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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 11 days ago

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you're so sweet omg!!!!!! thanks so much for reading i appreciate ya🥰

𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - Ettore

ah...um...i have no excuse for this one, just my mental illness. seriously wanted to name this Dark Matter but I already have a fic named that😭 Happy Valentine's Day💕. Please, please mind the warnings.

Summary: Being forced into deep space as part of some twisted experiment, tensions rise with a fellow inmate.

Warnings: DARK (no really, dead dove: do not eat), minor spoilers for High Life, serial killer!reader (also a bit of a psychopath), nihilism, brief mentions of witnessing CSA, graphic descriptions of murder, mentions of The Box™, Ettore being a creep obvi, mild vore if ya squint? (does it count if said voreist doesn't swallow?), sexual violence, Reader and Ettore takes every chance to beat each other up honestly, SMUT (MINORS DNI), switches between con/noncon, hatefucking (they will try to kill each other), choking (but like, actually almost to death), slapping, punching, degradation, some misogyny, blood kink, pain kink

word count | 5.1k🤙🏻

You were a dangerous killer, but you knew you didn’t belong here.

You never could’ve fathomed how brutally cold and dark being in deep space truly was. Even inside the ship, no one could ever really escape the constant chill. At first, you thought this was the obvious option, joining this experiment. It was either this, or death row. But this was death row, in its own way. No one believed they’d come out of this mission alive. But you supposed dying in a black hole was more interesting than being pumped full of poison. Less boring. Now, you would’ve preferred death row on Earth. At least that would guarantee you a painless death. Welp, too late now.

At least you weren’t completely alone, if you prefer being in the company of other dangerous and evil people rather than isolation. You’d rather have to constantly look over your shoulder than go mad with loneliness. The crew was an eccentric bunch, as you could imagine. All of them are some type of murderer, like you. Some of them had good reasons, but most of them didn’t. What was more distressing was the fact that the doctor, Dibs, frightened you the most out of them all, but it was mostly due to the fact that the witch was on a personal mission to get one of the females pregnant even though the fetus would die from radiation. Even though she was here because she killed her own children. She was the biggest hypocrite of them all, though you had no room to talk, having a bit of a god complex made you one just as much as she was.

You knew you were different from other people, even at an early age. You didn’t see the world like others did, you never could find the beauty in anything. The first blossoms of spring, the sun rising over the horizon, the miracle of life, the kindness of strangers; you didn’t see any of it. All you could focus on was the evils in the world and you found that the world was overrun with it. Children starving, needless wars, homelessness, animals being tortured and killed for entertainment; it was all there was, it was wrong. It was all wrong.

Your parents had taken you to therapy multiple times, but nothing ever seemed to work. You were diagnosed as depressed and they hopped you up on all kinds of medication, but you weren’t depressed, not really. Just because you saw the world for how it really was didn’t automatically mean you were depressed, you just refused to be ignorant of it. You didn’t see the point of being a cooperative member of society when it wouldn’t take care of you. It had nothing to offer you, so you just refused to play along. The first anyone noticed something was truly wrong was the first day of kindergarten. You had beaten a boy near half to death because you saw him pushing another kid around. They weren’t fighting back, so you did it for them. Your parents had to pay the brat’s hospital bills. You didn’t understand why the doctors helped save the life of a kid who’d grow up to be an even bigger bully. A waste of oxygen, you thought. You barely paid attention to the severe scolding your parents gave you about how “violence was never the answer.” Bullshit, you knew that, even your parents knew that, they just wanted to follow the so-called moral rules to be accepted. But that wasn’t you, you didn’t need social acceptance. Not by anyone, not even your own family. But there wasn’t much you could do about it at the time.

You grew into your teenage years without so much of a punch to anyone, not even to defend yourself. You were beaten up by so many of your fellow students, you could’ve gotten a punch card for every time you had to be sent to the nurse’s office. You just bottled up everything.

The first time you ever felt a semblance of love was when your little sister was born. As soon as your mother placed her in your arms at the hospital, you knew you had to protect her. You never wanted her to be like you, you didn’t want her to end up like you, ostracized and bullied. You’d lay down your life and kill for her if need be. You made that promise to yourself. So, when you walked in on your father with his hand down her pants, you had no idea how to react. Fathers weren’t supposed to touch their children that way. He had all but flung her off his lap once he saw you, claiming that they were just playing a game. But you weren’t a naive child anymore, you knew what he was doing.

Before you could think on it any further, you ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, but your father was close behind to stop you. He had wrestled you to the ground, trying to take the knife away, but you blindly thrusted the blade upwards, hearing a sickening squelch before something wet hitting your face. The world seemed to go dark for a brief moment, before coming back into view and seeing your father’s horrified face. You followed your arm to the blade in your hand, your heart leaping out of your chest. You had aimed for your father above you, but your sister must’ve followed you and tried to stop the fight. Tears filled your eyes as you saw your knife stuck in your little sister’s chin, her tiny body going limp and crumbling to the floor, your arm frozen in place allowing the blade to come free as she fell.

Your father screamed and screamed at you as he wailed with his baby girl in his arms, trying to stop the blood copiously flowing from her neck and making a red sticky puddle on the tiles. But it was too late, the life had already drained from her once bright innocent eyes. You didn’t mean to…it was an accident…but you knew your father would spin the story in his favor. So, you did what you only thought you could.

You buried your blood coated knife into your father’s back, hearing him exhale a choked breath in shock. The blade was long, so the one hit wasn’t enough. So you did it again. And again. And Again. And again. Again until he fell to the floor, unable to yell or cry as you kept stabbing. You couldn’t count how many times you dug the blade into his chest, enough until you couldn’t tell what was his shirt or his skin. You were drenched at this point. You knew you had to leave. You threw up, thick tears and painful sobs escaping your throat as you looked upon your mistakes.

You showered, rubbing your skin raw and hastily packing a bag and running from your childhood home. You didn’t want to think about the look on your mother’s face when she ultimately got home from work, calling out for her husband and two precious children whom she loved dearly. She wouldn’t know that he was a predator or that he preyed on his own daughter. She wouldn’t know why she walked onto a bloodbath in the kitchen, you nowhere to be found. She wouldn’t believe the police when they say you should be considered a suspect. You were odd and violent when you were little, yes, but you could never kill your own family. She saw your face of awe when you looked down at your newborn sister in your arms. She’d never believe you to be the culprit, until the DNA came back matching yours. You weren’t her daughter anymore. She wasn’t a wife or a mother anymore. She was nothing, much like you.

You didn’t bother to control yourself anymore. You had nothing to live for. You were nothing. You weren’t a protector, now that you had nobody to protect. But you soon realized that wasn’t necessarily true. There were other kids in similar situations, you could try to protect them. Like a light bulb when off in your head, you suddenly had a purpose once again. Like your father, you’d find and punish those who’d hurt their children. And that’s exactly what you did, until you got caught of course. But you had a good run, ridding the world of some of the filth it had to offer. You were bloodthirst, you craved to see the looks of horror on these men’s faces as they knew they would be punished for their misdeeds. If you had time, you’d torture them. But you rarely had that luxury of taking your time, but you still felt better knowing one less evil person was in the world. It was ironic that you were now on a crew full of evil people.

Monte didn’t seem all that bad, a bit temperamental. He didn’t hesitate to knock your lights out if you pissed him off, you learned that firsthand. Well, most of the inmates did that. Ettore though, was one you had trouble figuring out. He was quiet, observant, not particularly violent though like the other inmates. He was a pervert though, hypersexual. It definitely put off all of you. He used the Box every day, but that wasn’t unusual. You were instructed to never talk about why you were here, but gossip was like breathing, you couldn’t go without it. You learned he killed someone in a particularly violent way when he was a teenager, much like you. He was a minor but was charged as an adult, got the same ultimatum like the rest of you; death row or deep space.

You’d honestly thought he’d try to talk to you, given that you both were around the same age and the “babies” of the crew, but he never did. But maybe that was for the better, attracting the attention of another inmate didn’t seem like the best move. For the most part, you just kept to yourself, trying not to bother anyone. But the witch doctor seemed to have it out for you, she hated you, but you knew that was because you couldn’t participate in her own experiments. You knew you never wanted to have kids, so you gave yourself an injury that made it so that you were barren. You almost died then, but you figured it was worth it since you didn’t have to be seen as just a walking womb to be played with.

Over time, you got yourself into a bit of a messy schedule. Not having a schedule was just something else that would make you go crazy. There wasn’t much to do in this space prison, but there was a rec room with games and books. You had exhausted all those resources pretty quickly. A rubik’s cube you were fond of was what you chose to be part of your schedule. Every day cycle, you’d try to solve that cube before going to sleep. It was one of the only things that helped you relax, besides the Box. But similarly to Monte, you didn’t really indulge all that often. The Box, even when you needed it, almost always left you numb. You weren’t one for human touch, but you weren’t immune to craving that intimacy. So the rubik's cube it was. You hogged it constantly, but that only got you a broken nose from Boyse due to it being one of her favorites too. But it didn’t matter. You claimed it for yourself, and nobody else cared enough to fight you on it.

Months into the mission, you started to notice Ettore around you more often. Most of the time, he’d just…stare at you. Openly. You’d never gotten attention from him before, so this sudden display startled you, but not enough to do something about it. It was only until he started to purposely bump into you in the halls did you start to worry. He was already a creep, but he only got creepier as he started to catch your gaze just to smile at you. Smiling didn’t suit his character, no matter how pretty it was. His lips were one of the first things you noticed when you met him, how soft and plump they looked. But a smile on them just looked out of place for the likes of a murderer. You certainly never smiled, you never had anything to smile about. You knew you’d get some odd looks if you were to suddenly flash your teeth.

You were just so on edge one day, the rubik’s cube wasn’t helping, so you went down to the Box. It was just a quick and easy session, just to relieve some tension. And it worked, until you ran into Ettore as you came out of the machine. You watched his already dark eyes darken even more as he saw the state of you. Sweaty, breathless, disarray. He looked like a wolf ready to pounce on you, but it was only the rules that held him back. No inmate was allowed to have sex with each other, hence the reason for the Box.

Ettore hummed as he placed a stray piece of hair behind your ear, letting his touch linger until you pushed him away roughly, but it only made him smirk and push you up against the cold wall of the Box. You glared as you felt his hard on pressing against your thigh, his hands keeping you firmly in place. “I bet your pussy would feel so good around my cock.” He almost moaned at the thought, biting his bottom lip. “If it weren’t for that cockblocking witch, I’d have you on every surface of this fuckin’ ship.”

You hated how your recently stimulated clit throbbed at his words, your body betraying you for the most primitive urges. Much like how good it felt to take a life, you knew it would feel good to fuck your fellow inmate. You wanted to tell yourself that he was a perverted murderer, you should not want to fuck him. But you were no better than him, no better than anyone here. But you pushed him off anyway, punching him in the gut and casually walking back to the ladder. “Enjoy the Box.” You spoke before climbing up, leaving the young man aching and angry.

You tried avoiding Ettore after that encounter, but of course that’s hard to do when you’re on a small ship with nowhere else to go. He didn’t hide the glares directed at you and he always seemed like he was about to do something, but never did. He was unpredictable, and you hated that. Everything about this mission was unpredictable, but you did have some control over what happened to you, Ettore was just another variable that you couldn’t control. You wanted him dead, but you didn’t know how you could get your way without ending up dead yourself.

Wandering the halls with nothing to do, you found yourself on the bridge looking up at the stars. The view always freaked you out, the sight of stars moving backwards even though the ship was moving forwards. It made you nauseous and a panic attack not too far behind. But you kept looking up through the large windows anyway. At least it made you feel something. Feelings tended to be sparse in deep space. You often wondered what it would be like to be stretched and compressed by a black hole. How badly would it hurt? Would you feel anything at all? Would it last for a second or an eternity? No one knows, and no one who finds out would be able to tell since they’d be reduced to atoms. Black holes are probably where Hell is located, you figured, if the theory that you’d be in unimaginable pain for all eternity is correct. You wanted to stop thinking about it, but you couldn’t. Not until you felt a warm presence come up behind you.

You didn’t have to guess who it was, by the stiff length that was pressing against your ass, you could already tell it was Ettore. The young blonde couldn’t take a hint, could he? You didn’t move away, for some reason that was unknown to you. Even as you felt his hands traveled around your waist, holding onto your hips with a bruising grip, you didn’t push him away. He took deep inhales of the scent of your hair, his hands traveling up to grope at your breasts as you continued watching the stars. You started to think about your sister, how she might react to the stars. You remembered the first time you pointed out a constellation you knew, teaching her about various different ones, knowing she was too young to remember. But it was one of your only fond memories. You held onto it, remembering her toothless grin as she got excited about learning something new.

You gasped as Ettore’s hand brushed against your clothed core, cupping it roughly until you winced. “Why waste time looking at these stars when I can make you see much prettier ones, hm?” He hummed in your ear, licking up the side of your neck, unwanted goosebumps rising all over your body.

“No.” You scoffed, pushing him off you, but he stopped you from walking away by grabbing your wrist.

“You want to.” He smirked smugly.

“No, I really don’t.” You tried pulling away, but his grip only tightened.

“Liar.”

“Fuck off!” You yelled, wringing your arm back and swiftly connecting your balled up fist to his nose. You grinned when he stumbled back, holding his hand to his face but seeing his blood flow through his fingers. He looked back up at you with a glare before leaping at you, tackling you to the floor, one hand around your throat and the other wailing on your face with his fist. Your ears rung as his fist landed right in front on your ear and feeling your nose and mouth fill with blood as he punched you. You spit your blood back in his face when you sensed a pause in his beating, leaning your head down as much as possible to bite his forearm of the hand that was grabbing your throat. You bit hard and didn’t let go until he recoiled with a shout, cradling his arm that now had a bloody teeth indent and a small chunk of flesh missing. You could still see the outline of his cock stressing against his orange jumpsuit. You could’ve laughed, the bastard was still turned on.

“Cunt!” He growled, but all you did was spit out the skin you took from his arm. “You can’t deny me forever.”

You raised your brows unimpressively, standing up while wiping the blood off your face with your sleeve. “Watch me.”

You stormed up with an aching face yet again, but you didn’t bother to visit Dibs, you didn��t feel like being scolded for defending yourself. But you ended up getting yelled at anyway for biting Ettore the way you did, your dose of medicine only being increased as a punishment. Seeing the bloody bandage around his arm almost made it worth it though.

The next few day cycles were a blur, the drugs making you sluggish and tired all the time. You didn’t even try to hide your disdain for Ettore every time you had to be around him and it made everyone feel tense, like they were waiting for a bomb to explode. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, but you sure did try. It was only a week later until that bomb finally exploded.

You had gone to the rec room before bed like you’d always done to try and solve that damned rubik's cube. You were so close, almost having solved all sides. But looking around the room, you couldn’t find it. You felt a panic attack start to bubble up in your chest, frantically searching everywhere around the room until you heard someone clear their throat.

“Lookin’ for something?” You frowned as Ettore came into view, him casually leaning against the doorframe, holding the small colorful box in his hand.

“Give it back.” You growled, your skin flushing with anger.

He only smirked, which made you ball your fists and stomp towards him. “No, I don’t think I will.” He chuckled when you tried to grab it from his hands, but he was taller than you and held it up where you couldn’t reach. You tried to repress a shiver when he ran one of his hands up your side where your shirt had ridden up, but you instantly pushed him away.

“Dick!” You seethed, the urge to punch his stupid face getting stronger and stronger.

He smiled softly. “I know. But if you give me what I want, I’ll give this back.” He juggled the cube back and forth between his hands, giving you an expectant look.

You stood as close as possible to him without touching, getting right in his face, not missing the way his eyes trailed down to your lips. “You can go fuck yourself.”

Ettore surged forward, roughly pressing his lips against yours with a growl, the sound going straight to your core; but you wouldn’t tolerate his behavior. You pulled yourself away and threw your fist against his face, then wound up to hit him again but he caught it this time. He grabbed your wrist tightly and pulled you to his chest, disregarding the rubik’s cube. “I’m getting fuckin’ sick of you hitting me.”

“Then stop acting like someone who deserves to be hit.” He cut you off by slapping you, grabbing onto your neck before kissing you again. You bit his bottom lip, hearing him let out a pained groan as your teeth cut into his sensitive flesh. “Let me go, or I’ll scream.” You demanded.

Ettore grinned evilly. “Go ahead. Scream. It’ll make it better for me.” You struggled as hard as you could against his hold on you, dragging your feet as he pulled you further into the room after shutting the door.

“I’ll fucking gut you, you piece of shit!” You yelled, clawing and kicking until he kneed you in the stomach, knowing the breath out of your lungs until you were wheezing. “Fuck…you…” You coughed, crumpling to the floor.

Ettore kneeled with you, powerless to stop him from removing your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cool air. You winced as he groped them roughly, forcing you on your back with one hand while the other ripped your pants and underwear off. Unwanted tears sprang to your eyes as you fought, just recovered enough from the blow to your stomach to scratch his face, droplets of blood pooling to the surface of his cheek. “Cunt.” He slapped you again, straddling your hips as he removed his own shirt but only unbuttoning his trousers.

“You disgust me.” You spat, glaring up at him.

You let out a yelp as Ettore shoved two of his long fingers inside you with no warning, his smirk making you feel more uncomfortable than the digits stretching your walls. “Really? Why is your pussy so wet then, eh?”

“Knowing that I hurt you gives me more satisfaction than that fuckin’ Box.” You hissed as he pinched your clit with a sadistic chuckle. He forced your legs apart, kneeling in between that as he took his hardened cock out of his pants, lining himself up with your entrance but with a great struggle since you didn’t stop wiggling around. Your head jerked to the side as he punched you a couple times, making you unresisting enough that he could fully sheathe himself inside of you. You let out a cry as he hit the ends of you, your walls clamping down on him, trying to expel the intrusion.

“Fuck!” Ettore groaned. “So much better than that Box. So warm. So tight.” He stuttered, moving his hips back and forth without giving you time to accommodate. The stretch burned and you couldn’t keep in your painful whimpers. Your cries only seemed to spur him on further, thrusting his hips at a faster pace, way too fast so early.

“Stop!” You cried, beating your fists against his chest erratically.

“Nah. You’re gonna take it. You’re gonna take it until I say we’re done.” He laughed, speeding up his thrusts to purposely make it even more painful for you. But instead of it hurting more, it had the opposite effect. His cock started to brush up against that sensitive spot inside you, eliciting a whine from your lips.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ die!” You growled angrily, baring your teeth like a cornered animal.

“Yeah?” He mocked, giving your cheek another slap just for good measure before continuing his brutal pace.

Eventually, your cunt produced so much slick, it was soaking his cock and your inner thighs, his pelvis shimmering in the dull fluorescent lighting of the ship. Lewd noises coming from your intimate union forced heat to spread across your cheeks, the wet suction echoing off the walls with every jolt of Ettore’s hips made an unwanted pang of pleasure shoot through your body, making goosebumps rise along your skin.

You hated that you were feeling pleasure from this. You were so ashamed, but god, it felt so much better than the pain of his cock splitting you open over and over again.

You felt so hot, a thin layer of sweat covering your entire body. Ettore on top of you made it even worse, his sweat coated body pressing up against yours, your breasts being squished under the weight of his chest. You were breathless as his dick kept brushing against your g-spot as he kept moving in and out of you rapidly, feeling your slick dripping off the curve of your ass and pooling onto a puddle on the cold floor. You couldn’t keep your moans in and against your hatred for the man, you allowed your body to relax and indulge in the euphoric sensations. Ettore’s smug smirk made it difficult however.

You looked to your right, seeing the discarded rubik’s cube sitting idly on the floor next to you. You didn’t hesitate to grab onto it tightly, hitting Ettore over the head with it again and again until he was weak enough to push him off of you. But instead of running like you should’ve done, you straddled him, pushing his cock back inside you and riding him, chasing that release that had already begun building in your core.

Ettore groaned with a smirk, looking up at you in a pleasured haze (and possible concussion). “I knew you wanted to fuck me.” You replied by punching him square in the jaw, busting his lip open deep enough that a small trail of blood slid down the side of his face. You shocked him by leaning down and licking the red substance, the metallic bitter taste coating your tongue and making you move your hips faster. His furrowed brows from the pleasure and pain spurred you on further, raking your nails down his chest hard enough until little droplets of blood beaded on his pale skin, his groan filling your ears and making your clit throb.

You placed both your hands around Ettore’s neck as you continued to thrust against him, squeezing harder and harder the closer you got to your climax. You smiled with a loud moan as you heard his choked gasps, his face getting red as he attempted and failed to breathe in the recycled oxygen. The sight of him struggling to breathe edged you closer and closer. But eventually, he started to fight against you, grabbing onto your hands to try and pry you off. You tried to dig your fingers tighter against his skin, determined to make him pass out at least, but he knocked you off him with a single strong punch to your cheek. “You can’t kill me that easily.” Ettore coughed out hoarsely, his near death experience not even being enough to take a break from fucking you. He took a deep breath and resumed plowing into you like you didn’t just almost kill him. “God, you’re so pretty beaten and bloody like this.” He moaned, grabbing onto your neck and squeezing like you had down previously, though not enough that’d you pass out. The lack of oxygen made the pleasure all the more intense, your walls clamping down on his cock as your release was right there. “Such a fuckin’ whore, aren’t you? I bet you’ve wanted this all along. You just needed to be put in your place, right? Don’t worry, I’ll never let you forget where you belong, what you’re good for. You’re just a pretty little toy whose only purpose is to be fucked and filled.”

You moaned as his words finally made that wave of ecstasy wash over you like a tsunami, powerful and unforgiving as it destroyed you, making your mind go blank as the only thing you could feel was that throbbing pleasure that knocked the breath out of you. Ettore groaned as your walls seemed to pull him in deeper, pulsing rhythmically as you rode out your high with shuddering high pitched moans and trembling limbs. It didn’t take long at all for him to reach his climax as well, pumping you full of his cum with a load strained groan, sweat dripping down the side of his face and mixing with his blood as he slumped against you to try and catch his breath.

You came out of your daze enough to feel him against you, hearing and feeling his deep breaths fan against your skin, making you panic and quickly push him off you; there was nothing he could do about it since he was so weak from his orgasm. You sat up with a huff, dressing yourself frantically, refusing to look at Ettore.

“I bet you’ve never come that hard before.” He voiced arrogantly, making you roll your eyes.

“I have.”

“Liar.”

You turned back around to glare at him. “If you try this shit again, I’ll kill you. That’s a promise.”

Ettore, still naked, stood up and pulled you to him by your waist with a smirk. “Forgive me if I doubt that. You sure seemed to enjoy yourself, slut. I wouldn't be surprised if you came crawling back for more soon.”

You scowled, unable to voice any retort like you usually did. You blamed your post orgasm haze. Ettore only hummed, dressing himself and walking past you, bumping your shoulder. You bit your lip hard until you tasted blood, hating yourself and him.

“Well, whenever you feel like you wanna be filled with a real cock again, you know where to find me.”

don't know where this came from honestly😬

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 1 month ago

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I literally got a nosebleed reading this series. Like no joke I’m being dead serious😅

Glass Cuts Deepest Masterlist

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, trauma, desription of rape, panic attacks, mention of sexual harassment, violence, swearing, self-destructive behavior ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Epilogue

The Art of Body (Milestone Celebration) Headcanons after Series Series Moodboard Series Aemond Photo Edit Heroine Sketches Example Works of art used in story

#fic rec

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 2 months ago

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Uh yeah read all available chapters way too fast on AO3 now I need more plz

- - - - - The Pink Dread Master List

Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size!Celtigar!OfC Slow Burn - Friends to Enemies to Lovers

Summary: Theres so much bad blood between these two, but there is also longing... for what they used to have, for what might have been, had it not been for Aemond's betrayal.

Alternatively: First loves. Heartbreaks. Betrayals. Jealousy. Revenge. And repeat. The feud between former friends, Aemond and Valeana, sends a shockwave of social chaos for the Seven Realms as all gather to King's Landing for the Royal Conclave. A season of peace, intended to forge alliances through courtships and marriages, only for it to become a war of a different kind.

Cross Posted with AO3

Mindful of tags of TW below

Please reply if you want to be added to the tag list

Disclaimer: AI is not used in the writing of this story. It is primarily used to generate images when needed (for dresses, mostly), and to help with unique bard like songs, since I am terrible at writing songs and poems. Other than that, rest assured every word is written by me. I will clarify in each chapter when AI is being used and what for.

General Tags: MDNI, AemonxValeana end game, other ships, AFAB, PlusSize!OFC, Celtigar!OFC, Disabeled!OFC, Jealous!Aemond, Angry!Aemond, Healthy!Viserys, Enemies to Lovers, Aged Up characters, Fix It AU, The Dragons Do Not Dance, Eventual Smut, Redemption Arc for Aegon, Slight AegonxOFC, Slow Burn, pining, longing, angst. More may be added along the way. Genre: +18/MDNI, Romantic Comedy, Angst, Young Adult Drama, if Bridgerton had dragons. TW/CW: The story will contain realistic mental health themes. To avoid tumblr taking this post down, they will be coded:

Things such as E. D." Unalive Ideations, B0dy Dysm0rph!a, Blatant Fatph0bia, P T S D, descriptive trigger-induced anxiety attack due to P T S D, and a brief S A (By all definitions, it is, but... You'll see).

Other tw: Typical themes you find in the asoiaf universe. TW will be posted for individual chapters as we go. More may be added here.

Author's Note: Val and Aemond are end game in this, but the other ships are a surprise. I've got spreadsheets n shit.

Credits: Story cover made by me, divider found on pngtree

Prologue: With Friends Like These Chapter One: Return of the Crabs Chapter Two: Familiar Strangers Chapter Three: A King's Command Chapter Four: Unforgiven Chapter Five: Aegon's Doom Chapter Six: Aegon's Delight Chapter Seven: O, Brother Chapter Eight: Still Falling For You Chapter Nine: Protector Chapter Ten: What a Pity Chapter Eleven: Peace of Mind Chapter Twelve: High Horse Chapter Thirteen: Girl's Night Chapter Fourteen: The Will of Man Chapter Fifteen: Restless Chapter Sixteen: Eggs & Bacon Chapter Seventeen: The Daring Chapter Eighteen: Hydrangeas Chapter Nineteen: Pyres & Proposals Chapter Twenty: Family Matters Chapter Twenty-One: Green & Black Chapter Twenty-Two: Maiden's Day Chapter Twenty-Three: A Clash of Princes Chapter Twenty-Four: The Black Dread (November 8th) Chapter Twenty-Five: You Know Nothing (November 16th) Chapter Twenty-Six: A Helping Hand (TBA) Chapter Twenty-Seven: Worth Less (TBA) Chapter Twenty-Eight: Terrify Me (TBA) Chapter Twenty-Nine: Eclipse (TBA) Chapter Thirty: The Realm's Delight (TBA) Chapter Thirty-One: Dark Sister (TBA) Chapter Thirty-Two: Heart Racing (TBA) Chapter Thirty-Three: A House United (TBA) Chapter Thirty-Four: The House of Valyria (TBA) Chapter Thirty-Five: ( to be written ) More chapters to come...

EXTRAS:

Music:

Please do not re-post, redistribute, or plagiarize my stories. I have no problems being a Karen and reporting immediately upon discovery without warning. All rights reserved for GRRM, the creator for this universe and characters, and HBO.

#fic rec #FIC REC HARD

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 2 months ago

Text

The Grim Watcher

[ mafia • Ettore x mafia boss's sister • female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, public, unprotected sex, smut, angst, threats of murder & murder, stalking, domination, aggressive behavior, violence, swearing, description of wounds, toxiccc ]

[ description: Ettore has been watching her for a long time and is in no hurry: he wants her to feel his breath on her neck. Although they are separated by a thick wall, they finally collide and she reveals a secret that forces him to commit the worst crime: murder. ]

This oneshot is my little Halloween gift. I wanted it to be a psychological horror novel, so there's a lot about what's going on in Ettore's own head. I hope you like it and remember that this is not a story that's supposed to be pleasant, and the behaviors in it are just plain toxic, lol.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

As he began to wonder why he kept staring at her, he decided it was because of how she stood out among the crowd. She was his boss's younger sister, which in effect allowed her to remain autonomous: she wasn't like him or the rest of the men in his group, who blended into one black mass with no beginning or end.

He though, unlike them, didn't do drugs and consumed alcohol in small amounts, liking to have his senses completely heightened – even more so when she was around.

He knew she was afraid of him, and that turned him on even more.

Her gaze fleeing in panic from his stare, the shudder that ran through her body when he sat down near her, her small hands clenched into fists on her thighs as if she thought she would be able to put up any resistance to him with their help, made him grin.

She knew he was watching her because he wanted her to be aware of it – to feel his breath on the back of her neck, his shadow following her silhouette, his scent in the room she was in. Somehow, he was amused by the discomfort painted on her face, the horror in her gaze, because, after all, he wasn't actually doing anything.

He was just watching.

He was just waiting.

There was something intriguing about this constant anticipation – they both knew that their collision weighed over them like heavy storm clouds, making them run out of air in the places they were together.

It was hard for her to breathe knowing she couldn't escape from him.

He enjoyed fucking like any guy: soft, subtle caresses were not in his nature, seeming to him to be tacky, feminine, filled with some kind of melancholy he didn't understand. Women who hung around dudes like him usually knew what they wanted: they liked bullies and toxic guys. Probably having been abandoned by their fathers as children, they sought out their warped double.

He used their bodies, treating them as warm objects in which he left his seed. He felt nothing but relief after the act itself, except some kind of aggression when they were too loud. He hated their unnaturally squeaky moans, finding them irritating: it seemed to him that they wanted to show him that the more he hurt them, the more pleasurable it was for them.

Something about this behaviour of theirs filled him with disgust, which usually ended with him pressing their faces against the pillow, and by the time he had finished, they were on the verge of suffocating, no longer deriving any enjoyment from the act itself.

"You're fucked up," one of them said, but fell silent when he hit her in the face with his fist so hard that she ran out of air in her lungs.

"Stupid bitch." He answered her.

Wasn't that what she herself wanted?

Or had she hoped that at some point he would confess to her that he had a weakness for her, that he bestowed upon her a cloying affection that she had not experienced from her parents?

He wasn't doing it to talk to them and didn't give a shit about what they needed.

They behaved like animals themselves, but only up to the point where they thought they were in control of what was happening – each was convinced that they liked the pain, liked the humiliation until they began to panic, as the thought finally appeared in their empty little heads that he perhaps wanted to kill them.

They weren't wrong: nothing would please him more than their eternal silence, the absence of their breathing, their moans, their words: just that wonderful silence around him, allowing him to enjoy the warmth of their bodies.

He wished they would just shut the fuck up.

He wondered if she too would have behaved like an animal if he had fucked her properly, but she was beyond his reach – as his boss's sister, she was untouchable, like a figure of the Virgin Mary in a church altar.

She even dressed differently from the women he usually surrounded himself with: she wore long floral jumpers, soft and warm, reaching her mid-thighs, shorts and knee-length socks, revealing only a small piece of her skin above.

Something about the fact that he couldn't just take her appealed to him – the fact that she was some kind of saint, a figure he couldn't desecrate, who would remain pure even in confrontation with him, that is, with nothingness.

They never exchanged a word with each other – he didn't say much, preferring to observe her from afar and keep his distance. She, quite the opposite – when she didn't realise he had seen her, she was bursting with energy, talking like crazy, discussing with various people for hours.

He circled around her like Pluto around the Sun, small and aloof, but still menacing – he let her forget his existence once in a while, only to appear before her suddenly at a time and place she least expected.

When, looking at someone else, she turned suddenly into a dark corridor in one of the nightclubs and bumped straight into his chest, he thought the heavens had shaken – the smell of her perfume was unnaturally sweet, making him think of a fruitcake, either with raspberries or strawberries.

"Oh, I'm sorry –" she muttered, still unaware of who stood before her – as she lifted her head, it was the first time he had seen her face so close up.

Her eyes seemed unnaturally large to him, her eyelashes long, her lips pink and full – he felt like biting them, hard, until he could feel her warm blood on his tongue, curious to find out if it also tasted like a strawberry.

Loud electronic music blasted around them from the speakers, making him feel as if they were both underwater – their silhouettes submerged in the red, sharp light seemed almost unreal to him.

He took a step towards her and she stepped back, hitting her back against a wall filled from top to bottom with all sorts of old posters. The crowd of people around them walked past them, heading to and from the toilets, chatting loudly to each other, paying no attention to them, as if they were invisible.

Anonymous.

The sacred mixed with the profane when his broad hand, in some subconscious, natural reflex, ran over her waist, sliding down to her back, letting his body cling to hers. He sighed, intrigued as she placed her hands on his chest, as if trying to keep distance between them.

He waited for her squeal of discomfort, for her terrified babble full of pleas and begging, but all he heard was her deep breathing, as if she was trying to calm herself. She closed her eyes, as if she thought that once she did, he would disappear – encouraged by the fact that she wasn't causing him any trouble and wasn't lashing out at him, he leaned over to sniff her.

He started with her long, dark hair, in which he sunk the tip of his nose – it was smooth and smelled of some kind of strawberry shampoo, which was perhaps responsible for her scent. Her fingers clenched tighter on the material of his simple black Tshirt tucked into his trousers as his nose slid slowly lower, to her cheek and then to her neck.

His hand roamed up and down her back like a guard, making sure she didn't try to pull away from him – the gentle movement of his fingers was a warning that he would remain calm as long as she remained so.

He felt her pulse clearly under her skin, the blood pumping rapidly through her veins, her heavy, excited breath like the sound of water. He slid the tip of his tongue out and ran it over her soft flesh, leaving a moist, warm trail on her skin. Her taste and salty sweat melted on his taste buds, making his erection, all swollen in his trousers, throb greedily, pressing against her lower abdomen.

He thought they were in some sort of in-between state – her quiet sigh, her head that tilted back, giving him more space to explore and admire, made him realise that they had just fucked in some strange, incomprehensible way.

The presence of others gave her a sense of security for certain – behind closed doors she would have been completely at his mercy, and here, now, she seemed to have at least partial control over the situation.

When his hand tightened on the material of her jumper and pulled at it, forcing her to turn her back to him, she did so without a word. He liked her silence, her deep breath in which, however, there was no terror – it seemed to him that she was actually curious about what was going to happen between them, as was he.

He had never touched a woman before without using force, so he felt that he was exploring completely uncharted territory of physical closeness between a woman and a man – encouraged by the fact that she offered him no resistance, hugging her cheek obediently to the wall, he leaned over and pressed his body to hers, pushing his erection against her buttocks.

He closed his eyes, wanting to focus only on the sense of smell and touch as he nuzzled his face into her hair, slipping his hands under the fabric of her jumper – they travelled lazily higher, over the skin of her stomach, until they came across her soft, plump breasts. Her breath caught in her throat, and her hands found a support in the cold wall in front of her as his palms clamped down on them – she hissed as he drove his nails into them, delighted at how well they fitted the shape of his hands.

"It hurts." She said in a whisper, startling him as one of her hands joined his, laying against his skin.

He couldn't say he wanted to cause her pain.

All he needed was for her not to disturb him while he took what he had craved for so long.

Her fingers guided him, directing his thumb to her nipple – she squeezed the spot and hummed quietly, rubbing her buttocks against his erection involuntarily, a shiver of something that clearly must have been pleasure shook her whole body.

He felt his cock pulsate hard, then again and again as he managed to get the same reaction from her – his face slid lower, to the crook of her neck, alternately licking her skin and sinking his teeth into it, trailing and rubbing both her nipples with his thumbs.

He felt them all swell and harden under his touch.

Her hand guided one of his arms lower, to the material of her shorts – involuntarily he clenched his fingers over the spot underneath which her warm pussy was, wondering if this was an invitation.

With one firm gesture he tugged at the material, letting her know that she was to pull it off no matter that there were other people walking around them.

To his surprise, she did so without a word, her jumper so long it covered her buttocks – it was only for a moment that he noticed what was between her thighs, her wetness glistening in the disturbing red light.

It took him a few seconds to undo his belt, trouser button and zipper.

"Bend over." He instructed her, and she obediently followed his command.

He didn't want anyone but him to see this wonderful sight, so he wasted no time – his hand guided the thick, pink head of his cock straight to her slit, and he immediately thrusted, forcing her to fit him inside. He sighed when he felt her resisting him – she was tight, or she was simply clenching her muscles around his length, wanting to make his task more difficult – something about this passive act of disobedience aroused him even more.

"– little slut –" He grunted, pulling back slightly with the movement of his hips, with another, sharper push opening her wide on his fat erection – both of them, to his surprise, moaned quietly and then fell silent, panting heavily.

He snuggled into her body as he felt the pressure lessen. He was finally able to slip deep between her fleshy, warm folds – she was wet, he thought intrigued, pressing his nose against her fragrant neck, beginning to move inside her at once.

There was no finesse in this act – their bodies slammed against each other with loud splats deafened by the music around them – only they could hear each other's accelerated breaths and gasps of pleasure, both clearly deriving some kind of satisfaction from what was happening.

"– how many of them have fucked you like this before? –" He hissed in her ear, running the fingers of one hand down her soft buttocks, the other clutched at her silken breast, playing with her nipple between them.

"– many –" She exhaled.

He would have known if someone had fucked her behind his back.

Even so, something in her answer infuriated him – the thought that if anyone else had come across her in this corridor, he might have had what he was taking now. He sped up aggressively, imposing a rough, brutal pace on her, again and again reaching almost to her cervix.

"– you're lying, you little whore –" He growled, pulling his hand out of her jumper, instead gripping her jaw with it. "– do it again and I'll break your neck –"

"– do it –" She said softly – it seemed to him that something resembling a smile flashed across her face as she closed her eyes and threw her head back, her walls clenching greedily around his erection in euphoria.

"– cheeky cunt – suck it, slut, or I'll kill you –" He threatened, thrusting two of his fingers deep down her throat – her moan was drowned out by his movements with which he slid them in and out from between her puffy lips, which clenched obediently around them with the quiet clicks of her saliva.

He felt what he saw in his cock, which pulsed aggressively inside her, the squeeze in his testicles testifying that he was close – her sudden, intense orgasm surged through her in spasms, driving him to the brink of peak.

"– don't stop – 'm about to come inside you –" He exhaled wearily and closed his eyes, involuntarily letting out a sigh of relief as his cum spilled deep inside her warm interior, mingling with her moisture.

She breathed heavily as he slid his fingers out of her mouth – he pressed his forehead against the wall, panting loudly, and she did the same, quivering all over, her slick cunt still pulsing around his half-soft, twitching manhood.

He glanced to the side, noticing a group of strange men watching them from a distance.

"– and what the fuck are you looking at? –" He called out, and the men turned away, clearly knowing who they were, not wanting any trouble.

"– my brother wants to kill you – tonight, when you leave the club – Matt will be waiting for you, he'll come up to talk to you – he'll have a knife under his jacket at the back – be quicker –" She whispered.

He froze, feeling his heart pound harder in his chest, the loud music around him seemed to deafen him.

"Why?" He asked.

"He's afraid of you." She replied. "You're unpredictable."

"Why are you telling me this?" He specified the question.

She looked at him but, to his surprise, he saw neither condemnation, disgust nor regret in her eyes – it seemed to him that she was tired.

It was one of those feelings that he could comprehend.

He was perpetually tired, discouraged, frustrated.

"I want to free myself from him." She whispered.

"You'll never escape him." He replied.

If not her brother, then his accomplices, they'd find her and squeeze out where he kept the money, the goods, the documents, and she'd tell them everything, willingly or not.

She closed her mouth, looking at him in pain. There was something hopeless about this view – her realisation that he was right and she was like a caged animal.

If he had been able to, he would certainly have sympathised with her, the only thing, however, that he experienced was discomfort, an unpleasant sting at the level of his chest that made him realise that enough was enough.

He grunted and slipped out of her, zipping up his trousers at once, watching impassively as she put her underwear and shorts over her buttocks, her eyes closed, her body shaking all over, as if she was about to crack, to fall to pieces.

But she didn't.

The blood on his hands was sticky and warm. He had never been fond of Matt – he was a barking wanker with a wide, sassy smile, thinking that anyone believed in his honest, good intentions. He was a walking narcissist obsessed with himself, convinced of his own inestimable worth, of the fact that he had managed to fool everyone.

He was choking as his blade didn't pierce his heart, but went a little higher – he did it on purpose to make the bastard suffer more.

He watched him writhing on the ground by the car park, howling and wailing, begging for help, but it was getting to three o'clock in the morning and everyone was inside, thinking that he was the one who was saying goodbye to life.

Returning home in his car, he realised he had to run, as far away as he can: so he packed quickly, putting only the most important things into a large leather bag, and walked out, leaving what was there behind.

He stopped a few streets away from their house: he knew exactly the location of their cameras and knew where to jump the fence to make sure none of them covered him. He had watched many times as she typed in the code that disabled the alarm, so he tapped it on the patio door keypad from memory:

45567

There was no one inside – surely they were all looking for him, but they hadn't assumed he would be right there.

He went into her room and lay down on her bed, recognising that he wasn't in a hurry – he was sure they would drive her away and continue looking for him themselves, doubtless heading towards his flat.

He would have about an hour.

Indeed, not even a quarter of an hour had passed when he heard someone open the front door downstairs – he was looking towards the window, at the setting sun, when she entered the room.

She closed the door behind her as if burned, looking at him in horror.

"What the fuck are you doing here? The whole city is looking for you. You should have been out of town a long time ago." She hissed.

"Come with me."

He didn't know why he'd said that.

He had been watching her for so long that it seemed to him that they had known each other for centuries, even though the only thing they had in common was that they were fucking that night.

"I can't. I have University here. I want to graduate." She muttered, pale with disbelief.

"It wasn't a request."

She swallowed hard, breathing louder and louder, and shook her head.

"No."

Her body pressed against the wall, her breath caught in her throat as he rose aggressively from the bed and pulled a gun from behind his belt, which he pointed straight at her.

"Pack your things or I'll shoot you in that little head of yours." He growled with impatience. "We were doing so well. Do you have to fucking annoy me?"

Her eyes glazed over with tears, her hand on her chest as if she couldn't catch her breath.

"Shoot me. I'm not going to change one madman for another." She said in a cold, breaking voice.

Her words enraged him – he moved on her like a bear, knocking over a chair standing in his way – she squealed as he pressed the cold barrel of the gun against her forehead.

"I'll blow your head off." He hissed, his other hand catching her jaw, shaking it so that the back of her head hit the wall several times.

"FUCKING SHOOT ME THEN!" She screamed as if she had lost her mind, and then burst out crying like a small baby.

His finger pressed lightly on the trigger, but he didn't do it all the way – his heart was pounding like crazy, adrenaline running through his veins like a stream, making his head hum. She whimpered as his fingers pressed harder into her jaw, his nose sinking into her hot, wet cheek.

Into her scent.

Strawberries.

His mother had once bought him a strawberry bun while they were at the bakery. Usually she spent her money only on alcohol, but then, that morning, she had still been sober. He devoured the bun like an animal, warm and sweet under his tongue, the taste of fresh fruit so wonderful that he had thought about it all day.

She looked up at him, stopping sobbing suddenly, as if something in his gesture surprised her – her eyes were fixed on his as she leaned towards him, letting their lips come into contact in what felt like a warm, sticky, wet caress.

He had never kissed before – he didn't and wasn't able to – but now his lips parted before hers, letting their tongues meet halfway, letting his teeth bite into her flesh, making the metallic, tart taste of her blood spill over his palate.

She embraced him and there was something sincere about it – some kind of understanding, a statement that she forgave him, despite everything.

He let his gun drop to the floor, his fingers clenching painfully tight on her hair, connecting with her in that aggressive, cruel way – he pulled away to catch his breath, and a few words left her lips.

"Find me. When everything goes quiet. You know where." She whispered, her cheeks hot and wet with tears under his fingers.

"If I see you with another man, I'll kill you both." He said.

She nodded, as if his words made no impression on her.

"I know."

#fic rec

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 2 months ago

Text

Pomegranate Seed

Demon!Aemond x Reader

summary: When your life goes downhill, you take the plunge and summon a demon to make a pact. But the dream life comes at a price.

warnings: !MDNI! Dark themes, mature content (p in v, fingering, oral (f), bondage, blindfolding, unprotected sex, praise kink, and snake… yep, you read that right). English isn't my first language.

word count: 7.1 K

a/n: the idea captured my brain like a fever, so in the spirit of Halloween and in honour of the deliciously freakish kinks harboured in the darkness, I share this story with crimson cheeks! Enjoy! 🖤

divider credit: @saradika-graphics

They say the darkest hour is just before the sunrise. Well, not in my case. What I thought was my sunrise turned out to be a bright flash—a burst of a supernova—before darkness swallowed everything up.

“You’re so kind, so smart, so beautiful, but you’re… detached, as if you’re always holding back.” That’s how things ended with Cregan just days before our second anniversary. His rugged features, softened by dark curls, are now out of reach. He was the one I could confide in, who believed in me at my worst—until he left me. Leaving me to sink to the very bottom.

“Your writing is captivating, nothing like I’ve ever read before! If only there were more… passion. Do you think you could work on it?” my editor, Sue, asked, checking her watch every minute while I sat across from her. You could tell she was uneasy having the conversation, but I swear she didn’t care a bit. My nails dug deeper into my palms. This was my chance to get a royalty to cover the flat—a place that was too pricey a few months ago. But since things were finally going my way, I took the plunge. And I fucking lost.

Now, you might think I’m here to pour out my soul and make you sympathize with me. But no, that’s not what I’m after. I actually want you to see why I have no other choice but to do this. This letter is to justify my actions, to make you understand I’m desperate, lonely, and left with one bullet only—so I’d better not miss. This is me making a pact with a demon, so I can breathe again.

Shutting down the laptop, you let out a deep sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose in an attempt to relieve the tension. Your eyes burn from all the research you’ve done these past few weeks, not to mention the sleepless nights.

Would it even work? You wonder, casting a wary glance at the massive candles and the paper bundle containing the herbs on the table.

Night has fallen, and as your windows overlook a dark forest, there isn’t a single light in sight. The blackness presses close, watching, still. Perfect time to summon a demon, you think wryly.

A few weeks ago, in a moment of total despair, you stumbled upon a website dedicated to dark magic. It had everything from creating a voodoo doll for your boss—option number one on your list, considering you’d had to move into a cramped apartment on the outskirts because of her—to a premium subscription promising greater wonders to fulfil all your dreams. The price was ridiculous: $5,000 per month. No way people in despair could afford it. But later, you received a 30% discount for being the most active user, checking updates 24/7. Small comfort, as your bank account sat at under $1,000.

You glanced at the “increase loan limit” option, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. Something in you dared to take the risk. After all, could things get any worse? With a deep breath, you clicked the button.

Now here you are, setting the candles in a careful circle around yourself, your hands trembling as you unwrap the paper bundle. The smell is thick and pungent, filling your lungs until you almost cough. Whatever this package contains, the delivery guy must have been relieved to drop it off.

You place the herbs in a cup, crushing them with a masher before pouring the powder into a glass of pomegranate juice. Inside the paper bundle, a phrase in an unknown language is scrawled, along with the number 3. Repeat three times?

“Is this what I truly want?” you ask the void, your voice barely a whisper.

Your gaze drifts over your cramped apartment—the littered mess, the misery. The weight of every failure presses on your shoulders as you stare down at the drink.

So, as no answer comes to stop you, you grab the glass, holding your nose with your other hand. You gulp it down. It’s thick, almost fleshy; each gulp is a struggle as the substance coats your throat.

You clap a hand over your mouth, desperately hoping to keep it down as it stubbornly climbs up. It makes you swallow again and again before the drink finally settles in your stomach.

Right. The phrase.

You grab the paper with trembling fingers.

"Ad alt… altiora tendo. Ad altiora tendo. Ad altiora tendo."

Your gaze darts around the room as the candlelight trembles, casting abstract shapes on the walls.

Nothing but utter silence greets you.

You frown, biting back a curse. Did that first attempt count, or was it nullified by my stumble?

“Ad altiora tendo,” you repeat, louder this time, the desperation cracking in your voice.

Still, nothing.

Did you just throw away 3.5K bucks?

The glass hits the wall and shatters into countless pieces, the sound echoing down the long corridor, followed by your low growl.

“Fuck!”

Blowing out the candles, you storm into the bedroom, leaving the mess untouched.

No choice but to go to the only place where things still feel right: to dreams. Whatever was in that bitter concoction works quickly, sleep greets you like the embrace of an old friend.

You find yourself on a stage, seated in a plush chair beneath a glaring spotlight that halos around you. The woman across from you asks something, her voice reaching you muffled and distorted, as if coming from underwater.

“What?” you whisper, confused, staring at her crimson lips as they part in a slow, graceful smile. Her poise stings, almost mocking you—she’s everything you aren’t: confident, magnetic, entirely sure of herself. You wish you could be… And then it hits you.

It’s you.

You’re staring at yourself.

You transformed.

No dark circles. Lustrous hair. A wine-red dress that flows like liquid confidence.

Behind you, a display showcases the book with your name, labelled “The Bestseller of the Year.” The audience watches you with rapt attention, their gazes warming you like sunlight soaking into your skin.

This is your book launch. Your moment in the light.

The applause thunders, pride swelling in your chest, flooding your body with heat and joy—

Then you wake up.

The darkness is a stark contrast.

Cold. Silent.

You sit up, pressing your palms hard against your eyes, as if the lingering spotlight could still hurt. Your skin is damp and warm with tears. What a weird comfort.

Your stomach suddenly lurches a low, queasy growl making you cover your mouth.

This isn’t good.

Barely able to walk, you shuffle toward the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time for the maroon liquid to erupt from your mouth. It burns on the way out, forcing you to double over as fresh tears sting your eyes.

Flushing it down, you can’t help but think bitterly that you just poured all that money straight into the sewer. Cold water brings you back to your senses as you rinse your mouth. Goosebumps race across your arms—a strange comfort in the sudden chill.

You turn to leave, and your foot slips on something cold and slimy. You gasp, fumbling for the light switch, pressing it down repeatedly, but it flickers uselessly in the darkness, humming softly without illuminating the room.

Then you hear it—a faint, shifting sound from down the hall, underscored by a low, breathy hiss. Every hair on your body stands up as the primal instinct to flee runs through you.

Slicing through the quiet, a velvety voice says, “Vhagar means no harm.”

It’s coming from the living room.

“Who are you?”

“The one you called. Come and say hello.” Amusement dances in his tone.

In the dim light by the window, you see him. A tall, lean silhouette clad in a black suit. His presence exudes effortless confidence. His profile is striking, with a strong jaw, a long nose, and slightly dishevelled hair that gives him a rebellious look.

As he takes a drag, the tip of the cigarette flares to life with a soft pop. The smoke dissolves into the air like a ghost.

His gaze flickers to you, eyes glinting dark blue like two sapphires.

“Are you...” Your voice trails off, uncertainty hanging between you.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

A pause lingers, full of tension.

“Oh?” he mocks, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he takes another languid puff. The teasing lilt in his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

A soft hiss from below captures your attention, and you glance down. A long, slender snake slithers past you, its dark green scales glistening as it moves with hypnotic fluidity. As if drawn by an invisible thread, it curls near his legs.

“No! I just… didn’t think you’d actually come,” you stammer, surprised by your own honesty.

He studies you for a long moment. Even in darkness, the intensity of his gaze is ablaze, making you want to hide your naked legs and tug your shirt longer to your knees.

“Hm.” He casually puts out his cigarette on the windowsill.

Your landlady will kill you.

With measured steps, he approaches, and his proximity makes everything inside you tremble. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he murmurs. His voice works like a calming pill, settling warmth in your chest.

He stops just inches away, and your breath hitches as he lifts your chin, coaxing your gaze to meet his. “Now, tell me—what is it you want?”

Despite the self-preservation instincts yelling inside you to call it off—to resist being lured into the biggest trap—the words come out involuntarily.

“I want… I want my life to get better. I want Cregan back,” you say, your gaze becoming teary. “I want to be better at writing. I want to be happy again.” The words spill from your lips, almost a prayer. For the first time in forever, it feels like God can hear you.

He hums softly, withdrawing his hand. The warmth lingers where his fingers touched your skin. He begins to circle you, his hands clasped behind his back. You hold your breath, waiting for his verdict, as your heart could jump out of your chest.

“You must choose what you want most,” he stresses, “and I shall grant it.”

You blink, caught off guard, as a few tears fall, dispersing into the darkness of the room. Choose?

As if reading your thoughts, he says, “You humans are so insatiable.” Despite the reprimanding nature of his words, his tone feels like an amused chuckle.

Your cheeks flush.

“But it’s understandable.” He stops behind you, his warmth brushing against you, making you want to lean into it. There’s something oddly comforting about his presence. “To have it all is… tempting,” he murmurs, his voice low against your ear, and you swallow hard at the sensation. “But you must choose.”

He brushes a few hair strands aside as if to sense how they feel under his touch before pulling away. Settling into a wide armchair, he sprawls lazily, his eyes locked onto you, as though he’s savouring every flicker of your reaction. The snake crawls beside his foot like a protective guard.

“What will it be?” he asks.

You weren’t ready for this. Cregan or writing. Writing or Cregan. But then, like a beam of sunlight breaking through clouds, the answer crystallizes.

Both Cregan and your editor have left you, unable to find the passion they craved. They couldn’t ignite that spark within themselves and blamed you for not having it, too. You felt as if you should shine like a star—not just any star, but a supernova. That’s what you felt you lacked—a brilliance that could light it up, to make darkness disappear.

“I want passion,” you say. He raises an eyebrow, his gaze glinting with intrigue.

“To be more passionate,” you clarify, “in both my personal life and my writing. Is that possible?”

“Quite so,” he replies, his lips curving into a smirk. “Let’s make a pact and consider it done.”

The ease with which he says this stirs a flicker of suspicion.

“What would you want in return?” you ask cautiously.

“Oh, that’s simple,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “My price is as sweet as you are.”

You stare at him in confusion, the implication is totally lost on you. “And that is…?”

“You. Your body. For one night.”

Your mouth falls open at his brutal honesty.

“It’s very generous of me,” he says, adjusting his maroon tie, “since most demons would demand your soul. Consider this your lucky day.”

You cross your arms as if attempting to shield yourself from his oddly predatory gaze. “No way!” A pang of pride hits you. Demon or not, you won’t trade your body.

“You desire passion, and you’ll get it this way,” he says composedly.

“I don’t know you! I’m not going to… sleep with you!”

He laughs softly. “Who said we’d be sleeping?” The way he easily twists your words sends a shiver down your spine. “No, no, my little dove,” he shakes his head as he speaks, “that’s not part of the arrangement.”

Your cheeks burn, flustered by both his implication and your own reaction.

“It’s Aemond,” he adds smoothly, as though sharing a simple courtesy.

You stare, unsure of what to say or do. Your investment is either going to pay off or be wasted completely. Perhaps there’s a way to reason with him.

“Is there another way…?” you try, desperation creeping into your voice.

“No.” He shrugs, cutting off any hope. “Choose. One night of passion for a life filled with it.”

This is insane. Completely insane.

“It is,” he says, nodding his head.

“Get out of my head,” you snap, and the snake hisses at you, as if warning you not to disrespect its owner.

But Aemond just chuckles. “There’s no need. Everything you feel is written on your lovely face.”

“This isn’t what I want,” you protest, shaking your head.

No, no. You can’t do this. Summoning a demon was one thing, but giving yourself over—no, that’s too far. Madness.

“Have you thought carefully?” His voice rumbles like distant thunder. “There may be no second chance.”

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding. Even if it’s the only way, it’s not right.

“I can’t. It’s not who I am,” you say somewhat hesitantly, feeling ashamed by your lack of confidence. You’re not that woman from your dream, and you’ll never be.

“Hm.” His response holds a note of bitterness. He stands up, shaking off the invisible dust from his jacket.

“Well, you could’ve had it your way.”

You frown in confusion, but before you can respond, he says, “Good night, sweet dove,” and disappears into the shadows. The snake vanishes with him.

The next few days, you spend in a fog. You clean up your flat, collecting the broken glass and mopping the floor from the pomegranate juice. And he… as if he were never present here.

At times, you wonder if you made him up or if it was a sick fever dream caused by the eerie mixture. But the dark stain from the cigarette on the windowsill serves as a reminder that he was not a figment of your imagination.

Searching through job vacancies, you circle a few with a pencil, sometimes biting down on the eraser. Maybe, just maybe, you can piece together a life that feels right if you put in enough effort.

It was so stupid to risk your life and challenge dark powers for the sake of a life you could create on your own. Yes, going back to square one feels shitty, but starting small is still a start.

An Instagram notification pops up on your screen: Cregan shared a story. You haven’t muted his notifications. You tap the link, and his lit-up face appears alongside a stunning blonde in a décolletage that would make one very aware of their movements not to let it slide. Bold chick, that’s what her look screams. Unlike you.

The emptiness and pain clash in your chest, washing over you. Slowly, you put the phone aside, staring blankly at the wall. Has he moved on so quickly? After all the years you’ve had together? Has he found a passionate substitute for you?

In the kitchen, you grab a bottle of dry red wine. The cork goes into the rubbish bin as you pour the dark red liquid to the brim, more than etiquette allows. Fuck it. You gulp it down, letting the alcohol warm your chest. The bile is swallowed for a fleeting moment.

You should’ve made the deal. You could’ve had it all. But here you are, on the same road once again. You fucked it up.

On your way to the bedroom, you slip out of your pants, leaving only a long t-shirt—Cregan’s. At the thought of it, a wave of revulsion washes over you, and you fling it aside with a grunt. You open the wardrobe and slip into a burgundy peignoir, its fabric soft against your skin. At least you’d feel sexy, even if it was just for yourself, alone in the vast bed of this compact room.

You close your eyes, curling into a ball, whispering into the void, “Ad altiora… tendo.” You draw your knees tighter, wrapping your arms around yourself. There’s no way to pull it off without those nasty herbs, without that pomegranate—a desperate attempt, akin to the final words of a condemned man before death.

The temperature drops, your erratic breath disappears like a fleeting puff of vapour in the cold air. No tears are left to shed. Cregan. If only he were here. If only he would offer his warm embrace—just one more time. Yet, in the silence of your grief, another name slips past your cold, blue lips. “Aemond.” The name hangs in the air.

Your eyes fall shut. If you're lucky enough, you'll fall asleep soon. Perhaps the dream will offer you some comfort.

“Changed your mind, little dove?” His question crashes over you like a thunderclap, jolting you upright in bed. In the dim glow from the table lamp, he appears more tangible, dressed in the same dark suit and maroon tie, that familiar glitter dancing in his blue eyes.

“You came,” you whisper in disbelief, your gaze drinking him in as if he were a mirage sitting upon the chair.

“You summoned me,” he replies, tilting his head slightly. “Not that I had much of a choice.”

“But what about the pomegranate and…?”

“Not needed since you have my name.”

“I see.” Suddenly aware of your sheer, lacy gown, you fumble to cover yourself with the blanket. His smirk widens, catching the moment with delight.

His cocky demeanour might have irked you—were he not a demon, potentially the strongest creature around. But there’s also something magnetic about him. The way he tilts his head, the fluidity of his movements, the elegance in each smirk—they’re deliberate, drawing you in against your better judgment. He could easily be one of the characters in your book, no doubt he’d be loved by readers.

“If you haven’t changed your mind, what is it then?” he hums.

You remain still, your eyes falling to your hands. It’s salvation or a curse—this dark creature steps in after the one you loved left you in your darkest hour.

“I accept the offer,” you mutter under your breath. Or maybe those are the remnants of wine speaking on your behalf.

“Interesting,” he says unemotionally. Either he’s foreseen it coming or no longer cares. “What prompted the change, if I may ask?”

You glance at him warily, suspicion creeping in—does he not know everything? But his gaze holds no trace of insincerity.

“Cregan,” the name burns on your tongue, “my ex has already moved on with another girl.”

“And?” he cocks an eyebrow at you.

“And I think I shall be moving on too.”

“The wish is still the same?”

You nod.

“Let me think,” he murmurs thoughtfully, a calculating glint in his eyes. “You summoned me once and refused the most generous deal. Now you summon me again over your lousy ex. Given the circumstances, I shall increase the price.”

A chill runs through your veins. “How much higher?”

With that question, you feel yourself shrink beneath his piercing gaze.

“You’ll be running errands for me every three weeks for the next seven years.”

You swallow hard.

“That’s still very generous of me,” he adds.

“What kind of errands?” you ask hesitantly.

“Minor stuff. I’m sure you’ll manage,” he says, shrugging.

“Not connected to…?” Your voice trails off, hoping he’ll catch your meaning, but he simply continues to watch you in question.

You bite your lip before adding, “to my body?”

“Unless you want to.” The devilish spark in his eyes dances.

Heat rushes to your face, an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and something else—something darker.

Alright, think. What’s at stake? A few minor errands or ending up in the ditch? But can you trust him? The demon, the dark creature?

“You’re not going to trick me?” you ask, your voice shaking slightly as you realize the absurdity of the question.

“Me? Never,” he replies, raising his hands in mock innocence. “Seventeen minor errands per year doesn’t sound that much, does it?”

It’s hella much. But it certainly sounds better than a ditch.

Then he adds nonchalantly, “Oh, and of course, one night is still the key to all of it.”

A chilling horror passes through your body.

“Would you… hurt me?”

“No.” His gaze remains steady, unflinching.

“I will not be in pain?”

His lips tug upward. “I believe quite the contrary.”

Something within you burns—tugs at your core, like a siren song. Enticing, yet lethal.

“Come on, little dove. Just one night and a few errands a year—the key to your dream life.”

“Alright.” Your voice sounds distant, as if it belongs to someone else entirely. “I agree.”

You hardly blink as his tall figure looms over you.

“Stand up,” he commands, extending his hand toward you.

It feels warm and mighty, the way his veins curl upon his hand like intricate geometric patterns.

Your legs feel wobbly as you stand.

“I shall grant you never-ending passion in return for your service every three weeks for eight years. Deal?”

“Deal.” The word feels heavy on your tongue.

“You shall not resist completing any errand I ask of you. Understand?”

“Yes.” The answer is automatic now.

“As validation of the trust and service, you shall be all mine tonight.”

“Tonight?” you gasp, the reality of it sinking in.

“Any problem?” The way his eyes narrow sends a shiver down your spine.

“No,” you shake your head. “No problem.”

“Good.” Then, out of nowhere, a paper appears, along with a pen.

The contract is written in capital maroon letters, bold and commanding.

“Everything I’ve just said and you’ve confirmed is written here. Sign, and we have a deal.” He stretches the pen toward you.

You scan the lines, seeing all the requirements he just named. Biting the inside of your cheek, you wince at the metallic taste on your tongue.

It’s now or never.

With a shaky hand, you take the pen and scrawl your signature in burdungy colours just as your peignoir.

The paper disappears as quickly as it appeared.

The light flickers unsteadily a few times before settling into a steady glow.

Aemond is nowhere to be seen. Turning around, a silent question burns on your tongue.

What has just happened? Didn’t it work?

Then your body tenses as you feel the heat radiating from behind you, as if something unknown and thick is about to wrap around you. His voice is a gentle whisper in your ear.

“Well, well, little dove.” His voice strikes you like an electric shock. “What shall I do with you now?”

Your head turns slightly, and fear drips into your veins.

“So many ideas, and only one night.” His face dips toward your neck, inhaling deeply as though you’re not flesh and blood but a feast meant to be savoured. Your body tenses, betraying you as his hands land on your waist, his touch both featherlight and unyielding. His fingers drift down to your hips, gripping firmly through the hem of your nightgown.

“Did you put it on for me?” he murmurs.

“No,” you reply, squeezing your thighs together.

A puff of warm breath trails past your ear. “Liar.”

Without warning, he pushes you onto the bed. You land on your elbows, the soft rustle of his clothing close behind. You turn onto your back, propping yourself up to follow his movements. He tosses his jacket onto a nearby chair, his gaze never wavering from you.

“Rule number one,” he begins, loosening his tie, “I set the course, and you obey.” He drops the maroon tie beside you. “Rule number two: no kissing on the lips.”

Your brows knit, but words catch in your throat. He undoes his shirt slowly, button by button, his gaze holding you captive. That small voice inside insists, Just one night—endure, and you’ll have everything you desire.

Your gaze drifts to his torso as his shirt falls away, revealing lean muscle, sculpted and stark. A flicker of shame rises within, but your eyes won’t look away.

“Like what you see?” he asks with a smirk.

You swallow hard, unable to find words.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” His fingers undo his belt, slipping it free with an unhurried rhythm. “Tell me what your ex was like in bed.”

His request makes you blink in confusion.

“He was…” Gods, even in the silence, Cregan’s name feels like an anchor pulling you down. “He was gentle. Sweet.”

“Sounds tedious.” He tosses the belt onto the bed. The unknown chills you to the bone, and the room suddenly feels far too hot.

“No, it was… it was good.” You cling to the words, a shield he sees through with ease. A glimmer of something strange dances in his gaze, but you’re too nervous to understand it.

Barefoot now, he looms at the edge of the bed. His pants remain the last piece of clothing.

“Lie down properly, hands to the headboard,” he commands, picking up the belt once more.

“What… what are you going to do?” The question barely leaves your lips, and something about your wide-eyed, doe-like expression draws out his amusement.

“What your ‘lousy ex’ couldn’t dream of.” He leans in, the tip of his thumb grazing your lower lip. “I’m going to give you everything.”

Swallowing the tension in your throat, you move to the centre of the bed, your head resting against the pillows, arms raised to the headboard.

“Good girl," he praises, wrapping the belt around your wrists, and binding them firmly to the headboard.

“One more little thing, and we’re all set.” He steps away, and you tug at the bonds, a spark of dread trickling down your spine.

His maroon tie appears in his hand as he leans closer.

“What’s that for?”

“Sometimes, true passion requires a bit of darkness.” He slips the tie over your eyes, knotting it securely.

The fabric is soft, yet it plunges you into a cold, sightless world. You shift uneasily.

“Shh,” he soothes, his voice calm. “It’s all for what you want, remember?”

A stillness lingers as he waits for your answer.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely your own.

“Good. Now, my little dove will get what she desires most.”

The bed dips under his weight as he moves over you, and with one deliberate tug, the flimsy fabric of your peignoir tears beneath his hands. A gasp escapes you, a reaction to both his brazenness and the cold that trails over your skin. The only thing left to cover your decency is your underwear. Despite your eyes being closed, you sense his gaze roving over your naked body, a brazen exploration that ignites a heat within you.

“Well, well. What a delicious little dove I have all to myself,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr.

Wasting no time, his mouth descends to your nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud before capturing it fully, enveloping it in his warmth and slickness. He devours you as if he’s starving for the act itself. His other hand finds your other breast, massaging it just after his thumb brushes over your sensitive skin.

Your fingers tighten around the belt, a soft rustling filling the room. Your breath catches in your chest as your mind fogs over. The blindness intensifies every sensation, each touch igniting a fire you hadn’t known existed within you.

“Getting excited?” he teases.

“No,” you reply, though "yes" simmers on the tip of your tongue, pride pushing it back.

“Hmm, we’ll see about that.” His tone holds a dangerous challenge as if you’ve ignited something within him. He trails his mouth to your other nipple, teeth grazing the peak just before tugging it into his mouth. A sigh slips past your lips, helpless. His hot tongue swirls around the sensitive peak, licking it like a lollipop.

Your hands twitch, and the belt feels tighter, holding you in place as much as binding you to him. You cling to it like a lifeline, feeling its roughness bite into your palms.

Aemond moves to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses before his lips latch onto your delicate skin, sucking with a possessive intensity that promises to leave marks. Each touch feels like a candle’s flame against your skin, each sensation you can’t see setting you ablaze.

“Is it...ah...necessary?” you ask, your voice cracking, as you wonder how you'll cover all the marks.

But his teeth sink harder into your shoulder, drawing a sharp gasp.

“Aemond!” you squeak, your voice torn between pleasure and pain.

“We’ll work on the way you say my name,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear as he nips your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. His hands explore your hips, kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs pressing circles against your skin.

He pulls back just slightly, his gaze lingering over your face, a silent study of your expression. Then, he dips his head, his tongue making a slow, wet line from your collarbone to your ear. A moan falls from your lips as your body trembles beneath him, pliant.

“Did he ever tell you how gorgeous you look when that little mouth of yours falls open?”

His words drift over the sensitive skin near your ear, the teasing warmth in his voice melts away the last of your resistance.

“Answer,” he commands, his voice as a hiss, punctuated by the possessive squeeze of your hips.

“No,” you breathe out, a shaky sound that only widens the grin you sense playing across his lips.

Before you can catch your breath, his fingers slip past your lips, gliding against the warm, soft insides of your mouth. You nearly choke on the unexpected intrusion, a startled moan rising in your throat.

“Suck.” One word, and you obey, your lips wrapping around his long, slender fingers as your cheeks flush hot. It’s as if he’s cast a spell, making you cling to him, sucking eagerly as though your life depends on it.

Another moan escapes you as he presses his hardness against your thigh, letting you feel the thick, rigid length of him through his pants.

“Do you feel it?” he murmurs, pulling his fingers free and leaving a wet trail down your chin and breasts. “Do you feel what I’ve generously offered you?” He grinds against you, deepening the sensation, and your head swims.

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle for air.

“Say it properly. ‘Yes, Aemond,’” he breathes against your skin. “Say it like the obedient little dove you are.” His tongue sweeps along your chin, licking away the traces of saliva.

“Yes, Aemond.” His name falls from your lips like a surrendered plea.

“Good.”

He draws back, and the sudden absence of his warmth sends a shiver rushing through you, leaving your skin aching for the return of his touch.

“What do we have here?” he murmurs, pressing his fingers against your heated centre. A soft hum escapes him, content as he notes the wetness soaking through your underwear.

“Was that vanilla sex with Cregan so disappointing, or… are you just desperate for my cock?” His voice drips with amusement.

You bite your lip, shame and regret flaring at the mention of Cregan’s name. Gods, what were you doing? Clarity flickers in your mind, but only briefly.

With one swift motion, he removes your underwear, and his fingers slip into your slickness, coaxing deeper than you ever could on your own.

A moan breaks free as he brushes against your G-spot.

“Tell me, little dove,” he whispers, tapping lightly over the sensitive spot, “where does all that desperation come from? But think carefully.” Menace laces his words.

“I… I don’t know,” you manage to say, breathless.

“Wrong answer.” His fingers curl inside you, forcing your hips to buck forward, and then he swiftly withdraws them, leaving you aching. Your frustrated sigh draws a dark chuckle from him.

“You,” you say softly, biting your lip.

“Me? Full sentence, little dove,” he replies, tracing circles on your lower belly. “I haven’t even started fucking that mind of yours.”

His vulgar words stoke your desire further, and you feel a sting of tears in your eyes behind the fabric.

“I want you. Please.”

“Shall we believe her, Vhagar?” His question catches you off guard.

A hiss near your ear makes you flinch. The idea of a snake terrifies you, and you instinctively try to pull away, but neither the belt nor Aemond’s firm grip on your hips lets you move.

You gasp as the cold, slick creature glides from the top of your head, slithering slowly down your exposed body. Its cool scales trace a shiver down your spine, passing between your breasts, over your belly, and stopping just above the smouldering heat of your core. The juxtaposition of temperatures drives you wild.

Aemond bends your knees, positioning your legs so the snake coils around your right thigh, its grip tightening as though it means to bind you further.

“Aemond,” you say, his name slipping from your lips in a desperate whisper. You know you're in no position to beg, but the creature’s presence sends panic racing through you.

“Shh, little dove. You’ll enjoy this,” he whispers softly, his tone laced with promise. Suddenly, the silence of the room feels deafening.

“Enjoy… what?” you ask, confusion mingling with dread as his hands remain still upon your hips.

In response, the creature inches toward your heated centre, its head pressing into your wetness with a soft slide, slowly easing itself inside. The cool, slender sensation twisting inside you makes you writhe, your body instinctively arching toward the pleasure. Aemond’s grip on your hips tightens, steadying you as the world blurs around you.

“Aemond, what—? Ahh,” you gasp, a raw moan slipping from your lips as the creature burrows deeper, filling you in a way that steals your breath. Your core spasms around it, overwhelmed by the relentless sensation, caught between fear and pleasure.

“Shh, let her have her fill. She just wants a taste of you,” he murmurs.

“It’s… too much,” you pant, tugging at the belt with all your strength, the leather biting into your wrists, amazed it hasn’t snapped beneath the strain.

Inside you, the creature twists and coils, its presence impossibly cool against the warmth of your depths, building a relentless tension that grows stronger with each passing second.

“Fuck, I guess we’ll have to share you,” Aemond says, the heat of his breath ghosting over your dripping, spasming cunt. The snake teases one side of your clit, coiling near your pubic bone, while Aemond’s hot tongue plunges into your clenching walls, the lewd licking sounds echoing in the charged air. Every time his tongue goes deeper into you, his nose presses harder against your sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you.

Your mouth forms a silent 'O' as his hands squeeze your ass cheeks harshly, digging his fingerprints into your body with a possessive force, leaving deep imprints on your skin. You feel a sharp pang of ecstasy within, your body trembling in waves of convulsions that crash over you like relentless tides, flooding you with pleasure you've never experienced before.

“Don’t give her too many kisses unless you want to melt her brain.” His playful words meant for Vhagar fade into the background, lost in the intoxicating haze that envelops you. Your face bears a hedonic expression that any woman could be jealous of.

You don’t know where one orgasm ends and another begins, energy leaving you as you give yourself completely to the sensation. The snake eagerly swirls within you while his pouty lips latch onto your clit, as if they are rivals competing for the prize—you.

“Ae—Aemond,” you gasp, his name trembling on your lips. The fire pools low in your abdomen, making your legs tremble, before it snaps like a firework, exploding through every cell of your body.

You wince as the cool snake withdraws from your dripping centre, dragging your juices down your thighs. Suddenly, it feels achingly empty within you.

You become aware of Aemond only when your hands are finally unclasped, freed from the confines of the belt. Your fingers fumble to untie it, the fabric slipping away as you breathe in the dimly lit room. Your legs glisten with a mix of his saliva, your own wetness, and the snake's presence.

Aemond sits beside you, and your eyes widen as he starts massaging your wrists. His gaze lingers on your dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, and bitten lips, absorbing every detail of your state.

“Sorry, I couldn’t deny Vhagar. She deserved to taste just as much as I do,” he says solemnly. “Besides,” he adds, his gaze sliding down to your breasts, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “she prepared you so nicely for me.”

The way he says it makes you tense. Both desire and fear clash within you. When no retort comes, Aemond stands up and pulls down his pants, along with his underwear. A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest as he catches sight of your wide eyes, drawn to the impressive girth of his cock, glistening with precum.

“I don’t think it’s gonna—” your voice falters.

“It will,” he assures you, positioning himself between your legs as you fall back, surrendering to the moment. His face inches closer, breath warm against your skin, his whispers brushing your lips like a caress. “I’ll bury myself so deep, so hard”—his cock nudges teasingly toward your entrance, making your mouth dry—“that it’ll wipe his name from your mind forever.”

His promise, or perhaps the threat, sends a shiver down your spine, making you swallow hard. Before you can fully grasp the moment, he plunges into you.

You burn as he thrusts, filling you completely, over and over. As you choke on your sobs, he devours every micro-expression on your face.

“Perfect,” he murmurs into your ear, propping himself on his elbow, his other hand steadying against the headboard, which squeaks in rhythm with your bodies. “I could stay buried inside this perfect cunt forever.”

You shudder at the thought of how it would feel if he started straight away—you’re certain he would slice you in two. As he jackhammers into you, your nails dig into the taut flesh of his back, leaving dark pink scratches.

“Shall I go deeper, mm?” A smirk curves his lips.

Amidst your whimpers and moans, you manage to gasp, “yes,” “yes.” Normally, you’d blush furiously, but today… your desire is insatiable.

His gaze darkens until the blue of his irises disappears, consumed by hunger. He pulls away slightly, slinging your legs over his shoulders. This time, he thrusts slowly, deliberately, but the sensation of his cock pressing against your cervix sends a strangled noise escaping your lips.

“Beg me to fuck you harder,” he teases.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, fuck me harder.”

His expression twists menacingly, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Who knew the little dove could beg like an elite slut?” he muses, his voice dripping with dark amusement. The angry look on your flushed face only seems to fuel his desire, and he chuckles softly. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

With a swift, powerful movement, he rolls his hips, establishing a mind-blowing tempo that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. Sweat glistens on your skin, the heat of your bodies mingling.

His eyes are fixated on your bouncing breasts, the way they sway and ripple with each thrust driving him wild. The sight urges him to deliver even harsher thrusts, as if he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

Incomprehensible words spill from your lips like a desperate prayer, each thrust hitting that sweet spot perfectly. God, you’ve never felt so alive, so consumed by pleasure.

“Your tight little pussy is fucking loving it, isn’t it?” he growls.

The way he phrases it makes your walls clench involuntarily around his thick cock, your body responding to his every word.

“It’s been waiting for a great fuck for a long time, mm?” he taunts, the smugness in his voice only intensifies your arousal.

“Yes, yes,” you whimper, feeling the pressure of an impending orgasm build like a tidal wave, ready to crash over you. “Aemond!”

“Good girl. That’s the right way to say my name,” he praises, his voice rich with satisfaction as he senses you starting to unravel beneath him. “There’s so much passion within you. You just needed to be fucked properly.”

He continues thrusting, each powerful stroke intensifying your overstimulation, pulling you further into a dizzying spiral of pleasure, making you see stars in the darkness. The world around you blurs as he becomes your sole focus.

The demon who gives you heaven.

You crave to clasp his hair, to feel its softness, but he grasps your fingers, intertwining them as he cums inside you with a low growl like an animal. His warmth spreads deep within you like molten gold, filling you with an exquisite heat.

Is it merely a sign of your fantasy, or does someone press a kiss against your forehead? You’d never know, lost in the haze of desire, quickly captured by a dream that lures you further into another world.

The following morning, you wake up to the gentle warmth of sunlight caressing your face. A thin gap between the curtains allows the sun to greet you. Sitting up in bed, you wince, forcing yourself to remember what day it is and what the hell has happened. Your mind feels like an empty canvas.

On wobbly feet, you make your way to the bathroom.

Since when do I sleep naked? you wonder.

But as you see your reflection in the mirror, your mouth falls open. The memories flood back with intensity as you witness numerous purple marks peppered around your neck, chest, and fingertips, marked deep into the flesh of your hips. Yet the most striking change is the intricate tattoo of a sapphire nestled between your breasts, glimmering in the light.

As your gaze darts to the corner of the mirror, you spot a note scrawled in an elegant hand: See you in 3 weeks. Unless you wish to see me earlier. Just call my name.

Your cheeks flush.

Fuck.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Each word you share fuels my passion even more 💋

*Ad altiora tendo - I strive towards higher things.

#fic rec #HOT #I’d sell my soul in heartbeat

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 months ago

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The Price of Pride Masterlist

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: the angst, kidnapping and imprisonment, abuse of power, violence, sexual tension, misogyny, humiliation, panic attacks, smut & sex content, incest kink, subconscious parental issues ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3 – Part 4 – Part 5 – Part 6 – Part 7 – Part 8 – Part 9 – Part 10 – Part 11 – Part 12 – Part 13 – Part 14 – Part 15 – Part 16 – Part 17 – Part 18 – ?

Gyldayn's Chronicle (Childhood) Gyldayn's Chronicle Chapters 1-8 Screenshots Chapters 1-6 Targcest in The Price of Pride Floris & Aemond & Lady Royce Case Lady Royce character & inspiration Lady Royce Illustrations Lady Royce Wedding Gown

#fic rec

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 months ago

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❤️🌷SEND THIS TO OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING 🌷❤️

NO YOU🥹

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 months ago

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Closer to the Gods || Alicent

Years into her marriage Queen Alicent permits only you to share in the more intimate parts of her routine. Despite the deep bond that connects you to Her Grace you are not certain that your feelings are returned – until she shows you.

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x lady-in-waiting!reader

Content: 3.1k words, repressed feelings, yearning, religious guilt, somewhat post-partum alicent, no y/n, smut (thigh riding, body worship, oral sex, v fingering, gentle sex), 18+ MDNI

Masterlist – Ao3 link

Her hair smells like citrus. The fragrance, enhanced by the steam of the hot water rising from the surface of her bath, mingles with the one of the perfumed oils that slick your hands as you weave them through her tresses. The scent makes you light-headed, as does the sight of her bare skin above the water. Her Grace sighs deeply when you massage her scalp, leaning into your touch with all the weariness she carries. You breathe her in, subtly, applying some pressure to her temples where you know her headaches to linger.

Born into a lesser house you were sent to be raised at court at a young age, a token of loyalty after the coronation of King Viserys. However, life at court changed after the death of his first wife and as a lady-in-waiting you soon became the new queen’s favourite. Ever since the birth of her first son she keeps you closer than any of the other ladies, allows you to take on the more intimate chores such as dressing and undressing her, brushing and washing her hair, keeping her company during the late hours of the day, singing and more often than not reading to her. Two years into her marriage now the queen will allow only you to take care of her in such a way and send away her servants once the more menial tasks such as filling the tub have been completed.

By now you know her whims and preferences better than your own. You feel an intimate affection for her Her Grace and it translates into the gentleness with which you touch her. Most evenings it is only you and her – unless the king requests her presence. Those nights you spend thinking of her in her soft white nightdress with her auburn hair falling in waves over her pale breasts underneath. You try to distract yourself from the thoughts of him touching her smooth skin, lacking the gentleness you know she desires. No one else but you is allowed to see her in any state of undress, let alone touch her. But he simply takes what he wants, what he thinks he is owed by right of being her husband. By right of being the king. Would that you could give her what he does, but you can never sire a son, you could never be anything but what you are now.

In front of the fire with your hands covered in scented oils you feel a shameful heat rising to your face, the immoral thoughts of replacing her husband a constant source of guilt. Rinsing her hair, you finish your routine. The water has cooled down and you know Her Grace will want to retire soon. During these moments she prefers solitude, as she told you once, dedicating herself to prayer or silent contemplation.

“I will have the servants remove the tub.” You absent yourself from her side, drying your hands on a piece of cloth. “If that would be all, Your Grace, I shall retire for the night.”

You are already turned around, placing her nightdress on the nearby table. Your hand traces the delicate ornaments of Myrish lace when her voice reaches you again. “Wait.”

You hear Her Grace stepping out of the tub and keep your gaze lowered respectfully. Once her robe is fastened around her narrow waist you dare look up again. She approaches you on bare feet, drops of water glistening on her skin like morning dew on the petals of a soft pink rose.

A damp thumb comes to swipe along your cheekbone as she considers you, soft eyes roaming your face. “You look lovely with your cheeks flushed.”

Her lip trembles as she says it, as though the confidence she displays is nothing but an act. Your queen has complimented you many times before but never in a such a way that you feel her words caressing your very soul. For a moment you are quite out of breath.

Her fingers dance along your collarbones then, toying with the seams of your dress. “I do not know why you should be allowed to see me and yet I am deprived of the same pleasure.”

“My queen, I do not know–”

Her face falls as she misreads your words for rejection. You catch her hand before she manages to tear it away and press it to your heart instead. Looking down you see that she must have been biting her nails again, her skin red and scabbed where she pulled at it.

“What I mean is…” You feel tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, the sting of insecurity and hesitation. “I am not much to look at. Not compared to Your Grace.”

She shakes her head, dismissing your words. “Call me Alicent.”

“I would not–”

“Please, for once let us not hide behind curtesies. I have grown tired of it, I have grown tired of you leaving when I want you the most.”

Her words claw their way underneath your skin, your heart racing at the implicit confession. You always thought your feelings to be unreciprocated, that Her Grace merely considers you a companion, perhaps a friend. But her eyes are wet with unshed tears, her hand pressing against your aching chest as though she is trying to reach inside.

“You would truly want me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“Every night you leave,” she says and it sounds like an accusation, laced with pain and longing.

“But Your Grace, you wished it so– I did not–”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I know.”

Her other hand moves to cradle your cheek, wiping a stray tear from your skin. She looks away for but a moment, as if to collect her thoughts, and when your eyes meet again her gaze is fierce, determined.

“I have tried to repress my feelings,” she says, her lips trembling again. “But I cannot stop– I cannot stop thinking about you. When you are not here I have to restrain myself not to call for you. I have to fight off the urge to run to your chambers to be near you. I am… so tired of pretending.”

You lean into her touch, closing the gap between you to rest your forehead against hers. “So am I, Alicent. So, so tired.”

“It is sin,” she whispers, brushing her nose against yours, her fingers ghosting over your lips. “To covet another, to covet–” Her words trail off, the thought left unspoken. “And yet I never feel closer to the Gods than when you touch me.”

Your queen swallows the air between you when she presses her lips to yours. Tentative and searching her mouth moves against yours with a softness that almost pains you. She tastes like sweet wine, smells of lavender and citrus. Unsure where to touch her you mirror her movements, stroking along her warm cheekbone, tracing the line of her jaw down to her neck where a few droplets of water have gathered. Your other hand still holds hers against your chest but then she slides it upwards to grasp your throat and you gasp into her mouth, warmth pooling into your belly. Her tongue grazes yours and she winds her fingers around the curve of your neck until they press against your spine and she can pull you in closer, lips firm and bruising.

You can feel her body through the garments between you, soft and pliable. She deepens the kiss and you get dizzy, your head spinning at the taste of her. The sensation is new, thrilling and addictive. When you break away she glances down at your dress and you make to untie it, glad to have chosen one that is not quite so hard to take off.

In your shift, you feel well-nigh naked. The cool sea air has goosebumps spreading all over your body, a breeze streaming in through the wide windows that overlook Blackwater Bay. Alicent takes you in, her eyes following her hand that drags the neckline of the sheer fabric down your shoulder until her fingers dance across your bare skin. The loose undergarment falls once it slips from your arm and you are fully bared to her. Instinctively, you cross your arms in front of your chest but she soon takes your wrists to pull them down.

“You are beautiful,” she whispers. “Do not hide from me. I have longed to see you as I have felt seen by you for a long time. Let there be nothing between us from now on.”

You nod and she unties the robe around her waist and lets it fall from her shoulders, silky fabric pooling at her feet in iridescent waves. Even though you have seen her bare many times before this time feels different. You do not have to hide your admiration, do not have to worry that she might catch you staring. Instead you allow yourself to revel in the sight of her, a body that has never truly been her own, changed from the months she carried her child, from the way she lent it to the king so he might have his son at last. Even though she does not look much changed when she is wrapped in her beautiful gowns you are witness to the subtle changes she wears underneath, the lines that run across her abdomen where her skin used to be stretched, her hips fuller and her breasts hanging lower than they used to.

To you, she is even more beautiful than ever before.

“May I kiss you?” she asks. The answer is a desperate nod.

She is more bold this time, even if you still hesitate, still wonder how you can ever touch her freely when she is your queen, when she can never truly be yours. The apprehension soon dissipates when you get drunk on the taste of her, of the feel of her soft curves following the shape of your own when she pulls you close. Her nipples brush yours and you moan wantonly, craving her so much that the feeling is akin to physical pain. Your whole body is burning, melting, your blood hot and heavy as it gathers between your legs.

You tentatively begin to run your hands over her body, following the line of her hips over her lower back, then up the ridges of her spine. She shivers underneath your fingertips, the same goosebumps that cover your body spreading across her still damp skin. As her tongue flattens against yours, her own hands curling firmly around your backside, you cannot hold back the desperate whimper that falls from your lips.

“I want you,” she whispers into your mouth. “I want all of you.”

“I am yours, Alicent,” you say. “I will always be yours.”

She breaks away and takes your hand to lead you over to her bed. Your lips are already swollen, your mind clouded by your need of her. She gently pushes you onto the soft mattress, expensive, silken fabrics welcoming you in her space. It feels too intimate, to be here, to lay where she lays. When she comes to rest on top of you it is like a vision from the Heavens, her slowly drying curls falling like a veil over your face until it is only you and her, breathing in tandem as the world around you blurs into nothingness.

Her mouth is hot when she kisses you and you meet her eagerly, pull her down until your bodies touch and you feel her weight on top of you. She moves her leg between yours, her thigh pressed against your core, and you whimper as the warmth of her touch spreads within you. A throbbing pain settles there and you cannot help but cant your hips to rub against her, soon grinding more feverishly as her tongue delves into your mouth. Alicent's hands roam your body but you hardly take note of each individual touch, so focused on the pleasure that builds inside of you.

"Please," you whisper, inching ever closer to a tipping point, your lungs struggling to inhale enough air.

Alicent looks down at you through heavy-lidded eyes, as though she wants to fully take in your reactions, helping you along as she presses her thigh firmer against your cunt, fingers teasing at your nipples. You gasp, forgetting to breathe as the pleasure tears through your body in hot tingling shudders. Alicent swallows your moans with her mouth, reaching between your legs now to feel your release, two fingers pressed against your wet core until they enter you easily. She carries you through your crest with slow rolls of her hand but soon the pressure builds again and you clench around her intrusion, unable to hold back.

When the rolling waves of pleasure finally subside, kisses turn slow and aimless and you take a moment to calm your racing heart. Alicent presses her lips to your face and neck with an ardent intensity while you hold her in your arms, fingers curled around her thigh. You can feel her arousal dripping against your fingertips and begin to stroke her there, revelling in the gasps she releases against your skin. The gentleness with which she touches you sends tears to your eyes, for what you are not quite certain. Perhaps it is the realization that you have never been loved like this, the fact that it is your queen, the woman you have been dreaming about for years, who holds such affections for you.

"Alicent," you say and she lifts her head to meet your gaze. "Please, I want to taste you."

At first she seems hesitant, almost like the young girl she used to be, uncertain whether your intentions are true. But after a moment she seems to come back to herself and remember who you are, her gaze softening, gaining confidence and trust. She settles on her back beside you, propped up by silken pillows with her skin glowing like embers, draped in the faint light of the fire and a dozen candles.

She is beautiful with her lips swollen by your kisses, her pale breasts exposed and hardened, a faint line of hair leading from her belly button to a thicker tuft at the apex of her thighs. You admire her for a moment, kneeling in front of her with your limbs still trembling in the aftermath of your pleasure. What love you held for her before this night has grown insurmountably and you believe with all your heart that this cannot be sin, that it cannot be wrong when it is nothing short of worship.

You gently spread her thighs, revealing her to you fully. Reverent kisses to the insides of her knees, down her thighs that feel so soft against your lips. She moans when you caress a particularly sensitive spot and the sound is like music, urging you to leave more kisses all over skin, following the lines on her abdomen up to her breasts. You take one into your mouth, sucking gently at her hardened nipple until it is pink and swollen. Alicent weaves her fingers through your hair, the other hand caressing your shoulder. Her hips buck, wanting for attention, and you finally succumb and settle at her core.

With your eyes locked on hers you leave a kiss on her mound. Alicent links her fingers with yours and presses your intertwined hands to her abdomen as if to ground herself. Her other hand brushes a stray curl from your forehead. You slowly press your mouth to her cunt, tongue dipping between her folds to taste her. She moans again, louder this time, and you continue to attend to her, dipping your tongue into her and kissing every part you can reach. You forget yourself after a moment, lost in the whimpers and gasps that fill your ears, her soft skin and sweet taste.

As her pleasure builds, Alicent's hand fully tangles in your hair and she pushes your face deeper against her, her other hand gripping yours so tight that you begin to feel a distant pain. You cannot help your own wanton moan, wanting to make her feel like she made you feel. As you focus on her pearl, applying gentle pressure to her most sensitive areas, you use your second hand to spread her folds and dip your finger into her entrance. When you meet no resistance you add a second one and begin to rub them back and forth inside of her. It does not take long until her hips stutter as she rolls them against your face, the music falling from her lips now muffled by her hand.

You can feel her release as though it is your own, her muscles clenching around your digits, her release wet on your tongue as her whole body shudders. You continue until she pushes your face away, looking up at you see chest rising and falling rapidly, her brow damp and lips parted. A sense of deep bliss settles inside of you at the realization that you made her feel such pleasure, that she allows you to see this intimate side of her that you are not sure anyone else has ever seen.

She releases your hand to brush her hair back and you sit back on your heels to clean your face, taking in the sight of her without shame this time. You are not sure you could leave her now, not sure if you could ever have enough of her, already feeling the need again to touch her, kiss her, worship her.

After a moment Alicent reaches out, her hand wrapping around your wrist before she pulls you toward her. Curling against her side you sigh at the softness of her body, hiding your face at her neck. She welcomes you, arms slung around you tightly as you notice her calming down more and more. You are exhausted, in a way, and yet you are not sure that the night will come to an end so soon. Her hand in your hair and the fingers trailing the curve of your breast remind you that she has not had enough of you either.

For the moment you are both content holding the other close. You breathe in the scents of her bath, listen to the slowing rhythm of her breath. Alicent trails gentle kisses along your brow, then her arms tighten around you and her mouth comes to rest by your ear.

"Promise you won't leave again."

You pull back, shifting to bring your mouth back to hers. “Promise you won’t make me.”

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

#fic rec

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 months ago

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Goddamn adorable is what this right here is!!!❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥💯

Dinner & Diatribes

❝i knew it from the first look of mischief in your eye.❞

Summary: You both swiped right and suddenly you're standing in a stranger's kitchen while he makes you spaghetti.

Pairing: Modern Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Author’s Note: this might be the most self-indulgent fic i've ever written, so fair warning. also, thank you tom, who inspired this by saying that dinner & diatribes would be aegon's hozier song. it's just true. anyways, this was really fun to write.

Warnings: language, recreational drug use, alcohol use, fluff, intense sexual situations (including: oral sex - female receiving, sexual intercourse - p in v), just two single people who are horny, more fluff, aegon being so cute that i couldn't stop smiling the whole time i was writing this.

It was precisely 9:39 PM on a Tuesday.

You were sitting cross-legged on your couch, nose deep in a fresh murder mystery that you had been working through for the last two days. There was a lit joint between your fingers that you were nursing, taking little hits so that it wouldn’t completely burn out, and on the cushion next to you, your phone softly vibrates and lights up; a familiar icon flashes across the screen and you can easily make out the words, “It’s a Match” from the corner of your eye.

It’d been a regular occurrence since you had downloaded that accursed app.

You’d been single for far too long, according to your best friend, though you hadn’t really noticed. The sweet silence of a solitary life was something that you had enjoyed for the most part. It wasn’t even like your online dating life had really taken off, either. You’d get matches but hardly anyone would reach out in any way that made you feel like they were serious. They wanted your Snapchat username, or they were in an ‘open’ relationship or asking for a threesome, and one guy even asked if you would send him pictures of your feet. Even some of the ones you thought were serious about taking you out- or even just hooking up- would end up ghosting you before anything actually happened.

“It’s not supposed to be serious,” you could hear your friend’s words rattling around in your brain. You shake your head and focus once again on your book; they have a suspect, it’s the best friend! How fitting.

Once again, your phone lights up and vibrates. Not wanting to be distracted from the plot, you ignore your new match and get back to your mystery with anticipation; the best friend is about to confess. You go to take another hit of your joint and frown upon realizing it’s burnt out. As you move to grab your lighter, in comes another message, and another, and another. You stop what you’re doing and pick up your phone, swiping at the screen until you find the culprit. He’s known only as Aegon T, and according to the one sentence he has written on his profile, he has a dog. You swipe through his pictures- the dog is a golden retriever, the man looks like a golden retriever.

In the message thread, he’s basically talking to himself.

There’s four new messages waiting for you, while three little dots begin flashing at the bottom of the screen; disappearing and reappearing as you read what he’s already sent.

“So, I’m high.”

“And I am making spaghetti… and it’s really good.”

“At least I hope it’s really good, it could just be the weed…”

“I could use a taste-tester, if you’re up for it? I can’t pay you or anything, but it’s honest work 😏”

Aegon begins typing again and you watch the screen, a smirk on your lips. You are 99% sure that the spaghetti is truly an innuendo for what he really wants and have half a heart to just block him, but you watch as those little gray dots continue in the bottom left corner of the screen; he’s going back and forth with himself and you can’t help but find it oddly cute. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you contemplate a witty response, but before you can even begin typing, he sends a fifth message.

“That was weird as fuck, right?”

Then a sixth.

“You probably don’t want to come over to some random guy’s house on a Tuesday.”

He finishes up with a seventh message.

“Unless you do…”

He almost sends an apology. After all, what's another message? He’s already fucked this whole thing up; not even giving himself a chance before he nose-dived. If he was being honest, he should just go ahead and delete his whole account; save you from secondhand embarrassment and save himself from repeating the same mistake again in the future. He sets the phone down on the kitchen counter and goes back to ripping bong hits to calm his nerves. Though, he’s unable to keep himself from checking his phone for a response; a response that likely wasn’t going to come and he’d spend the rest of his night feeling like a complete idiot.

Seven back-to-back messages should have screamed ‘red flag’, but you’re glancing at the clock as if you were seriously contemplating taking this stranger up on his offer. After all, you do have needs just as much as the next person. But, you’re wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of pajama shorts, your hair’s a mess, and you were covered in the crumbs of your munchie snacks. Meaning, you were nowhere close to being prepared for what was sure to happen between you and this random stoner offering you dinner.

Yet, you respond to him, “I could never turn down spaghetti”.

Aegon’s stirring the sauce when he gets your message. He’s instantly elated, thrusting a celebratory fist into the air. His fingers fly across the keyboard swiftly, sending another quick message, “Atta girl 🙃 My place is on the corner of 9th and 51st, above Jasper’s.”

“Be there soon,” you reply with haste.

It was apartment #4 and you made sure to text your friend the address, and given name of your potential murderer, and also share your location for her to keep an eye out. She says all you have to do is text her at any time if you need her to call and bail you out with a fake emergency. All she asks in return is for you to have fun and let her know if you are planning on spending the night- which was an idea that you weren’t opposed to, but it wasn’t something you were planning on.

You’re nervous as you stand outside of the door to his apartment, fist hovering for a moment. Now’s the time to make a fast exit- you haven’t met him, you could turn around right now and never meet him. You could wake up alive in the morning, safe in your own bed. Or, you can knock on the door and have what might be a really nice spaghetti dinner with a really nice guy. Hell, he could even be the love of your life and in fifty years you’ll both look back on this day and laugh about how you met on Tinder and how you were stupid enough to go to his house and not a public place.

Finally, you knock.

Aegon puts the lid back on his spaghetti sauce and shuffles into the living room. Sunfyre is on the couch with his ears perked; his tail’s wagging and he’s panting eagerly, waiting patiently to meet this new visitor. Aegon whispers over to him, “wish me luck,” and thinks to himself, please don’t be a catfish, please don’t be a catfish, please don’t be a catfish. He peers through the peephole when he approaches the door and there you are, a sigh of relief deflates his chest.

“Oh, thank God,” you can hear him say as the door swings open. His accent is surprisingly British. “You’re real.”

The very first thing that you notice are his eyes. They’re piercing; somehow blue and lavender at the same time– the color of a warm, summer sunrise and they’re crinkling at the edges as he smiles. He’s wearing a pair of dark gray sweats and a pale green hoodie, and the only word that comes to mind when you look at him is warmth. He’s somehow more attractive in person than he is in the pictures on his profile, which you didn’t think was possible, but he’s standing right in front of you and you can’t help but think to yourself, he doesn’t look like a murderer.

Then again, neither did Ted Bundy.

Aegon stands there for a moment, just staring at you, unable to do anything else. His words escape him, he can barely even breathe. You look exactly the same as your pictures; even without the makeup and even in the shitty, fluorescent overhead lights of the hallway. Even in a sweatshirt and pajama shorts, you’re stunning. He’s having a hard time believing that you actually showed up and he doesn’t realize that he’s been staring for much too long until you shrug back at him.

“Did you think I wasn’t?” You ask with creased brows and a lopsided smile.

The corners of his lips pull upwards as he looks at you, “I don’t know. You’re just so beautiful, I’m still not entirely convinced you aren’t some sort of hologram… or a robot.”

“Wow, you’re pretty smooth,” you say with a playful smirk, desperately trying to keep your composure— trying to play it cool, hoping that he hasn’t caught on to the fact that you’re secretly spiraling, because it took all of one smile and one compliment and you were done for. “But, I’ll have you know that flattery won’t work on me. I’m here for the spaghetti and the spaghetti alone.”

“My apologies,” Aegon says with a chuckle as he holds his hands up defensively. “Right this way, then.”

He steps to the side, allowing you to enter his apartment, and shuts the door behind you. It’s nice, clean, smells like fresh baked bread and tomato sauce. There’s niche artwork adorning the walls, he’s got candles burning, and there’s some lowkey, downtempo R&B playing softly in the background. He quickly moves past you and disappears into the kitchen, leaving you to follow him.

However, before you can take all of two steps into his apartment, a flash of golden fur is suddenly at your hip, pawing for attention. You drop down to a knee and happily accept any and all kisses from the pup. “Oh! Hi, what’s your name?”

Aegon sticks his head around the corner and says, “That is Sunfyre. In case you were wonderin’, he’s a very good judge of character and I will be consultin’ with him later where you’re concerned, fair warning.”

You roll your eyes and scratch behind Sunfyre’s ears, his tail thumps in approval.

“Would you like something to drink?” He continues and disappears back into the kitchen. “I’ve got wine and bottled water. Oh, and milk?” There’s a rustling in the kitchen before Aegon adds with a nervous chuckle, “scratch that, there is no milk.”

You politely excuse yourself from Sunfyre and step into the small dining room off of the kitchen.

There’s a grin on your lips, which you pursed so that he doesn’t think you’re laughing at him. Sunfyre joins the two of you and circles around his owner’s legs as Aegon empties an almost full half-gallon of milk down the drain. His kitchen is small but looks to be well used, which you appreciate. You know almost nothing about this man, other than his name- if ‘Aegon’ was even his real name- and the name of his dog, and yet here you were, standing in the threshold of his kitchen with a strange sense of comfortability as if you had been lifelong pals.

“Water is fine,” you tell him.

He produces a bottle of water from his fridge and tosses it over to you with ease and goes back to the stove. You step further into the kitchen, taking in your surroundings. The kitchen, like the living room, is covered in artwork and vintage decor- things you’d only find in some obscure thrift store or estate sale. On the refrigerator are a collection of magnets from different cities and countries, real touristy type shit. Some of them even had names on them; Alexander, Aaron, Alistair, Alan, Adolf.

Maybe these are the names of people he’s killed.

“You travel a lot?” You ask, trying to keep the conversation going.

“I try to,” he says from over his shoulder as he continues to stir the sauce. You can hear him set the lid back on the pot. “Most of those are from my sister, Helaena. She thinks it’s hilarious to give me magnets with random ‘A’ names since you’ll never find the name Aegon on any of those,” he says from behind you. He’s leaning against the counter with a half glass of wine. You quirk an eyebrow at him, not fully convinced. “She has a few from me that say Helen.”

“Is that her?” You ask, finger pointing to a pretty blonde in one of the many photographs he had pinned up.

He nods and takes a step closer to you. He’s so close that you can feel his warmth, smell his aftershave. The proximity causes you to blush and he smirks in response, leaning over your shoulder as he points to the other people in the pictures. “Those two are my little brothers, Aemond and Daeron,” he claims and then points to two women. “That’s my half-sister, Rhae, and next to her is my mother.”

“The redhead?” You ask surprised, given she didn’t look like she could be old enough to have four grown children. He nods and takes a step back, leaning against the counter with half-lidded eyes and a tipsy blush. “She looks like she could be your sister,” you say softly, turning back to glance at all of the faces; he seemed proud of his family, like they were very close.

You turn away from the fridge and lean against the counter at his side. It’s quiet for a moment, save for the music and the sound of boiling water where the noodles were cooking. You look at him and the corners of your lips can’t help but twist up into a shy smile, but you bite at the inside of your cheek out of nervous habit. He props himself up on his elbows, taking a sip of his wine, clearly comfortable with the silence.

“So,” you look up at him and his little smirk grows. “About the job…”

“Ah, yes,” he nods. “As I stated earlier, I won’t be able to pay you a monetary wage, but the position does come with a benefits package.”

“And what exactly would this benefits package include?” There’s an innocent flirtatiousness in your voice that only adds to the tension.

“Outside of the free gourmet meals that I would be providin’ to ya, which is obviously the most important part,” he smiles and steps to the side to grab a spoon from the drawer and holds it out to you. Your fingers softly close around his as you pluck the utensil from his grasp. He clears his throat to distract from the fact that he was visibly flustered from the slight touch. “There’s also unlimited cuddle sessions,” before he can finish, you shoot him a look. “With Sunfyre, of course! He’s the real boss ‘round here, after all.”

“Cuddling with the boss?” You quirk an eyebrow and look down at the golden retriever, his eyes round and gleaming; clearly waiting for a hand-out. “Sounds like a conflict of interest to me.”

“Well, if it’s a conflict of interest you’re worried about,” he counters quickly with a soft yet playful tone. “I s’pose we could renegotiate the terms of the agreement and you could have me instead.”

“I’m listening.”

“He might be better at cuddling for obvious reasons and he might be better lookin’,” Aegon continues. “But, I give better backrubs. I mean, I have thumbs and he don’t. You can’t give decent backrubs without thumbs, can you? Plus, he’s a sloppy kisser.”

“Oh, you’re really trying to sweeten the deal now, huh? Backrubs and kisses? I must admit, that is quite a compelling offer,” you muse. “It seems my decision hinders on whether or not you can actually cook, wouldn’t want to accept the position blindly, now would I?”

“Are ya doubtin’ my skills?” He asked playfully.

“No offense, but you possess the aura of someone who could fuck up a can of Spaghettios,” you tell him with a sincere smile. “So, forgive me if I don't get my hopes up.”

Aegon laughs and it’s a warm and infectious sound that fills the kitchen. It’s genuine, as is his perfect smile. You can’t seem to keep yourself from staring; eyes softly tracing every detail of his face– from his full, pink pout, to the scar above his right eyebrow, and the dimple of his chin– thinking to yourself that you’ve never seen a man more beautiful. His smile turns back into a smirk as he notices you staring at his lips and you look up to meet his eyes. There’s something about the way he looks at you that leaves you feeling vulnerable. His gaze softens as you look away, turning your attention back to the spaghetti sauce on the stove in front of you to distract yourself from the blush creeping up your neck.

There’s only one way this night ends.

It was obvious before you even left your house and it was certainly obvious now.

“Go on, then,” he prods, motioning to the pot on the stovetop.

His eyes are wide with anticipation as you dip into the simmering sauce, stirring it a few times before bringing the spoon to your lips. He’s nervous; it’s his mother’s recipe– one he’s spent years perfecting– but with his luck, you will most likely think it’s steaming garbage. Yet, he watches intently; holding his breath as your perfect lips curl to blow softly, cooling the sauce before you finally taste it.

The moment the spoon touches your tongue, you're determined to remain impartial. After all, you’ve had your fair share of disappointing meals from men who’ve claimed to be great cooks. Aegon certainly could be the very latest and you wouldn’t be at all surprised. So, you keep your expectations low, and try your hardest to remain stoic, but as the flavors begin to unfold, you can feel your resolve wavering.

It’s good. Better than most.

Reluctantly, you have to admit that this is the second-best sauce you’ve ever had, right after your grandmother’s. You glance up at Aegon, who’s watching you with a mix of anxiety and hope, and you can’t help but smile.

“I have to give it to you,” you say, your voice betraying a hint of admiration. “This is incredible. Almost as good as my grandmother’s.”

The relief and pride that spread across his face makes your heart flutter.

“Yeah?” He asks with a toothy grin.

“I’m still not completely convinced that you can actually cook, but you can– at the very least– make some top-notch spaghetti sauce,” you tell him as you place your spoon to the side.

“Top-notch, eh?” He asks playfully as he begins plating your meal. “I’ll take it.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you say to him with a laugh. “It’s just spaghetti sauce.”

“Just spaghetti sauce? Don’t let my mum hear you say that,” he says with a smirk, setting a full plate in front of you on the counter. “I guess I’ll just have to work extra hard on the next one.”

“Assuming there will be a next one,” you reply, tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “Though, you have set the bar pretty high tonight. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Well,” he murmurs as he steps closer, his body brushing against yours as he reaches around you to grab a plate. His lips are hovering above the shell of your ear, his voice low and teasing, causing your cheeks to immediately flush as the heat between the two of you intensifies. “I’m nothing if not a perfectionist.”

For a split second you expect for him to lean in for a kiss. Your heart is simultaneously skipping beats and racing at the same time; your breath catching in your throat as he leans in— But then he smirks, grabbing the plate and taking a step backwards. He’s doing it on purpose, you realize; his proximity expertly calculated to keep you on edge. You look up at him with wide, sparkling eyes and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. The soft blush of your cheeks has his blood pumping and sends a surge of adrenaline through him. He’s trying his absolute best to play it cool but the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him has him unraveling.

“Is that so?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “What other skills do you have up your sleeve?”

His grin widens as he looks down at you, setting his empty plate to the side. His gaze, once again, drops to your lips. “I have a few tricks,” he says softly, his voice filled with promise. “But I doubt you’d believe me if I told you, so how about I just show you?”

“What?” You ask with a playful innocence. “Before dinner?”

“I’m not really in the mood for spaghetti anymore.”

“Oh?” Your smirk is only growing. “What are you in the mood for?”

Aegon says nothing, but a confident grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he rests his hands on your hips. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you in by the waist, until you’re pressed against him and his lips are on yours. The kiss is both gentle and urgent and a little bit awkward, as any first kiss should be. You felt like a teenager again, kissing a boy for the first time– butterflies in your stomach and all.

It takes no time at all for you to find your rhythm with him, and he deepens the kiss, pushing you up onto the kitchen counter to meet his height. Your arms naturally drape across his shoulders, your legs wrap around his middle. He’s completely taken over your mind, filling up every tiny space that he can fit into; the smell of his cologne, the scratch of his stubble against your skin, the feeling of his hands squeezing the flesh of your thighs– his fingertips teasing just underneath the hem of your shorts.

Breathless, he pulls away from you as he pulls your sweatshirt over your head. He stops for a moment to take in the sight of you; clad only in your bra and shorts, lips red and blotchy, swollen and full. You’re looking up at him from under your lashes, softly biting your bottom lip as you wait for him to continue. He gently lifts his hand up to your cheek and traces the curve of your cupid’s bow with his thumb, providing one last show of tenderness before he leans in to capture your lips in another searing kiss.

His touch is suddenly rushed; spreading a wildfire across your skin in the wake of his lips as he rips off the remainder of your clothes. It doesn’t take long at all before you’re sitting exposed on his kitchen counter in only a thong, blushing wildly and covering your face with your hands.

“No– no hiding,” he clicks his tongue and pulls your hands away from your face. “I want to see you.”

He whispers a string of profanities and compliments as his starving eyes roam your figure. Self-doubt creeps into your mind and you momentarily consider making a quick exit, convinced he won’t like what he sees, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel desired in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

Aegon’s gaze is electrifying and intense, drawing you in and silencing your negative thoughts instantly. His hands pull you in by the waist, sliding you to the edge of the counter as his lips work their way down your chin and neck; leaving a trail of red marks down to your chest. He hums, smirking as he takes one of your breasts in his mouth. His hand kneads the other, rolling your hardened nipple between two fingers. Your head falls back, lips parted slightly as you breathe out his name.

Each sound he elicits from you urges him on even further until he’s on one knee, looking up at you from his position with those pretty eyes. He runs a hand up the back of your calf, softly teasing you with his fingertips before tossing your leg over his shoulder. You knew where he was going, and yet, you were still surprised as he began placing open mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs; shivering in anticipation as goosebumps formed on your skin.

“You’re so wet,” he says proudly, praising you.

His eyes are locked with yours as his fingers delicately smooth over your clothed clit. He hooks a finger around the dampened cotton and pulls your thong to the side, groaning at the sight of your perfect pussy. Without wasting another second, Aegon’s mouth is suddenly on you and your hands immediately find the back of his head; fingers curling into the roots of his silver hair.

You roll your hips against his tongue, cursing out as your legs begin to shake. He moans, face still buried deep in you and the vibrations have you writhing. Both of his arms are wrapped around your thighs now, holding you tight to him, not letting up for even a second. Then he stands, lifting you up onto his shoulders. You squeal in shock, holding onto him tightly, but he doesn’t stop; he continues to devour you as he blindly carries you towards his bedroom.

When his knees hit the side of his bed, he tosses you back onto the mattress.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he strips out of his clothes. . You can see the outline of his arousal; prominent and pressing firmly against the fabric of his sweats. You bite your lip at the sight and he smirks as he catches your stare. His movements are unhurried, giving you ample time to appreciate the sight before you. His hoodie and shirt come off first, then his sweats, and you can’t help but notice the way that his muscles flex with each motion. He’s not overly built, but there’s a solid strength in his frame that is evident in the way he moves.

Outside, headlights from passing cars cast streaks of light and shadows across the walls of his room. It’s quiet, the music in the other room has stopped playing and all you can hear is the sound of your own heart beating in your ears. You swallow thickly, encompassed by the tension of the moment as he crawls up the length of your body; placing tender kisses along your skin. His lips leave a trail of warmth, each touch igniting a spark that travels through your entire body.

When he reaches your face, he pauses, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches away. The anticipation builds, thick and electric in the air between you. His lips find yours in a kiss that starts slow and tender but quickly deepens; fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you closer, his body pressing yours deeper into the plush mattress. Your hands explore his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling the tension and strength beneath his skin and coming to rest on his shoulders; gripping tightly as he continues to worship your body with his mouth. Each kiss, each touch, is deliberate, heightening your senses and pulling you further into the moment.

You curse at the feeling of his girth against your entrance. Your hand moves up to the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips as he presses slowly into you.

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers into the crook of your neck as his arms become weak.

He knows that he won’t last like this; it’s been a while and you feel way too good. He’s slow at first, wanting to steady himself and maintain control, but his rhythm picks up quickly; hips moving with an unrelenting rhythm, each thrust bringing you both closer to the edge. You can feel his muscles tense, his grip on you tightening as he buries his face in your neck. His moans are a mix of pleasure and desperation, and you can tell he’s fighting to hold back.

You tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, feeling the overwhelming need to reach that peak together. His pace quickens, the tension in his body building to a breaking point. You feel the same pressure inside of you mounting before it’s suddenly crashing over you like a wave. He follows seconds later, a low groan escaping his lips as he spills into you. The intensity of the moment leaves you both breathless and clinging to each other, bathing in the afterglow.

“That was incredible,” he murmurs against your skin, head pressed to your chest as you stroke his hair softly. His eyes flutter shut as he listens to the sounds of your heartbeat.

You hum in agreement, smiling to yourself as you savor the peacefulness of the moment.

Suddenly, you’re joined by Sunfyre jumping up on the bed, his tail wagging enthusiastically. You smile at him and pat the empty space next to you, inviting him to join your cuddle session. He eagerly accepts the invitation, circling the bed a few times before snuggling up next to you. Aegon lifts his head and smiles, clearly pleased that you would be so open to having the dog in bed with you. He wraps his arm around both you and Sunfyre, pulling you closer.

“This is perfect,” he says softly, his voice filled with contentment as he lays his head back on your chest.

"So, about that job offer," you say playfully, your fingers tracing patterns along his skin. "I think I'll accept the position. When would you like for me to start?"

He lifts his head to look at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “How about tomorrow night at seven?”

Before you can respond, a distinct burning smell reaches your nose. Your brows furrow as you sniff the air. “Do you smell that?”

Aegon’s eyes widen in realization. “The spaghetti!”

He jumps up from the bed, pulling on his clothes quickly, and scrambles into the kitchen. You follow behind him, tossing one of his t-shirts over your head and meet him in the kitchen.

“I guess I forgot to turn off the burner,” Aegon looks disappointed but then chuckles, shaking his head. He looks at you with a glint in his eye and smirks. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Oh, that sucks!” You laugh, playfully nudging him. “Is it too late to back out of the job now?”

“Way too late for that,” he says as he pulls you into a soft kiss, silencing any doubts immediately. “You’re mine now.”

“Mm,” you hum against his lips. “But I came here for the spaghetti.”

He chuckles and pulls back slightly. “Will you settle for pizza?”

“I’ll settle for anything, as long as it’s with you,” you say with a smile as you wrap your arms around his waist. “And as long as there’s extra cheese!”

#fic rec

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 months ago

Text

From hate to love… or something like that

Aegon II Targaryen x fem!reader

word count: 15.7k (sorrrryyyy)

warnings: arranged marriage, hate-to-love, mentions of rape, mentions of incest, mentions of suicidal thoughts, drinking alcohol, mommy issues, daddy issues, mentions of sex without love, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), porn with plot (but something cheap, tbh) and I probably forgot something but I think that makes it clear that this shit is not for minors, so MINORS DNI :)

A/N: I started this since the second season premiere started so if you find any canon-like scenes I completely promise it wasn't intentional. I also want to make it clear that you are responsible for what you read and if you don't like something please just let it go, that would be very kind of you!

And this doesn't make me team green at all, I'm a defender of the rightful queen to the death… it's just that her brother is too sexy to ignore 🫦

Enjoy!

taglist (who I thought might be interested): @barcelonaloverf1life @ilovequeen978

FIRST ACT: HATE

Finding a wife for Prince Aegon II was probably one of the most difficult tasks Alicent Hightower had to face.

The engagement with his sister Helaena had been broken after a more tempting offer for the princess, which would get them a permanent alliance with the Lannister house that they couldn’t refuse. Viserys himself had agreed to accept and the queen consort had no choice but to give her little daughter in marriage to a blonde lord. The problem was that her son was left without a fiancée.

Aemond didn't worry her, after all he was growing up quite quickly and she knew that he was more inclined to become a warrior than to fulfill his marital responsibilities. But Aegon, however, was a lost cause.

It was no secret that Alicent had always felt disappointed in her eldest son. He was careless, lazy, and a hopeless alcoholic, qualities that couldn’t be celebrated at all. Now that her beloved father had returned, the queen didn’t hesitate to consult him on the matter, hoping that the man had a solution for the problem that afflicted her, and together they analyzed what was the best option to unite the king's first-born son. Especially after, years ago, Rhaenyra and Daemon got married and moved to Dragonstone indefinitely.

“It must be someone we completely trust, someone who cannot dare to hurt us because they know that their blood is linked to ours.”

The Arryns were loyal to the future queen Rhaenyra and some of the houses south of Vale were too. The Westerlands was the richest section of the Seven Kingdoms and was already secured, so it seemed prudent to the king's hand to go for the next widest section: The Reach. The most formidable options within this area were the Hightower and the Tyrell. Obviously taking the first option would be a waste since the members of that house would support Aegon without complaint due to their kinship, so the decision was made with the direct heir of Highgarden.

King Viserys agreed to the idea without putting up many obstacles, since poppy milk clouded his judgment most of the time and also the affairs of his first son had never interested him much.

The union was sealed as soon as the deal was offered to Lyonel Tyrell, who was extremely happy to be able to assure his family a future with said marriage. It was thus that he gave you, his only daughter, to Prince Aegon II Targaryen.

And the second the boy saw you, he absolutely hated you.

He had come to the idea (very unpleasant, by the way) of marrying his younger sister and now that his mother was forcing him to marry a complete stranger, he couldn't be angrier. In a short time he would turn twenty and it seemed pathetic to him that at that point he would have to offer shows like those before the kingdom. Because the wedding wasn’t simple, of course, but thousands and thousands of guests were present at the banquet that Alicent forced the king to prepare, claiming by saying that he had done the same for Princess Rhaenyra's wedding.

“It is a pleasure to finally see each other, your grace. They have told me a lot about you”

You had said those precise words the first time you had met, when his mother organized a walk so that you could 'get to know each other better', although supervised by her own eyes that were behind you, making sure that her son didn’t commit any indecency. But no matter how sweetly you smiled and spoke them, Aegon could sense that you were lying.

There was hatred in your eyes and a clear resentment towards the life from which you were torn, as if it weren’t an honor to have the opportunity to marry the prince of the seven kingdoms. Your hypocritical words represented an insult to the boy and that is why he decided from the first moment that he would hate you deeply.

With your mere existence you would have deprived him of his freedom, his entertainment, his youth. He would be tied to you for future occasions, he would have to take you to all the events, secure your food, your clothes. share the same roof and pretend to be nice to you in the eyes of others. And, besides, he could have thought of a lot of candidates better than you, physically speaking. Your beauty was quite ordinary for his taste, as if he were looking at any painting; cheap and repetitive.

“I regret to admit that I am not so fortunate, Lady Tyrell. But I am happy for the union of our houses” he lied, in the same way that you had done.

And it was obvious that this didn’t go unnoticed by you, that you had the same critical eye as your recent fiancé but that you sought to maintain composure in the presence of your future mother-in-law.

On the wedding day Aegon had a good time only because he was able to drown himself in monumental quantities of liquor and because he was able to eat as much as he wanted of the exquisite banquet. He didn't even pay a bit of attention to how you looked in the wedding dress that the royal seamstresses had been in charge of making in record time, because when the time came he flattered you superficially and then ignored the matter. The ceremony kiss was the first you shared, and it was so fleeting and awkward that the prince felt disappointed. On the wedding night he was so drunk that he didn't even look at you.

You knew that the unfortunate day would come when you would have to carnally please the young man and the simple thought of being defiled in this way caused you terror and nausea in equal parts.

It was a stranger whom you had married, of whom the only thing you knew was his noble title and name.

In the days following your marriage, unfortunately or fortunately, Aegon didn’t even speak to you. You didn't have to share a room, so it was easier for him to completely ignore you while he went about his ways.

You had to admit that the only good thing about having taken this trip was the beautiful landscapes that King's Landing offered you. Your room had a direct view of Blackwater Bay and you spent several days looking out the window at the beautiful sea. Sometimes you could watch Prince Aemond ride his dragon, and honestly, the size of the beast scared you a little. You hadn't had the chance to observe Aegon in Sunfyre yet but if he was as impressive as Vhagar, then he would be quite a sight.

A week passed, then another and another where you were nothing more than a guest in the palace. You didn't talk to anyone, you ate dinner alone, you barely saw the outside of the castle. Sometimes you went to the Sept, pretending to pray, but really just killing the endless boring hours of the day. You were somewhat lucky if you found Helaena, the most sensible and calm within the royal family, because you had pleasant conversations with her. When you met the queen it was a little more difficult, because she asked you endless questions in which you had to fake the answers. How could you be fulfilling your parenting responsibilities if the capricious prince wouldn't deign to lay a finger on you?

After a month, Alicent seemed to take matters into her own hands and forced her eldest son to take you to sleep in the same room as him. However, Aegon seemed to want to blame you for something you hadn't chosen. He never spoke to you and every time you went to bed, he would stand with his back to you as far away as possible. And as if that weren’t enough, he had explicitly ordered his guards not to allow you to leave the room unless it was in his company. It was his way of punishing you, of getting even for the complaints of his mother and grandfather regarding his lack of interest in marriage.

“My mother wants us to attend a dinner tonight” you were so unaccustomed to hearing his voice addressing you that it took you a second to process what he was telling you “I will talk to the maids to bring you a suitable dress.”

You didn't know what to say. You didn't want to go to that dinner, nor did you want to be with him, or wear one of those tight, annoying dresses. Aegon, noticing your silence, deigned to look at you and in your eyes he could see the aversion you felt for him. It was something difficult to mask and he had seen it on so many faces that it was nothing new.

“As you wish, prince.”

A bitter laugh came from your husband's throat.

“Don't be a hypocrite, for God's sake. I know you hate me as much as I hate you. Save appearances for guests, not in the chambers."

You wouldn’t have had the courage to admit out loud what his majesty had said, but you didn’t dare to contradict him either. You had to play the role of a self-sacrificing and suitable wife for the man if you wanted to keep your honor, but above all your head.

You tried, with all your might, to see some quality in Aegon that you liked so that you could treat him in a better way, which always resulted in something useless. Perhaps if he had been nicer to you, you could have known how to forgive his faults, but even that wasn’t granted to you.

The dinner was mostly family-oriented, with the guest of honor being from House Baratheon whose purpose was to discuss some political matters with the king and queen. Due to his health, Viserys didn’t usually leave his room more than necessary, however, that night the occasion warranted it.

“Lady Tyrell, how is your stay in King's Landing?”

The king had a reputation for being gentle with his guests and was the first person to ask you a personal question, so the smile you showed him was genuine.

“Very pleasant, your grace. The servants treat me as well as possible and I must admit that the views from my room are beautiful. Your dragon is impressive, Prince Aemond, by the way.”

The boy, who wasn't all that expressive, just looked at you for a moment and tilted his head down slightly.

“I'm glad you like it, princess.”

"And my son? How is our Aegon treating you?”

That question was more complicated to answer, since it required expressing a lie. Everyone present focused their attention on you, except your husband who had been staring into nothingness for a long time.

“Very well, my king. He’s a good husband and I am happy to have been able to unite our houses.”

The aforementioned snorted, incredulous at what you were saying at the table, and took a long drink from his glass of wine.

“And I hope very soon you can give us strong and beautiful heirs.”

Although that was intended as a compliment, you felt the weight of that responsibility pressing down on you again.

“I wish the same. It will be an honor to serve the crown and bear the progeny of a house as formidable as yours."

The queen was pleased with your answer and for a moment felt sorry for you. She knew her son well, so deep down she knew that it wasn’t a gift from the gods to be married to him. The rest of the table looked at you curiously, wondering if you were serious, trying to be ironic, or just trying to play the good girl role.

Aegon, as expected, became intoxicated during dinner and when Queen Alicent announced that she was going to retire to sleep you thought it prudent to do the same. Your husband, however, had other wishes.

“Stay here,” he asked, his voice serious.

When he was drunk he looked you up and down, probably evaluating how worth it would be to decide to strip you naked and fuck you once and for all. Your body in the dress you were wearing looked better with a few drinks on him.

“I think it would be best to retire, my husband. This way you can stay with the men to chat and… drink”

“But I want you to stay here to keep me company,” he insisted, holding your wrist tightly “Or don't you want to please your prince?”

It wasn’t a loving request, but one for control. He wanted to have you there only to demonstrate his power over you, without paying attention to you or talking; only as an ornament.

“Aegon, enough,” Alicent interrupted, observing the scene that had begun to unfold. “Daughter, let's go to sleep. “I will accompany you”

“Fine, do whatever you want,” he spat contemptuously, abruptly releasing the wrist that was holding you. There was hatred in his eyes, but also pride.

The queen said goodbye to everyone present and then offered you her hand to take you away from there. You spent most of the way in silence, walking through the long, wide corridors of the fortress followed only by the faithful footsteps of Ser Criston Cole.

“You must be patient with him” he began to say “He is a particular man and sometimes… difficult, but I know that with your docile character you will be able to deal with his temperament.”

What did she know about your character? She didn't know you at all.

“So it shall be, Queen Alicent.”

“I understand what you are going through, dear. We both come from the same lands to endure the difficult task of accompanying a monarch. But it is our duty to carry it out with all the honor and temper worthy of our homes. Of course, I can trust that as a woman you will be able to help him fulfill another of the most important marital commitments, such as having children, to maintain the lineage and blood. For a virgin like you, Aegon may be rough, but... patience and resilience are among the best virtues. A woman in royalty must endure these things to give the best to the people.”

You had never wanted to be a princess. And just when you thought the queen was showing you compassion, you realized that she was only looking out for her interests and those of her family.

"Thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind"

She smiled and immediately left a kiss on your forehead, which could have been taken as a maternal kiss but which you didn't like at all. The longer you can postpone suffering, the better. If Aegon didn't even want to look at you, it was perfect.

That night, as soon as you touched the mattress and the silk sheets that decorated it, you began to cry until you fell asleep.

SECOND ACT: CONTROL

Time passed again and although the punishment of not leaving your room was not revoked, you found multiple activities with which to entertain yourself in the prince's absence. You filled your mornings and afternoons with reading, writing, knitting and embroidering. The nights were even more boring because most of the time your husband wasn't there either.

Rumors that you hadn’t yet consummated the marriage had spread through the halls of the palace and soon the smallfolk would murmur too. After all, the people couldn’t entertain themselves with anything more than the gossip and the plays that were going on in the poor neighborhoods, making fun of royal affairs.

You no longer even had the energy to deny those accusations and Aegon had given you the perfect opportunity by throwing you out of his room and refusing to leave the four walls of yours: if you didn't leave there, there was no way anyone would question you. And since you didn't have family inside the Keep, you didn't have any visitors either.

One night, however, your husband surprised you by entering your room. It had been days since you two had seen each other and his staggering around the room warned you that he was drunk again. You often wondered how he resisted drinking so much and the long-term effects it would have on his health, but right now your mind could only focus on the fear of what he might want in that state.

“Good night, dear,” he drawled, sounding as sarcastic as possible.

You were in your nightgown and you were carrying in your hand an old book that you had been reading and that you threw on the nightstand as soon as you saw him approaching you. You didn't have time to say or do anything else when he had already approached you in giant steps to grab you by the back of your neck and start kissing you. He was abrupt, careless, with his mouth smelling of wine and tasting even worse. You wanted to cry from helplessness.

“It's what everyone wants, isn't it?” he murmured, separating himself from you, but still holding you by the hair at the back of your neck. “A marriage arranged in a couple of days to form alliances. And that's it, my life was ruined thanks to my father wanting your stupid castle to expand his domain."

The truth is that couldn't be further from the truth. Viserys’s ambition had never been that, as he had been so little involved in the process that he simply didn’t care who his children were or were not married to. Except for Rhaenyra, of course.

Aegon continued:

"I didn’t want this. I didn't want to marry you, or anyone..."

“And you think I do?” you confronted him.

You were tired of the insult, the humiliation and him ignoring you as if you were worthless; even if that was what a husband did. And the most likely thing was that your words would be forgotten due to alcohol or that they would put an end to the wait for your suffering to begin and Aegon decided to take you once and for all.

“You have nothing to lose, prince,” you continued. “You get drunk as much as you want, you run away from your responsibilities and walk everywhere when I have to stay locked up here all day just because you want me to. I have to endure the suspicious looks of everyone because I still don't have an heir in the womb while you go and fuck your whores."

“I'm the prince and I fuck whoever I want, did you hear me?” he hissed. The grip on your hair had already begun to become painful and a few tears slipped down your cheeks “And I stop fucking whoever I want too. I'm not going to please anyone by getting you pregnant. There they will see if they come and force me to put my cock in you”

“Do you doubt that, your grace?” you exclaimed bitterly “Doubts that will force us to conceive?”

“So that's what you want? Do you want me to do it?”

“I want to go home. That is what I want. But my father used me as a bargaining chip and that's why I can't do anything."

“I'm sorry it was like that. If I had chosen my wife, I would surely have chosen someone prettier and more educated than you, but I can't do much either."

Once again, the man pushed you until your lips joined his and the same discomfort settled in you. He didn't kiss you with love, but with fury and violence to the point that you had to push him away when he bit you so hard that a trickle of blood began to come out of your lower lip. Aegon was also stained by it and with an acidic smile he ran the tip of his tongue all over his mouth to remove any traces.

Looking at you he didn't look happy, but he didn't look angry either. He just seemed fed up.

Everyone knew, or suspected, that the prince was very capable of taking sexual advantage of any woman. He had done it before with maids and prostitutes and had slept peacefully throughout that time. However, there was something about you that encouraged him not to. He didn't even think it was something about you specifically but about the situation, because he wanted to do the opposite of what he was ordered: if everyone ordered him to take you to have an heir, it automatically became an unpleasant act and at the same time that he refused.

He was hurt, not because of you but because of years and years of abuse and neglect. He didn't really know you at all, he only knew what you represented.

You were just the unlucky one who had married him.

"I hate you. I hate that you are my wife and you are not worthy of me even touching you” he snapped with disdain. You were still fighting to keep the tears inside your eyes and his vision had also blurred slightly “I wish I had never met you.”

“The feeling is mutual, your grace,” you expressed, your voice breaking. If it was an offense to the crown, you wouldn't even care anymore and if he killed you right there you wouldn't regret it too much either.

Aegon looked at you one last time before staggering back out the door without another word, closing it behind him with a loud gesture and leaving you alone in the room. The reality that you had escaped, once again, from being raped by the man fell on you like a bucket of cold water and your knees weakened until you fell to the floor.

You were hurt, tired, and defeated by the stress of the situation and the fear that had washed over you the entire time. Luckily he was gone, otherwise you didn't know if you would have endured what he had to do to you. It was better to have him busy in a brothel than to have to endure him in your bed.

You wished you could talk to someone and cry on a loved one’s shoulder, only to realize a second later that that was impossible. Aegon was your new family, now you belonged to the Targaryens and you would have to do as they wished.

Anger completely overwhelmed you to the point where you stood up from your seat and began throwing pieces of glassware all over the room, in a violent outburst at what had just happened and the way you felt. None of the guards outside your door dared to come in to check on you and soon enough you fell back to the ground, exhausted from the effort.

As you cried, perhaps for the umpteenth time since you had been married, you thought about how you would never be able to love Prince Aegon. Not even if you tried.

THIRD ACT: PAIN

After months, the inevitable arrived. The truth was that the first time you felt sorrow and anger, but the following times it became more tolerable. Not because it was better, but because you began to get used to it. Aegon didn't change his attitude towards you one bit. You indeed spent more time together, although that didn’t mean that you got along better or that you had begun to have more sympathy for each other.

The only advantage was that you had started to be friends with some people in the palace. Your sister-in-law, to begin with, as well as some of the maids who were in charge of looking after you, as they turned out to be your only company during those days. Those distractions were more than enough for you, considering the situation you were in, and they kept you sane as time went by.

Almost like a punishment from heaven, it seemed that you weren’t pregnant yet, since your biological processes seemed to continue working to the letter. That meant that, unfortunately, you would have to keep trying; when Aegon was lost enough to forget who you were and you had to stand still as a statue to let him loom over you.

You often liked to imagine what your life would have been like if you had stayed in Highgarden. Nobody knew it yet, but there you had found your first love and although it never went beyond a few kisses, you treasured the memory with particular affection. You had always wanted to marry a sweet man who loved and respected you, who would give you your place as a wife and adore you day and night; someone with whom you could feel protected, cared for, but above all happy. You thought, naively, that that boy you had met and who was nothing more than a commoner could have given you that life, but all those possibilities were nothing more than fantasies in which you tried to lock yourself in to feel less miserable with your unpleasant reality.

One night Helaena had invited you to a modest dinner in her company that you couldn't refuse, since none of your husbands were present and some time with friends could clear your mind. You didn't even know where the prince was, although it was expected that he was spending some time in the town with his friends.

“Sometimes I feel sad about our situation,” said the blonde. You were in the privacy of her chambers, not even with the maids present, so confessions like that were allowed “But I am happy that you are my friend, something that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise.”

“I'm glad to talk to you too,” you smiled sincerely. “You're the best thing I've found around here.”

“My brothers aren't that bad, they're just… well, we've had a hard life. And that's why they behave like that."

“I think there is no justification for being a…” idiot, you wanted to say, but you had to remember that you were in the presence of the princess, “a person who is rude to others. But I guess that happens with royalty, right? They do what they want without consequences”

"I guess so. Kings, princes, the heirs, lords, dukes…”

“Okay, I get it,” you laughed bitterly “It's probably a masculine quality.”

You never thought your sister-in-law would have that kind of humor and to be honest, most of the time she was a comic relief for the situations you two were going through. Sometimes her prophecies scared you, especially the way she phrased them, but you wanted to think that her premonitions would never affect you directly.

When you finally got tired of chatting and the food was finished, you decided to return to your room, so you could have a peaceful night's rest. It was raining outside and thunder echoed in the distance, making the atmosphere slightly gloomy, but at the same time cooling every corner of King's landing.

The novelty of your position was no longer important enough to require you to be escorted by guards twenty-four hours a day, so you were able to slowly walk through all the corridors that led to your sanctuary. It was modest but cute, although not on the level of Aegon’s.

A man was guarding the door and you bowed your head to him to let you pass, which he did without any opposition. Once inside you got rid of your shoes and unbuttoned your corset, not caring that the room was almost in darkness; only the moonlight illuminated from the window. You took a few steps forward and squealed when you discovered that there was another person in the room, sitting at the small table with a drink in his hand. You would have started screaming for help if you hadn't noticed that said intruder had silver hair falling like a curtain over his face.

"Your grace?" you asked cautiously.

It isn’t usual for Aegon to drink in your room, as he preferred other places with more interesting company, and when you didn’t receive an answer you approached slowly. You thought that at best he had simply fallen asleep and at worst he would be dead.

At first his long, wavy hair covered your view of his face, but when he noticed your presence he raised his head and then you could see him. His features became clearer as lightning illuminated him from the outside and for a second you were horrified.

His cheek was red and a trickle of blood was dripping from his nose, however, what surprised you the most was seeing his eyes completely swollen.

“For the seven, I… I'll go call a maester”

“Don't even think about it,” he exclaimed hoarsely, seeing that you were already rushing towards the door.

Your husband didn't sound like his usual angry tone, but rather he seemed... hurt.

You thought for a second about what the appropriate reaction to the situation was. You couldn't leave the room because, in addition to the guards murmuring, it would be impolite to leave him in that state; also, where would you go? If you ignored him, he would probably take it as an insult and he had already made it clear that he didn't want to see someone who could take care of those injuries.

You hated him, it was true, but you weren't an insensitive monster either.

"Who did this to you?"

Aegon was surprised by how soft, even kind, your question sounded and the intoxication gave him some courage to answer.

“My mother and my grandfather. Mostly my mother, my grandfather rather dedicated his efforts to reminding me how useless I am”

You didn't know what to say. You never believed that the queen would be capable of hitting one of her sons like that. You didn't believe it from any mother, actually.

With some trepidation you took one of the chairs and placed it in front of him, expecting him to immediately push you away or ask you to get out of his sight. However, the prince didn't seem to have enough energy to do any of those things.

He had a lost look on his face and tears began to run down his face.

“Nothing… nothing I do pleases her. Neither to her, nor to my grandfather. All the time they are pressuring me, demanding me, yelling at me. Apparently Otto still hopes that my father will name me king, but I've never wanted that. They blame me for drinking all the time and how do they expect them not to? My father cares so little about me and my mother hates me. All his life he has hated me. She does it, my brothers… and so do you. My own wife hates me. Everyone… everyone who knows me does it”

You were silent for a moment.

There were mixed feelings inside you, because you couldn't forget the mistreatment that the man had given you during those months, nor the way he used you for his pleasure. He was right when he said you hated him. However, there was a compassionate part of you, deep down, that felt sorry for the man's state.

“And sometimes I just want to be dead. I just wish all the shit would go away and drowning in alcohol and dying would take away Alicent's problem and allow her to focus her attention on something better”

His gaze lifted and he looked at you with crystallized eyes.

“Maybe you should poison me one day. So your suffering would also end”

“Your highness, I cannot do that”

“But would you like it? Do you hate me enough to wish me dead?”

“Of course not,” you said quickly.

"Liar. You lie like everyone else. You want me dead”

You knew that saying something negative at that moment, in the state he was in, could result in him making some incoherence that you would be blamed for the next morning. So it was best to act cautiously.

“I don't think anyone wants that”

“My mother does. My father, Rhaenyra does it, and so does her stupid new husband…”

“Your grace…” you interrupted him harshly. Listening to him sink into his self-indulgence was too much to bear “You better go to sleep, don't you think? Now you're not thinking clearly, you'll feel better in the morning."

But Aegon seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to anything you had to say to him.

“I guess I just wish someone wouldn't completely detest my existence, you know?”

Aegon had done terrible things to you, of course, but seeing him at that moment made you wonder if all of this was the product of poor parenting and psychological abuse that had been perpetuated for twenty long years. You couldn't say your father loved you, not after what he had done, but at least he hadn't constantly hurt you as the man in front of you had. You knew better than anyone that hate had to be healed with empathy and for a brief moment you felt soft for him.

Once Aegon was a small child, without sins, without accumulated hatred, without evil... and apparently that frightened child hadn’t been completely buried, because it was him who cried inconsolably and saw death as a viable alternative to end that suffering. However, there is no redemption without guilt, right? You don't get to heaven without first repenting.

You stayed silent for a long time, listening to him sob, and when you gathered the courage you spoke:

“Prince, can I be honest with you?”

You had spoken in a low and benevolent voice, while you slid from your chair until you were kneeling in front of him. The boy didn't even want to take advantage of that position for a sexual act, he was simply too tired and drained to think. You placed your hands on his knees and seeing that he nodded, you continued:

“You say you wish someone wouldn't hate you, but have you ever made an effort to do so? Or have you even wondered why people feel that way about you?”

“It's something natural for them”

“I didn't feel it,” you said, honestly. You hated the idea of getting married out of obligation, but if he had been different from the beginning maybe your feelings for him would be too “And you made me feel it. With your contempt, your humiliations, your punishments…”

“If everyone thinks you're a monster, what's the point of contradicting them?”

“And then you prefer to agree with them?”

You were probably taking too many liberties with the prince, but you would never have a chance to talk to him like that again. He was vulnerable and therefore less defensive than normal.

“Every person is responsible for their actions,” you continued. “You can't change how the queen or king feels about you, but you can choose to offer something better to others. If it’s your desire that people not hate you, that won’t happen overnight just because you tell it to. It takes time, effort and above all it requires kindness. If you live regretting the concept that people have of you, without doing anything to change it, then you will live a lifetime of dissatisfaction. If you seriously want someone to feel happy about your existence then pursue that goal, don’t expect it to be granted to you as a divine work.”

A deeper cry began to well up from the man and you almost thought he would lean down for your hug. Still, he didn't.

“I don't know how to be someone else. I have always been this”

“Not always, that's for sure. Water that stagnates rots and becomes a swamp. The one that runs, on the other hand, becomes a river and flows into the ocean.”

You raised the handkerchief you always carried and, in an act of kindness that was also intended to be an offering of peace, you gently wiped the tears and dried blood from his face. Aegon squirmed as he had never experienced that kind of care.

“You just have to ask yourself: what do you choose to be?”

For an endless moment he watched you. His judgment was clouded by drunkenness, but he wondered if he wasn't hallucinating and you were simply the voice of his conscience telling him something he had never wanted to accept.

It was easier to blame others for his mistakes, to justify himself by saying that everything about him was his mother's fault and that if he behaved the way he did it was only a defense mechanism. Aegon had never thought about how his treatment of women was a direct consequence of Alicent's upbringing: if his own mother had hurt him, why wouldn't other women do the same to him? And since he was convinced that they were all going to do it, he preferred to turn them into objects that he could use for his benefit.

He was so drunk and so exhausted from all the crying he had shed that he simply pushed your hand away from his face and stood up from the chair, without saying a word. You, now standing, saw him begin to undress and the first thing you thought was that he would seek to heal his sorrows by having sex with you. However, he only got rid of the essentials and then lay on his stomach on the bed. Without any choice, you took off your clothes for the day, put on a nightgown and also lay down on the mattress to sleep.

You were sure that the next day Aegon wouldn’t remember anything and you weighed the possibility of the whole story repeating itself, in an endless and painful loop for the two of you. And if you were right, it would be a shame if you had to live like this for the rest of your days.

FOURTH ACT: REDEMPTION

“Do you know where Meryna is?” you asked one of the maids who had come in to change your bedding.

“No, your grace”

“I'm starting to get hungry and she still hasn't brought my breakfast,” you exclaimed sadly.

You had woken up a while ago and had gotten dressed to go for a walk after eating, to see if this would cheer you up a little. It had been a few days since Aegon had opened up in the privacy of your room and after that you had barely seen him, much less spoken to him. You believed that everything was due to a matter of pride or even shame for what you had witnessed and you simply didn’t give it importance, because you knew that eventually he would approach you again. You just had to wait for him to want to do it.

Almost as if by summons, the black-haired girl appeared through the door, looking agitated and embarrassed by the delay. Furthermore, she came empty-handed.

"Princess…"

“Didn't you bring breakfast?” you asked, still sounding cordial but slightly surprised.

“I'm very sorry, it's just that Prince Aegon asked me to bring the food to the royal dining room. He is waiting for you there, he told me to come and get you.”

He hadn’t mentioned requiring your presence for any breakfast and, according to you, there were no guests in the palace to accompany. The two women noticed your dismay and Meryna stood waiting for a response.

“Did he tell you why?”

“No, your grace”

"Good. Then tell him I'll be there in a moment."

You only took a few minutes to change your dress, one more suitable for being in the presence of the prince and in case there was a guest you didn't know about. There were no guards at your door so you were able to walk to the dining room by yourself and were surprised to see that only your husband was at the table. He had an expression that you interpreted as a mix of impatience and nerves.

“Oh, you finally arrived. Sit down. You, bring the princess something to drink,” he ordered a maid. He used to call you that in the presence of guests, but it was rare for him to have that courtesy when alone.

“Are we waiting for someone?”

"No. I just thought you might want to have breakfast together.”

You were already sitting next to him, and for a second you watched him with a frown. Had he hit his head somewhere or why was he acting so strange?

“Do you prefer juice or wine, your highness?

"Juice"

“And bring her some strawberries,” Aegon exclaimed.

There was something about the situation that scared you, because you imagined that he wouldn't be treating you so kindly without wanting something in return. But you were already his wife and he did whatever he wanted with you, what more could he want from you?

You looked him up and down, as if searching for some sign, but he looked completely normal. He was wearing one of those full black robes he was used to, with a golden chain with emeralds decorating the hem of his neck and a belt accentuating his figure. The dark circles in his eyes were pronounced, as always, but the look was not that of someone angry; you would even say that he looked somewhat passive, even sleepy.

While you were thinking about all that, you remembered the last conversation you had had with him. You feared that madness had finally exploded in your husband and the food you were about to eat was poisoned, as he had suggested at the time. Perhaps out of courtesy he was waiting for you to take the first bite and, trying to control the trembling in your hands, you took a portion of the cold cuts on your plate to put it in your mouth. Luckily the food didn't taste different and after seeing that the man ate it with the utmost calmness, you assumed that it didn't contain any poison either.

There was freshly baked bread, jam, some cheeses, the aforementioned cold cuts, a variety of fruits, scrambled eggs with fresh herbs and chives, as well as some stuffed buns for dessert. It was a mini banquet and as you ate it you couldn't help but wonder why this show of kindness was due.

Aegon didn't seem to have any intention of talking and you didn't try to force him, not wanting to either. The atmosphere was one of peace and tranquility, one you had not experienced since your wedding day until now, and it was a very different but strangely pleasant feeling.

It was just a couple sharing breakfast time, but for two people who come from such a broken home it felt like a totally new experience.

You continued in silence until most of the things served were finished, leaving only what wasn’t to your palate's liking or that your body was simply no longer able to ingest.

“Do you need anything else, your majesty?”

“Clear this table, we won't eat anymore,” he said to the maid, nonchalantly pointing to the leftovers you had left. Then he looked at you “Satisfied?”

"I am. Everything was delicious”

“I want us to do the same tomorrow. I will send a maid for you, so get ready soon,” he said decisively.

Then he got up from his chair, stretched a little, and left the room without saying anything else to you.

You didn't see your husband the rest of the day, but the next morning he kept his promise without fail. Although the breakfast menu was different the routine was the same and again it made you wonder what the reason for it was.

The next day he also requested your presence for breakfast and you concluded that he intended to make it a habit. For the rest of the morning you were supposed to dedicate yourself to your activities, but after a week of following that routine Aegon informed you that he had other plans for you.

“I want you to come with me for a walk.”

"To the exterior?"

"Yeah. I have training with Ser Criston but I don't wish to attend, so you will be my excuse. I'll tell him that the princess wanted to go for a walk and that I couldn't let her go alone."

He was telling you that lie almost like a childish prank and you would swear he was about to smile.

“Huh, okay. If you want it, we will”

You were still confused by his actions, because in all the time you had been there it was the first time he treated you decently. You didn't know if he was still drinking in large quantities, but at least when he went to sleep he no longer reeked of liquor in the same way. And all that week he hadn't forced you to have sex with him.

What had motivated the prince to change his way of behaving towards you?

"Do you want to go to the beach? I will order a couple of horses to be saddled for us” he exclaimed when you had already left the dining room.

You couldn't refuse to go to the bay, because in your entire life you had never seen the ocean and your curiosity was greater than any other feeling. Besides, you loved horses, and being with them might even make you feel better.

Aegon did as he told you and soon enough you were in the stable. He had ordered a beautiful white mare for you, with a silver mane the color of your husband's hair and a formidable build.

You approached to pet the animal, carefully, and tensed completely when you felt another body behind yours. Until that moment you hadn't realized how warm your husband was.

“She's pretty, right?”

His voice sounded at your ear level, as he had also reached out to touch Frostfire’s hair.

"She is"

“I guess you know how to ride,” he muttered under his breath and you let out an offended sigh.

“Of course I do. Highgarden is the heart of the chivalry of the seven kingdoms”

After saying that you turned your head just a little and met his gaze, indigo eyes with hints of lilac looking at you carefully. You could feel his breath against yours and at that closeness your cheeks had already turned red involuntarily.

He separated from you and then went to choose his horse, a black thoroughbred with beautiful braids, to get on it and ask the guards to open the door for you. You almost managed to sneak away, but Ser Criston stopped the two of you just before you could do so, claiming that he had a scheduled practice with the prince.

“I'm taking my wife to Blackwater, she hasn't had a chance to visit since her arrival.”

“But your grace, your father…”

“We will continue with training later, Ser Criston,” he said firmly.

“Will you go to Blackwater without an escort?”

“I will”

"That's impossible"

“Don't worry, I don't want to be accompanied. Just rest for now.”

“But you are the prince.”

"Exactly. I am the prince and I want my orders to be respected."

The boy was a smug son of a bitch when he put his mind to it, just like now. The man had no choice but to obey the words and then the two of you were able to leave. You could get there on foot, but Aegon had felt like riding and had wanted an alternative to quickly escape if something went wrong.

You walked along a path that still belonged to the Red Keep grounds, so there was no great danger of being attacked along the way, and you soon reached the bay. It was even more beautiful up close and as soon as you got off the mare you forgot any courtesy towards your husband, as you rushed towards the shore to watch the waves crash. Your pumps and dress were soaked when the water reached your calves, but it didn't bother you too much because you were happy for the reason.

“Have you never been to the ocean?”

“I'm afraid not, your grace. There was never any business that required me to be on the coast of The Reach and I have always lived surrounded by hills and forests. I had seen some rivers, but…”

Before you could continue your story you staggered because of a wave and to avoid falling you tried to hold on to whatever was within reach, which turned out to be the man next to you. He supported you from the elbows with his strong arms.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he laughed. For the first time in your presence, he had laughed “But we should get away from the shore. I wouldn't want to take you back to the castle all soaked”

You heeded the boy's advice and, still leaning on him, walked towards the sand. The sky was slightly cloudy, so the weather was perfect for walking around without any discomfort.

“I've never visited Highgarden, is it as impressive as rumored?” he asked, as he began to walk in the opposite direction of the Red Keep.

Although you never believed that the prince would be interested in such things, you began to talk to him about your hometown with particular emotion. You told him about his surroundings, about the castle and you also told in greater detail the gardens that once belonged to you and were full of golden roses, as was the emblem of your house.

You were surprised by how attentive the boy was to everything you had to say to him and for the first time since your arrival, you didn't feel like a stranger in your own skin. Talking about your home was like remembering a part of yourself, as if you were showing him your insides through stories of the beautiful hills where you had ridden so many times.

“Everything sounds wonderful,” he concluded. The sea breeze had already ruffled both of your hair and he took advantage of this to brush a strand out of your face “Someday I should go visit it”

“Yes, maybe you would like that” you exclaimed smiling. You had come too far and it was time to walk back, towards where you had left Frostfire and Moonshadow tied up “Your grace, may I ask you a question?”

"Yeah"

You opened your mouth to ask him why he was doing all that and why he had suddenly started showing so much interest in you. You wanted to know the reason for his unexpected kindness and his abstinence from activities that weren’t very pleasant for you. But before you could speak, you took a moment to observe him. His skin looked paler in the light outside and his silver hair waved in the wind, however, what caught your attention the most was the serene expression on his face.

Although you couldn't say that you knew Aegon, the time you had lived together had shown you that his personality was extremely challenging. If you pointed out that he was being nicer to you and questioned him about it, he would most likely revert to his old behavior towards you simply on a whim. So no, you couldn't ask him about anything or you'd ruin the minuscule part of a good relationship you had managed to build.

“I was thinking... Do you think we can one day bring golden roses to the royal gardens? Green and gold are part of your emblem too and that would beautify the place. I could take care of them, if you want.”

“That's a good idea,” he exclaimed happily. You had already turned around to return and you calculated that it must be after noon “I will order them to be brought in as soon as possible, in the hope that the hot weather at King's landing will not ruin them”

“I hope not,” you said, although a little less enthusiastic than before.

You had been lost in thought after the appearance of that question that you did not verbalize and suddenly Aegon feared that he had made some mistake. You walked a few meters in silence, until this state was unbearable for his majesty and he stopped you by holding your shoulders. You were about to ask what had happened when he pulled you against his lips, stealing your breath. It was still a rough kiss, but this time less desperate than before. His hands went down to your waist and held you to his body until there wasn’t even a centimeter of distance left, with your belly touching the heat of his stomach.

“Still no signs that you are pregnant?”

You thought that, perhaps, your answer was in that question and that the only thing the man wanted was to convince you to hurry up the matter of producing an heir.

“I'm sorry to say no. It's very unfortunate."

“We'll have to keep trying,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as if he wanted to downplay the matter “Mother insists on it.”

“Has your mother always been like this to you?”

"What are you talking about?"

“It's just… she seems to have everything under control all the time.”

You couldn't be further from the truth and rather than describing it that way Aegon would have said that she was controlling. She wanted to have things under control, but she couldn't and as an example was the eldest prince himself, whom she had never been able to persuade to behave the way he did.

“Well, she is the queen. I guess that's how she must be” he exclaimed without much encouragement. He was still holding you by the waist and was surprised by how intimate that position was. “But we better get back, they must be wondering where we are”

“Maybe they even think I ran away, taking advantage of the fact that you weren't there to watch me,” you joked.

"Would you do it?"

"Do what?"

“Run away”

You looked at the man, incredulous, because it was stupid to think that if you were planning to run away you would just tell him like that. That was the characteristic of it, that it was surprising and hidden.

“Why would I do, your grace?”

“Maybe because I'm a bad husband,” he said quietly. You weren't understanding the game Aegon was playing and it was driving you crazy.

“I wouldn't dare do it. I have nowhere to go and I know I couldn't even get through the doors without your majesty noticing,” you replied.

The prince didn’t want pragmatic reasons like that, but rather his question was more aimed at whether it was your will to abandon him.

Against all odds a couple of raindrops began to fall and very soon a storm had already brewed over your head. It was useless to run, but you did it anyway and Aegon held your hand to prevent either of you from falling due to a trip. Somewhere along the way you lost one of your pumps and at this you began to laugh and he, infected by your joy, did the same. It amused you greatly to think of the face the queen would make when she saw you enter the castle, with her eldest son soaked from head to toe and your clothing incomplete. But you also laughed from the joy of feeling so alive in that moment. You felt like a girl playing in the rain and despite the coldness of the falling water, you felt a certain warmth traveling from the tips of your fingers to your chest.

Although he was sure that you were an excellent rider, your husband insisted on taking you on his own horse to avoid any accidents and you agreed without complaint. His body sheltered you all the way to the Red Keep and once there, under the roof, he helped you down from the chair with extreme care. You didn't think he was that strong until you felt him grab your waist and place you on the floor effortlessly.

“Ask the maids to prepare a bath for you, or you will catch a cold,” he said, putting on your back a cloak he had found hanging on one of the walls.

There was the hint of a smile on his face and seeing him behave like this towards you made you feel weird. You almost felt like he was trying to be affectionate with you, even though he wasn't quite succeeding.

“You should do the same,” you exclaimed softly.

Motivated by the kind moment you had shared, you reached out to brush away the wet hair that had stuck to his face and he shivered at your touch. It was the first time you touched him that way, out of conviction and with care.

“Your majesty, Lord Hand is looking for you. He says he needs to talk to you urgently."

“My grandfather,” he sighed at you, as if wanting to apologize for the words the guard behind you had just said.

He gave the man Moonshadow's reins and then explained that someone had to go get the horse you had left in the bay, so you assumed your presence there was no longer necessary. You were about to leave when he stopped you, grabbing your arm somewhat roughly and looking at you with a feeling that you couldn't decipher.

“I'll go to your room tonight,” he informed.

You felt a little disappointed by the reality of having to share a bed with him, after so long without having done so, but you were grateful that he was at least warning you.

You nodded your goodbyes and he did the same, forming an unspoken agreement. You thought maybe that was why he had been polite to you, so he could get back under your bed sheets. But there was no point in doing it, he wasn't courting you to win your hand, but you were already his wife and he had made it very clear that he could do with you whatever he wanted.

Still a little confused, you were escorted to your bedroom, where you hoped that a tub with hot water and essences would be enough to appease all those doubts that were growing in you.

FIFTH ACT: LOVE

At some point Aegon would get tired of all this, you were sure. But while that moment arrived, you were thoroughly enjoying all kinds of attention you received from your husband. He kept his promise to bring golden roses for the gardens and although the queen wasn’t very happy, in the end they adorned some of the busiest sections of the place. You took that as an act of good faith, so you thought that maybe the thought of repaying him for some of the decency he was showing you wouldn't kill you.

There wasn’t a single breakfast that you skipped, except when the prince was required for political matters or had to travel. You were too proud to admit that you had begun to genuinely enjoy his company, as you still had some distrust due to how temperamental the man was. It wasn't all sunshine and flowers, as the young man still had some outbursts that made you fear him and reminded you that this was who you were really talking to.

His drinking habits hadn’t changed much, since although he was able to handle it during the first week after that period, it was inevitable that he would go back to his old ways and drink an entire jug of wine in a couple of minutes. With sex it was the same, because he continued to fuck you without signs of care and regularly when he was lost in drink. It amused you to think that perhaps that was the reason why you still didn't carry a child in your womb; that he was too drunk when you tried to be of any use.

However, as your relationship strengthened you could notice slight (you almost swore they were imaginary) changes when having sex. He was no longer as rough towards your body as before and tried to thrust into you a little slower, as if he wanted to lengthen the moment and not just unload into you and sleep like a baby after that. Maybe it was just that the drink made him lethargic, but he had even started seeking your lips in the middle of the act or kissing everything within reach of the skin on your neck. You didn't intend to spend much time analyzing his behavior because for you it already represented a victory that he had stopped hurting you after every time you had sex and, honestly, you didn't want to inquire about it. Once again you thought it was more prudent not to question the prince and simply let him continue behaving that way.

Until one night, things looked different for you.

When you heard your husband open the door, quite late at night, and saw him approach your bed, you knew that the same dynamic of nighttime visits would take place. Aegon, already hard as a rock, would kiss you a few times, undress, order you to undress, and then position on top of you to satisfy himself. Needless to say, under the confidence that being in the dark gave you and your husband's lack of interest, you looked away or concentrated on something else while your martyrdom was carried out. He would finish, lie naked next to you, and then sleep soundly with no memory the next morning of what had happened.

Aegon called your name, just to check that you were awake or otherwise wake you up, and you were surprised to hear that his voice sounded quite normal. He wasn't slurring his words like usual.

"Your grace?" you called back, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could look at him.

He did what was expected and as soon as he was far enough away, he started kissing you. You must have known something was wrong from that first moment, when he grabbed your cheek with his wide hand and offered you the most passionate kiss you had ever had. It is reiterated that Aegon was always somewhat careless in intimacy, but this first contact hadn’t felt as impatient as others, but rather was something more careful and planned.

Only one other man had kissed you like that in your life and although the feeling brewing in your chest must have been pleasant, the truth was that it wasn't. You had endured too much abuse from the white-haired man so your body didn't know how to react otherwise. That's why when he continued kissing you for longer than usual and then laid you down meekly, you couldn't do anything but tense uncomfortably.

You were only in your nightgown so there wasn't much difficulty in sliding the straps to the side, almost exposing your tits. Suddenly Aegon lowered his kisses to your neck, where his stubble scratched your skin. Knowing that he would be busy in that area, you turned your head away to focus your gaze on a tapestry on the wall. However, you got a surprise when you felt the prince move away from you and then a bigger one when he took your face between his fingers, placing his index finger and thumb on each of your cheeks to force you to look at him. At first you thought there was anger in his eyes, but after looking at them for a second more you concluded that the feeling was more like that of someone insulted. And why? you asked yourself. What had you done that had offended the prince?

“Why are you looking away?”

His question had a certain aggressive tone, but, at the same time, he sounded hurt. With that you confirmed that he wasn’t drunk or that, if he was, he had drunk just enough to make him feel slightly dizzy. You couldn't tell the way your eyes looked at him, but Aegon interpreted your expression as one of disdain.

Unbeknownst to you, he had his own whirlwind of feelings inside him, one that was driving him crazy and causing him to look you up and down while still holding you. He’d never been like this on another night, so you were at the mercy of knowing how good or bad that would turn out.

Suddenly he seemed upset, you would even say disgusted, and surprisingly stood up from his position. The cold air hit you where he had been before and you sat on the bed to watch him, completely confused by the way he was behaving.

"What's going on…?"

“You don't want this,” he spoke firmly. It was obvious that you didn't want to and you wondered how he had barely realized it. “Not like that… I… no. Not this way"

His babbling confused you even more and when you saw him walk away with exaggerated steps until he left through the door, you couldn't help but feel totally amazed.

What was the reason for what your husband had just done?

The feeling of being abandoned was more hopeless than having him fuck you would have been, and for a moment you even felt ashamed. Maybe he didn't like you anymore or he would just go and cure his frustration in the bed of a woman you didn't know.

He had watched you very strangely and the whole scene wasn't like him. You even pinched yourself just to check that it wasn't some strange dream, getting a moan of pain in response to your question. You thought that perhaps you were acting impulsively, but barely a minute later you put on a green robe over your nightgown and headed towards the door, still not knowing exactly what you were going to do.

“Where are you going, your grace?” the guard on duty asked, putting his voluptuous body in your way.

“Prince Aegon, do you know where he went?”

“In that direction, your majesty. But I'm afraid I must recommend that you return to your room, it is dangerous to walk around the palace at this time."

“But I wish to see my husband,” you said firmly.

The man let out a sigh and then slid to the side of the hallway, leaving you a clear path. Even so, when you started walking you felt his footsteps following you because he probably wanted to make sure that something didn't happen to you. You walked for a while, but you knew it was useless when all you found were locked doors that you couldn't knock on and that you couldn't open either. If Aegon was in any of those rooms, you wouldn't know it. Defeated, you returned to your room and, as expected, found it empty again.

The next morning there wasn’t a single word about that event, but it was present in your mind throughout the day. You had already lived with him enough to realize that something was bothering him, however, upon noticing that he was less talkative during your usual breakfast, you decided to give him time.

You were about to leave the table when he stopped you, asking you to take your seat again and looking at you seriously.

“I have to travel for a couple of weeks,” he informed you. You were surprised to hear that he almost sounded sad “The king is required on some business and since my father can no longer travel, I will have to do it.”

“I hope the entire journey is favorable and the visit profitable, your grace,” you exclaimed cordially. However, your husband didn’t seem pleased with it.

One of his hands slid to hold yours, with a strength that surprised you. There was urgency in his grip, like he needed to hold on to something.

“Is that all you have to say?”

A couple of wrinkles appeared on your brow, as you clearly weren't understanding what he expected of you. Accompanying him would be reckless and you didn't know if he wanted you to keep him there at King's landing.

During those last months something had changed in the man's face, because those eyes surrounded by purple marks no longer saw you with the same aversion as the first time. And it disheartened Aegon that his attempts to please you were yielding no apparent fruit. He was giving you time, effort, and being kind to you like you had said was necessary, but he still couldn't help but feel that you still considered him a stranger.

He had been patient because he thought that, as time went by, you would begin to seek him out or not shy away from his touch. Aegon cared a lot about the physical, so every time he sneaked into your room he did so with the hope that you would welcome him with open arms and give yourself to him willingly. Countless nights he waited in his own room for you to show up to keep him warm and love him throughout the night. But it never happened and a part of him couldn't blame you either.

However, he was already tired of it. He wanted to make it clear to you that he not only wanted to give, but also receive. But forcing you to do anything would ruin everything; you had to want it.

“Have I said something that offended you, prince?”

“I just thought you would say you were going to miss me”

A laugh echoed in your throat at those words and for a second Aegon felt hurt, like you were mocking you. He was going to let go of your hand and walk away, insulted, but you squeezed his hand harder as a sign that you didn't want him to do that.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you. I just didn't think that if I harbored feelings of that kind they would be of interest to your majesty."

“Do you miss me when you don't see me?” he asked now, allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of you “Or are you glad to have me away?”

You didn't know what those direct questions were about, because you didn't expect that a man like him would be plagued by uncertainty about knowing the answers.

“Not at all. I will always be willing to be with you whenever you want.”

“And you want to be with me?” he insisted.

“I think that what I want is not important”

“But I'm trying to make it so. I thought I was making it clear enough,”

He was angry, but not for the reasons you might think. It frustrated him that he was trying hard to improve and that your eyes continued to see him like that first time. Too many people were already observing him like that and he thought that, perhaps, since you were the most recent to do it, you could also be the first in whom he could manage to modify it.

You, however, were still too confused by his signs. Sometimes his attitude didn’t coincide with the intentions he had, since antipathy was often the only emotion with which he allowed himself to express and feel, accustomed to what he received during all his years of life.

All those months of effort were a direct product of the talk you had had with him, of that moment of weakness in which, instead of ignoring him like everyone else did, you had stayed with him. Aegon was aware that the treatment towards you was sometimes inhumane and he couldn’t explain how despite this you had wiped away his tears with such care, expressing nothing more than an act of integrity. Sometimes he even just imposed things on you to see if he could push you to the limit and he was surprised to see that you endured everything with honor and decency. You were good, something he could never be.

He didn't want to hear anything more and then let go of your hand, feeling rejected again.

"Majesty…"

"It's getting late. I have to go feed Sunfyre so he can endure the trip.”

“Will you travel by dragon?”

“How else would a Targaryen do it?” expressed obviously.

You were silent for a moment and then he stood up, ready to fulfill his obligations. In the afternoon he had already left, without emotional goodbyes or anything like that.

You had those weeks alone to reflect on everything that had been happening. You firmly believed that a cruel and evil person would always be that way, even if they hid it, because humans can’t change from one day to the next. Still, you had to allow Aegon the courtesy of admitting that he wasn't being a complete jerk lately.

You tried to think of any unpleasant moments with him during that week and although you found a couple, you realized that they had all been because of minor arguments or simply that one of the two of you had woken up in a bad mood. The hatred for the boy had been so ingrained in you that now it was difficult to decipher how much of it was due to things that were really happening and how much of it was a resentment carried from the past, at the beginning of that harmful relationship that existed between you.

He was no longer a mean man to you, he just sometimes had those logical slips for anyone who has never been taught to love. He didn't know how to care for you, how to talk to you, or even how to touch you properly. He had always existed alone and could still be seen reflected in his incessant desire for you to be the one to look for him, in his longing to know that you would miss him during his absence and in wanting you to look forward to his return. He wanted you to pay attention to him. He needed it.

One fine afternoon the vision of Sunfyre finally appeared in the bright blue of the sky, with you watching from the huge window of your room. He looked majestic, flying deftly and confidently with the rider above him grinning from ear to ear. Aegon had once confessed to you that he loved to fly on his dragon and he spoke about it with a devotion that completely touched you.

You thought about going to look for him, grateful that he had returned, but you were afraid that your presence would bother him or, in that case, that there would be murmurs about you. You didn't want to seem like a desperate wife so you thought it would be best to look for him at dinner time and in case he wanted to see you before, you stayed in your room all afternoon.

Once night fell, you put on one of your prettiest dresses and went to the royal dining room hoping to find him there, but it was in vain. Luckily one of the cooks had seen him and he told you that he was in his room, since he had ordered that something to eat and drink be brought there.

Determined, you made your way there and took a moment before entering. You hoped that the time away from King's landing had not hardened your lover's character, because it would be a shame to waste what you had built for some time and have to start over, or not do it at all, which would be even worse. Since there were no guards at the door, you were able to push the wood without any hindrance and then you saw it.

Aegon was sitting near the fireplace, his back to the entrance and leaning against a table that had a jug that you assumed was full (or not so full anymore) of wine. When he heard your footsteps he turned slightly and when he saw you, he kept a serene expression on his face.

“Hey,” he exclaimed quietly.

“The maids informed me that you were here” you explained and he nodded.

You noticed that he no longer wore his black doublet with the Targaryen emblem, he only kept the breeches of the same color and a mint-colored linen shirt that left part of his chest exposed. His white hair had some natural curls that fell delicately over her shoulders.

“Yeah. I don't feel like seeing my parents.”

“I understand” you assumed that if he hadn't wanted to see you he wouldn't have hesitated to tell you, so you approached him. Undecided whether you should greet him with a kiss or just stay to the side, you placed your hands on his shoulders and leaned a little to look at him “How was the trip?”

“It was good,” he responded with reluctance. “But my body feels completely crushed”

“Hm. It shows” you whispered, amused. The tension in his body was palpable and that's why you began to massage him, pressing hard just where he needed it. Aegon, feeling your skilled hands doing this, let out a satisfied grunt and leaned his head back with his eyes closed.

Doing that wasn’t something you had planned when you went there, it had only happened out of the heat of the moment and the reality that your husband's body was taking its toll on him for the hours he had spent riding his dragon.

With each passing second Aegon's burden felt lighter and lighter, wondering where you had learned those movements and how your hands were strong enough to exert the right pressure.

"Feel better?" you asked kindly and he nodded immediately, eyes still closed.

Suddenly one of your hands slid lower, towards his chest, to caress him. This time your fingers were light as feathers, sending an electrical current up and down the man's spine under your touch. No whore had ever touched him like that, with that force and at the same time so delicately.

But it was clear that you were not a whore. You were his wife.

“Come here,” he said firmly, reaching out to wrap his hand around your wrist and pulling you directly into his lap.

It was extremely painful to admit that he had missed you. He was physically frustrated because he hadn't dared to take any other woman in your absence. It had been a long time since he had frequented pleasure houses, since his appetite was awakened only by being with you.

What the hell had you done to him?

“The cook told me that you ordered some food, but I only see wine around here. Have you already eaten anything?”

“Mhmm,” he said absently. Your legs dangled to the side and one of his hands came up to your face, brushing your loose hair away from it. The other one surrounded you until it planted itself firmly on your belly. “Still no signs of anything?”

“Honestly, I don't know. The maesters can’t say with certainty… I am sorry”

“What if you are sterile?” the mere possibility of it made you nervous and you wondered what your fate would be if that was the case. Aegon didn't look so worried “What a disappointment for Alicent.”

You didn't know how to take that, because on the one hand it could be that your husband was amused by the irony of the matter and on the other hand it was that he would never have wanted to have children with you. For a moment you thought that the tranquility of the environment had been fragmented by this, but it turned out that the man couldn't care less. He was completely focused on your lips, almost as if hypnotized.

“I trust that is not the case, your grace. Just… it was a streak of bad luck.”

“I guess so,” he murmured nonchalantly. He was still watching your mouth when you spoke “But now I don’t care much about that.”

He carefully grabbed you by the back of your neck and brought you closer to shorten the distance, giving you an eager kiss that took your breath away. The hand that was on your waist pulled you closer to his body, leaving practically no separation between you and him. You could feel the desperation on his lips and in his touch, like he was eager to make you his. And at the same time, he was kissing you like he had never done before: it was sweet, yearning, passionate. You felt like he really wanted you.

He separated from you so you could breathe and, as best he could, he maneuvered to lift your body until he placed you on the table, where it was easier for him to place himself in the space between your legs. You instinctively placed your hands around his neck and wrapped one of your legs around his body.

“I longed for you. These weeks” you finally confessed. You heard him, and felt him, breathe more erratically at this because your words had fallen on him with the force of an axe.

From there, Aegon acted solely driven by the feeling of knowing that you had wanted to see him as much as he had wanted to see you.

His entire body leaned over you to kiss you, with the same urgency as at the beginning. While he did that he grabbed you by the lower back, pulling you until your body collided with his crotch which, if it wasn't already hard, wouldn't take long.

His kisses were clumsy due to urgency and after a while he moved away from your mouth to descend to your neck. Sometimes he left a kiss or two, at most, but this time he seemed to want to take his time. His tongue ran all over your skin, freshly washed, and he spread caresses without restraint. Every place the dragon's lips touched lit up with fire and his hips grinding against you weren't doing much for the blush on your cheeks. Inevitably you began to sigh from so many stimuli, right at the level of his ear, which only motivated him to continue.

As best he could he pulled the laces on the back of your dress and it didn't take long to get rid of the restraints. He slid one of your sleeves over your shoulder to begin kissing that section, the same way he had done with your neck. An indiscreet moan escaped you as your husband bit into your soft flesh and you could feel him smile against your skin.

“You're mine, right?” he sighed brokenly. You had tilted your head back to give him more space and he took the opportunity to lower the entire torso of your dress. “Only mine…”

With the same devotion he took care of your breasts and you couldn't do anything but continue alternating between sighs and some muffled moans. You could feel how he longed for you, eager to be able to kiss every inch of your skin even if it took him the entire night. Suddenly your body had become a temple, an object worthy of worship. The prince continued to distribute kisses that each time descended towards your belly, until with one hand he violently threw everything that was on the table and you ended up lying completely on it. Then he walked away.

You were about to ask what had happened when he took care of taking off your ballerina flats and throwing them somewhere far away in the room, only to stretch your leg up to the height of his torso to start kissing it. No one, not even him, had ever done that to you, so it was natural for you to be dismayed. His kisses moved quickly up your thigh and once he did that, he dropped to his knees in front of you. The skirt of your dress blocked your view and when you tried to get up something made you scream. Aegon had bitten into the tender flesh of your thighs, quite close to your crotch and with more force than he had hit your shoulder. You could only imagine his face when he carefully licked the mark he had surely left on you, once again making your chest exhale a moan.

What he did next and the sensation it caused, you could never have even imagined. That mouth, which most of the time was used for ironic puns and sloppy kisses, was now taking expert care of all of your pussy. Aegon was devouring you completely, touching just where it was necessary to make you squirm on the table. He wasn't careful at all; it was a touch hungry and extremely dirty.

You wanted to hold on as much as you could to keep yourself attached to reality, but it was difficult with your husband eating you like that. One of his arms wrapped around your leg and placed it over his shoulder, probably to give him better access. You had never moaned like that in his presence and it only made him harder and harder beneath the tight fabric of his breeches.

The pleasure was barely getting to your head when he stopped and a dissatisfied grunt escaped you shamelessly. Aegon laughed unabashedly at this, pleased at the control he had gained over you, and then went up again to kiss you hungrily. You couldn't do anything but welcome his salty lips and you moaned against him as he leaned against your body and you could feel his crotch, not knowing if it was your own wetness or his that was present.

He held you from behind and, without stopping kissing you, carried you until he placed you on the bed. You considered it somewhat unfair that your husband already had you trembling beneath him and still hadn't taken off a single piece of clothing, but your complaints were silenced when he hurriedly pulled his shirt over his head and took off his breeches in record time. In the same way, he pulled your dress towards your legs so that a second later it ended up on the floor, along with everything else.

He knelt down on the mattress and spread your legs roughly, lining himself up with your entrance. He began to rub the tip of his member up and down your already wet center and that did nothing but drive you crazy again.

When a delicate, pleading, «please» escaped your swollen lips, Aegon knew it was more stimulating to have you begging for him than to worry about only satisfying himself.

He played with you for a while longer, smiling from ear to ear at the sight of his delicate, pretty wife vibrating from having him close, until he finally plunged into you. For the first time there was enough wetness in you that the stroke felt satisfying rather than painful and both of you let out a delicious moan.

He set the pace, slow at first, but after a while his movements became more desperate. He wanted to get to the core of you, he wanted to fill you completely so you knew that only he could make you feel that way. When his body began to ache he leaned towards you, resting each of his arms on the side of your head and looking directly at you. You had stopped looking away from him, now you were looking at him with your mouth open with pleasure, your eyes watery and your pupils dilated on your completely flushed cheeks.

“Aegon,” you sobbed pathetically, clouded by everything you were experiencing and proving that it wasn't long before you reached your orgasm.

You had never called him by his name. You always referred to him as «your grace», «prince» or «husband», at best. So hearing his name come out of your lips like that, under those circumstances, was too much for him to bear.

Knowing that he couldn't last much longer, one of his hands moved down to rest his thumb on your clit and once there he began to make erratic circles. You closed your eyes, completely seized by pleasure and a couple more thrusts were enough to make you lose the battle. Hearing your whimpers, combined with the way your walls squeezed him, was enough to make him cum too. With trembling legs you felt the warm liquid filling you and, for the first time, it was comforting.

When Aegon plopped down next to you, you immediately missed his body warmth. Both of you were breathing heavily, trying to catch the breath that the orgasm had taken from you. You could clearly feel your heartbeat bouncing off your bare chest and the stinging sensation coming from your crotch and running through your entire body was something you could get used to. Your hair had stuck to your face from the sweat and not to mention your lips, which you felt were burning from your husband's attention.

Aegon had already had many orgasms in his life so this time he decided to turn his gaze a little to see you enjoying yours. The mere idea that he was responsible for your condition made him completely shake.

“You look beautiful,” he blurted out suddenly. You thought he had heard wrong because of the rush, but from the way he was smiling at you, you highly doubted it. “Just like that”

“Like what?”

“Freshly fucked. Well fucked” he corrected himself.

A laugh bubbled up from within you and you blushed even more, if that was possible, perhaps from the nerves and elation of what had just happened. The man stood up a little from his seat and leaned down to kiss you, although this time he did it with a calm and affection that you never thought you would see in him. It was just that he couldn't deny it anymore; from that moment on he would become an open book for you, where you could see all his feelings, desires and fears.

“I don't know why you're doing this,” you suddenly murmured and Aegon pulled away enough to look at you “And I don't know why you've been acting like this these past few months. But I like it. I think it's a good time for you to know."

“You said I could choose who I am,” he said meekly. One of his hands grabbed your chin and stole another fleeting kiss from you. “I haven't forgotten, every word is present in my head. It's just... sometimes it's hard. And I thought I would have a better chance with you, even with the things I did to you when we got married”

You smiled at him and were happy to know that the change in his behavior was because of the talk you once had with him. If he continued like this, ignoring the demons inside him and trying to be better, then your marriage had a chance to become more than just a condemnation.

Driven by the pleasant feeling growing in your chest you reached out towards him to reward him with a kiss. The man's breath hitched when you pushed him to the side and reversed roles, now you being the one pampering him while he was lying down. There was a playful glint in your husband's eyes as you looked at him.

“Do you know this is the first time you kissed me?” he exhaled softly.

You couldn't believe that was possible and for a few seconds you tried to remember so you could contradict him. But every time you remembered you realized that it was always him who initiated the contact to which you only responded, so, effectively, it was the first kiss you gave him out of conviction.

Maybe it was an omen that something good was coming.

Still happy with how everything had turned out, you snuggled into his side, your head resting on his chest while he hugged you and threw a sheet over your bodies. You planted a hand on his bare skin and began drumming your fingers, alternating with small circles made with the greatest delicacy.

You were silent for a long time, you even thought that your husband had fallen asleep until you heard him speak again:

“It's also the first time I'm doing this.”

“Are you talking about sex, your grace?”

“No, I'm talking about cuddling,” he confessed softly, his hand caressing your back the same way you did with him, “And don't call me your majesty anymore. I am Aegon. Or my prince, at any rate. But my is important”

With the affection worthy of a wife, you raised your head to place a kiss on his cheek and assured him that from now on you would call him that in the privacy of your chambers.

Suddenly, after another moment of silence, Aegon pulled you close to him as if afraid you were going to suddenly evaporate. Intending to calm his fears, you climbed until you were on top of his body, hiding your head in his neck so that the distance became minimal.

There was silence for another couple of minutes.

“Do you think I can ever be forgiven?”

Apparently the atmosphere of the moment had managed to soften the boy's heart.

“We can all be absolved, Aegon.”

"And you?"

"Me what?"

“Do you think you can ever love me?” you were quiet for a second, thinking about your response. Then, he added “Or could you at least try? It would be a nice detail for me. No one has ever done it before.”

Not wanting to ruin the mood with a false word you decided to kiss his neck gently and that was enough of an answer for him. He would have to trust in your goodwill and that he could continue to restrain his impulses to keep this newly discovered gem that was his wife. With some luck you could even be that person he prayed for so much all his life, one with whom he could feel safe.

The slowing of the man's breathing revealed to you that he had already fallen asleep and you discovered that it seemed not so bad to find yourself in that position, sheltered by your lover's arms.

Under that scenario, the idea of eventually loving Prince Aegon Targaryen no longer sounded so far-fetched.

#fic rec

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