamber, hands covering her ears. You knew if Heleana looked to hide with you, it was bad. “What is it? Hel, what happened? Tell me.” She looked at the ground and muttered. “They’re dead.” Fear struck your heart as you thought the worst, her children? Your brothers? “What?! Who is Heleana?” You grabbed her hands and sat her down on your settee. “House Martell, at least, the prince and his father. Qoren Martell is now to be their new king.” You couldn’t help but smile. “How did they die?” Heleana finally looked at you, “They say Aegon and Aemond left in the middle of the night. No one could stop them as Aegon mounted Sunfyre and Aemond mounted Vhagar, they burned them on the Fork Road until nothing but ashes were left. Grandfather is furious as you might have heard.”

That was the end of a short betrothal between you and the prince of Dorne. It took two weeks for things to finally calm in the Red Keep. But the two brothers' plans to keep you here were not completed. Sure their enemy was dead but it would be sooner or later the hand found a new match so they had to make sure you couldn’t marry. You were sitting in your bedchamber on your settee, in your nightgown, your long silver hair down while reading a book about The First Men. When all of a sudden your bedchamber creaked open, as you looked up from your book both Aegon and Aemond entered your bedchamber. You weren’t allowed to speak to them, for two weeks you hadn’t been able to leave other than to pray by your mothers request. You couldn’t help but smile as both of them entered with a mischievous grin on their faces. You also noticed the guards outside were gone.

“You know you aren’t allowed to be here.” You said closing your book. They didn’t say a word as Aegon went and sat down on the settee in front of you, while Aemond settled next to you. “For two weeks we have lived in agony of not seeing you, not speaking to you. But as you know, Aegon and I have taken matters into our own hands. You, are ours. And we will do anything and burn anyone to keep you here.” Aemond spoke as he moved your hair behind your ear, placing a featherlight kiss on your neck making your eyes flutter shut. A fire started to burn inside you, heart thumping in your chest and a tingling feeling in your abdomen. When you opened your eyes you saw Aegon looking at you through half lidded eyes, his lips parted as you noticed a bulge in his pants. You weren’t stupid, you knew what sex was and you knew what they wanted and oh did you want it too.

“You, I think, know how we can keep you here. If your innocence is ruined, you’ll have no choice but to marry Aemond. You’ll stay here and have his children and of course you can keep taking care of me as well, right sister?” Aegon spoke, now standing up and moving to sit at your right side. You could only nod as Aemond groaned and moved his hand up your thigh, while Aegon grabbed your chin and smashed his lips on yours. Moving his lips feverishly against yours. Teeth clashing, tongue entwining and hands moving to rip off any clothes that were on you in the first place. Aemond finally had you bare next to him as his hand moved between your thighs, his lips and tongue moving over your neck. You moaned in Aegon's mouth, even your filthiest fantasies couldn’t compare to the real thing.

“Need you so bad mommy.” Aegon whined against your lips. You could hear a faint chuckle from Aemond who now used two fingers to tease your wet folds. “Listen to him, you haven’t even touched him yet and he’s already begging for it.” You couldn’t even speak as Aegon refused to stop kissing you. Aemond now circling your clit with his fingers making your free hands grip the fabric of the settee. Aegon started to remove his own clothes while never leaving your lips as Aemond paused to take off his as well. Both men now in their breeches, their hard ons evident between their legs. The effect you had on them made you feel like a goddess. You had them wrapped around your finger and they had you wrapped around theirs.

Aemond moved off the settee and kneeled between your legs, you looked down at him as he undid the clasp of his eyepatch, the sapphire in his eye socket twinkling in the candlelight. Aegon moved his lips down towards your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth and suckling on it like a babe. Aemond started to kiss between your thighs moving further until he reached your aching cunt. Tongue darted out as he began to lap at your folds. You could barely breathe as pleasure consumed you. Aegon sucked and licked at your breast hungrily, holding the other in his hand and using his right hand to pull down his breeches enough to free his cock. As Aemond continued to eat you like a starved man making you moan and whine, Aegon started to pump his cock, eager for that pure bliss. "Fuck- mommy-" Aegon mumbled.

Both brothers groaned and panted against you, Aemond now palming himself through his breeches. He couldn’t help it, he was too impatient. Precum started to leak from Aegon’s tip, he moaned and whined around your nipple. You couldn’t take it anymore, the erotic sounds, the feeling of one brother fucking you with his tongue and the other sucking on your breast while he was pleasuring himself, with a gasp and a plead you reached your peak. Seeing spots of how hard you squeezed your eyes shut. Your thighs clamping together around Aemonds head, which he forced right open before he stood back up. You hadn’t even noticed he removed his breeches as well. His cock stood proud, also leaking from the mere sight of you bare before him.

Aemond eyed Aegon hungrily, also seemingly turned on by the noises he made. Not to mention the sight of him at your breast while fucking his own fist. Aemond pulled Aegon of your nipple by his jaw and forced him to face his brother, before pulling him in a harsh kiss. Aegon made a strangled noise at the action and stopped pleasuring himself to hold the back of Aemond’s head, not wanting to let go of him. Then Aemond pushed his knee between Aegon's legs right against his hard cock.

Aegon gasped against his brother's lips, you whined at the sight, never had you seen such an erotic scene before you and you were begging the gods to not let it stop. Aemond didn’t stop there but started to move with more pressure against Aegon’s cock, capturing his moans in his mouth. Aegon removed himself from Aemond’s lips for a moment. “Please- don’t stop- feel so good.” He mumbled. Your hand unconsciously slid down your body, touching yourself was the only way to relieve that nagging ache that returned again. But to Aegon and to your surprise, Aemond did stop. Making Aegon whine at the removal of the contact. “On the bed, both of you.” Aemond commanded, and both of you scrambled towards your bed.

Aemond followed, positioning you like you weighed nothing. Putting you on your hands and knees, commanding Aegon to move towards your head while he stayed behind you. Aegon knew exactly what Aemond wanted and already held the base of his cock to smear his precum across your parted lips. Aemond grazed your other lips with his cock, smearing your arousal around. He reached out his hand to Aegon. “Spit.” Aegon did as told immediately and let his saliva drop onto his little brother's hand. Which Aemond used to coat his cock making it easier to breach your maidenhead. Aegon entered your mouth and hissed at the feeling, somehow this was better then any whores cunt. His sister and his brother sharing the bed with him was better than a thousand whores.

You softly sucked on Aegon’s cock while Aemond pushed the head of his into your cunt. You whined around Aegon while Aemond sank further into you, a shuddering breath leaving his lips at the feeling of his sister's tight hole around him. He had waited so long, feeling sure that the two of you would be wed but that day never came, and it would never unless he took the matter into his own hands. Moans, gasps and panting filled the moonlit room, it was almost an ethereal sight. Three silver haired bodies becoming one. When Aemond felt you relax and Aegon started to carefully fuck your mouth, he started to move as well. Wanting nothing more than to fill you with his seed that would hopefully take root so he could finally make you his wife and mother of his children. "Oh mommy feels so good-" Aegon whined.

As your moans grew louder, Aemond started to fuck into you harder. Gripping your hips so he could move you against him as well. Aegon was the first to finish, being already so pent up and horny he didn’t last long in your warm wet mouth. With a gasp of your name he filled your throat with his cum, fingers entangled in your hair for support. He pulled his softening dick out and laid down next to you catching his breath. Aemond started to now pound into you like a wild animal, it seemed as if he was so lost in pleasure he couldn’t hear or see anything else but you. Aegon however, with a clearer mind, sat up and moved closer to you. Letting his hand trace your body to where you and Aemond were connected.

Moving his fingers until he found your clit, you confirmed with a moan. He let his fingers rub against your sweet spot adding to the pleasure of your building orgasm. You pleaded for more, and Aegon started to move his fingers in rhythm with Aemond. This was all you needed, all you needed to scream out their names while gripping the sheets in ecstasy. Your walls clenched around Aemond, making him see stars. Aegon removed his fingers and watched in awe as his brother fucked you relentlessly.

However Aemond’s thrusts were getting sloppier. And his cursing and groaning made it clear he was about to peak as well. With a couple of final thrusts he came hard. Making sure to go as deep as possible, he spurted his cum right against your cervix. Surely filling your womb with his spent. Giving you a couple of lazy trusts he made sure to be completely milked empty before pulling out. Letting himself fall on the bed next to you so he could pull you against his side. Aegon, not wanting to be left out of it, crawled against your other side, cuddling up next to you. What you didn’t notice, was how the door was accidentally left ajar. Your brothers made sure the entire Red Keep knew of your bedding. Surely they can’t deny Aemond his sister now?

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

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shadowandlightt · 4 months ago

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Snow and Flame | Cregan Stark X Velaryon!reader|

Sent to treat with Lord Stark, the young Targaryen prince and princess receive devastating news and must return to Dragonstone, only the princess is sure she'll see the young Lord once more.

Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, wasn’t what you expected. He was warm, and kind, not stone cold and hardened by the cold of the north. You expected him to be hard, hadn’t expected the warm welcome that you received with your brother Jace. Your mother, the rightful queen, sent you here to treat with the young Lord of the North and remind him of the vow once made to her father, your grandsire.

“Seven Hells,” You shiver, “Is it always this cold here?” “Yes, my princess,” Cregan laughs, “This is only summer snow though, it is much worse in the winter.”

You shiver once more, wishing for the warmth provided on Dragonstone, in the south. Yet you were glad to be here with your brother and the young Lord of the North. You were dressed in enough furs to outfit many in the south. But here they were needed.

“I would hate to see winter snow then, my lord,” You sigh.

“Winter snows aren’t so bad, Princess,” Cregan replies, “We find ways to stay warm.”

“Enough, Lord Stark,” Jace chides, “Remember you are in the presence of a princess.”

“Of course, forgive me, my Prince.”

You glare at your brother, hating that he cut off the Lord. You were a lady of course, a Princess nonetheless. But you were not accustomed to hearing such things, given that you grew up with brothers. They forget that you are no delicate flower.

You feel a heat in your belly at the way Cregan looks at you, desire rising up in you. You’d never felt this way before, never having been around men your own age since leaving King’s Landing as a child.

“Perhaps you should show me those ways in which you stay warm,” You blurt out before being able to stop yourself. Though you quickly recover, “Forgive me My Lord, that was out of character for me. I blame the long journey.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you stayed here at Winterfell instead of making the journey to the Wall,” Jace warns.

“No, I shan't stay behind,” You shake your head, “I was sent here to help secure the alliance between our two houses and I’ll do just that, Jace.”

He smiled, throwing his arms up in defeat. He did not dare say you sounded very much like your Queen, and Mother. You looked very much like her, only with dark hair instead of the trademark silver Targaryan locks. You looked like your father, you assumed, as well. Lord Strong. You hadn’t voiced your own suspicions, not even to your brothers. But you knew in your heart that Harwin Strong was your father, and that he loved you very much.

“It’s an equally long journey to the Wall, are you sure you’re up for it Princess?” Cregan asks.

“Yes, my Lord Stark, I believe I can handle a two week’s ride north.”

You were readying to mount your horse when a young boy came running between your legs, latching onto you. A little laugh escaped your mouth as your arms came around the small boy to hold him. He couldn’t have been more than two or three, similar to the ages of your youngest brothers.

“Who might we have here,” You laughed, picking up the small boy and holding him in your arms, “Don’t fret little one, we’ll come back.”

The little boy nuzzled into your neck, seeking warmth you surmised. Lord Stark couldn’t help but notice the way you beamed holding his young son, and the way he went to you instead of his own father.

“Forgive me, Princess,” Cregan said, reaching for the boy, “Tis my son, from my late lady wife.”

“No apology needed, Lord Stark,” You hum, holding tighter to the boy, “He reminds me of mine own brothers. Tis no trouble, really.”

The little boy mumbled something into your neck, causing you to laugh aloud once more. Cregan finally pried the young boy from your arms, holding him just as close to his chest.

“We’ll only be gone a few weeks, Little Rickon,” Cregan tells the little one, “When you’re older, you’ll come to The Wall too. Now, great your Prince and Princess, little lad.”

“Oh, no need for that,” You say before Jace can get a word in, “He’s only little. There will be plenty of time for formalities as he grows.”

Jace smiles at the young boy, poking his red little cheek to earn a smile from the wee little one. Cregan smiles down at his young son before putting him down and instructing him to go back to his maid, who was to look after him whilst Cregan was away.

You weren’t sure how your dragon would deal with you being gone for so long, but you wouldn’t miss out on this. You’d always wanted to see the Wall. So you endured the long ride on horseback, which was almost enough to fell you.

By the time you reached the Wall you were unsure if you could walk. Jace had to help you off your horse. You were thankful for the layers that added some padding and acted as a way to hide your limp.

“I did warn you Princess,” Cregan sighs.

“I’m fine,” I groan out, “Just haven’t been on my feet in some time.”

He grins at you, but leads you and Jace towards the lift to the top of the Wall. You were warned that the men who take the Black are wild and vicious, but that you would be safe as long as you stayed with Lord Stark. They would not dare go against him.

You vaguely listen as your brother and Lord Stark talk about politics during the ride north. You laughed along with them as Jacaerys made crude jokes. Something you were used to, but Cregan did not know of you and your brother’s humor. He’s a Northerner, something different from you. You were a fair southerner, not used to the chill and cold. He’s born and bred for it.

“Too cold for you, Princess?”

You like the way he says your title. A hint of mischief in his voice. You wanted to know what he would do if you were a low born girl, with no honor to protect. Would he take you? Make you his own? You yearn for him to take you. More than you expected. But you were a lady, a Princess at that. It wasn’t for you to want such things. Your marriage would be arranged for political gain, you were second in line for the throne, not the heir. Luke was heir to Driftmark, being the second son. You were nothing but a pawn, and you knew it.

“Not at all, Lord Stark.”

“Please, Cregan, if you will.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, though you were lucky enough that the wind would hide it, cheeks already red enough. He held his hand out for you as you reached a platform. The sight took your breath away. The wide expanse beyond the wall was a sight to see, as was the wall that guards it. Your mouth is open slightly as the gasp leaves you.

“Tis a sight, I know,” Cregan says, standing between you and Jace.

“It’s beautiful.”

You weren’t sure how the words left your lips, or if they were even given permission to leave. You were not mad about it though, words often had a way of escaping when it came to you. You often got in trouble for it.

Jace and Cregan began negotiations once more whilst you took in the view of the wall. You heard Cregan promise some two thousand men, which made you smile even wider. The North would bend the knee to your mother, and serve their rightful queen.

“A raven, My Lord, with urgent news from Dragonstone.”

You turn, facing Cregan as he reads the missive, watching as his face falls, looking to Jace before handing him the message. Jace’s jaw tightens and his hands begin to shake. Your brows furrow, reaching beyond Cregan for Jace’s shoulder.

“What is it?” You question, brows knitting together even tighter.

“We must return home,” His voice is tight, “Luke-he’s gone.”

You felt as if the world was crashing around you. Surely there was a mistake, he was simply flying to Storm’s End. He was only meant to treat, and return. Luke knew how important this was to your mother’s claim, he wouldn’t have jeopardized it. He wouldn't have gotten himself killed over it.

“Surely the raven is mistaken,” You scoff, taking a step back. Your back collides with Cregan’s chest, “Lucerys is fine, I’m sure.”

Strong, somehow warm, hands grip your shoulders, holding you in place, “No, Aemond and Vhagar killed him.”

“No. No I refuse to believe that,” Your head shakes, “Aemond disliked Luke after what happened, but he wouldn’t kill him. He couldn’t.”

“Princess,” Cregan says softly, barely audible over the sound of the wind.

“No!” You yell, feeling your chest cave in, “No!”

Tears freeze against your cheeks as you begin to cry. Without thinking, you turn around and bury yourself in Cregan’s chest. He stands still for a moment, stunned by your actions before wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly.

It only takes moments for you to compose yourself. You were two weeks away from your dragon, a week and a half at best. Days away from Dragonstone and your mother. All you could think of was how scared little Luke had to have been. He was all alone, high in the clouds, no doubt in the middle of a fierce storm. You should have opted to go with him instead of Jace. Jace could have handled this without you.

“We should go back,” Jace instructs.

You sniff and nod, backing away from the Warden of the North. You instantly miss his warmth, internally scolding yourself for thinking such a thing at a time like this. You instead lean into Jace, accepting your brother as your rock until you could return home.

When you say goodbye to Cregan several days later, you can’t help but hope this isn’t the last time you see him. He promises his men once more, and watches as you and your brother climb onto your dragons.

The flight home is wildly fast, pushing your dragons to carry you faster than you thought they could. As if they could sense how quickly you wished to return home to Dragonstone, they allowed you to push.

By the time you return, even you are out of breath, emotions swirl wildly in your chest. You want nothing more than to go straight to your mother, but Jace tells you that he’ll give the report, seeing you were in no shape to do so.

You retreated to your rooms, saying nothing to Baela as you passed her. All there was, was your misery over the loss of your brother. You screamed and cried his name, mourning in the only way you knew how. You wanted to go to war, slay the devil Aemond and Vhagar. But you knew in your heart it would be a fool’s errand. You would be the one who was slain. Vhagar was much too big for any of the dragons with riders here on Dragonstone. Vermithor was the only one who could potentially stand against her, yet the Bronze Fury was riderless still.

You wail even when Jace finds you once more, holding you tightly in his arms. You both cry for your little brother, who was so full of life and love. He did not deserve to die, and you find yourself praying to the gods to take you instead. You fall asleep in your older brother’s arms, having cried everything you had to cry.

You expect to see Luke when you finally close your eyes. To dream of his horrific final moments. But instead you dream of white snow, an ice wall, and the stoic northerner who threatened to consume you. When you woke, tears still shining in your eyes, you vowed that it would not be the last time you saw Lord Cregan Stark. You would see him again, and find if he thinks about you as much as you seem to be thinking of him.

#cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark #cregan stark x you #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfiction #cregan x you #hotd cregan #hotd

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floatyflowers · 6 months ago

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Arthurian Legends | Dark Platonic King Arthur Pandragon x Daughter Reader x Dark Platonic Various

You are the twin of Mordred, and the child of King Arthur and Morgan Le Fay.

As you grew up, your mother mother shielded you, by placing protection spells on you, and also teaching you about healing using magic.

and she filled Mordred's head with hate on Arthur, claiming that he stole her birthright.

Mordred grew up with hatred in his heart towards Arthur, while you refused to hold ill intentions towards your father.

But that didn't stop you and Mordred from being inseparable and bonding as twins.

Whenever you have a suitor, Mordred gets rid of them with the help of his mother.

Morgan pushed you and your twin to reveal that you are his children at the court.

Mordred is quick to object on you coming with him, believing it to be dangerous.

"Mother, keep (Y/n) with you until I take revenge, I don't wish for her to meet the man who abandoned us and stole your throne"

"You and your sister have a connection, separation will only cause destruction"

You, on the other hand, did not want to ruin Arthur's marriage with Guinevere, yet you didn't wish to make your mother sad.

So, you started your journey with your twin.

Mordred made the first appearance by saving the king on a hunting trip, making Arthur knight him therefore he joins the Round Table.

Then Mordred introduces you to the court before announcing that the both of you are the children of the King

Arthur wanted to deny it even if he knew it was true, but when he saw how embarrassed you felt, he confirms it instead.

Later that day, you approach him and Guinevere shyly, stuttering out words of apology.

"I apologise for my brother's behavior and causing disturbance"

Your apology made Arthur obsessed with the idea of protecting you from any harm.

While Guinevere fall in love with the idea of you being her step-daughter.

She didn't have any children of her own, so you being her daughter is a really exciting thought.

Arthur makes sure to spend time with you bringing you on hunting trips with him and the knights of the round table.

He made you a tiara decorated with all types of rare stone gems for you to wear at all times.

Arthur would notice the closeness you have with Mordred which makes him decide to intask his son with many responsibilities so, you could spend more time with him instead of your twin.

"Your brother is occupied with his new responsibilities, allow to accompany you instead"

Merlin would grant you any wish you want, being more soft with you unlike how he is with Arthur when he was your age.

The old wizard also tries to advice your father to not keep you and your twin apart as it would might cause havoc.

But Arthur chose to ignore the warning, letting platonic obsession with you win.

On the other hand, Guinevere would take you with her on walks in the early morning.

Insisting you call her mother while she picks out expensive fabrics for the new dresses she ordered to be made for you.

"I wish for you to call me mother and to consider as such from now on"

"But, I have a mother, my queen"

"She is not here now, is she? I'm the wife of your father, so I'm your legitimate mother"

Mordred realizing that you are drafting away from him, your twin decided to cause chaos.

He exposed Guinevere in front of the whole court for having an affair with Lancelot, only to have his father cast her aside and order her death.

You try to reason with Arthur to spare her but seeing your love for her only made the king insistent on excuting.

The whole affair scandal caused a civil war.

Arthur decided to leave the kingdom and you in the care of Mordred while he went into war against Lancelot.

You helped Guinevere escape before she could get executed.

While Mordred seized the opportunity to ursurp the throne and become a king, allowing Morgan into the castle so all of you three could live together.

But you weren't pleased, taking a horse, you go to inform Arthur about what has occurred in his absence, making decide to return to reclaim the throne.

Thinking that Arthur has kidnapped and held you captive, Mordred almost went insane about how you, his twin, the other part of him, isn't by his side.

So, he went with an army to the battle of Camlann against Arthur's army.

The father and son stabbed each other severely, so both could die.

The end.

Actually, no, that's not the end.

Remember when your mother taught you about healing?

Well, it came to use, as you healed both Mordred and Arthur.

You made them both agree on peace, with Mordred returning the throne to your father, while Arthur forgives Mordred and open a new page.

Arthur banished Morgan, so she doesn't influence you and your twin ever again.

You, Arthur, and Mordred live in peace as a happy family.

A/n: I decided to give it a happy ending because I feel like it would be nice for a change.

#tw: toxic relationships #arthurian legend #reader insert #Yandere Arthur Pendragon #Yandere Mordred #yandere father #daughter reader #platonic yandere #arthur pendragon #Mordred #arthur pendragon x reader #Mordred x reader

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togenabi · 1 year ago

Text

things I won't tell you

vinsmoke sanji (opla) x princess!reader

♡—the new royal chef doesn't seem to recognize you without your crown. who's going to tell him? . . . certainly not you.

word count♡— 7.3k (cries)

genre♡— fluff, royal chef x princess au

content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader is a princess, reader wears dresses, reader has siblings (oc's), sanji made me google fancy food, mentions of zeff, sanji gets jealous if you squint, no use of y/n, proofread (but only a little)

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is detached from any canon, its basically just a big chunk of sanji fluff. please enjoy!

You've never really dreamed for yourself. You had always just let life fall into place around you.

The kingdom is prospering, entering a new age of commerce. Artists, craftsmen, and inventors sail seas just to be part of it.

Your sister Chrysanth is a wise queen, as you always knew she would be. She’s fair and just, always knowing what’s best for her people.

On the other hand, your brother August is Captain of the Royal Guard. He’s an excellent swordsman, who has yet to be beaten ever since he took command.

As for you, the youngest of the three, you have no idea what you’re doing.

The most likely outcome would be for you to be married off to settle some political arrangement. Unpleasant as it sounds, you would have agreed to it for the sake of the kingdom.

But the moment you said so, Chrysanth gave you a look unbecoming of a queen and immediately shut it down.

“Look,” She gestured to the view outside. “Does that seem like a kingdom who needs help to you? I work my butt off precisely so that we won’t have to depend on anyone else.”

“Besides,” She adds, “if anyone wants your hand, they should fight to the death for it.”

And so, for now, you work for your sister. Helping manage general affairs and the kingdom’s business agreements—even though she could easily hire someone else.

“I love that you insist on working,” Your brother told you once. “You could have been a socialite, but you’re here with us, serving the people.”

Of course you are. Because even though you didn’t necessarily plan it, you are proud and committed to your work. You’re happy with your own, mundane accomplishments.

Or at least that’s what you try to remember when you glance at the tall pile of documents on your desk. You’ll relish the satisfaction that will come when it’s gone.

The candle beside you burns low, flame becoming dimmer and dimmer as the hour grows late. You should probably replace that. Pulling open your drawer, your eyes scan its contents for a candle.

You’re fresh out of the tall ones that fit in the candleholder, but you have one sculpted like a cinnamon bun—a gift from August a few birthdays ago. It’s not exactly the best for illuminating your work, but something makes you strike a match and light it still.

It smells like freshly baked cinnamon rolls, you can’t help but inhale the decadent scent deeply.

The aroma triggers an embarrassing grumble from your stomach. You feel your ears burn despite the fact that no one else is around to have heard it. Perhaps a midnight snack is in order.

Unexpectedly, light seeps through the gap beneath the large wooden double doors to the kitchen. In all your years, you’ve never encountered anyone in the kitchen at two in the morning.

Normally, you wouldn’t want to disturb them. Knowing the chefs, they would likely fuss over you and put whatever they were doing on hold.

But you fear that your stomach will disagree with that, so you decide to knock and enter the kitchen anyway.

There’s only one chef inside—a tall, blond man with his back to you. You don’t think you recognize him. He must be one of the new hires.

When he hears your footsteps on the stone tiles, he turns around.

His expression, at first, is curious. But after a beat, his mouth curves into a charming grin that catches you completely off guard.

“Hello there, miss.” He nods in greeting, eyes alight with a look that no one usually dares when it comes to you.

“I’d be happy to fix up something for you if there’s anything you’re… craving.”

When you expected the chef to fuss over you, this isn’t what you meant.

Your first instinct is to look at his surroundings for alcohol. Perhaps he’s intoxicated and not in his right mind?

But the (sober) chef seems to have mistaken your silence for bashfulness, because he presses you further, “Trust me. I may be new around here, but I know my stuff.”

Unsure how to respond to his blatant (or insolent, your sister would say) behavior, you try to gently decline his offer.

“It’s alright,” You say, still uncertain about him. “I was only going to make a sandwich and be on my way.”

“Nonsense!” He insists. “If you’re hungry at this hour, it means you’ve been busy working too hard.”

He approaches the pantry, retrieving one too many things for a mere sandwich. Your concern grows when he grabs garlic, several leafy vegetables, and a lemon.

“You, my dear,” He points at you with, is that a cucumber? “—deserve a proper treat.”

You sigh, it looks like he doesn’t intend to back down. Maybe you should just let him do what he wants and see if he can back up all the talk. Pulling one of the chairs from beneath the kitchen island, you take a seat as you observe the flirtatious chef.

At least he seems to be enjoying himself. His hands work with the kind of precision that only comes from years of experience; and he smiles proudly when he sees you watching.

“I meant what I said, I’m a damn good cook.” He’s begun chopping the vegetables. “My name’s Sanji, by the way.”

The question now is whether or not you properly introduce yourself. It's difficult to deny that you enjoy his attention. The casual and relaxed manner he addresses you with is… a nice kind of different. When else are you going to experience that if you let this go?

Alright. For tonight, you're not a princess. You're someone who stumbled upon a chef—a handsome one, it dawns on you. This is a chance encounter in the palace kitchens. And, you glance over at the dressing and ingredients he prepared, why should you turn down good food?

You decide to only give him your name. It feels strange introducing yourself without your title, but you don't tell him that.

“It makes sense that your name is as captivating as you are.” Sanji's voice is smooth, easygoing as he moves around the kitchen.

Nothing about his demeanor changes. Either he really doesn't know anything about this country's royalty, or he's skillfully controlled his reaction and is hiding that he knows.

There's also a third possibility: that you look so haggard and tired that you simply do not appear royal anymore.

Subconsciously, you look at your typical office clothes… Maybe you should go on that fitting the royal stylist has been pestering you about.

On the topic of style, however, your companion has unusual attire for a chef. He’s wearing a buttoned shirt with a necktie. His black slacks match the suit jacket draped over one of the chairs.

Your attention is diverted when Sanji begins rolling up his sleeves. He juices the lemon he had sliced in half, arms flexing as he twists the fruit.

Clearing your throat, you ask him a question to distract yourself. “What are you making?”

He smiles as if he’s glad you asked. “A dish that suits a beauty like you, of course.”

Several minutes later, he presents you with a sandwich. The slices of bread are whole wheat; the layers of ingredients between them are all in varying shades of green.

“A green goddess sandwich, made with care for the goddess in front of me.” Sanji pushes the plate towards you.

It's easy to stay composed despite the flattery because your hunger makes you focus on the food. “It really does look excellent.” You compliment earnestly.

He gestures to the plate before placing his hands in his pockets. “Tastes excellent too, try it.” Shaking your head at how confident he’s being, you pick up the sandwich.

It might just be the best sandwich you’ve ever had in your life. The flavors are fresh, and you catch the hints of lemon blending with the dressing. The bread is soft, contrasting with the crunch of the cucumbers and sprouts.

You're completely surprised, and it must be obvious based on how Sanji reacts. He lets out an adorable, pleased laugh that makes you want to hear it again.

“I knew you’d like it, ma chèrie.” Sanji reaches a hand towards your face. Your heart just about stops when he brushes his thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth. His eyes look so intense, like you'll drown in them if you stare too much.

It feels as if your face could burst into flames at any second, so you turn away to hide your flush.

As Sanji grabs you a glass of water, you ask him if he’s eaten. “I did, but it’s nice that you’re worried about me.” He answers. You almost choke on your drink.

Once you've finished your meal, you stand then grab your empty plate and glass. But Sanji mirrors you, blocking the way to the sink. Why must a chef have such broad shoulders?

He shakes his head, trying to get the dishes from you. “Can’t let you do that, love.”

“Why not?” You frown, pulling your arms back so he doesn’t reach them.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be working any more—”

“But you’re allowed to?” You look up at him defiantly.

Sanji stares at you. You stare back. There's a few seconds of silence before you sprint the other way, running around the kitchen island to get to a different sink.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Sanji yells after you.

You’re almost there, but Sanji catches up to you easily. Before you know it, he’s blocking the way again and you curse, remembering his long legs.

“Sanji, let me do the dishes.” You plead, but he’s as stubborn as it gets.

“The knives I used need to be washed anyway, and I’m not about to let your pretty hands do that.” Sanji winks, and you give up. He pries the dishes from your hands.

Seeing your shoulders slump disappointedly, he offers you a compromise. “If you really want, you could throw the rubbish in the bin and wipe down the counters.” Okay, you can do that.

“Are you sure this is the only way I can repay you?” You ask, grabbing a washcloth to begin cleaning up.

“That’s plenty of help, my dear.” Sanji answers.

But after a moment, he seems to have gotten an idea. Your brows raise in curiosity as you question him, “What?”

“...I was just wondering,” He begins, looking at you with that flirtatious glint in his eye. “Since we had such a wonderful time tonight, would you be willing to join me again?”

“That depends,” You press your lips together to suppress the smile blooming on your lips. “Will you cook for me again?”

Sanji laughs, throwing his head back. “Darling, that’s a given.”

He gazes at you while he dries his hands. There’s a grin on his face as he asks, like he already knows your answer. He probably does. He’s probably right.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Even though you got back to your chambers at an ungodly hour in the morning, you woke up feeling the most refreshed you’ve ever been. There’s a spring in your step as you get ready for the day, and you pick clothes that are slightly more dressy than your usual attire. Sanji shouldn’t be able to notice that you dressed up for him, right?

But your sister does.

Seated at the head of the table, Chrysanth stops eating to analyze your clothes the instant you show up to the dining hall for breakfast.

You could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Avoiding her gaze, you bow to greet her before taking your seat, “Good morning.”

The queen only smiles at you knowingly, eyes still flickering over you with enraptured excitement. Very much unlike a queen, however, she kicks your shin underneath the table.

“Ow!” You yelp.

“So…” She lets the syllable drag on. “Who’s the guy?”

You focus on piling food onto your plate, choosing to ignore her. “What guy?”

“Your guy.” She says, giddy. “Is he your guy yet?”

“Hm?” Is your only response. Breakfast looks lovely. Should you ask for coffee or tea today?

Chrysanth kicks you again.

“Hey!” You rub the skin to dull the pain. “Stop that!”

“Stop avoiding the question!” She persists, waving a hand to gesture at your clothes. “You only wear that skirt when you want to impress someone.”

Mentally cursing her for knowing you too well, you continue to act nonchalant.

“Really, it’s nothing.” You try to clarify. “I just thought that it would be a nice change.”

She doesn't believe it. Not one bit of it. Thankfully though, she drops the topic. Your shoulders relax as the discussion switches to work-related ones. She’s telling you about her plans to approve a restaurant in the museum when your brother joins you for breakfast.

Once he’s seated, August takes one look at you before tilting his head. “Who’s the guy?”

Chrysanth looks far too smug and triumphant than you’d like. You bury your face in your hands. Would Sanji also tease you if he knew?

The rest of the day is uneventful, the only change to your typical work day being that you avoid your siblings like the plague. You have lunch brought to your office and skip on dinner.

Sanji had already started cooking by the time you got to the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind,” He says. Of course you don’t, whatever it is smells amazing. “I thought I’d start early so you wouldn’t have to wait too long.”

“Thank you for going through the trouble.” You say, glancing at the ingredients he had laid out: there are crushed tomatoes on the counter. Pasta simmers in a pot on the stove. You recognize the tubed shapes with ridges surrounding them.

“Rigatoni?” You ask, turning to the chef.

Sanji nods, “With a simple, creamy tomato sauce. Nothing too extravagant, but still specially made for you.”

He puts the pasta into two bowls, grating parmesan cheese on top. Your mouth waters.

“Here you are, darling.” It pleases you more than you thought it would when Sanji sits across from you to eat as well.

There’s something homey and yet luscious about the taste. He really outdid himself. “It’s delicious, Sanji.”

“I live to please.” Sanji says before standing to retrieve two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “Zweigelt.” He says as he pours for you both. “Juicy and fresh, with just the right amount of acidity.”

You almost swoon at the rasp in his voice. You never realized someone could be so attractive when talking about wine.

As he clinks his glass with yours, you think to yourself that this might be your favorite dish from him. However, true to his word, he surpasses your expectations every time.

After a few weeks, on your sixth (or is it seventh?) time meeting Sanji past midnight, you've reached the point where you're able to open up to each other beyond the pleasantries that come with the food.

He tells you about his dream of traveling the seas in search for the best ingredients the world has to offer. You admit how you sometimes feel like life is just taking you along with the current—that you’ve never had a burning, passionate dream to aspire to.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Sanji hums contemplatively. “There aren’t any deadlines when it comes to finding dreams.”

“I do worry that you’re working yourself to the bone, though.” He adds, and for once, his smile looks different somehow. It’s a fond, gentle smile that’s sweeter than the macarons he made for you.

“What do you mean?” You take a sip of water.

“While I'm flattered you enjoy my food so well, do you eat properly? Shouldn't the palace be treating you better?” This time, you actually choke on your drink.

Could it get more embarrassing than this? Your ears burn as you cough, trying to clear your throat and settle your heart.

“Breathe, love." Sanji, ever the gentleman, is next to you in a flash of a second. He pats your back gently and supportively. “I'm sorry if I startled you.”

“It's alright—and, I do eat,” Your voice comes out raspy. “It's just that I don't usually have an appetite for dinner.”

“But that leaves you hungry for a midnight snack?” Sanji asks, a knowing expression on his face as he refills your glass.

“Exactly.” You smile. Thankfully, your throat has calmed down. Picking up a vanilla-flavored macaron, you savor the taste that melts sweetly on your tongue. Returning to his chair across from you, Sanji watches you eat happily.

“I take pride in my desserts, but that chocolatier in Belltower street… The sweets are just—out of this world, I tell you.” He looks so excited as he talks, eyes aglow and gestures animated. “The chocolates are handmade and everything. I'm sure you've heard of it?”

“Um…” Hesitating, you certainly remember issuing a business permit for a chocolatier; but you can’t say you’ve gone there yourself.

Sanji’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Surely you’re pulling my leg. You haven’t been?”

“...”

He observes you quietly, like he's considering what to do next. There have been instances when Sanji stays quiet, doesn't eat, and only watches you chew. The times where he insists that he's content with seeing you eating well. Those were awkward at first, but you learned that was just part of spending time with him. Your reaction was a reward on its own.

But this isn't like that. Something feels oddly different in the way he seems to be gathering his composure. The silence almost worries you, but thankfully he breaks it first.

“You’ve saved me the trouble of thinking of a place to take you to.” Laughing, Sanji practically glows in elation. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

You had a peculiar sense that you would’ve loved going anywhere, as long as you were with him.

Feeling bold, you suggest, “I’m free this Saturday if that’s good for you?”

He gives you that soft, enamoured look again. Something makes you hold your breath, your fingers tingle and the entire rest of the world slows down. You’re almost certain you’re giving him the same look.

“Even if I wasn’t, love, I would have gone to you anyway.”

The next day, a Thursday, your brother unexpectedly knocks on your office door.

“Hey,” You smile. “Is something wrong?”

It’s rare for August to look for you in the middle of the day. If either of you need to speak, it’s usually you who heads into the training grounds to talk to him. The other way around occurring is curious.

“I wanted to invite you to watch the knights train this Saturday.” He says coolly. “It would boost their morale if you spoke a few words.”

The commander goes on to speak, not catching that you’ve short circuited somewhat, trying to rack your brain for a valid excuse to decline him.

“And maybe, you could pick out a personal knight like I’ve been telling you.” August prompts. “You really should—”

When he pauses, squinting his eyes at you suspiciously, you suddenly recall why you stopped trying to hide anything from him.

“You already have plans.” He says, face carefully blank.

“Yes.” Thank goodness he understood. But wait, his eyes are widening. Why is he making that face? Why is he looking at you like he just figured out—

“You have a date.” Darn it all.

August is bewildered, not knowing what to do with the information he put together. He awkwardly brushes his fingers through his hair.

“...Is he a good guy, at least?” He settles with, asking carefully in that concerned way he does when he looks out for you.

Biting your lip, you nod. “He seems to be, so far.”

“Okay.” August responds. “Does Chrysanth know?”

“It’s nothing serious.” Yet. Yet? Do you want it to be? “You’re the first I’ve told.”

A worrying thought suddenly pops in your mind. Your turn to him, distressed. “Please don’t tell her yet, August.”

“Why?” His frown deepens, like he’s about to ask more questions. Unfortunately for him, you decide you’ve had enough talking about Sanji to your brother for today.

“Aren’t you busy?” You grab his arm, guiding him out of your office. “Don’t you have training to get to?”

“I do, but—why can't Chrysanth know?” You open the door for him and try to push him out, but August plants his feet; still trying to figure you out. He doesn’t budge an inch.

But then he makes that face again. That annoying ‘aha!’ face.

“You really need to go, good luck with training! Tell the knights I said hi—” You manage to shove him out with all your strength, but at the last second before you close the door, August turns around again.

“He’s a commoner, isn’t he?” You slam the door at his face.

It doesn't matter. Sanji's status will never matter to you. Not when he's holding your hand so sweetly while he guides you through the winding streets of the city. You recognize some shops by name, knowing who owns what and when they established their business. But Sanji knows these streets, and he's more than happy to show you.

“Ah, one moment, my dear.” Sanji pulls you towards a quaint little cart overflowing with flowers. He flicks a coin to the vendor, eyes scanning all the vibrant colors and bursting petals.

Somehow, without you needing to tell him, he picks one in your favorite color. You're starting to feel like that's just part of being with Sanji—that he knows what you want, and knows what you need before you do.

The flower is soon tucked into your hair, behind your ear. His fingers linger on the side of your face—and normally, you'd break eye contact and shy away. Maybe let out a halfhearted excuse that you should continue on your way. But you don't.

You smile back at him, not bothering to hide the genuine happiness you feel. And when Sanji pulls back, you're already holding out your hand before he reaches for it. There’s something in his eyes. Something that makes you feel like you're walking on air when he tugs you along again.

As planned, Sanji takes you to the chocolatier he told you about. The building is small, tucked between larger shops in the middle of a busy street, but there’s no doubting the quality of their confections.

The elderly chef behind the counter greets Sanji like a grandson she hasn’t seen in forever. She ushers him in, enthusiastically pointing to this and that, saying she moved some furniture around as he suggested.

“It looks perfect, grand-mère.” Sanji smiles, taking in the beautiful glass display. Chocolates of every flavor cover the shelves from end to end.

Grand-mère’s eyes light up when she sees you. She casts an approving look at Sanji, “I like this one. She might even be too good for you.”

“That’s because she is.” Sanji laughs, and you pretend to browse the menu while they talk.

“No need for that, ma chèrie.” The menu is plucked from your hands. Sanji sets it aside, pointing instead to where grand-mère is behind the counter. She's wrapping up a box of chocolates that she hands to you.

“No need to pay, dear.” She smiles, patting your hand. “If he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

Sanji whisks you away through the streets again. You've never been this far into the city before. Looking back at the path you've taken and not recognizing any of it, you know you’d be absolutely lost without Sanji by your side.

“Almost there.” He tells you, pointing to a cobbled path that inclines upwards.

What meets you at the top of the path is a small clearing. A stunning tree with blossoms on its branches stands at the center. Flowers and petals flutter away and fall onto the iron bench beneath it.

“Sanji, this is lovely...” You trail off, letting go of his hand to catch a flower into your palms. The flower twirls delicately between your fingers before you turn back to Sanji, tucking the blossom into the pocket of his suit.

Sanji takes your hand before you can pull away, bending down to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“Not nearly as lovely as you.”

The two of you spent hours under that tree, sharing chocolates and stories—feeling like this is how things are supposed to be. Not necessarily the flowers, or the chocolates, or even the sun setting beautifully in so many warm colors.

Just Sanji. With you, next to you.

All at once, it sinks in that he could be the dream you've been waiting for. But you don't tell him that.

Being enlightened on your feelings for Sanji becomes a second thought, however, when you’re swamped with work the following week.

“Don’t these people ever get tired?” Chrysanth groans, leaning back on her chair. “Why is planning a festival so hard?”

You approach her desk and place another stack of documents onto it. The numerous piles are getting concerning.

She scowls at the papers, then scowls at you. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Of course I do.” You tap a stack of documents to her left. “The guest list for the ball needs to be approved by tonight so we can send invitations out.” She groans again, but picks up the list anyway.

You’re unable to see Sanji as often as you’d like, but you both promised to meet once a week. Even if it’s only for a few short heartbeats together.

You dearly miss him. You think about him as you hand Chrysanth menu plans for the ball. If he saw it, he’d say that he could come up with something better.

She glances at the menu, studying it. Or at least, that’s what you thought she was doing—until her next words proved you wrong.

“So, how are you and that chef doing?”

Your heart isn’t in your chest anymore. It sank down, deep into the depths of the earth. It also must have taken all the air in the room along with it. How did she—

“August?” You blurt out.

Chrysanth shakes her head, “Zeff.” Oh no. Sanji’s boss knows? Does Sanji know that you’re—

“According to Zeff,” She proceeds, cutting off your thoughts. “One of his subordinates has been cooking a lot of personal meals over the last few weeks.”

“I can explain—” But your sister holds up a hand. Your mouth snaps shut.

She calls your name, and then you realize how serious her tone is. “Are you familiar with the kitchen’s rules when it comes to using ingredients and supplies for personal use?”

“...I’m afraid I'm not.” You didn’t know the kitchen had any such rules… but surely Sanji does. Your voice stutters, “I, did—is he in trouble?”

“He isn’t.” She answers, though her expression is still grave. “But I think that you should be aware of how much he’s doing for you.”

Chrysanth opens a drawer to retrieve a list of kitchen rules. Reading it over, everything is standard and straight to the point. You find the answer to your confusion towards the end, a small, nondescript bullet that reads:

All staff must reimburse the cost of all ingredients used for any reason outside of official duties.

“He must know who I am, then.” You say, feeling relieved that he didn’t break some sort of impossible rule. “He wouldn’t have done so much for me if he didn’t.”

Your sister purses her lips, letting the silence linger for a second before responding, “He doesn’t know, love.” She hands you another document. “He’s been paying back every cent out of pocket.”

Tracing over the timestamps and the different ingredients listed, you stare at an outline of your time with Sanji. It’s nice to reminisce, but you can’t help but wince whenever you spot something particularly pricey. What on earth are you to do with this man?

“Zeff recognized your name when he asked Sanji who he was cooking for.” Chrysanth explains. “He didn’t tell him, but he came to me and requested for Sanji to be repaid.”

“Since anything served to me counts as official duties of a royal chef.” You piece together.

“Exactly.” Chrysanth nods. “However, doing that would expose your title to him. Which is why I wanted to speak to you about this first… You should tell him.”

“I know.” Letting out a deep sigh, you agree. Sanji deserves to know more than anything. Nevertheless, the thought of him changing how he treats you—or worse, leaving—because of your status, frightens you to your core.

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” You say, but your sister’s expression slowly changes. What did she plan this time?

“Or maybe, you could put the kitchen dates on pause and tell him in a few weeks.” Surprisingly, she hands you an invitation to the ball.

“I can’t bring Sanji as my date.” No matter how much you wish you could.

“Are you sure about that?” Chrysanth is unable to contain her grin. “Open it!”

‘…you are cordially invited to the spring masquerade ball.’

You gasp, “You turned it into a masquerade?”

“Yes, I did. You won’t believe how much convincing it took for the ministers to agree.” She rolls her eyes, but then her smile returns. “Don’t waste my hard work and have fun with your man, littlest sister.”

You laugh, not expecting this outcome after all that. “I love you, even if you made me go through so much emotional turmoil for fun.” She cackles.

“Of course I had to make you sweat after what you put me through.” Chrysanth scoffs, “I can’t believe I had to hear about your love life from Zeff, of all people.”

“Ah,” She says, remembering something. “Speaking of, why’d you guess August first earlier?”

“...”

“...Did you tell him before me?” She gasps. “How could you! Give that invite back!”

“I didn’t think you’d approve.” You admit shyly. “He’s a commoner.”

“If he treats you well—which, he obviously does—I could care less about all that.” Chrysanth reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Only those stuck up ministers will react negatively, I’m sure. We can deal with them easily enough.”

When she lets you go, she abruptly adds, “He better be cute though.”

That sends you laughing again. “Oh, Chrysanth, he’s the cutest!”

He certainly is. Especially when he sees you and grins, opening his arms wide in expectation. You fall into his embrace when you’re near enough.

Sanji takes your hand and places it on his arm, leading you away from the kitchens.

“Some of the others are still in there planning for the ball.” He explains. “It seems preparations are keeping us both busy.”

Sanji takes you to the greenhouse, which you’ve never seen at night before. Various patches of vegetables and shrubs line the space. There are trees and flowers towards the back too. It feels like a secret hideout, being here with Sanji.

“I miss spending more time with you, love.” He whispers.

“Me too.” Your heart melts thinking about how much he gave for you. You wish you had the courage to tell him the truth now, while he’s looking at you like you put up the stars in the sky, but you can’t. You’re not ready yet.

Reaching your hands up, you caress his face gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. He places his hands over yours, keeping them there.

Sanji closes his eyes to savor the moment, and you let him. You two stay like that, your hands becoming enveloped in so much of Sanji you feel like you could recognize him with your eyes closed, with a single touch.

There’s a certain familiarity to him at this point. You would probably have some difficulty adjusting back to life without him in it. He’s so familiar that you could probably draw him. He makes you want to try.

“...I was just wondering,” You say with a knowing glint in your eye. Does he remember those words when he said them to you that first night? “We’ve been working hard for this ball, wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it together?”

You give him the invitation, and he throws his head back laughing. You send him a confused look, but it all becomes clear when he pulls out an identical invitation from his jacket.

“Ah, how brilliant you are, mamour.” Sanji embraces you again, and you bask in how perfect it feels to tuck your head into the curve of his neck.

“It will be easy to find you even with a mask.” You murmur into his skin. He shivers. “You’re so goddamn tall it’s not fair.”

“I’m not too worried about you finding you, either.” Sanji begins to sway slowly with you still in his arms. It makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t wait to dance with him.

“Are you confident you’ll find me first, then?” You ask, adjusting your hold around his middle to snuggle in better.

“I’m not sure about being first,” He ponders. “But I’ll be sure it’s you when I find you.”

The greenhouse became your new meeting place while the palace was buzzing to prepare for the ball. You could only meet for a few minutes, but you treasured the time you shared just the same.

Once, Sanji tried to feed you one of the expensive fruits growing there, but you declined, making up an excuse that you were allergic. He had looked at you strangely, but didn’t press you further.

You couldn’t find the time to see Sanji the week of the ball at all. Your time was spent welcoming foreign dignitaries, discussing business and trade. You and your sister had a marvelous time shutting down a marriage proposal from some duke from the north.

It amazes you how much you’ve changed since meeting Sanji. Had the duke asked before you met him, you probably would have considered it seriously. Whereas now, your standard is far too high. The man you choose must be able to get to your heart by cooking you the best food in the kingdom and all the seas.

You’re glowing by the time you finish getting ready for the masquerade. The dress you chose is in your favorite color, with the skirt twirling dreamily when you turn.

Chrysanth permitted you to enter the ballroom a few minutes late to avoid a royal entrance. You use the time to compose what you want to say to Sanji when you tell him the truth.

‘I’m a princess, and I think I might love you’, is that a lot to say? You sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress.

The clock on the wall chimes. It’s been fifteen minutes since the ball officially started. You put on your mask, tying the ribbon behind your head to secure it.

After one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you head to the ballroom—looking much more collected than you actually feel.

Maybe you shouldn’t have bragged to Sanji that you would find him easily, because you don’t.

You were mistaken when you thought all you’d had to do was look for a tall, blond man with a blue mask. (Sanji’s mask is surely going to be blue. He wouldn’t consider any other color. You bet your foot on it.) It’s unnerving how many people fit that description tonight.

You even find your brother before you find Sanji. August is dressed in surprisingly simple, all black attire. He looks more like a gentleman than a commander, lacking all those sparkly medals he’s usually required to wear at events.

“Where’s your date?” August asks, ducking his head slightly so that you can hear him over the crowd. “Chrysanth bragged about setting you two up.”

“I haven’t found him yet.” You answer dispiritedly. “I thought it would be easy.”

August looks around, and you know that if he knew what Sanji looked like, he would be able to track him down in a flash. You’re about to ask what you should do when August suddenly bows, extending a hand to you.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” He asks in a fake pretentious accent that instantly makes you laugh.

It would be nice to say yes, but you desperately want Sanji to be your first dance. August would understand.

But you aren’t able to decline, someone else beats you to it.

“I’m afraid her first dance is spoken for.” Sanji’s voice reaches your ears and suddenly the room is brighter than it was.

You almost gasp, elated that he found you. Were it not for that frown on his face, you would have voiced out your joy.

August and Sanji stare each other down. Neither of them say anything, but it’s clear that their first impressions of each other aren’t the most pleasant. Not liking the hostility you’re sensing is building, you tug at Sanji’s hand.

Your brother’s eyes soften at that, and he bows again, this time to say goodbye. “I’ll see you later then.”

You watch August go, and Sanji grumbles something you don’t catch under his breath. You'll have to properly introduce them at some point, but worrying about their relationship can wait. You really must cheer up this grump who thought he was going to miss your first dance.

“Dance with me, stranger?” Intertwining your fingers together, you smile and take in how handsome he looks. His suit is still black, but there are several accents in dark blue—the same color as his mask.

The deep navy color makes his eyes look almost crystalline, and you recognize why you love him so immensely when he smiles.

“I would be honored.”

Sanji is more graceful than you expected. His movements are controlled and precise, never moving too fast and always making sure you’re falling into step beside him.

He’s proven, once again, that he can surpass your every expectation. Sanji spins you around, catching you by your waist and grinning before sweeping you off your feet again.

By the end of it, you’re left breathless due to far too many reasons, and they all involve him.

You had tried bringing Sanji to a romantic spot; maybe a balcony, or somewhere by a fountain in the gardens—but it seems that a lot of other people had the same idea.

Everywhere was crowded, but you suppose where you ended up is romantic in its own way. With the sky being cloudless tonight, you could see every star twinkling away through the greenhouse’s glass roof.

Let the stars bear witness to you pouring out your heart to this man.

“Sanji…” You start, mentally preparing yourself.

“Yes, ma chèrie?” Sanji tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, you have his complete attention.

“There are things I must tell you.” You swallow the lump in your throat, not brave enough to look him in the eye yet; though you grip his hands tightly in yours.

Sanji waits. He doesn’t complain that you might be holding onto him too tightly, or nag at you for taking too long to put your words together.

When you finally look up to meet his eyes, you find the strength to breathe it out, “...I’m a princess.”

There’s this moment again, when you hold your breath and wait for his reaction; like when you first told him your name. Suddenly, it feels like you’re in the kitchen eating sandwiches with him again.

And, just as it did back then, his reaction surprises you.

His expression barely changes, the only difference being the barely-there furrow of his brows in concern.

“I know, love.” He says.

“What?!” You drop his hands in shock. “Since when?”

Sanji blinks. “Since the moment we met.”

“But, I—why did you pay everything back? Why didn’t you ever mention it?”

His eyes widen, “Ah, is that why you wouldn’t eat anything from me these past few weeks? I knew you couldn’t be allergic to pineberries.”

“Sanji, answer the question.” You pout, and he rubs your arms in an attempt to soothe you.

It’s Sanji’s turn to compose himself, you notice. He looks like he wants for your time together to stay lighthearted, when the thoughts in his mind are far from it.

“You didn’t want to talk about your duties, so I never asked.” Sanji shrugs, but you can see him getting nervous.

“As for reimbursing the ingredients, I suppose I was worried that… you wouldn’t think of our time together dearly if I was just another chef on your staff.”

Your heart shudders when he lets out a shaky breath. Oh Sanji.

“But that’s the truth isn’t it? I am, and yet I—” He pauses, eyes searching yours desperately. “If I didn’t pay for it, I would be admitting that a chef was all I’d ever be to you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “I don’t regret it. I would make the same choice if I had to.” Through the mask, you can see his resolve, but his hands shake as he holds you.

“I didn’t expect to feel this strongly about you.” Sanji continues, “You’re just so lovely, making me feel like I could take on the world for you.”

With your hands quivering the slightest bit, you pull at the ribbon behind your head. Your mask clatters to the floor. Raising your hands towards him, you push his mask up until it’s off, revealing the face of the man who has completely enamoured you; body and soul and all.

You think back to how the colors lit him up beautifully, that one sunset you shared under that blossoming tree. And now, he’s still just as beautiful, in this greenhouse under the moon and the stars.

You love him all the same as you did then and every moment before. With the weight from keeping secrets gone from your chest, you finally let yourself admit it out loud.

“I love you, Sanji.” You confess. “I’ll go with you, if you’ll take on the world.” You try to say it calmly, but tears build up in your eyes. “You mean so much to me. You’re my dream.”

Sanji inches you closer, wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head. “I love you too. More than you could possibly imagine.”

You quip back at him while wrapping your arms around his neck, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Sanji leans in the same moment you do, lips meeting in a passionate kiss that sends sparks running through every inch of your being. He pulls you impossibly tighter against him, strong hands caressing your back and holding firm at your waist. Your fingers rake through his hair, touching him to make sure he’s real. He’s here. He loves you. He knew. He always knew.

That night, you realized that your favorite taste from Sanji is his lips on yours. But, once again, he won’t hear you tell him that.

…

Sanji first saw you when a ceremony was held to welcome the new palace staff.

Everyone’s attention had been on your sister, the queen. Understandably so, but his eyes always strayed back to you. You looked gorgeous, wearing a stunning dress perfect for a princess as yourself. A cape draped tastefully down your back. And your crown sparkled brightly under the sun; but try as it might, it couldn’t be as dazzling as you.

Sanji was drawn to you instantly, and he thought he would go on with his life never understanding why.

That is, until you walked into the kitchen at two in the morning to make a sandwich.

It would have been impossible for him to not recognize you. Regular office clothes or not, something was different in the way you carried yourself. It was difficult to miss.

Other people would have thought you appeared mundane. And yet, Sanji found you the most beautiful then.

Because you let yourself smile more when you don't wear your crown.

But he won’t tell you that.

tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @ay0nha @watercolorskyy @holymusicalmothman @appalost

author's note (yes, again)♡— sooo, what do we think about sworn knight!zoro x princess!reader ? 👀

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justmymindandstuff · 4 months ago

Text

melting Ice - Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: You are about to marry Aemond Targaryen. Your arrival at the Reed Keep is greeted with coldness and you have a hard time settling in and coming to terms with marrying into this strange family. But after a restless evening you can't take it anymore and go to talk to Aemond. This evening brings you and your betrothed a little closer as he lets you see behind his facade.

Words: 2.971

Warnings: angst?, arranged marriage, insecure Aemond

A/N: Frist time writing Aemond // English is not my first

language// no beta reader// Gif not mine // no use of Y/N// AO3

I hope you like this :)

You crawl through your stuff. You've been back in Red Keep for a week, but your belongings are not all unpacked jet.

The hot summer air radiate through the stones of your new home and you whipe away a few drops of sweat from your brows. You miss the light briese that always go through your cambers in Casterly Rock. The heat in Kings Landing is muggy and brings the stank from the city and not the fresh air of the sea. But you're gonna have to get used to it.

It's unlikely you'll ever see your home again. Not once you're married. This is the fate of thousands of Ladies in the seven Kingdomes . You all get shipped of to marry and never come back home.

For your betrothed you are a burden. You're back here for a week and maybe you exchanged two sentences with the prince. He was in no way rude, but neither was he really warm. You got the feeling it was more of a inconvenient for him than anything else. He doesn´t want to spend any minute with you. He ignored your invitations to go for a walk or for a afternoon tea.

You sigh. At least you won't marry a man who could be your father or grandfather. No, you're the future bride of Aemond Targaryen. Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. Maybe you have luck with your husbands age. And you will become a princess. That's the dream of thousands of young ladies, and you can live it. From the outside it sounds perfect. Like a song.

The reality is different.

In reality, you are a pawn in the game of power, securing the loyalty and armies of your family for the Targaryens.

This marriage is a reward for years of service from your family.

Instead he dumped you on his sister. Helaena, a sweet girl who is fixated on insects and with her thoughts everywhere except in the here and now. But she was the only one that makes you feel you are welcome here. She was the one who showed you around and invited you to tea, go on picnics, walk in the gardens or do handicrafts. She also introduced you to her twins. Sweet children that you can't keep apart yet.

The Queen only gave you a cold smile and explained her wedding preparations to you, she didn´t ask for you opinion of your wedding. But you think that´s the way your life is from now on.

Aegon, your future brother in law is an arrogant prince who likes to drink and spend his time with whores. Not one nice word comes over his lip just a rude remark about your appearance as the whole family greets you after your arrival.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath and rub your temple to get rid of the slight headache.

At Casterly Rock you felt trapped. A golden cage guarded by lions. Your cage is still there, only now you're being guarded by dragons.

And for a little while you had hope. When you were younger, you went to King's Landing with your mother to get to know your future husband. He was a sweet, almos shy boy, with a kind smile who had discussed history with you for hours or dance with you at a picnic. You thought your stupid girls dreams were coming true.

Is this your life now? Lonely and alone surrounded by strangers?

This is not how you imagined it all. You've known half your life that you would be Aemond's wife. The betrothal was make when you were just a little girl. And of course you were excited to become a princess. Your stupid little girl dreams were full of romance, love and your knightly prince with blonde hair.

But now there is nothing left of the boy from your memories.

Will your marriage be like this? Married to a stranger?

Aemond Targaryen had grown into a cold man who had an almost dangerous aura around him and observed everything with an arrogant distance.

The sweet smile you remembered is gone. You're sure he hasn't smiled in years.

You put a few of your writing utensils on your desk. Your thoughts go to the letters you wrote to Ameond over the years, but one day he just stopped answering you. Did you do something wrong?

Was this marriage doomed to failure from the beginning?

You sigh again and try to push your thoughts from the past away.

It had been a sunny day that slowly turned into a beautiful evening. The setting sun is still shining in your window. You've already had your dinner with your mother and now there's nothing left for you to do. But you are restless. The thoughts of your future life do not allow you to find peace. Gods you are a Lannister from Casterly Rock. A lion! And not a decorative piece that gets ignored and sidelined. Aemond shows no interest in you and you want to know why. The question of what you did wrong haunts you. In your home you were always surrounded by friends, the lords who visited your family praised your kindness and your beauty. You enjoy reading and you are sure that you are a pleasant conversation partner. However, your future husband seems to prefer to ignore you.

You feel lonely. As lonely as you've never been in your life.

No! Your life won't be like that! You refuse to accept this. If Aemond wants to ignore you, he has to give you a good reason for it.

You straighten your back and smooth down your skirts. With quick steps you reach the door and leave your chambers.

"My lady, where do you intent to go?" the guard at your door asks.

"I'm visiting my betrothed." you answer without stopping. The guard follows right behind you.

"You have been instructed not to leave your chambers alone."

"I am not alone. You are with me."

"But my lady..."

"Enough." you just interrupt him. You definitely won't let him change your mind. You will talk to Aemond! But after a few steps you stop. You don't know where the prince's chambers are. You turn slightly to face the guard.

"Where are the prince's chambers?" you ask.

"I must ask you to return to your chambers."

You grimace. "You swore to serve House Targaryen Correct?"

"Yes my lady."

"In a fortnight I will be a Princess of House Targaryen. So you also swore to serve me."

"But my lady.."

"Please."

The guard shifts from one foot to the other and shakes his head slightly. "I have instructions..."

"Fine. Don't help me, I'll just find the way on my own. I hope you're willing to follow me through the Red Keep all night." You turn around sharply to continue walking.

"The other way. Here." you hear after a few steps behind you. You turn around again and look in the direction the guard points .

You give him a smile. "Thank you very much."

You follow his directions and a short time later you find yourself in front of the prince's chambers. You take a deep breath and then knock firmly on the door. It takes a moment and you are invited in. As you attempt to open the door, your guard takes a few steps forward to follow you. "I want to talk to him alone."

"My lady it is inappropriate, you need a chaperone."

"Do you doubt your prince's honor?"

"Of course not!"

"So."

"But my Lady..."

You sigh. "I know I'm not making your job easy today, but I promise to do better. Just not today. I just want one private conversation with the prince. Please."

Now it's his turn to sigh. "I'll wait outside the door. Right infront the door."

"Of course. Thank you." You open the door and enter the prince's chambers. Aemond is sitting on one of the sofas, there is a cup of wine on the table next to him and there is an old book on his lap whose title you can't see. When he sees you he stands up surprised.

"My Lady." he says confused. You close the door behind you and curtsy slightly. You hope he doesn't insist that you curtsy every time you see him after your wedding, but that's not the topic of tonight. Tonight you want an answer.

“Is something troubeling you?” He sounds cold and not really interested, but you push aside the nagging feeling of insecurity. Maybe that was a bad idea after all? But you're here now. Now there is no turning back.

"Yes, something is bothering me." you answer. You are a lion of Casterly Rock. Hear Me Roar! these are your words. And you will show this dragon that you cannot be ignored. Aemond looks at you with a cold expression.

"How can I help you?" he asks annoyed. He's making it clear to you that he doesn't want you here. But you just ignore that. He ignores you, so you can ignore his wishes. You take a deep breath and straight yourself up. You make yourself taller than you are and scrape up all your self-confidence together.

"You do not like me." you say. Aemond's expression changes just for a second, then he wears his cold mask again. You hold his gaze.

"I do not know you." he then says. The bored tone makes you angry.

"And that's your fault." you throw at him. The prince rolls his eye.

"Did you come here to insulte me?"

You bite your lip. "No." you say quietly. "I want to know why you don't like me. I want to know what I did wrong."

Aemond's gaze goes over you. Then he turns to the side, reaches for his wine cup and drinks it. Then he takes the jug and refills his cup and fills a second one.

"Sit with me please." he says, pointing to the seat next to him. You take the steps to the couch and sit down. The pillows are soft, but you still sit straight and ignore the cup of wine in front of you. You suppress the urge to shift back and forth.

"So?" you press.

"You have done nothing wrong."

"Then why have you been ignoring me since I got here?"

"If you wouldn't interrupt me." he says in a strained voice.

You bite your lip again. "I'm sorry."

"Like I said, you didn't do anything wrong. I thought you'd prefer to have time for yourself."

"I had enough time for myself. I'm all alone here. And I would like to know my betrothed before I have to marry him. But you don't even give me the chance to get to know you. You disappear all day long. I don't know anything about you. The only information I get are the gossip from the servants." You feel tears welling up in your eyes, but you quickly blink them away. Aemond's jaw tenses with your words. But you're not quite finished yet. "I don't understand why. We used to write letters to each other and then you stopped replying. And since I've been here you have continued to ignore me. So give me a good reason!"

"I have give you my reasons." he says but doesn´t meet your eyes.

"No. That wasn't a good reason." you insist. That can not be it. Because he thought you needed time for yourself? Nonsense! There has to be another reason. Your thoughts are racing and before you can stop yourself you start talking again.

"Do you think I'm stupid? Not a pleasant conversation partner? Not worthy of your attention? What is it?"

"No of course not."

"Don't you think I'm pretty?"

"Oh please, you're beautiful." he says, sounding a little annoyed.

"So what's your problem?"

"There's no problem. It's just.." he interrupts himself and then takes a deep breath. "You must be very disappointed with this engagement." "With your behavior. Yes, I tried to explain this to you."

"No. Not with that. With the engagement to me. With a disabled prince."

You stare at him, stunned, for a few moments. "What?"

"Don't play dumb. You're beautiful, you probably had hundreds of requests for your hand in marriage."

"The two of us have been engaged since we were children. That's well known."

"Won't change the fact that you have a lot of admirers. Am I wrong?"

You furrow your eyebrows. Yes, of course, many men have given you compliments and little gifts and begged for your attention, but that's normal. You come from a rich, powerful family. You were never really interested in any of that. Why should you? You were already engaged. You had your dream prince. Until he stopped being a dream prince. Before you can answer Aemond talks again.

"I can imagine how embarrassing it is for you to have to marry a disabled prince."

"A disabled prince?"

"Aemond one eye. I know what people call me."

"And why do you think I care?"

He laughs joylessly. "Of course you care."

Anger rises within you again. "You judge me? Without knowing me? How dare you?"

You jump to your feet. Aemond winces. He probably didn't expect this reaction. You start pacing back and forth in front of him. "You think I'm unhappy with our engagement because you're missing an eye?You disappoint me."

"Everyone thinks that. You must be devastated. All your admirers and you are stuck with me."

"I´m not stuck with you. I was happy to be engaged to you. Until you turned out to be a complete idiot." you stop infront of him and glare at him.

"Remember who you talk to."

"I'm talking to the man I'm going to marry. Who obviously already made up his mind. Without knowing me. That's cruel."

Aemond is silent for a moment. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Then tell me. Tell me anything, no matter what. But we can't do it like this. We can't live like this. We can't ignore each other our whole lives. Or is that what you want?" you ask, realizing you sound desperate.

"No of course not." his voice is no longer annoyed, he sounds more tired. You get on your knees in front of him to be at the same eye level again. You hesitate for a moment but then place your hands on his knees. His eyes examine you carefully, but you don't avoid his gaze.

"So where did that sweet boy I met back then go?"

"That sweet boy you were talking about lost his eye and no one cared." his jaw tenses again.

"I wrote you letters. I asked you how you were doing. How you felt. You didn't answer."

"I didn't read it. I thought you were just writing it out of obligation."

"You could have ask me." you say.

"I guess I underestimated you."

"Yes, perhaps."

"I shouldn't have assumed something about you."

"No you shouldn´t." you agree with him.

Aemond takes your hand. "I shouldn't have ignored you. I should have gotten to know you."

"You can do better now."

"I will." he says. "Promise."

You smilie at him. The conversation went better than you could ever imagined.

"And I will start right away." he then says. You look at him confused. Aemond takes a deep breath and lets go of your hand. Slowly his hands go to the back of his head and undoes the buckle of his eye patch. The leather slides carefully from his eye. The blue sapphire sparkles at you. The scar is always only half covered by the eye patch, but now without it, the scar is even more prominent.

You carefully raise your hand, but before you touch him you stop. "May I?" you whisper. He nods. You touch his cheek tenderly and caress it. "You're beautiful." You say. You see the slight blush on his cheek. A smile dances around his lips.

"Thank you." he places his hand over yours and carefully removes it from his cheek. He kisses your knuckles.

"I just say the truth." Now it's a real smile at Aemonds face.

You straighten up and come back to your feet again. You take a deep breath to bring yourself back into the here and now.

"It's late. I should go back to my chambers."

"Yes. Would you like me to accompany you?"

"That won't be necessary. My guard is right outside the door." you nod towards the door with a smile. Aemond raises an eyebrow, but you don't explain further.

"What do you think about accompanying me to Vhagar tomorrow?"

"To your dragon?"

"Yes."

Nervousness and excitement rise within you. "I would like that very much." you answer and the smile dances around his lips again.

Aemond leaves the eye patch on the table as he walks you to the door. He opens it and your guard half stumbles into the room. He must have leaned against the door.

"My prince." he says and bows. You suppress a laugh. He really was right outside the door.

"I trust you to get my betrothed back to her chambers safely ."

"Of course my prince." the guard stutters.

"Sleep well my lady." Aemond now turns to you. He kisses your hand and this time the blush rises in your cheeks.

"Sleep well my Prince." You say.

You turn away and make your way back to your chambers. Your guard right behind you and you can even find the way without his help. You are hopeful about your marriage. Yes, a conversation doesn't solve all the problems, but it was a good start. It's not perfect yet but it's better. And maybe he and you can manage to have a peaceful marriage and maybe be happy with eachother.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #prince aemond #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #hotd

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hedgehog-moss · 6 months ago

Note

Do you know much of the history of the town you live near? I noticed some very old-looking stone buildings in your photos from the cow parade - does much of the town look like that or were those heritage buildings?

Unfortunately almost every town has some Ugly Modern Houses, but they're usually in the outskirts, while the centre is quite preserved. It's mostly ~200yo houses though, with the occasional very old house (like, 17th century). The towns that used to have a castle often still have a mediaeval layout, with a cluster of houses and narrow streets; sometimes (remains of) ramparts. And every village worthy of the name has the mandatory mediaeval church in the plaza (except mine which has a modern Victorian Gothic church that's like 150yo, but we have the ruins of a mediaeval monastery to make up for it)

One little local history fact I know is that this town that had the cow parade was named after a Central Asian tribe that invaded the region ~1,600 years ago and later helped fight off Attila when the Huns were invading! The cows don't know that. I love knowing where place names come from (unless they mean stuff like "by the river" which is boring.) I went to visit a Gallo-Roman site recently and there was a sign displaying some text by Julius Caesar in which he listed all the Celtic tribes he defeated here, and I thought it was so cool that some of these names are still familiar because they are preserved in place names. The Roman invasion days, two millennia ago, already feel quite faraway but by then the Celts had already lived here for centuries—I wish the specific Gallic tribe that started farming around here in the Iron Age could know that 2,500 years later people are still farming in this place that's still named after their tribe.

Your question made me realise that what I associate with "appreciating local history" is like, going to see the ruins of some 2nd century Roman thermal baths or temples or learning that a town was named after a guy who owned the place in 847 AD, and I don't pay enough attention to the 16th century houses near my dentist's office or the 12th century church in front of the vet clinic. I should appreciate these time periods more! I do love the look of mediaeval towns with their tiny tortuous streets that make life difficult for people who drive stupidly big cars. And I love mediaeval castles, though I've only visited 2 of the 150-or-so castles (not counting the ruins) this region boasts (I use 'boasts' ironically, there's another region nicknamed "the 1001 castles" so our score is pitiful.) (They don't actually have 1001 castles, they're lying, it's like 600, plus some glorified manor houses that don't count)

Last-minute addition: I drafted this reply last weekend and today I saw some ruins in a town where I went to have my spring water analysed, and decided to pop by the town hall to learn more. I learnt that the ruins are what remains of the town's castle, which "successfully resisted many English attacks" (that's what they always say) and was then offered by the King to a courtier in the 1450s, and the courtier hated it because it was 400 years-old and cold and draughty and falling apart so he never lived here. The town hall lady was so unimpressed by her town's attractions it was funny—I imagine if I'd been a tourist she would have tried to sell it to me more but knowing I live nearby she was like, well our town has a 13th century church like everyone else and here's our "castle" that's a ruin now and that was already a ruin in Joan of Arc times. To add some fun fact about their castle she said that a Valois Queen had slept there for a few nights at some point and I said eagerly "Queen Margot?" and the woman said "... no it was in the 1300s. Queen Margot went to [better castle farther North]", in such a humble tone that I felt bad for accidentally pointing out that unlike [Rival Town] they got one of those obscure Valois queens no one cares about.

#ask #this ask was all over the place i'm sorry! you ask about old houses i start talking about huns

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lady-ashfade · 9 months ago

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Blood And Pressure

Part four

Yandere!Pjo × Fem!Grisha!reader. (Platonic yandere gods) (romantic!various characters)

-♡ Chapters: Previous // Next

-♡ this is a shadow & bone slight crossover. Reader is a heartrender and that's all really (maybe more in the future!)

-♡ words: 1k

-♡ Please note that all characters are aged appropriately, so all characters are older versions of the book characters. So 17-19 characters for these, you can choose any of them really. Just that they are older teens.

-♡ warnings: short, yandere behaviors, obsession, stalking, slightly sick love, possessive, manipulative, gaslighting, platonic yandere too, blood powers, powerful powers but not godly, and future warnings when more chapters come out.

You’d like to say you could understand everything that was happening but you had not even a small clue. You sat in the big house with your bag in hand while the two adults argue over you.

“I forbid her to leave, she’s not hera’s child,” you sink back while Mr.d points his finger at you, “she belongs here, with me.”

The god fought for you to stay with him, he kept you happy and feed, even made you smile. All for someone else to claim you? It made his blood boil and you could see it on his face as he shouts.

“She’s been claimed and even if we don’t understand, it is how things have to be.” Chiron sounded disappointed but stern. Of course he would stay up for you, like he always does. He hated for you to leave but you wanted so badly to leave them and have friends and he could understand.

“Mr.d,” you step forward to the god, “I’ll make you a promise.”

“And what’s that kid?” He hated how he spoke to you but he was just too heated that he could banish everyone kid from camp.

“I’ll come visit and play cards with you every week?” You try and bargain your time, even when the thoughts made your bones tighten at thinking of being stuck like that again.

He looked down at you with a suspicious glare while he thought it over. He didn’t have a choice but that didn’t mean he liked it. So finally he let out a breath and agreed while rushing off and mumbling under his breath.

The next stop you had was weirder.

The cabin was dark and empty. Cold and you could feel your spine shiver at the lack of heat. You glanced around but found no furniture to even sit on. No one was supposed to sleep here. Hera had no half-blood offsprings because unfaithfulness was not her way, and yet here you stand being claimed by her. And something tells you all the gods had something to do with it. Mr. D seemed to be more jealous when he spoke about the queen of gods. Like she was unworthy to have you.

“I suppose we’ll be needing to fetch some essentials for your new home.” Chiron tried to sound happy.

“Don’t worry,” you hold up your arms that carried pillows as far as you can with a reassuring smile, “I’ll survive.” and truth be told your bed was the one thing you would miss about staying there.

You find yourself walking up to the firepit and staring up at the statue of hera holding her staff. The way her eyes looked…you felt calm, but almost afraid of what it would be like to look in the real ones. She wasn’t someone to mess with while even her husband feared her wrath.

“So, Chiron?” You ask. You continue to stare up at the stone goddess. “Do you know why she claimed me.” there wasn’t much hope he’d share his insight. the centaur kept quiet for a second to consider his next words wisely.

“Just as clueless to me. Maybe we’ll get some information in the morning after a goodnight sleep.” Just as you thought. Not a peep from him.

You nod and turn around and place everything you had on the floor which wasn’t much but you were glad you had all you did. Chiron handed you the blankets with a smile on his face and for a minute it looked like he was going to cry while he looked at you.

So you open your arms wide and pull him into a hug, or what you could reach and he chuckles deeply and pats your head. In all his years you were his favorite to ever walk into this camp and to guide you. To him, camp was nothing without you.

You settled in quickly while unpacking what you could to make you feel at home. You had two blankets, one on the floor and pillows on top and the other over yourself. You tried to pick a place to the fire without burning up or being too cold.

And for the first time you were all alone to your own thoughts.

“Pst” a hushed whisper called out from no where. The voice startled you as you jump forward and grab ahold of the nearest thing, your old book.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a camper.” The voice had no body to go along with it making you confused. Was it one of Apollos children? Whoever they were they didn’t belong here.

“Says the person who stays hidden.”

The person in question lets out a laugh and then you see a figure appearing out of no where. A blue cap was the first thing you notice as they move their hand down with it grasped. A girl with a orange camp shirt, pretty eyes and blonde hair twisted into a braid.

“You grab a book to hurt me? Almost seems like you know me.” She smirked amusingly.

She had been watching you since you arrived at camp two years ago when she could, she grew to now you like no one else did. And now you’re out and into the camp with her she couldn’t let you walk without keeping a eye on you. You arrived with percy, another person she needed to watch so it was easy.

“What’s you name?” You ask the mysterious girl.

“Annabeth, consider me your guide from now on.” She walked further and stood above you. Her wicked smile seemed off just like everyone else you have seen.

“What cabin are you from? I heard some kids saying Apollos kids-” she cut you off by waving the hat in her hand.

“Athena.” You nod.

“And you’ll need me.” You tilted your head at her words and arched your brows. Need her? What was she talking about.

“For what? I mean I’m glad to have a friend but..” taking a deep breath as her eyes glint with something almost dangerous.

“For capture of the flag.”

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witchezandwonderz · 23 days ago

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The Crown’s Rebellion

Pairing: Jacaerys x Reader

Summary: Prince Jacaerys is forced into a marriage he does not want, bound by his family's schemes. But as they come to know each other, they forge a bond that defies expectations.

Word Count: 1908

A/N: In this story, Jacaerys is 18+, I am unsure of his age on the show as of last but I do not feel comfortable writing for a character under 18. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed:)

“You have done what, exactly?” Jacaerys breathed, one hand gripping the stone table in front of him and the other rubbing his temple in attempt to prevent the headache that he knew would arrive momentarily. His mother, Rhaenyra scrunched her mouth up and sighed, showing signs of both empathy and sympathy towards her son before stating “it must be done, Jace”. Her words seemed to hold the tone that she was trying to convince herself, rather than him.

Jacaerys did not want to marry, nor had he met a suitable, loving lady in which he wanted to dedicate his life towards. His mother did not offer much detail about the future Queen, however, the information that she did divulge to him was anything but telling. He were to marry ‘a fine lady, from house Massey of Stonedance’ which were his mothers exact words. Jacaerys knew that an arranged marriage would always come at the most random of times, but did not realise quite how little he would have to say in the matter.

“I must be honest with you my son, although the Masseys have in fact pledged their loyalty to me” Rhaenyra paused for a brief moment in order to sip her wine and then continued her words “I am unsure of the truthfulness behind it” Jacaerys blinked at his mother response, unsure of what to say or think. He knew what he wanted to say, but considered the fact that the woman in front of him was not only his mother but the Queen, and that meant that he had to keep his words respectful. Jacaerys used both hands to push strands from his dark hair from his eyes before responding, “mother, are you insinuating that I am to marry, simply to acquire information about your allies?” He asked, furrowing his brows as he spoke. Rhaenyra tilted her head to the side, contemplating the question before briefly nodding “I am afraid that this is exactly what I mean”. This led Jacaerys to feel a multitude of emotions, the main one being betrayal; his mother has always acted with pure love and kindness towards him, and he never would have thought that she would promise him to a complete stranger as though it he had meant nothing. But, he thought, she had changed significantly in recent years.

Unbeknownst to the pair, the house of Massey had the exact same plan. On one icy, somewhat drab morning, Y/N was approached by her father and had a very similar conversation to the one in which Jacaerys had with his mother. Y/N knew the way in which her family were viewed- loyal in the moment and then as soon as there is a change of power, more often than not, so does the Massey’s loyalty. Y/N did not act like this however, she was genuine and kind. She secretly always thought that the only reason her family were branded with such views is due to her father and her father only.

Y/N and Jacaerys did differ, despite the way that they were told being very similar, Y/N felt happy. She had been longing to leave Stonedance and explore what is beyond- she had always been constrained to the walls of her chambers. Despite this, a sadness lingered within her as she remembered that leaving this place, meant having to marry. Y/N had loved before, but the seeming love did not mean much to her father and when he discovered that she had a secret relationship with a ‘commoner’, he sent her love away.

Perhaps it was not love, she thought. I should have been the one to decide that.

The night prior to the wedding, and in turn their first meeting, felt like it lasted a lifetime to Jacaerys for he wanted to meet his wife, and the lack of information given about her sparked the curiosity within him. He sat at dinner playing with his food like a child, as he could not bring himself to eat. Not one person on the table had spoken in, well, the entirety of the dinner. Normally, Jacaerys would not be able to speak before being interrupted by his mother’s husband, and uncle Daemon with one of his peculiar remarks. Unfortunately, Daemon has been gone for a while, with no one sure as to whether he was even part of this ‘family’ anymore.

All individuals who attended left gradually, leaving just Jacaerys and his mother alone. He watched as she swirled her wine around in her cup, a blank expression upon her face. He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs and asked “can you at least tell me her name”, coming across more like a statement or demand. Rhaenyra replied in a quiet voice, “Y/N”.

They both sat in silence for a moment longer while Jacaerys nodded his head, Rhaenyra proceeded to briefly explain that he had met Y/N before, when they were much younger at an apparently very awkward dinner. Jacaerys tried his best to recall meeting her, but he could not.

The task of having to get married, and only meeting your betrothed the moment that you must marry them proved to be quite difficult for the pair. Both for different reasons, of course. Jacaerys was petrified due to a multitude of reasons but Y/N was scared because not only did she have to impress him, but she had to also ensure that all of those who attended the ceremony took a liking to her, as they all had loyalties to him, but had no idea of who she was.

The moment he lay his eyes on her, he thought she may have been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The moment she laid her eyes on him, she thought he may have been the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Hours later, the two had still not spoken as they were preoccupied in conversation with various other people. In addition, neither had yet found the courage to engage with the other. One of them would have to make the first approach, and neither party wanted to, as they were too nervous to do so. Eventually, Y/N found the courage to approach her new husband, shyly walked up to him and touched his shoulder gently, causing him to turn around. She thought he had kind eyes, but the expression upon his face contradicted them as he looked most displeased, which consequently displeased Y/N. Both looked at each other for a moment, before Jacaerys said “hello”. Y/N laughed, as she thought it was a pathetically funny attempt of an interaction. Jacaerys seemed to not find this amusing, but secretly did.

“Hello” Y/N smiled before continuing, “I thought that if I did not talk with you now, we may grow old never interacting” she jested. Jacaerys’ lips curved into a small smile, “I in fact should have approached you first, my apologies”. Both of them awkwardly nodded towards each other before Y/N boldly asked “when did you become aware of our marriage?”. Jacaerys told Y/N the story of being told, emphasising much about the recentness of it while not discussing other aspects of the conversation. Y/N mimicked this, also telling him about her conversation with her father. Y/N surprised Jacaerys with her genuineness as she admitted to him that she could not wait to leave her home land. He found himself becoming more fond of her as she spoke, he watched her face closely, analysing her features. The two spent a while getting to know one another, as best as they could while being surrounded by many others.

The time to resign arrived, and although they had been conversing the entire journey towards their chambers, they felt slightly uncomfortable with each other when arriving, as they had not yet been alone and shared the same feeling of nervousness.

Nothing happened between them that night, despite Jacaerys placing his hand on Y/N’s for a short while, the pair still did not know each other well to begin getting too close. It is fair to say that neither of the two accumulate many social skills, and in turn, romantic skills are also lacked.

The first week of their marriage was filled with many enjoyable conversations, they were getting along very well and both felt as though they could begin to become more vulnerable. On one evening, the two were sat within their chambers, sitting close to one another as Jacaerys focused upon Y/N face as she explained her distaste towards her father which included the reasonings as to why. She felt quite emotional, as she had never until that moment divulged such information to anyone other than her own thoughts. Jacaerys did not like to see her become upset, and so he leant forward and gently held her face with one hand, lightly brushing his thumb over her cheek. When she had finished speaking, he took the opportunity to plant his lips upon hers and they shared a sweet kiss. Y/N repositioned herself, closing the gap between them, nuzzling herself in him while letting out a happy hum.

Jacaerys kissed Y/N upon her head and said “I was terrified to meet you”. In response, Y/N lifted her head and moved upwards so that she was looking at him before agreeing “me too”. He laughed, causing her to also laugh as she continued, “I remember briefly meeting you as a child, but not much. I was worried that you would be different to how you are” she admitted. It felt strange to Jacaerys that a week prior, he had been dreading the marriage, whereas now he was becoming not only extremely fond of his wife, but eager to know what the future held for them both. The soothing sound of Y/N's voice interrupted his thought process, "I must admit something to you, but you must swear on the gods that you will not repeat it" she spoke, her voice becoming slightly sterner towards the end of the sentence. Jacaerys nodded, "yes, I swear". Y/N proceeded to explain that her father had instructed her to acquire information, which in turn, led to Jacaerys to divulge what he had also kept from her. Y/N was not surprised nor was she angry that her husbands mother did not trust her, as she knew the personality of her father better than anyone. The two mused at how similar they were.

Despite being content about his new marriage, the way in which his mother conducted this entire ordeal left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted to get revenge, nothing awful, of course. He just wanted to get under her skin, slightly.

That night, they gathered with their close family and friends and ensured that they kissed and hugged as obnoxiously and exaggerated as they possibly could. Jacaerys knew it was highly inappropriate to act in such a manner, but he did not care. Not only did he want to ruffle his mothers feathers, he also very much enjoyed having his wife by his side, so close to him.

Rhaenyra looked on, disgusted but thankful and grateful that her beloved son had taking a liking to Y/N, but cursed as she realised it meant that no new information would be sought.

Jacaerys, once again, grabbed Y/N and crashed his lips onto hers, which left her with butterflies swirling around in her stomach. He pulled away and grabbed her face with both hands, gently pecking her forehead and smirked as he said,

"I will absolutely get used to this, my love".

#jacaerys valaryon x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #hotd #hotd fanfic #rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #jacaerys imagine #prince jacaerys

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darlingofvalyria · 1 year ago

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❝Ask me, my prince. What a storm is to a dragon.❞

[ Aemond can only breathe through your lungs, through your adoration and love. But when betrayal is nigh, what does it truly beget? ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 6,935 ] | Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader, minor, sort of (not really) Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers.

THIS IS A DARK FIC. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

contains— angsty, smut - DD:DNE: kidnapping, coercion, manipulation, possessive & obsessive behaviour, power imbalance, violence (not to reader) (a little bit to reader... i wrote this too close to book canon!aemond), murder, death, massacre, war - canon typical targcest, canon character deaths, canon divergence - dark!aemy - pregnancy, child, allusions to infidelity, mentions of bastard - i took liberties with canon (as i usually do) - #ripellyn you (sorta) will be missed shshs - the only specific reader descript. i did is the baratheon dark hair ok? ok - nsfw: male masturbation, dubcon/noncon, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— there was this villain playlist on yt that was slowed and sexy, and my brain just. clicked. here it is if you wanna check. the real reason this is long is cos i can't help but add backstory ok? ok. lol. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

Storms have always been your favourite view in any window.

It is cliche to say, a proud daughter of the Stormlands, of course she enjoys the dark skies! But you do. There is nothing short of comforting in the rolling, fat clouds darkened in shadows. Occasionally, if the weather moved to your whim, lightning danced between plumes before you hear the boom and crack of it striking.

"It is a privilege to enjoy weathers such as these," your father once said, a hand on your darkened hair, a bluer tint to it, but Baratheon through and through. "It is our might that holds us at paramount, and thus, our privilege beckons warm fires and strong, stone fortresses to watch it all in comfort. To find enjoyment in the dark skies."

"Ours is the Fury," you replied immediately. Your father smiled.

"That, precisely. The paramount of our might and power is one we have taken and given with fury. Never forget."

"Even better than the Targaryens?" Your father's displeasure crumpled his face, and you were at an old enough age to understand his displeasure was not something you enjoy. But you had been learning all day, and the topic that day with your septa had been House Targaryen. You had learned the King's name, that he had a Queen that died, and that his heir is a girl.

His hold on your shoulders was heavy, but you do not flinch. Eyes bore into your own as if he was speaking the words into existence.

"We are the blood of the Kings too, my daughter. The White Hart proves our mark in the world, long before the dragonlords ever whispered in these lands. And what are dragons against the dance of storms?"

You had been little then, no more than six. The smallest of your sisters; Floris, though short in stature, looked elongated. A beauty. A fawn in the making. And your father is not the cleverest of men, but his words shelved itself in the corners of your brain. It eased and assuaged your fears like a quick spell.

Your spine straightens and your chin tilts upward. You are made of fury and storms, the blood of kings of old and solid, impenetrable fortresses.

You fury is your own, and 'neathe your fingers, under your very being, is a storm.

A good reminder, as when you had exchanged childhood for girlhood, a missive had been sent by the Queen Alicent Hightower, requesting for a daughter from Lord Baratheon's Four Storms, as companion for the Princess Helaena.

"Cassandra would do well."

"She hungers, husband. I am afraid of what might happen if we send her to the courts at her age. I do not yearn for a scandal."

"She would not shame her family so, do you reckon?"

"She is the eldest. You know how she is."

A sigh. "If she had a cock, she would be a good heir for my seat."

"Borros!"

"Apologies. Very well, mayhaps a good husband with no grit to him would do her well. She will lead the Stormlands by the hold of his— er, well, yes. Maris? She is clever."

"Far too clever. Even her tongue irks you, no. Definitely not. Her brain works too fast for her mouth. She will say the wrong thing and end us in war."

"You exaggerate, surely."

"I bore them, Borros, but they are your daughters. They live and breathe with your name and your House's banner under their own. What do you think? Bad enough they take so much of your heritage with them, and their looks, but they also plucked and chosen parts of you I'd rather not have for lady daughters."

Your father grumbles incoherently, you laugh under your breath.

"... Floris is too young. So..." The last one. You. You press your ear harder against the wood of your father's study, heart in your throat.

"She will be best," she says softly, insistently. She knows in her heart of hearts that though her husband is a hard, proud man, he has a softened heart for you. "Though she is clever, she minds herself well. Polite. Kind. She will do well with the Princess and her, er, eccentricities."

"Bloody weirdoes, the lot of them." A sigh. Another chastise from your mother, but she too, sounds exhausted. It has almost been a moon since the missive has been sent. Another one is bound to arrive, more order than request. It is all a political game. Princess Rhaenyra had no Baratheon ward under her court when she still resided in Kings Landing, for you and your sisters had been too young and your father had no sister. It is by chance that gives the Green Queen advantage to take a ward under your father's banner now, with a daughter she seeks to be Queen Consort.

"Send her then," your father announces. Though defeat clouds his voice, the Lord in him speaks each vowel clearly. "She will do best to represent the House out of them all. We might have a betrothal in our hands soon enough."

"She is pretty enough for a prince."

An angry snort. "She is more than pretty enough for a prince. Far better than the lot of them."

Softly, "That is because you like her best."

"Why would I not?" your father replies gruffly, making you smile. "A storm grinds and brews inside of her, wife. Even Maestre Loes, the old gnat that he is, sees my bloodline thick in her. Even if the King asks for her hand at this very moment, I would refuse. I would throw him off Storm's End with a smile on my face and a boot on his back."

You fight off a snort as your mother grumbles about treason and Maris.

"She is far better than the best of them." Another sigh. Heavier. "Why are we sending her?"

Your mother sighs. "Because as she is the best of them, she is the best of us. She will survive far better in that cesspit they call a keep than any of our daughters. Her storm can tame dragons."

You would argue that that too is treasonous given the context, but your father merely laughs. His laughter is a crackle and a boom.

"I would upheave our coffers to witness that."

Though you find her odd, you enjoy spending your time with the Princess Helaena. Mostly, she is quiet, in her own little world. Though it took time to get used to her many-legged friends, you soon realised the best times you spend with her are when shipments and gifts of pinned butterflies and books that have reached as far as Yi-Ti, to get to Kings Landing about bugs, and undeniable excitement unfurls in the Princess' face. More like a girl, a sweet one.

It makes her already cherub features appear more child-like, and she grasps your hand voluntarily as she points at each and every critter she recognises. It is so very rare to see true happiness in the princess' visage, and in her enjoyment, you see your sisters.

That is how you meet him, the Prince Aemond.

Princess Helaena had gone for tea with the Queen. It had not been planned. Though she often spent tea with family, either the Queen or the Lord Hand, or either of the Princes. Something had occurred, so now that Princess was having tea with her Queen Mother and her husband. If you had to guess, it was likely that Prince Aegon was being punished in some way.

Though there is no love lost between siblings, it makes you sniff at how blatant the prince's obscene indulgent for vices are. Princess Helaena didn't mind, rather, she didn't care unless they needed to spend time together, a clockwork patch of routine, and that was when you usually came in— you later realised, your primary job — soothing her nerves and distracting her thoughts before she had to enter her marriage chambers.

There is a resigned defeat in her, a woman's duty bearing down, looming like the Mother, and it makes you want to soothe her harder. Make her laugh.

With the change of plans, it was up to you to check for the new shipments of the Princess' things. A dictated note in your hand of the princess' handwriting, you were going through her boxes when a hand, gloved, rests on your shoulder.

"Do not move," a cool voice says behind you. Far too close for propriety.

You freeze. "Pardon?"

"I do not want to scare you, my lady, but there is a critter atop your head." The cool, calm voice waves off a steady rhythm to your heart, calming it further from the earlier panic of someone laying a hand on you (although this, is still not better. You are a lady and unmarried after all). "I will rid of it immedi—"

"No."

"... Pardon?"

"Where is it? Just atop my head?"

"... Yes?"

"It maybe poisonous, pease do not touch it." Before the owner of the hand and the calm voice could react, you pat your head until you touch a hairy, small thing with many legs. Relief spreads. "There you are."

"There you are?" The voice says, almost mocking, incredulously.

You huff, taking the spider in both of your hands, before you tilt your chin behind you, only seeing the gloved hand. "Please take your hand away from me."

The hand retreats. You turn.

Valyrian features are most uncommon than your own, and the jolt of recognising the pale, white hair is a strike to your being, a gasp falling from your lips. It is the one-eyed mask that tells you immediately who it is, but you string everything else you know of the prince.

Prince Aemond had been travelling to Oldtown, a visit requested by the Queen in the guise of seeing family, his brother. But there had been whispers of something more, as the chatter of the maids who cleaned up in the King's quarters talked about how ill he got day by day.

You had seen flashes of him before this, but fate had kept you two apart. You were not there when he visited the princess— on another errand or two, and he starkly ever looked at the ladies surrounding his sister with a vehement light as their voices, high pitched and dreary, tire him so on a good day, increasingly irritating on a bad one, and anyway, the silence that falls in a stone room just from his arrival is enough to irk him.

But here is he now, with one eyebrow rose, a good eye of icy blue iris, and the very visage of a warrior in black leathers, a braided hair pulled to one side, and pursed lips in both amusement and annoyance.

He hums. The sound kicks back your manners, blushing lightly at having gaped at him for far longer than pleasantry dictates, and you pull yourself into a bow.

"My apologies, my prince, I didn't know it was you. I was scared you were going to hurt the Princess' new friend."

"They are bugs," he says steadily. "Not her friends."

"Like so, but just because they have many a legs do not mean we cannot befriend them." A small smile plays on your lips before you place back the spider in the cage he got out of. It is something you had once said to the princess to make her laugh. You feel his stare burn at the side of your face. "Is there a matter, my prince?"

"You are the Lady Baratheon, are you not?"

"I am." A small, ironic smirk tugs at your lips. "Is it the hair?"

He makes a soft sound that exhales like a laugh out of closed lips. He's still quite close, you can feel his warmth and idly wonder if all Targaryens truly do have the blood of the dragons in them for you can feel the contours of him, burning at the edges of his being. Like a comforting little furnace.

"Hm. And the princess has taken quite the liking to you. You are all she talks about during sup."

You can't help it, you're smiling. So many rumours concerning the young prince, not all of them good, but there is a certain novelty in basking under the attention of a prince of the realm. A Valyrian beauty that brought an ethereal glow to him. As so intently stares, catching pieces and niches as if you are the most fascinating creature.

The attention makes you feel like a blushing lady.

"My apologies then, my prince."

He cocks his head, the braid dipping and you catch the movement in your peripheral. "Whatever for my lady?"

You turn to him, unable to curb the cheek to your smile. "For interrupting better conversations with the topic of my name plaguing your sups so."

His mouth twists into a smirk. In Aemond's mind, it is not oft that ladies, especially Helaena's ladies, would care to... flirt with him. Because this is you flirting, is it not? The coy gaze, the curl at the edge of your lips? Aemond has seen these faces in ladies and maids alike, but directed at others. At Aegon.

Directed at Aemond... bereave to keep their conversations to themselves, and though it is not always a fault of theirs for his stoicism is his most valued armour, one would resign oneself of an arranged marriage that will take long moons before his lady wife would see the truest him, that he would not be able to experience such... coy conversations with the opposite sex.

Yet here you are, a light dust of red in your cheeks, a quirk in your mouth, and the playful joust in your eyes, daring him into a swords' dance.

It is thrilling.

"Plaguing is too harsh of a word to say so about a lady of your stature, Lady Baratheon." He steps closer, aware of propriety standards of how close two unwedded people should be, but he feels intoxicated of the whiff of life exhuming from your visage. A light citrus, oranges? Lemons? Tart and sweet, with a powdery finish. It is so very ladylike.

Addicting.

The perfect smell for a lady wife, a musing thought.

"Is that so?"

"Intriguing, I would say, would be the better word."

You laugh, low and sweet. It sends a pleasant warm to his centre. "I'm afraid my memory is failing for I do not remember any wily adventure or conversation the princess and I had for a prince of the realm to say I intrigue him so."

"It is less... about wily adventures or interesting conversations that pique my interest, but the lady herself." His eye, though lone, the other remaining hidden behind an eyepatch with hints of scarred, twisted skin underneath, bore against yours as if he wished to gather all your strings and see what each would give him. What you would show him.

"I'm afraid to disappoint you, my prince, but I still fail to see how I can ever so pique your interest." You meet his gaze, smirking. "I am just me."

Before he can answer, step forward— whatever, he is staring at the curve of your lips so, at the enchanting shimmer of your eyes, and Aemond Targaryen felt breathless — your named is called, and the spell is broken. The prince steps back, taking more space between you that is more appropriate.

His hand flexes.

But that is not the last you see of the prince, nor the last time you are able to hold a conversation with him. It seems that since then, you find yourselves orbiting each other in the fringes before one steps forward and engages. There seems to be a band that tightens either of you so obsessed with seeing the other in the periphery, the topic whatever may came, even as inane as the weather.

It is a dance of swords, kissing blades of sharp quips and interesting parry. You are interesting. Beguiling. Devouring. Aemond searches for you in most places now, unable to stop himself from asking his dearest sister about you— even his mother and grandsire have taken notice, eyebrows rose between shared looks.

"House Baratheon is of a Great House," his mother hesitantly brought up, too focused on her soup for it to just be idle chatter above sup.

"It is." His forced passivity is not as apathetic as he can make it. For any mention of you and your origins thrums his heart in a dance.

"And the Lady Baratheon has many admirers, a kind and dutiful lady, and Helaena likes her so."

He turned to his mother then, humming. At the barest hint of a smile in her son's face, Alicent beamed.

But others from court also soon took notice, and when Aemond realises the wagging tongues had come to note your name— unkind whispers besmirching your person, he disappears from you altogether.

The differences become stark to him; realising what a foolish endeavour it is to want you. Though he is a prince, he is mutilated, a monster that will ruin you. You are too good for him, a warmth he had forgone in the face of misery, apathy, and hatred. The urge to conquer your every thought and sound, from your fingertips to the top of your hair... it is a gasping thought, one he shamefully sins at the blackest hours, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of what you had looked like that day. The sound of your laughter, the pull of your lips when you smiled, the gasp you let out when you touched water that had been too cold— his mind bends and moves, and images of you, images that he will have to pray for the in morrow but cannot stop—

Moves him to completion, a strangle grunt of your name from his lips.

And yet, every night since, it happens again and again.

The more he pulled away from you, the more he wanted you. It is a debase urge, one more fit for his drunken cur of a brother than he, more creature than man.

But he cannot stop, so the torturous cycle continues.

Until you've had enough.

You know that during hours of inky night, the prince prefers the sanctum of the library. Not always, and lately, not often, but if there are a few things you learned in the hunting trips your father brought you that your mother never approved of, is that lying in wait, patient, deals a hand much better.

And on the fourth day of your waiting, your hair in a braid, a book on your lap, and a small candlelit close by as to not alert any spooked princes— the door opens at the Hour of Eel, the familiar and sorely missed footfalls of a quiet but sure-footed prince enters.

You admire him for a moment, hidden as you are, your stare drinks in the ever smooth of his twilight-spun hair, those pursed lips and straight lines. He's lithe but you know, having been offered his arm on every walk, he is made of hard muscle. Aemond always walks so smoothly, like a panther, or a gazelle, with the barest hint of austre he can never hide.

It's the prince in him, you giggle to yourself.

A sweet pang in your chest is the reminder of how much you missed his presence. And that ends tonight.

With his back turned, perusing a shelf, you shuffle and make yourself known with a soft, almost admonishing voice.

"Good eve, my prince."

He stiffens, hand poised against a spine of a tome. He barely turns, only his head to the floor, in the general direction of you. "My lady. I did not expect you to be here."

Frustrated, you sigh loudly. "Have I offended you so horribly? Dishonoured you in some way?"

"What?"

"Why can't you even look at me, Aemond?"

A sharp intake of breath. When he speaks again,his voice is changed. "You forget yourself, my lady."

There is an ache to your being, pursuing your lips. "You had given me permission with your given name, my prince, or have you forgotten?" Anger overcomes propriety. Fuck propriety. You charge toward him, heavy, angered steps until you're close enough. "Can't you at least look at me, look at me as you push me away as if I amnothing—"

He turns abruptly, one eye flashing as he grasps your elbows in a grip. His eyes zero in on your lips as a gasp falls, eyes widen— if you could see better, you'd notice the darkened gaze drinking you in. Your widened eyes, your open lips— and Sevens, only a robe hides your nightgown, the smooth expanse of your skin is more bare to him than ever before.

His beautiful, beloved stag.

"You have never been nothing to me, nēdenka riña brave girl," he hisses. "Konir sagon se drīve That is the reason."

"Prince A-Aemond?" you say. He is against the shadows of the moonlight, only his hands holding your own is illuminated.

A wrangled exhale falls from his lips. You follow the sound, worried.

"Are you? Injured? Are you okay?"

"I have not been okay for the moment I met you," he rasps, hands bruising in his hold.

"Well. Gods. I'm sorry. If it's such a offense—"

"It is an offence!" he growls, pulling you abruptly that you yelp, bathed in shadows and darkness together, your eyes adjust as you scramble to have thoughts apart from just being this close to him. Hearing a voice you had never heard of him before, untethered from his princely visage, from manners and proper, and it makes you burn.

The thoughts of wanting him close, of taking more of that space until you are chest to chest are blushing thoughts.

But there is honour still, for he holds you at least an arm's away.

"I have wanted you the moment I have laid eyes on you," he whispers, voice rough, exhausted. "And each day I spend with you, each hour— my honour stands in shambles, in ruins at my feet for I want you as a man wants a woman. Honourably and... and carnally."

You swallow, and he follows the movement like a predator tracking his prey. The blush in your cheeks, the way your lips press together as if you are just as starved of him as he to you— oh, you want him too, don't you?

One hand moves from your elbow to slowly reach up. Your arms, your collarbones, your neck. A thumb brushing your cheek and your eyes flutter.

Aemond wants to devour you.

"You plague me so, and I crave you."

"Then have me," you sigh.

His eye closes. "I cannot sully—"

You grasp his neck, bringing your mouth close to his. "You cannot sully what is freely given. If you crave me, I want you."

Honour unbound, a snap is tightened by the hunger that uncoils from a dragon that wants you. Aemond had grabbed the back of your head, tangled his fingers, and made a mess of your mouth.

Gasps and teeth, touching skin from where you can feel it— touching skin from where you unbuckle, tear through hem and push against cloth. When he slams you again the shelf, a moan so lewd falls from your lips that he groans, pulling your nightgown until he feels the heat from your very womanhood, and so, so wet, that when he flicks his thumb, curious and entranced, moving it around experimentally, you are a mess of sound and feeling, gasping his name, A-aemond, oh gods, please, and he is whispering, forgive me, f-forgive me, like love letters, like penitent, like a kiss from a traitor so wrong but so tasteful against your skin as he pulls himself from his confinements, holds you steady, and breaches your tight cunt.

Just before a scream tears through your throat, he devours your sound, holding you steady, until the pain bleeds pleasure and you are holding him like an anchor in dangerous seas. You cannot think or feel anyone else but him; what you are and who you are do not stand a chance as Aemond Targaryen swallows your senses.

It is harsh and fast, it is sweet and devouring, and more, more, more, you don't know what you're begging him, you feel like a devout and he feels like a god, grunting against your skin, biting through anything his teeth grazes. When he shifts you at an angle, finding a spot that feels like a lightning striking through your entire being, you are screaming, twitching, reaching a high so blinding it feels like white death.

"Is that it? That sweet spot?" he purrs, a breathless laugh, shocked and delighted drinking in your trembling and pleasure. "Your cunt is tight against my own, holding me like you never want to let go." You cry out when his cock hits that spot again. Your combined wetness makes an obscene squelch, just as pretty as the sound you utter. He smirks. "Can you hear that? Not even a whore can make a sound so sweet, hm?"

His teeth grazes your lips, sending shivers through your body as he licks the roof your mouth. "I want more of that sound. As your prince, you would grant me this, yes?"

But he isn't waiting for an answer, planting his feet and holding you steady, angling you back to that spot until he is snapping his hips, fucking into you as you can do nothing but beg and cry and tremble in the arms of a dragon taking what is his.

And you are.

You are his.

Maybe you had known it since then.

You definitely do when his seed floods your womb.

You want to say that that night was a fluke, a mistake that must be regretted. But once your gaze meets another, the fire burns, flickering and dancing, and it repeats. In quick fucks in dangerous spots, to slow, sweet love making in his room.

You are his, in mind, body and soul.

"Death is nothing but a friend," he murmurs against your neck, holding you close. Sweat cooling between your naked bodies. "It cannot stop me from finding you."

"I hope you say that to my father well," you tease.

" Marrying you is but the next step, my love. You are already mine as I am yours." He plays with your hair, brushing it past and kissing a bruise he made on your breast. "In face of every god and more, they will understand that we are but one soul."

You can plan the future in rose-coloured gaze for as much as you can, but the truth of marrying into a family with war brewing inside of it, held together by a dying king's hope and corpse fingertips— it is another matter entirely.

It all comes to a sharp clarity when Viserys I dies... and they keep his rotting corpse a secret.

And then they crown a whoremongering drunk.

"Aemond," you break into the silence, your entire being too cold for comfort. You had just come back from a privy council, a Green Council where the Queen had ordered you and your betrothed to reach Storm's End before the night fully breaks.

As if she knew where your loyalties are.

As if there is no question you will support the usurpation.

You turn to Aemond, busy with packing his things for they have bared the maids and people the of Keep. Because they are making Aegon as king and they know a revolt is underneath the floorboards.

"Aemond!"

"What? What has happened?" He looks confused, irritated. "We must make haste, my love, if we are to beat the storms at—"

"Princess Rhaenyra is Queen," you whisper but it could have been a scream. Saying it aloud gives you confidence, strengthening your resolved. You turn to him. "She is the King's heir, no one else. Aemond, this is an usurpation, unlawful in the eyes of—"

It takes little strides for him to reach you, for him to hold your neck in a tightened grip of warning.

"She," he spits, slow and careful as if you are a simpleton in need of teaching, "is a whore who is attempting to place her bastards on the Iron Throne. Rhaenys Targaryen held no chance of it, just as she. My brother is the firstborn son. He is king." His fingers dig into your skin. "You will do well as my wife to not speak of such blasphemy once more, do you understand?"

Your shock and fear melt from your visage, making way for compliance. You nod once. "Yes, my prince."

"Husband," he corrects, holding you much gentler but the weight of his hand is still there on your neck. A reminder. "Have you forgotten? We only come to Storm's End to officiate our union and your House's loyalty to the King. Once done, we will marry, yes?"

You nod, hands fisting. "Yes."

When he kisses you, harsh and needy, imprinting his will unto you— you close your eyes and plan how you make known to your Queen of their plots.

But Storm's End doesn't go as planned, does it?

Lucerys Velaryon, the Queen's son who had come as nothing more but an envoy for the rightful heir, and Aemond—what you thought to be your Aemond but a monstrous man who needed his revenge, who needed to draw blood for a grudge so deep, for an existence he finds so abysmal — had chased after him and came back to you bloodied, tearing up your dress, rutting in you in harsh, rough thrusts, as you listen to the storms from your window and think,

The Queen will never find his body. Her poor, sweet boy. Half in the belly of a beast, the rest spread and sunken into the water.

"I will not allow any marriage until the realm is at peace," your Lord Father rumbled with finality. He is not a smart man, truly, but he is a father. His gaze meets yours, full of meaning, of promises, before looking back at the seething prince. "You will have my bent knee for your king and for your war, but my daughter's hand shall be her own until the realm is at ease."

Your mother steps forward, her courtly smile on her face. "We want for her to have a grand wedding, my prince. She is the first of our charges to wed, and to a prince of the realm no less! By sure, at the time of war, we must err on the side of caution, as our coffers will no doubt focus on our troops. A future princess of the realm must be mindful, of course."

She bows in deference, your sisters following suit. Maris is the first to look up, defiance burning in her eyes.

You remember a conversation with him, feeling like a lifetime ago.

"Ask me, my prince," you teased. "What a storm is to a dragon. A creature is a creature. Even you must acquiesce to the way of nature for she has bowed to no one since her existence."

Aemond may be blood of the dragons, but he is surrounded by storms on all sides. The fiercest.

And your father will never marry you to a Kinslayer.

Yet you stay beside him, your duty now clearer than ever. Every new information you can grasp is sent back to the Queen and her council. In a courtier of the Greens and Traitors, you are the sole Black Stag. You use Aemond's adoration for you, his possessive obsession of what he thinks is love, as a protection and guise.

Any time he beds you, you sneak in moon tea. His bedding of you is just as much his hold on you and his defiance against your father's refusal. Once caught, you remind him he would not enjoy a bastard child. Especially at a time of war. Not after what they had done to his nephews.

"Do you want for me to suffer as your sister does?" The tears in your face then had not been a folly, for your heart broke for sweet Helaena and her sons. For Jaehaera. The world bleeds and bleeds, and all who die that reaches your ears are nothing more but innocents.

Aemond does not bed you after that, but he keeps you in his chambers, pulls you close as if he is trying to mould your skins as one. Times like this, your heart stutters. Your love to him and your morality as a person is at a test of swords.

You are in love with him,

He is a monster,

He has lost his nephews,

He has killed his own.

And it makes you wonder if you are a monster too, lying beside him as his bedmate, caring for him, wanting him still as his heart beats as your own, so connected to the umbilical of fate and chance while war rages, bodies falling all around you both, most from his own hand and word.

The war rages, and Harrenhal comes to view.

With it, a slaughter and a witch.

The worst of the massacre is the steely, lulling silence.

No one tells you that most of what an execution is that silence. That it amplifies each scream, each shout, each thick drop of a head as it falls on cobblestone. The sound is wet and a mouthful. Then it is nothing, consumed by that silence again.

You are locked in a room with a window that doesn't face the horror of what Aemond is doing. As if this is enough to shield you from what he is, what he truly is doing to win this war.

The worst part, committing genocide of an entire house is nothing more but a horrific grudge.

Strong blood spills, enough to make a lake.

By the time that night bleeds and a maid had entered with dinner to light a fire— your body is still so cold. No food has touched your stomach since the day before yet you retch.

Does loving a monster meant that you are just as monstrous?

Mayhaps it is still worth it, you muse in your silent madness, tears tracking your cheeks as the heaviness of your being stays. For who can say a monster can love you so monstrously? Who else can?

When Aemond comes back to you, freshly cleaned and a reminiscent of the prince that you loved, and he is making excuses of wanting you as you are, pawing at your clothes, you let him. You make love in the silence suffering from the massacre he had just finished. You hold him and kiss him in a desperation as you know this will be your ending.

That your Aemond is gone, or worse. He had never truly existed.

When you are both spent, satiated in a sweet glow, your head pleasantly quiet, he speaks about a plan.

A woman, a Strong witch, that promises him an assurance of winning with her sights and blasphemous magic. He had spared her among others, and that itself makes you look at him, truly look at him.

In exchange of what— for such things do not concede so easily as gratitude to mercy of one life, yes? Because desire devours itself. A snake eating itself.

"A child," he whispers against your battered head and bruised heart. "From my blood."

"A bastard," you murmur as he stiffens. "From a bastard Strong. Surely the irony is not lost on you? You have started this war by killing your bastard nephew, and you plan on ending it by fathering—"

"Do not question me," he says softly, grip tightening against your arms. Your eyes close, heavy with the weight of being a spy. Of loving him. "I will fuck a babe in her how many times it takes, and when the war is won, I will kill her and it. For your womb is the only place my lineage will live. I am doing this for the good of the realm. For us."

When he thinks you are asleep and leaves— you take your things and make haste to leave. Not once has your people left you in the arms of the kinslayer. Always one maid, always three guards from your father's army, loyal to only you.

You bundle up quick, and rush for the passage, you are blocked by a woman. Pale skin, dark hair, and eyes greener than wildfire. You know her before she speaks. You hold yourself to fight, and the witch of Harrenhal laughs.

"You have changed the tide of destiny, my lady." Her head tilts as if she can see past you and through you. "Once your choice has affirmed, your thread chosen, I cannot stand in the side of the One-Eyed Kinslayer without the Stranger coming for me. So instead, I will grant you one gift. One that will require no sacrifice."

"I do not want it."

"Ah, but it is a gift." She nods at your torso. "Your belly will soon take size, in it, his heir. You will not escape him as soon as he knows." Her head twists to the window. A raven flies. A storm grumbles. The sound comes first before the lightning strikes. A false storm. "Time is flowing, changing and twisting. He may have betrayed his kin, but he is still a prince. He will know soon."

Her green eyes glint as if she is seeing now and tomorrow. Now and a moon. Moon from a year. "You must run now. Hide and hide well."

You hold your stomach, bile rising in your throat. "Where? Where am I safe?"

A faint smile rises to her lips. "Your heir looks more like him than mine did. You will not escape him. But go north. As far North as you can. The fjords can hide him for a while. He will grow well there."

She moves away, letting you pass.

You never look back.

Dark locks. Baratheon hair.

A tuff of silver lock atop his head.

And the rest... his nose, his eyes. With your fingers, you pull his lids. Bloom in mullish blue with the faintest tint of iridescent violet. You know from your histories, that faint tint will overpower the blue.

Oh, he is utterly beautiful. Utterly yours. And utterly his father's son.

Rough breaths strangle out of your raw-bitten lips, brushing blood away from your babe's face, his head, his wet, silvery hair. Few they maybe, unmistakably Valyrian features they still are.

"Oh, he is beautiful," your mother murmurs, tears stain her cheeks. "Quiet as you were, as a babe. Looks just as much as you."

She is weighing his Valyrian features too. Your blood tried, but it seemed as if Aemond's grudge grasped your womb and affected your shared blood.

"We cannot stay," you say, still staring at him, admiring him. Your heart locking in place, steeling itself as you prepare to do your utmost to protect him. "We will have to travel posthaste."

Your mother swallows her grief. She had almost lost you. She will lose you again, now along with her only grandchild. "Where?"

"North. As far as North as we can."

Your mother nods. Ever a lady. "I will send a missive. The Lord Stark is loyal to the Queen and knows by how much you have sacrificed for this realm. He will protect you on his honour or he is no Stark."

You will need to hide. You will need to hide well.

You pull him close to your chest, hot tears freshly spilling from your eyes.

The witch had not lied, for your boy grew up amongst ice and warmth. He grows up with love from you, from the Lord Stark and his people, and love from his father in the way that he resembles him.

The slope of his nose, the sweet purse of his lips.

When your boy had gotten angry once, nothing but a quick burst, it shocks fear and tears from your eyes for you had seen the prince.Nothing more than a flash.

You pull him close and wound him to your heart as he cried, apologising for scaring you.

The North had granted you reprieve from the war as it came and went. Your betrayal to the Greens had mounted to the Black Queen's win. The betrayal of House Baratheon as House Stark and their bannermen joined the fray had squandered any rebellious thought on which sovereign will preside.

The last you heard of what became the Prince Regent was his surrender at the Battle Above God's Eye.

When you had cried that night, you did not know if it was from relief. Or fear.

But a black stag on white snow is easy to spot.

It takes years, yes, but the Stranger is but an old friend.

For when the day of your wedding to the Lord Stark arrives, a familiar screech of a dragon that your marrow will never forget— tolls the bell of death.

And when you looked up, snow swirling, holding onto your son that looked up in awe at the man who looked so much like him—

Aemond is smiling.

Sweet came the word— dracarys! — as Vhagar split her mouth opened and obeyed her rider.

What have I told you?

You are mine as I am yours.

In face of every god and more, they will understand that you and I are but one soul.

#dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond #aemond smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond angst #aemond dark #hotd smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #hotd fanfic

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written-with-clouds · 2 months ago

Text

I Found Love (Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be) Pt. 3

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen/ Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You and Aemond had always been close, even after he lost his eye and your mom moved your family to Dragonstone. What will happen when your grandsire dies and Aegon takes the throne from your mother? Will you and Aemond be able to stay together? Or will family drive you apart?

Authors Note: Cross posted on AO3, Aemond and Reader are of legal age during all spicy scenes.

CW: Uncle/Niece, Secret Relationship, attempted SA

Part 1 Part 2

Your whole body trembles as the cold stone of the dungeon cuts through to your bones, the thin sleep shirt doing nothing to help warm you as you pull hopelessly at the chains that bind you to the wall of the cell. The cuffs have started to rub uncomfortably against your wrists from the struggle.

The sound of multiple sets of footsteps draws your attention. You shrink back against the wall, heart hammering in your chest, as King’s Guards open the cell door and part allowing King Aegon to enter.

Aemond roared, embedding yet another throwing ax into the chest of a training dummy. The training yard around him, usually bustling with people, was empty. Those that had been there quickly abandoned what they were doing as Aemond stalked out of the doors to the yard. He had been in the training yard all morning, taking his anger out on the hay-filled sacs formed to resemble a person. By the time he was done, sweat-soaked and out of breath, the sun was high in the sky. Straws of hay and fabric scraps littered the ground, alongside a few wooden training swords that had been snapped in half.

Running a hand through his hair, Aemond sighed heavily, leaning against a wall and sliding down to sit. Resting his arms over his knees and his head back against the wall, Aemond allowed his eyes to close. Running the various hidden paths with the best chance of getting to you and getting you out through his mind.

“My prince.” Aemond opens his eye, squinting up at Ser Criston Cole. Cole bows slightly in greeting, “The Dowager Queen requests your presence, she has asked me to escort you.”

Aemond scoffs, standing and brushing the dirt and dust from his clothes. “She requests me.” He repeats, voice sardonic. “That implies that I can decline her.”

He struts past Cole, walking up to the bottom of the staircase leading inside. Pausing, Aemond looked over his shoulder flippantly and mockingly saying, “Lead the way Ser Criston.” Swooping his arms dramatically and bending at the waist.

You grunt, coughing harshly, as another kick makes contact with your already bruising body. Spitting blood out on the floor, you pant, frantically pulling in air.

You yelp in pain as your hair is roughly gripped at the roots. The hand in your hair yanks you up, forcing you to look at the man.

Aegon smiles cruelly at you, his eyes wide and crazy. He says something, probably an insult, but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears. He turns his head away from you, looking behind him at the guard who had entered. You can hear muffled yelling as Aegon argues with the guard before his face twists up in disgust. He drops your head, leaving the cell. Your body, weak and unable to hold its weight, slumps to the ground.

Aemond enters his mothers chambers, a guard announcing his presence. His mother stands near a hearth, biting at the nail of her thumb. At his arrival, she drops her hand quickly. Aegon and, to Aemonds surprise, Helaena, sit on the couches near their mother. Aegon soothingly massages his foot with his hands, hissing slightly every couple seconds or so. Helaena embroiders across from Aegon, unbothered and uncaring of the room around her.

Aemond sits down next to Aegon with a huff, “Must you do that now, brother? Your feet smell worse than the streets of Flea Bottom.”

Aegon barks a laugh at his brother, “And what would you know of the smells of Flea Bottom?”

Before Aemond can respond, Queen Alicent speaks. “Enough.” She sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We need to speak about the possibility of war,” she continues.

“Isn’t this a conversation better suited for the council?” Aegon voices, for once aware of the situation.

“It will be in due time. But this is something family,” she casts a pointed look at Aemond, “should know first. Rhaenyra has sent a letter.”

Aemond perks up slightly, his eye watching his mother closely. His jaw tightens and Aegon makes some snide remark about the ‘Whore of Dragonstone’.

“She has made demands of the throne, and in turn, threatened the rightful king. Claiming that she shall have his head should her spy of a daughter not be returned to her.” Aegon scoffs as Queen Alicent finishes.

Aemond laughs as well. He laughs like a madman at his mother and brother, who both look at him quizzically.

“And what do you find so humorous, brother? Is the thought of my head on a stick that entertaining to you?” Aegon jests, jabbing his elbow against Aemonds side.

Aemond stands, ignoring his brother completely. “I find it laughable that you pretend to have no part in this,” He says pointedly at Queen Alicent. “Acting as if your actions haven’t directly caused these threats. What did you expect to happen? Throwing her eldest child into the dungeons.. did you think Rhaenyra would simply roll over and submit?”

“I did only what was necessary to protect–“ Queen Alicent begins to say, walking towards Aemond as if he were a frightened dog.

“Protect what?” Aemond sneers, out of the corner of his eye he sees Helaena pause. “She had done nothing wrong! You imprisoned her simply for your own personal vendetta against her mother.”

“Son, we– I had reasonable suspicion that her presence meant no good.. I was– am looking out for you.” Queen Alicent placed a tentative hand against Aemonds cheek, only for it to be slapped away harshly.

Aemond scowls at his mother. Closing his eye and taking a steadying breath before turning and leaving.

Aemond strides through the dungeon of the Red Keep. Head held high and his shoulders relaxed. He had learned early on in life that if you acted like you belonged somewhere, people tended to not question your presence.

He glances into each cell as he passes, checking for you in each one. Nearing the end of the long corridor, Aemond listens as faint, muffled talking becomes more clear.

“Ya think he killed her? I ain’t seen her move since he left.” A guard says. Aemond notes the lack of white armor, Not Kingsguard, he thinks to himself.

“Nah, I can still see ‘er breathing.” The second replies. Both guards stand leaning against the wall, relaxed and at ease. Neither had noticed Aemond yet.

Aemonds steps slow momentarily, growing quiet, as he stalks towards them. No noticeable weapons, they were either unarmed or had hidden daggers on the person.

“Can’t be that far off though..” The first guard comments. The other one nods, humming his agreement.

Aemond clears his throat, announcing his presence. The guards stand from the wall, frantically scrambling into position with their hands behind their backs, heads straight, and eyes forward. Aemond stands silently, watching the guards shift on their feet uncomfortably.

“You are dismissed.” He says. The guards visibly relax, if only a tiny bit, and begin to leave. Hugging the wall as the pass Aemond. “One last thing,” Aemond continues.

The guards stop in their tracks, turning slightly so as to not face Aemond directly. “Give me the keys to that cell.” Aemond finished, indicating with his head towards your cell while holding a hand out.

One of the guards smirks, unclamping the keys from his belt. “Want to take yer turn with ‘er, my prince?” He teases, “she ain’t gonna be much fun though.. little fight left in ‘er.”

Aemonds jaw clenches as he scowls. “I would watch my tone around those higher than I, guard, what I do or don’t do with the prisoner is none of your concern.” He growls. “Leave, before I decide I want your tongue for speaking out of turn.”

The guard's smirk fell and his face went pale. Quickly mumbling an apology. Dropping the keys into Aemonds palm, both guards scurried away with their tails tucked between their legs.

Aemond pauses a few moments, waiting until he can no longer hear footsteps, before turning on his heel and hastily unlocking the door to your cell. The sight of you laying on the floor in a bruised heap simultaneously breaks his heart and makes his blood boil. He carefully crosses the small distance between you and him, kneeling down in front of you. Your eyes are open, but distant and unfocused. If it weren’t for the shallow breaths you occasionally took in he would think you were dead.

“Issa jorrāelagon (my love),” He speaks softly, brushing some hair away from your face. You flinch back, blinking your eyes back into focus. “Shh, my dear… it’s just me.”

“Ae–mond?” Your voice is rough when you speak.

“Yes, love, it’s me…” His brow furrows, taking in your disheveled state. The trembling in your arms as you struggle to push yourself up into a sitting position, the wince as you cradle an arm around your midsection. He can’t see any noticeable cuts or bruises on your face or neck, which soothes him a little. But he can tell from how carefully you protect your stomach that, should he lift the fabric of your sleepwear, he would see dark bruising taking form.

Gently, Aemond reaches out and lays his hand over your arm. “Who did this? Tell me which guard it was and I shall have their body hung from the gates.”

You’re shaking your head before he can finish. “Wasn’t a guard..” you reply weakly.

“Who, then… if not a guard.. who?” He softly pry’s.

“I can’t say…” Your words are nothing but a painful whisper as tears roll down your cheeks. Aemond carefully gathers you in his arms, pulling you against his chest and stroking your hair.

“Please, love, tell me.. if you do not know the name, describe them to me and I will find them.” He whispers.

You take a slow steadying breath, “Promise me that you won’t do anything rash.”

“I don’t make promises I cannot keep,” He replies, and then after a beat of silence, “I promise to try.”

“It was Aegon…” Your words hang thick in the air around the two of you. You can feel Aemond’s chest quickly rise and fall as he struggles to remain calm.

“Aegon did this?” His words are strained and his grip on you tightens ever so slightly. You nod against his chest and Aemond brings one of his hands to cup your face, moving you until he can look into your eyes. “What did he do? Did he–“ Aemond swallow’s, his body tense as he asks, “did he touch you?”

“Not… not in the way you imply..” You watch as his shoulders relax and he releases a breath. “The only part of him to touch me was his boot.”

“I should return the favor to him… for daring to hurt you,” Aemond snarls. Panic flashes in your eyes briefly as you start to speak before he stops you, reassuring, “I won’t do anything rash, love. I am smarter than that.”

He tucks you back against his chest, his arms once again encircling you, protecting you. Aemond rests his cheek against your hair as the two of you sit on the cold stone floor. It isn’t until you hear voices talking in the distance that Aemond speaks in a hushed voice.

“I have to go, Issa jorrāelagon (my love).” He places a featherlight kiss against your forehead before standing. “I will come back for you.. that I can promise.”

“I know you will,” You say back, the threat of tears burning the back of your eyes. “Just don’t take too long..”

“I won’t.” Aemond shuts the cell door behind him and clicks the lock into place with a heavy heart, stuffing the key in his pocket.

With his head held high and his shoulders squared, Aemond strides out of the dungeons. Only slightly relieved that the voices you both had heard belonged to a small group of cleaners. He ignores them as they part for him to walk past, heading towards the stairs that lead to his room.

Passing by Helaena, Aemond nods in greeting. Step faltering only for a second as he hears her muttering to herself.

“In the flames of sorrow, a dragon's mark is lost”

Aemond sits at the council table, listening to Ser Tyland Lannister complain about… whatever it was he complained about normally. After a sleepless night of worrying and plotting, Aemond really couldn’t care less.

He listens half-heartedly as the council moves past Lannisters whining and begins discussing things that are actually important; procuring food for the dragons while also not starving the small folk, training the newest round of guards, et cetera, et cetera.

Aemond glances towards his brother, who is laughably in over his head. Aegon sits at the head of the table, eyes wide as he fumbles for solutions that don’t sound as if a child has thought of them. Aemond scowls. This was the person–the bastard– that had hurt you.

“Now then,” Lord Jasper Wylde starts. “We should discuss what to do with the princess.”

Aemond snaps from his thoughts, now paying close attention to the conversation at hand. His eyes scan the expressions on each member of the council, even looking briefly at the few guards that stood against the walls. Each man shifted uncomfortably in their seat, barely looking at one another and out right refusing to look at either Aegon or Aemond.

It’s Grand Maester Orwyle that speaks first. “Perhaps we should send her back to Dragonstone. We could use it as a sign of good faith, claim it as a mistake.”

“And admit we were in the wrong?” Aemond‘s grandsire, Ser Otto Hightower, spoke. “You would wish to make a fool of your king? Grand Maester?”

“No, Lord Hand… I would never!” Maester Orwyle spoke quickly, eyes going impossibly wide and shifting fearfully between the members of council and the kingsguard.

“Perhaps we could send her off to marry,” Ser Tyland Lannister suggested. “As the king and her uncle, it is well within your right to secure an alliance through marrying off the females in your bloodline.”

Aemonds blood boiled. These men wished to marry off. Send you away to spend your days with some old pig. What enraged him most, however, was the look of consideration Aegon had. The bastard was actually considering it. Aemond couldn’t stop the scoff that escaped his lips.

“Something funny, Brother?” Aegon jests, his eyes narrowing.

“It is a stupid plan.” Aemond replies simply, his eye staring back at Aegon in a silent challenge.

“And what else would you suggest? Aemond the Fierce” Aegon was mocking him. He only used that title, that nickname, as a way of belittling Aemond.

“I have been in contact with the pretender,” Aemond lies, “She is willing to bargain for her daughter's safe return home.”

Aegon study’s Aemond for a moment, trying to work out if the lie was just that, a lie. When he finally speaks, it’s slow as if the words are being carefully chosen.

“You’ve been conversing. With the pretender. And you didn’t think to tell me?” Aegon rests his arms on the table in front of him, folding his hands.

“Gaoma oznehurkta mīrēbagon aō bēvules. (You had more pressing matters to attend to.)” Aemond replies, leaning back in his chair casually. “Skorkydoso istan ziry? Naejot ōdrikagon nykeā ābra bona istan ōregion ilagon? Gōntan ziry mazverdagon ao kraj? Kostōba? Issi ao jōzigon hen skoros ao gōntan, lēkia? Skorkydoso kostōba jāhor ao sagon lo nyke gaomagon keskydoso naejot ao? Nyke pendagon. (How was it? To hurt a woman that was held down? Did it make you powerful? Strong? Are you proud of what you did, brother? How strong will you be if I do the same to you. I wonder.)

His voice eerily calm as he speaks to his brother, taunting Aegon in his own way as the elder had never quite gotten a grasp on the language. He watched Aegon slowly work through what each word meant and try to form a rebuttal. The rest of the council silently watched the two brothers, stock still and muscles tense.

Aemond quirked a brow, tilting his head, “Sȳrī…skoros iksos aōha udligon? (Well… what is your answer?)”

Aegon’s face turns a light shade of red and his jaw clenches. Abruptly standing, he addresses the rest of the council. “I will need to think over all of the options given today. We will meet again in the morning.”

The members stood, waiting for their king to leave the room first. As Aegon passed Aemond he paused, leaning in to whisper, “Be careful, brother. Your heart is showing.”

You claw desperately at the hands around your throat. Your legs thrash underneath you, trying to kick away the Kingsguard that had you pinned against the jagged stone wall. You could feel the stone digging into your back, cutting and scratching against the flesh.

“Not so high and mighty now, eh, but princess.” Ser Criston Cole sneers, his grip tightening. There would be marks left, you briefly thought.

You reach out a hand and scratch at his face, your nails leaving angry red lines in his cheek as he hisses and lets go of your neck. You drop to the ground like dead weight, coughing and wheezing as you try to catch your breath.

“You bitch!” Ser Criston growls. He grabs a fistful of your hair at the roots and yanks, forcing you to your knees. The back of his hand connects with your cheek, the armor cutting into your skin and you feel as blood trails down over your jaw. His lip curls in disgust, “The council met today. They discussed what to do with you.”

He releases the grip on your hair, glaring down at you. He rolls you onto your back with the bottom of his shoe before stepping down on your stomach. You groan in pain, trying to lift his foot off of you.

“They mentioned sending you away to marry. Probably an old pig.” Ser Criston mocks. “Or maybe…” he moves his foot, stepping over you and kneeling, straddling your mid section. He leans down, bracing his hands on either side of your head, and whispers against your ear. “Maybe, we should send you back to your mother as used goods.”

He laughed, watching your eyes grow wide in fear. You thrash underneath him, fighting to push him off of you. Ser Criston gathers your wrists in one of his hands and pins them above your head, using the other to turn your face to the side. He leans down, licking up the side of your neck before biting down on the flesh where your neck and shoulder meets.

Tears stream down your cheeks as he continues, roughly pulling the top of your sleepwear down to uncover you. Ser Criston hums in appreciation as he trails his tongue over your breasts.

“Please… stop,” You whimper.

He covers your mouth with his free hand. “Whores. Don’t. Speak.” He spits out before roughly removing his hand.

Without letting go of your wrists, he maneuvers your bodies. He now kneels between your legs, which are spread around his waist. His free hand trails down your body. You try to scream for help but his hand returns to your mouth, muffling your cries as his fingers dig painfully into your cheek. Your wrists are freed from his grasp as he begins to hastily work at removing his cock from his trousers.

And then suddenly, Ser Criston is no longer above you. His hand no longer over your mouth, his body no longer between your legs as Aemond yanks him away and punches him squarely across the jaw. Aemond hits him again, knocking the Kingsguard to the floor. He kneels over top of Ser Criston, repeatedly punching his face. Blood splattered against the floor and bones break with sickening crunches as Aemond all but roars in anger, not stopping until the Kingsguard is laying limp and unrecognizable.

Aemond stands slowly as he uses Ser Criston’s white cloak to wipe the blood off of himself, panting harshly as the adrenaline leaves him. Pushing out a breath of air, Aemond turns to you.

You had barely moved from where Ser Criston had you pinned, only shifting to cover yourself. You stare, wide eyed like a doe, as Aemond crouches before you and cups your cheek gently.

Resting his forehead against yours he apologizes, “I’m so sorry…”

You shake your head, “it wasn’t your fault..”

“I still feel guilty all the same..” He shifts, lightly grasping your wrists and unlocking the chains that keep you bound to the small cell. Standing, Aemond holds his hands out to help you stand, “We need to hurry, can you walk?”

You stand on shaky legs, taking a tentative step before your legs give out beneath you. “It appears not…” you joke, laughing dryly before wincing and clutching at your stomach.

Aemond bends, placing one arm behind your knees and the other around your waist. He mutters a quick, “Place your arms around my neck,” before lifting you.

As quietly and quickly as he can while holding you, Aemond makes his way towards the opposite end of the hall from the entrance. Against the wall hangs a large portrait of Maegor I.

“Love, can you pull the portrait from the wall?” Aemond quietly asks. You nod, reaching out a hand and pulling at the frame.

After a few tugs at it, the portrait finally shifts as the unused hinges groan. Behind the portrait sits a passageway that appears to have been forgotten for some time. Spiderwebs cover the ceiling and dust gathers in the corners. Torches line the walls but few are actually lit. Aemond had lit them before coming to you, he explains.

“Use your sleeve to cover your mouth and nose, it’ll be easier to breathe.” Aemond says as he steps into the passageway before the portrait swings shut with an echoing thud.

The trek is slow, but eventually you reach an old door at the end of the hallway. Aemond carefully sets you down, “I’m going to make sure it’s safe, I’ll be right back.” He whispers, placing a kiss against your forehead.

He disappears beyond the door for a moment and you hear deep rumbling sounds that vibrate the earth below you. When he reappears moments later, scooping you up into his arms again and swiftly exiting the hidden passageway, you are met with the sight of Vhagar. Carefully he lifts you up onto her saddle, with help from Vhagar as she shrinks down as close as she can to the ground. It takes some careful effort but eventually you are seated in front of Aemond as he guides the dragon into the sky.

As Vhagar levels out above the clouds your body relaxes. No longer feeling the need to be on edge. With your body relaxing, the adrenaline running through you dissipates and a sharp pain rips through you. You scream out, in equal parts shock and pain. Curling in on yourself as you clench your eyes shut.

“What is it?” Aemond asks, concern lacing his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t–“ Another scream of pain is ripped from your throat, “I don’t know!” You sob, tears running down your cheeks.

“Adere (Quick), Vhagar!” Aemond urges the dragon to fly faster. “Endure just a little longer, Issa jorrāelagon (my love), we will reach Dragonstone soon..”

Your eyes snap to his, “Dragonstone?! No.. Aemond they will– argh!… they’ll kill you..”

“It’s a risk I’ll take for you.” Aemond says. He knew the risk he was taking by bringing you back, but he knew your mother enough to think he would be able to converse and explain himself. He hopes he’s right in his assessment of Rhaenyra.

Upon nearing Dragonstone, Aemond spots the yellow scales of Syrax and the red serpent-like neck of Caraxes waiting for him on the outermost rocks. He circles Vhagar lower until she can carefully land on the uneven terrain.

“It’ll be alright love.. you’ll be okay.” He whispers into your hair as he places, what might be his last, kiss against your forehead. He slides off of Vhagar’s back, turning to help you down. Once you are safe within his arms, Aemond turns towards your mother and Daemon.

“I come in peace!” He calls to them, “She is hurt, I know not how badly..”

Your mother is the first to close the distance, rushing to where you are cradled against Aemonds chest. “What happened to her?” Your mother hisses.

“She was beaten while in the dungeons.. but there is time to discuss that later. She needs a maester.” Aemond responds curtly. Your mother opens her arms and moves to take you from Aemond, who’s grip tightens around you. You curl further against him, your hands clenching the fabric of his shirt tightly, and whine as another jab of pain runs through you.

“Aemond…” You voice weakly. He looks down to you, face wet with tears and brows scrunched in pain.

“I will carry her.” He says to your mother in a way that leaves no room for argument. Her jaw clenches, but she nods and turns to lead him to your room.

The maester’s tests were there own form of torture. All the poking and prodding had you screaming from the pain until you eventually passed out. They cleaned your wounds and dressed you in something warmer to fight off the chill that took over your body. It’s when they removed the dirty sleep shirt you had been in, that they notice blood between your legs.

“We believe that the princess was with child,” the maester relays to Aemond and Rheanyra. “It is likely that the source of her pain was the death of the babe. My deepest sympa–”

Aemonds hearing muffles. He can see the maesters lips moving as he speaks, and Rheanyra’s as she responds. But he can’t hear the words over the ringing in his ears.

You were pregnant. You were pregnant. He was going to be a father… wasn’t, not anymore.

His feet were moving before he could tell them to, carrying him down the hall to your room. To you.

Opening the door and shutting it as quietly as possible he turns to face you. You’re laying in the middle of your bed, propped up by multiple pillows, sleeping. He crosses the room to you, carefully climbing into the bed and curling around you.

“Mm.. Aemond?” You ask groggily, looking at him. You notice the far off look in his eye and reach a hand up to his cheek, startling him slightly. “Is everything– are you okay?”

“I have some bad news, my dear..” He says quietly. Taking a deep breath he tells you, “You were pregnant.. but the trauma you endured… you lost the child..”

You stare at him, mouth parted slightly. “I was… I…” You stutter, struggling to wrap your head around it.

“Yes, love… you were..” Aemond says. He pulls you closer to him, tucking your head against chest. “But, we’ll get through it.. together.”

“Together…” You whisper.

Part 1 Part 2

#aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #ewan mitchell

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daenerysaizie · 2 months ago

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𐔌 . ⋮ REALM’S DELIGHT .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

MK1 x Targaryen!Reader

Note:

Game of Thrones concept included in MK 1. Even though, Game of Thrones is kanonically a show in the MK world (shown in the DLC), in this fanfic it’s not lol. Also, I will be changing plots and details for the both. Will get confusing as I’m not an experienced writer and yes :3 OH! You’re also basically Daenarys, sharing the look of classic Valyrian (only hair and eye color) and characteristics. If you don’t know anything about Game of Thrones, don’t worry I will explain it in the fic? But do realize it’s heavily rewritten so it’s not the same as the kanon one. Heavily inspired by “Kombat Hearts” by @ilykirara and “New Era” by @atlasofthestaars . I love this two fics so so much<3 female reader? But read however you like.

Edit: changed the story lil bit to fit the flow🩷

Chapter 1 — Everytime a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin.

In the year 283 AC (After Conquest) on Dragonstone, Westeros, a storm raged, with fierce winds and crashing waves echoing the pain that consumed Queen Rhaella. She lay in labor, her face pale and drawn, haunted by fear—fear of soon losing a husband to his madness and sons to a brutal world. Yet, she clung to her strength, whispering, “This child is of House Targaryen,” as though breathing life into the fire in her womb.

At the storm’s peak, the child was born—a girl with silvery hair and eyes like amethysts. Rhaella looked upon her newborn daughter with a bittersweet smile. Her breaths grew shallow, each one softer than the last, yet her gaze held firm. She would not yield to death, not yet. Her lips parted, and with a fragile voice, she spoke her child’s name—a final act of love and defiance.

—

They called you Stormborn. The youngest child of King Aerys, princess of Dragonstone—a darling of the fortress that rose dark and forbidding from the rocky, windswept island, surrounded by an endless sea. In your early years, you grew up there, often found by the beach, close to the waves, with sand in your hair and the scent of salt in your nose. You loved the sea; it made you feel free. The cold, unyielding stones of Dragonstone comforted you, and to your young eyes, this was home. Warm and protective.

You were never alone. Upon your mother’s death, the King, your father, appointed guards and servants to remain by your side at all times, just as he had for Viserys, your elder brother. Before you or Viserys, Queen Rhaella had suffered multiple miscarriages and stillbirths. This led the King, who was starting show signs of insanity, to suspect her, and he sent her away to Dragonstone from King’s Landing. He would visit her only after executing someone by fire.

Raised on the island, you knew little of the world beyond—King’s Landing, the Seven Kingdoms, or even your eldest brother, Rhaegar, whom you met only twice. You have met your father supposedly just once, when you were a babe. Viserys was your only guide, the voice that taught and reassured you. Sharing quite the big of age gap, he knew beyond the misty, cold walls.

When conditions grew too dangerous, you were too young to understand why you had to leave.

“Brother, please come with me. I’m scared,” you whispered, clinging to him. Viserys held you tightly. “I must stay. I am the Prince of Dragonstone, It is right for me to stay,” he replied, pressing a small bag into your hands. “Sister, I promise I’ll bring you back home. Protect this at all costs. It is the crown of King Jaehaerys I.” You clutched the bag close, nodding.

A man with clad in blue took your small hand and led you away from the only home you’d known to a place far, far away. Clutching the bag with the crown, you looked back at your brother for a final look. The maids and servants who had raised you weeped as they watched you leave.

In time, you would soon forget the feel of home and the memories it bore, but never the promise your brother made or the vow you’d taken to guard the crown.

—

You stayed at a placed called the Lin Kuei when you fled from home. The Lin Kuei's former Grandmaster knew your father personally. How? You didn't know. All you knew was that the Grandmaster was kind enough to lend a hand to your father and save his only daughter. "Do you know why you are here, little dragon?" He bent down to your toddler body. You gripped the golden crown to your chest. "Home is dangerous." you replied as you looked at the Grandmaster. He had the face of a strict man, but deep in his eyes, you could see honor and kindness burn. He hummed as he nodded, "You will be safe here." he told you as he put his hand on your head. And you were, for years.

Obviously, being in the clan, you were destined to meet the three sons he had. You became close to the youngest one, Tomas. He bore almost the same burdens as you and understood your pains and discomfort. Eventually, you got close to Kuai Liang too. He took care of you and guarded you away from the clan's considerably cruel side. However, as for Bi-Han, you never got the chance to get close. He was heir to his clan, making him busier than his brothers. To your memory, he was cold and strict, stricter than his father. The only vivid memory you have of him is him asking you how your hair and eye color were so... different. You could not give him an answer that satisfied his curiosity.

As you got older, when you showed the sign of maturity in body and mind, you were sent away once again. Somewhere much safer and peaceful. According to the former Grandmaster, the clan was not made for you; you were meant to live a life that was peaceful, not a life to become a skilled warrior. Thus, Madam Bo, a former Lin Kuei warrior, took you to the village where she resided. You would keep contact in with the Lin Kuei brothers through letters. Though, the last letter you got from was a year ago now.

You lived with Madam Bo for many years now. She taught you everything you needed to know, from tough love to combat (for self defense). You remember the moment she brought you to Fengjian as clear as day. The night was as silent as death when she brought you to this quaint village. Her horse's gallops echoed through the stillness, bringing little bit of life to the sleeping village. She had you firmly seated in front of her on her horse, your hair skillfully concealed beneath her deep purple scarf. Madam Bo took great care to inform you of the local norms and the dos and the don’ts. She explained that your unique features, which were considered royal in Westeros and the Essos, would seem different and will be only met with curiosity. You were also strongly advised to not speak of your old home or family name.

Through Madam Bo, you were able to meet Kung Lao and Raiden. "Thick-skulled boys," she would call them. Growing up, the three of you sparred, trained, and played together. Being homeschooled, Raiden and Kung Lao were diligent in ensuring that you didn't miss out on any fun experiences. After grueling training sessions, the males took turns to take you out for treats. In return, you helped them with various tasks around the farm. This included harvesting the freshly grown vegetables, a labor of gratitude from you. They were also vigilant in ensuring that no boys with ‘ill intentions’ ever bothered you with courting or whatever. Whenever you insisted you could handle yourself, they would respond with a confident "I know," followed by a statement that they knew even better because they were males. In retort, you would often ask, "In that case, should I be cautious of you two as well?" to which they would simply shut down.

—

It was early in the morning, 5 AM to be exact, as you sat on your bed staring at the golden crown in your hands. It was the last thing you had that represented your family's existence and was evidence of your royal heritage. The crown had a large sigil of a three-headed dragon at its center, while seven smaller gems of different colors decorated the rest. You had the same dream again. At this point, you could recall every detail.

"BURN THEM ALL! BURN THEM ALL!" A hoarse, old voice boomed through the room. An old man with a long white beard and crazed eyes yelled, ordering his pyromancers (who used some kind of chemicals to start major fires) while he sat on the Iron Throne, a seat made from thousands of swords. The pyromancers hesitated. It was your father who sat on the throne, though you didn’t know it was him; his unmistakable Valyrian looks—white hair and purple eyes—gave it away. He continued to yell until one of his guards, a golden-haired man with blurry face, drew his sword, stabbed him in the back, and slit his throat. The golden-haired guard watched your crazed father bleed to death as he sat on his throne, yet your father still whispered the same thing as he bled on the floor: "Burn them all."

You ponder if the dream was a real event or not. After all, you were never there to witness this event, and you were extremely young when you fled from home. Plus, you had no memory of ever meeting your father or what he looked like. What if it was a cruel joke your mind played?

"No use thinking about it," you whisper to yourself as you put away the crown into your nightstand's drawer. With one swift move, you get up to get ready for the day. After all, you had so much to do. You start your morning routine and change from your nightgown into more proper clothes for the day.

—

The day went by rather quickly. From getting fresh vegetables and produce early in the morning to serving customers until closing time, the day went smoothly. Almost too smoothly. You sigh and hum as you watch your two friends put away food like vacuums, with Kung Lao doing most of the work as usual. It was amusing - how did his stomach not burst? It was superhuman, you swore. Soon, you saw Madam Bo approach the two with a massive bill in her hand. Poor Raiden and his wallet.

Despite closing hours arriving, a few drunken uncles from the village stayed behind. One made a mess on the bottom floor, which you had to clean up. You mopped the floor as the drunken man apologized. "Ahhhh, I'm sorry! Here, here, have this," he slurred his words as he handed you an unopened bottle of beer. You shook your head and refused his token of apology. You chuckled inwardly as you washed away the mess from the floor.

Suddenly, Madam Bo came down to the bottom floor and crashed into the table, breaking it. She was unconscious. "Madam Bo?!" you exclaimed in horror. The drunken uncles behind you seemed to sober up and stare. You looked up to see the culprit with wide eyes.

The man with very familiar hair jumped down to the floor, landing next to Madam Bo's unconscious body. He wore mask that covered his face. Your chest tightened as fear clouded your mind for her. You tried running towards her as the previously drunken guy, now sober from the shock, grabbed your wrist. "Are you crazy!? He's going to kill you!" he whispered as he tugged you, preparing to run. "Go" you whispered back to him. The once-drunken guy thought for a moment and let your wrist go when he saw your determined face. He dashed out of the place with a few other people. You still gripped the mop in your hand as the man approached you. He had grey hair that reminded you of Tomas from your childhood. Was it truly him? You hadn't seen the man for years!

"Surrender to the Lin Kuei! Or end up like her," he replied as he prepared his karambit, aiming it at you. It is him! Is this what the Lin Kuei does now? you thought anxiously. "I thought the Lin Kuei protected people from harm. I never thought you would stoop this low," you spoke calmly, with a hidden wobble in your voice. How could your childhood friend do this?

Kung Lao and Raiden shout your name from the floor above after taking out the other members of the clan. They try to go down to help you, but Bi-Han and Kuai Liang stop them in their tracks. "You interfere with Lin Kuei business. Leave, or face our wrath!" Bi-Han warns as he dramatically stands on the rooftop. Kuai Liang approaches the two with his weapon from behind, swinging it in the air. "Abandon Madam Bo and her? Not happening," Kung Lao replies. After his reply, Bi-Han launches himself at Raiden while Kuai Liang grabs Kung Lao, pulling him towards himself as he yells ferociously, "Get over here!"

Tomas slowly approaches you with his karambit, closing the distance between you two, as if he were a hunter and you were his prey. You contemplate your actions as you grip the mop tighter until your knuckles turn white. When the gap closes, he swings his karambit at you. You dodge his attack and use the tip of the mop to strike his stomach multiple times before hitting him hard on the head with the mop's end. He falls down. "No, it can't be that easy," you think to yourself as you look at his ‘unconscious’ body. Emotions surge through you the more you look at him, unsure how to feel, but you take the result for granted, leaving the mop near his head and running towards Madam Bo.

The noises around you seem to blur as you barely breathe. You gently turn her body to see her, and your hands shakily brush her face to sweep away the strands of her hair. "Madam Bo?" you whisper with great worry and fear. Soon enough, Kung Lao and Raiden come running down to you. They ask about your condition first before turning to Madam Bo. "Oh no. Is she—" Kung Lao is cut off when Madam Bo suddenly opens her eyes and looks at you three. "Dead? Not yet." You three can hear the playfulness in her voice as she stands up. You and Raiden are quick to help her, but she brushes away your hands as she swiftly lights up her cigarette. "Madam Bo, how are you—" Kung Lao gets interrupted again. Raiden points at the stairs, "Guys!"

"So, Madam Bo, are they ready?" A man comes down as he takes his hood off, revealing his glowing eyes and chiseled face that bears a small, proud smile. You notice it's the same man who caught your attention earlier today. Madam Bo was fondly standing at his table as she served him tea. You anxiously fidget with the ring on your middle finger. Raiden notices your fidgeting and gently takes your hand, holding it firmly with care.

Madam Bo stands in front as if to present you three. "These two are a bit thick in the head, perhaps... But they are ready," she says, referring to Raiden and Kung Lao. "However, I did not think my child would be included in the exam," she chuckles as she glances at you.

"His eyes are glowing," Raiden blurts out to Kung Lao, who is on his right side with you on his left, still holding your hand.

"I am Lord Liu Kang, God of Fire and Protector of Earthrealm," the man with glowing eyes introduces himself as he connects his hands together and folds his arms. In response, you gently let go of Raiden's hand to bow to the god. "God? Earthrealm?" Kung Lao asks with curiosity as Raiden observes the god, silently mourning the loss of contact with your hand.

"Madam Bo has been preparing you for this moment since you were boys. Today you have proven worthy of joining my champions," he explains further.

"This fight was a test?" Raiden asks. The god smiles and nods, "Of your ability and character, yes. Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas," he calls out to the Lin Kuei members. Bi-Han and Kuai Liang come down the stairs while Tomas, who was already on the same floor, stands up and positions himself behind the god.

"So these three aren't thugs?" Kung Lao asks suspiciously, eyeing them. You can only send an apologetic look to Tomas, who returns it with soft eyes.

"The Lin Kuei is a centuries-old clan dedicated to Earthrealm's defense," the god explains.

"You keep saying Earthrealm. Don't you mean Earth?" Raiden asks, confused. Madam Bo chuckles as you smile. You already possessed a little information of this topic. "You boys have so much to learn," she says.

"Earth is only part of Earthrealm. Earthrealm itself is one of many realms. Together they comprise the whole of the universe," the god explains, gesturing with his hands. "The realms can be fierce, bitter rivals. That's why we need champions to defend ours," Madam Bo adds. "The time draws near for the grand martial arts tournament between Earthrealm and the realm of Outworld. Held once each century, it allows each realm to demonstrate its strength. While our realms are at peace, there are Outworlders who would prefer us to be at war. Our victory in the tournament will... temper their zeal," the god concludes.

Madam Bo turns to the boys and partially to you, "I've taught you everything I can. You must finish your training with Lord Liu Kang," she informs them.

"More training? These three couldn't defeat us," Kung Lao asks skeptically. At his remark, Bi-Han scoffs audibly, which makes Madam Bo chuckle along with him.

"They were pulling their punches," she explains. You nod at her words as you remember the Lin Kuei being so formidable and strong. "Had we not held back, you would not have survived," Bi-Han says proudly and threateningly, stepping forward slightly. Lord Liu Kang blocks his way and interrupts him. "Come. The monks at the Wu Shi Academy await to continue your tutelage." The god offers the choice, which Kung Lao accepts without hesitation.

"And you, Raiden?" the god asks. Raiden hesitates, "Leave Fengjian? I'm needed here," he replies. Madam Bo steps in, "Earthrealm needs you, Raiden. You'll best serve the village by being one of its champions," she assures him. After considering for a moment, Raiden agrees to the god's offer with a simple "I understand."

"How about you? You have proven yourself to be worthy as well," the god turns to you as he utters your name. You, who had been silent the whole time, gape at his question. You point towards yourself, "Me?" you ask, to confirm. Madam Bo chuckles. "Come on! You heard the god. The three of us could train together like we always did!" Kung Lao says as he steps forward towards you as Raiden nods in agreement. You were unsure. "But I do not fight well and I cannot leave Madam Bo." you answer bluntly. At your words, Madam Bo chuckles as she pushes you towards the god by your waist. "Forgive me, Lord Liu Kang. As you can see, she is timid, obedient, and so humble. But she has the spirit of the dragon." she says. The god and everyone else only looks at you and awaits your answer. You sigh and nod, which earns a proud smile from Madam Bo.

"Excellent. I will join you soon. First, there are other champions I must gather," the god says.

—

Lord Liu Kang departed the tea house to gather his other champions with Kung Lao and Raiden shortly after him, to prepare for the Wu Shi academy.

The Lin Kuei stayed behind to clean up the aftermath of their physical test, during which you exchanged subtle glances with them. It had been over a decade since you last saw them, and they had transformed from boys into men, now towering above you easily. Their faces had become more defined and chiseled, contrasting the young boys you remembered.

“You dyed your hair.” Tomas remarks as he approaches you. You were setting the chairs upside down on the table to sweep any debris or broken objects. “Ah, I had to” you return his greeting with a warm smile and stand up straight. A moment of silence hangs between you, filled with the unspoken words and nostalgia.

“You and your brothers haven’t written for a year now. Why?” You ask with curiosity. As you ask about the lack of communication from the brothers, Tomas chuckles softly and explains, “Many more new initiates. How about you? You haven’t written to us as well,” He then turns it back on you, wondering why you haven't written either. You answer in a soft voice, your smile revealing a hint of melancholy. "Life hasn't changed much for me," you reply. "I didn't want to bother you or your brother."

Tomas can only hum in response and before you could speak. “We will leave” Bi-Han commands, followed by Kuai Liang, as he walks up to you and Tomas. You immediately bow to them in greeting, and Bi-Han responds with a nod. Kuai Liang, on the other hand, returns your greeting with a slight bow.

"It was lovely seeing you three again," you say, your smile lighting up the conversation. "I hope we'll meet more in the future." There was happiness in your voice as you express this sentiment, despite the awkwardness, it was still refreshing to be in their presence. Kuai Liang responds with a simple, but sincere "I agree." Bi-Han quickly guides his brothers and the members of the clan out of the tea house, after finish repairing.

As the repair work on the tea house concludes, you realize that the only task left is the chore of cleaning. With a sigh, you mentally prepare yourself for the tedious process of scrubbing and tidying up, accepting the fact that it's part of your responsibilities. Madam Bo helped you, as always.

#mortal kombat #Mortal kombat x reader #mk1 x reader #Raiden x reader #kung lao x reader #lin kuei #bi han #kuai liang #tomas vrbada #lord liu kang #bi han x reader #kuai liang x reader #Tomas vrbada x reader #madam bo #raiden #kung lao

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