ivy-targaryen

[ivy-targaryen]

oh so he’s a slu-

[ivy-targaryen]

Helaena's prophecies: *Usually vague and hard to interpret*

Helaena's prophecy about Aemond: Aemond Targaryen will die in the Gods Eye on August 30th, 2024 at 6:33 p.m. Central Standard Time. It will be cloudy that day, with a 60% chance of rain.

[ivy-targaryen]

GUILTY AS SIN?

Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Targ!reader || 18+; MDNI!

Synopsis: Jacaerys hadn’t meant to watch you. He hadn’t meant to interfere, either. Yet here he is, on his knees in front of you, finally claiming what’s his - honor and propriety be damned. 

c.w.: smutty smut!! (fem masturbation + Jace watching reader without her knowing it at first, so some  slight dubcon elements?; piv sex, unprotected sex, implied loss of virginity, oral (f! receiving), hair-pulling, mild breeding kink, mild praise kink, soft!dom Jace) Targcest - Jace and reader are cousins; infidelity 

word count: 4.2k (oops??) || Jacaerys masterlist

AN: I really don’t know what came over me, this really is just filth with barely any plot, someone please get me some holy water so I can cleanse my mind from these thoughts … Also, I love Baela, but for the prospect of some forbidden love, we’re gonna have to go behind her back here. 

Jacaerys hadn’t meant to watch you. 

Truly, his only intention in coming to your chambers had been to check up on you, seeing as you’d been so unusually quiet and withdrawn during dinner. 

He wasn’t prepared for what awaited him when he cautiously opened your door after you hadn’t answered either or his tentative knocks. 

The sight before him had him frozen in shock, rooted to the spot. 

You - stretched out on your bed, wearing nothing but your thin nightdress that had already slipped away in some places, revealing your breasts as well as the soft skin of your upper thighs - and your swollen core, already leaking slick. 

Jacaerys couldn’t help himself - he stood, transfixed, watching as your back arched off the bed, your fingers desperately moving in and out of your cunt. 

He shouldn’t watch. He should go, now. 

This was wrong on so many levels, he tried to remind himself. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but watch, mesmerized, as your fingers moved in and out of your core in a desperate pace. Greedily, he took in every breathy little moan, every squelching sound your cunt made. 

This was wrong, so wrong. 

This was a private moment he’d never been meant to witness, and oh - there was also the small problem of you being his fiancee’s sister. 

He should go, now. 

Your eyes were closed, so you hadn’t seen him yet, but still, he couldn’t bring himself to move. 

It’s what he should have done, what he should still do, but he can’t bring himself to look away from you. 

Jacaerys doesn’t know how long he’s been standing here, watching in a desperate, heady fascination as you desperately try to bring yourself to satisfaction. 

He knows that it’s wrong, that he shouldn’t be watching you, should have turned around the second he saw what you were doing, but he doesn’t care. 

Honor and propriety be damned, he thinks as he runs a hand through his dark curls in distress, feeling his breeches growing tighter by the second. 

Just then, you moan, loudly and desperately. 

„Jacaerys.“ 

Jacaerys’ eyes widen in shock, and he can’t help himself, he steps even closer towards your bed. 

Again, you moan his name, your face screwing up in pleasure. 

He feels his heart beating faster, his breath becoming more and more erratic. 

Your movements have become even more desperate, you’re rocking back and forth on your bed, your fingers desperately trying to chase your high. 

The only sounds filling the room are your whiny, desperate moans and the squelching sounds your cunt makes. 

Jacaerys knows that he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be watching you, but he can’t help himself greedily drinking in every one of your breathless moans, and every single move of your fingers. 

„Oh Jacaerys, please-“

There’s his name again, this time followed by a broken moan and he bites down hard on his lips, desperately fighting the urge to move his hand down to his now impossibly tight breeches. 

„Jace, oh gods-“

Hearing you moan his name like that breaks something within him. Caution and thought are forgotten. Instead, what remains are only his yearning and desperate desire to finally claim you as his. 

He can’t contain himself no longer, can no longer ignore the sensation of his breeches feeling so impossibly tight, can no longer ignore all the desperate, lust-driven thoughts running through his head. 

„Don’t stop, Princess.“ 

You hadn’t mean for this to happen. 

You’d never intended to lose control like that, to behave so wantonly and improper. 

But after seeing them laughing together at dinner, seeing the way he’d so easily leaned into her touch, seeing that easy understanding between them, seeing the way his eyes seemingly lit up with warmth whenever your sister so much as looked at him, you hadn’t been able to stand this gnawing feeling of desperation no longer. 

Quietly, you’d excused yourself from the table, walking to your chambers. 

But neither the warm bath your maids drew you, not the book you tried to immerse yourself in could ease that itch underneath your skin. 

Baela is your sister and Jacaerys is her betrothed and you should be happy for them, happy for the fine match they make. 

But instead, the only thing you feel is jealousy and this consuming, all-encompassing desire for Jacaerys. 

Your sister’s fiancé, yes, yet the only man you’ve ever desired. 

And so, you’d found yourself tossing and turning in your bed, until you’d frustratedly thrown your sheets to the side. 

Biting down hard on your lip and drowning in guilt and shame, your hand had moved between your legs, and as you’d started to pleasure yourself, you started to imagine yourself in Baela’s stead. 

You were the one Jacaerys would marry. 

You were the one sitting next to him at dinner, laughing and talking and it was your touch he leaned into so easily. 

It was your touch he craved, and your pleasure he wanted to bring about. 

These were his hands on you, his fingers moving in and out of you, bringing you to bliss in a rough, desperate pace. 

His lips were leaving featherlight kisses all over your body - your lips, your neck, your breasts, your stomach - while he continued to pleasure you. 

And you were so caught up in chasing your fantasies and your pleasure that you didn’t hear the quiet, tentative knock on your door, neither the sound of your door opening. 

You still haven’t noticed Jacaerys, too caught up in the heat building and building and building in your stomach to notice him walking closer towards your bed, running a hand through his hair in distress. 

The sound of your moans covers his own erratic breathing, you’re too lost in the throes of pleasure to notice anything else besides the fire slowly building within you. 

Until you moan his name. 

„Jace, oh gods-“

A shuffling sound, like someone fixing their clothes, followed by a quiet sigh. Your own? 

„Don’t stop, Princess.“ 

You open your eyes in shock.  

Panting and breathless, you both stare at each other. 

„Jacaerys“, is the only thing you manage to get out, your voice breathless. 

Holding your gaze, Jacaerys starts unbuttoning his coat. 

„Don’t stop“, he repeats, and there’s a certainty and sense of authority to his voice you’ve never heard before. 

And you’re so surprised, so overwhelmed by all these different emotions coursing through you - shame and anxiety upon being discovered by him of all people, yet there’s still your undying desire for him, and heat is still pooling in your stomach, you’re so close - that you do exactly as he says. 

You pick up your pace again, burying your fingers within your cunt again, all the while looking at Jacaerys who’s biting down hard on his lips. 

You’re all too conscious of your nearly naked body and the squelching sounds your cunt makes as you continue to move your fingers in and out of yourself, but then Jacaerys groans loudly, running a hand through his hair, all while still holding your gaze, and all your self-consciousness is forgotten. 

„By the Seven, you’re incredible, Princess“, he breathes. 

His voice breaks something within you, and all you can do is give in to the mounting pleasure. 

Your eyes never leave Jacaerys’ as you continue to pleasure yourself, your fingers moving in and out of your cunt, your other hand gripping tightly onto the bedsheets. 

Jacaerys waches you, greedily taking every little movement, every single one of your broken moans in, as he continues to undress himself. 

His shirt. 

His belt. 

His boots. 

When it’s just his breeches, hanging low on his hips, remaining, he closes the last bit of distance between you, sitting down at the edge of your bed. 

For a moment, you stop in your ministrations, too distracted by him. He’s perfect, his chest toned and muscular, just like a sculpted statue. 

But then your eyes land on the visible bulge in his breeches and your breath hitches. Suddenly, your fingers aren’t enough anymore, you want, no need to see him, feel him filling you up. 

„Jace, oh gods-“

Another broken whimper leaves your mouth, and blindly, you reach out for Jacaerys with your free hand. His hand finds yours, and he interlaces your fingers together, his grip strong and sure and steadying as the heat building in your belly becomes almost too much to bear. 

„Jace, I can’t - please“ 

By this point, you’re an incoherent, whimpering mess, and besides his hand gripping yours, he hasn’t even touched you yet. Just then, he leans down, his free hand tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

„That’s it, Princess, come for me“, he whispers, before he lowers his lips to your neck. 

The added sensation of his lips sucking on the sensitive skin of your neck is too much, and so, you follow his command. 

Your back arches off the bed and you hold on to Jacaerys’ hand for dear life as something within you unravels and white hot pleasure washes over you. 

You’ve never felt this way before, could have never even imagined that something like this could even feel so good. 

When it’s over, you fall back onto the sheets, panting. When you open your eyes again, you immediately find Jacaerys’ gaze. The realization of what just happened washing over you. Seven hells, you just pleasured yourself with your sister’s fiancé watching you, guiding you through it. 

But then you see your own burning desire mirrored in his dark brown eyes, and any thoughts of shame, guilt and regret are forgotten, at least for the moment. 

You’ve long since passed the point of no return, and so, you don’t even hesitate before winding your arms around Jacaerys’ neck and pulling him down for a kiss. 

He makes a soft, surprised noise, but that’s as much of an upper hand he’s willing to give you, because immediately the kiss feels fiery and hungry. The way his lips move against yours is almost bruising, and when he coaxes you to open your mouth, all you can do is comply as his tongue claims you. 

One of his hands starts moving over your breasts, making you whimper when he pinches one of your nipples between his fingers, and then gently rolls the stiffened bud between his fingers. His other hand starts moving lower, first over your stomach and your lower abdomen, but then his fingers move over the inner sides of your thighs and your breath hitches in anticipation. 

Jacaerys immediately notices your reaction, breaking away from the kiss for a moment to look at you. „Greedy, aren’t you?“ 

„Jacaerys, please“, you whisper, your hands moving to tangle themselves in his hair and when you tug at his dark curls, he lets out a pleased groan, and you know that he’s yearning for this to happen as much as you are. „I want you, Jacaerys. So take me, make me yours, claim me-“

The rest of your words are swallowed by another hungry kiss and a broken moan leaving your mouth when his hand cups your clit, his fingers moving over you swollen, already overstimulated bundle of nerves.

Gone is the gentle and composed Jacaerys, the regal prince that carries himself with poise, elegance and grace. Left in his place is a desperate man, slave to his most primal desires, yearning to finally make his longings come true. 

His kiss continues to leave you dizzy, and combined with the sensation of his hand drawing teasing circles over your clit, you feel the heat begin to pool in your stomach again.  

Just then, Jacaerys moves, shifting in his position, and you whimper when you can feel his erection straining against your stomach. 

Panting, you break the kiss, looking at him. „Jace-“

He smirks. „Patience, Princess. I want to taste you first.“

Your eyes widen and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks as the full meaning of his words sink in. This is beyond your wildest fantasies, even. When you’d imagined yourself with Jacaerys, he was always the one taking you, in various positions, and sometimes he even had you on your knees, pleasuring him with your mouth. 

„But - but what about you, Jace?“, you whisper, eyes searching his. 

At your words, his eyes visibly soften for a moment, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. „Don’t worry about that yet“, he says, looking at you again, before slowly moving down your body. „But do tell me if something I do is not to your liking“, he adds, the gentler, more composed side of him returning for a brief moment. 

You nod, though you can’t imagine in the slightest that that might be the case. 

When he sees you nod so urgently, Jacaerys just smirks. 

He doesn’t say anything else, instead, he lets his lips and hands speak for him.

As he starts to kiss his way down your body, leaving featherlight kisses on your neck, your sternum, your breasts - which has your breath hitching and your grip on his dark curls tightening - your stomach, your lower abdomen, your hips; his hands continue to move over your body, one hand occupied with your breasts, the other still between your legs, still drawing teasing circles over your clit. 

„Jace“, you moan, when he leaves featherlight kisses on the inner sides of your thighs, all the while continuing to tease your bundle of nerves with his fingers, but not doing anything else just yet. 

And just when you think that you can’t take any more of his teasing, he sucks your clit into his mouth, before his tongue dives between your folds. 

„Oh, oh gods-“, you moan, grip on his dark curls tightening. 

This is so much better than your own fingers could ever be. 

The arrogant, knowing smirk Jacaerys gives you as his tongue continues to move in and out of your core tells you that he knows exactly the effect he has a you, and he enjoys it. 

He’ll ruin you for any other man - in more ways than just the obvious - and he’ll ruin any other man for you, but you don’t care. 

Can’t bring yourself to care as his tongue continues to work you up to a frenzy, while he applies pressure to your bundle of his nerves with his thumb. 

The heat is building and building and building, and you can feel that it won’t take much more for the coil you snap. 

Just then, his tongue reaches a particular spot that has you seeing stars, and you moan, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. 

„Yes, right there, please, Jacaerys, please-“, you whimper incoherently, hands tugging at his hair in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. 

He continues to lap at you in earnest, reaching that spot again and again and again, you don’t think you can handle much more of this. The building pressure is too much to bear, and just then, Jacaerys’ tongue reaches that spot again, and you break. 

Dizzying waves of pleasure wash over you, threatening you to drown you, as your back arches of the bed again and something inside of you explodes. 

Jacaerys takes it all, takes everything you give him, the harsh tugs on his dark curls, your legs shaking, and your juices flooding his mouth. He takes it all, greedily drinking in every last drop. 

„Oh, seven hells“, you pant weakly, falling back into the sheets, your whole body feeling like jelly. 

Your second orgasm leaves you much more wrecked and spent than your first, and you don’t even notice Jacaerys moving up again, until you feel his fingers gently stroke over your cheek. 

„You’re amazing, Princess“, he tells you. 

You open your eyes again to see him leaning over you, his lips still covered with your juices, his nose still glistening with it as well. To you, he’s never looked more beautiful than in this moment, and so you don’t even hesitate before pulling him down for another kiss. 

It’s messy, with strings of your slick still connected to his lips, and you think that it should feel weird that you can taste yourself on his lips, but it doesn’t, it just feels utterly amazing. 

And even though just mere seconds ago, you’ve been trying to catch your breath, feeling your heartbeat accelerate, it’s you that deepens the kiss, you, who boldly moves a hand between you, cupping his clothed erection. 

Now that you’ve had a taste, you feel that you won’t be able to stop until you’ve had it all, until you’ve felt him, really felt him, move inside you, filling you up to the brink. 

Jacaerys groans when your fingers move over his clothed erection, his kiss turning even more desperate, until he breaks away, panting. 

„Are you sure?“, he asks you, leaning his forehead against yours, looking down at you with pure, unfiltered desire in his eyes. 

You nod, moving your fingers over him. 

He groans again, but when his eyes find yours again, there’s a dark edge to them. „Are you sure? Sure you can take another one?“ 

Oh gods. His words, and the dark, sinister tone in which he says them has you biting down on your bottom lip. 

You nod, again, and finally Jacaerys gives in, leaving another bruising kiss on your lips before sitting up and taking his breeches and small clothes off. 

You watch him, too afraid to even blink, and when your eyes finally land on his erection, you swallow, whimpering. He’s so big - when he finally claims you it will surely feel like being speared open. 

And yet, your desire once again wins out, as you reach out your hand once again, cupping his now bare member. 

„Fuck“, Jacaerys groans, his eyes screwing shut in pleasure. 

This only spurs your confidence, and now, feeling bold, and driven by this all-encompassing desire for Jacaerys, you begin stroking his member up and down in earnest, your thumb stroking over the tip, sticky with his pre-cum. 

Jacaerys groans, driving his hips up into your hand. His hands settle on your waist once again, and his grip turns almost painfully harsh as you continue to edge him on. 

Just then, he slaps your hand away, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. „Keep doing that and I won’t last much longer, Princess“, he says, his voice oddly strained. 

His brown eyes find yours once again, and in them, you same the same desire and longing you feel mirrored back at you. 

„But-“, you start to protest, but Jacaerys immediately silences you with a finger to your lips. 

„Some other time“, he promises you, and you seem to light up at his words. You know that this should never have happened and that there should never ever even be another time, but just the prospect of that excites you. 

„And you promised me another one, didn’t you?“ 

And just like that, all the gentle playfulness has vanished from his words, leaving only lust and desire in its place. 

You nod, biting down hard on your bottom lip, as Jacaerys positions himself at your entrance. 

You watch, entranced, as he guides his member into you. But then, almost immediately, you hiss in pain when he breaches your walls. It’s not much more than the tip, but still, this so different from your fingers or his tongue. 

Jacaerys stops, leaning down to kiss you. The kiss is gentle and soft, and you wind your arms around his neck again, finding both comfort and solace in it. And the longer you kiss him, the more you get used to the feeling of him inside you. 

In fact, it’s you, crossing your legs behind his back, guiding him deeper inside you. The sensation is still somewhat uncomfortable, but Jacaerys’ loud, satisfied moan and the kiss that’s already turned deeper and more passionate, distract you from the pain, and as Jacaerys continues to sink even deeper into you, pain and pleasure begin to mix and you find yourself wanting more. 

And so, when he’s finally bottomed out and looks down at you, asking „Alright, Princess?“, you just tangle your hands in his dark curls again, driving your hips up to meet his. 

„Move, please“, you beg him, and Jacaerys starts to chuckle, but when you drive your hips up into him again, he groans, the feeling of friction too delicious to ignore. 

Jacaerys begins moving in and out of you slowly, his hips driving into you in a leisurely pace - pulling all the way out of you, before slowly sinking back down again. 

It’s torture, this pace he’s setting. The heat in your lower stomach is building and building again, but with the pace Jace is setting, it seems as if you’ll never reach the boiling point. You try to meet his movements, moving your hips up and down, but Jacaerys soon catches on to what you’re doing and his hands settle at your waist with a tight grip, keeping you in place. 

„Jace, please“, you beg, tugging at his dark curls. 

He groans, losing control for a moment, and thrusting into you harshly. The new pace and intensity has you crying out in pleasure, but then it’s back to long, slow thrusts and you feel as if you could cry from frustration. 

„Jace, please, just - just fuck me, don’t hold back“, you beg him, your grip on his hair tightening. That, combined with your words finally gets his attention, and when he looks down at you again, there’s a new, dark gleam in his eyes. It’s as dangerous as it is alluring, and you feel completely caught up in his trap. 

„Oh, so it’s like that, Princess?“, he says, his hips snapping into yours, and you cry out from the intensity. „You want me to fuck you, want me to fill you up, is that it?“

He doesn’t leave you any chance to answer him, his hips now snapping into yours with abandon, his cock driving into you with an intensity and pace that has you seeing stars. One of your hands stays buried in his dark brown curls, while the other moves towards his upper back. 

For a moment, you worry about your fingernails leaving scratches on his back - but another particularly harsh thrust of his, combined with the sensation of one of his hands slowly moving towards your core quickly has you forgetting any thoughts not concerned with the current moment. 

His pace now is brutal and you hold on to him for dear life as his hips piston into you, his cock continuing to spear you open. 

„Jace, oh gods-“, you breathe out, biting down on your lower lip.

When he sees this gesture, Jacaerys just shakes his head, his free hand moving up to cup your cheek. „Don’t. Don’t hold back. Let them hear.“ 

His words alone make you moan, and then, his thumb is there on your clit, steadily applying pressure as he continues to move in and out of you at a brutal pace. 

„Jace, I can’t - oh gods-“, you groan, fingernails digging into his back. 

„That’s it, Princess“, he whispers with another intense thrust, „come for me.“

And then, something within you breaks, and you come for the third time. 

Your fingernails are digging into his back, your legs locked behind his back, and as Jacaerys continues to thrust into you, he can feel your walls clenching around him, absolutely squeezing him. 

The sound of your broken voice, crying out his name, does him in and after thrusting into you once, twice, thrice more, he comes as well, shooting his hot seed into you. 

The sensation is too much for your overstimulated core, and you whimper, your eyes screwing shut, as you hold on to Jacaerys for dear life. 

Just like before, he’s there to guide you through everything - his free hand reaching out to grab the one you quickly untangle from his dark curls. 

You hold onto each other as fire washes over you, white hot waves of pleasure threatening to drown you both. 

This time, it takes you even longer to come down from your high, and when you do, your whole body feels like jelly. 

Luckily, Jacaerys is there for you. He carefully pulls out of you, before gently scooping you up in his arms, reaching out for your bedsheets and drawing them over you both. 

He presses a chaste kiss to your shoulder, the action so gentle and innocent and so unlike anything else that just transpired between you two. He reaches out for your hand with one hand, interlacing your fingers together.

„By the seven, you’re incredible Princess“, he whispers, pressing another chaste kiss to your shoulder as his free hand slowly moves down your body again. When you can feel his hand lightly moving over your core, you can’t help but whimper. 

You’re so sore and overstimulated, you’re not quite sure how much more you can take. 

„There“, Jacaerys whispers, squeezing your hand as his fingers scoop up some of his seed that’s trickled down the insides of your thighs. 

You whimper, incoherent, broken moans leaving you when you can feel his fingers pushing into you again. 

„Sh“, he whispers, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. „I’m just making sure that we’re not wasting a single drop, Princess.“ 

So, uh, any thoughts? 👀

[ivy-targaryen]

The most Aegon/Aemond thing ever

[ivy-targaryen]

It's easy when you play a character like Aegon to be cold and calculated and pretty numb to it all. But Aegon's capable of loving. His son is a creation of his. Jaehaerys is something he made and is proud of. He sees a lot of himself in his son. This is what I was telling myself, it felt like he could almost start again with Jaehaerys. He could almost build the person that he wanted to be and never got a chance to be.

-Tom Glynn-Carney

[ivy-targaryen]

“𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎 𝒶ℯℊℴ𝓃 𝓍 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹ℯ𝓇”

“𝒮ℯℯ𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓃ℊ 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸ℯ 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂ℯ”

The first time you saw him, the gardens were bathed in the soft golden light of late afternoon. You were gathering herbs for your potions, the fragrant leaves and flowers filling your basket. The quiet of the garden was interrupted by a rustling sound, and you looked up to see a tiny figure stumbling through the bushes. There he was, little Aegon, his silvery hair catching the sunlight like a halo. He had just started learning how to walk, his steps wobbly and uncertain. His tiny hands reached out to steady himself on the tall stalks of flowers as he made his way toward you. You sighed, a bit annoyed at the interruption. "Go away, little one," you muttered, waving your hand dismissively. "I'm busy." But the little prince was undeterred. He looked at you with wide, curious eyes, then tottered forward, his chubby legs working hard to close the distance. He tripped on a root and fell, but quickly pushed himself back up, determined to reach you. You huffed in exasperation and turned back to your herbs, pretending to ignore him. "Shoo, go find your nursemaid," you said, hoping he would lose interest and wander off. Instead, Aegon toddled right up to you and clung to your skirt with surprising strength. "Up!" he demanded, his voice a mix of frustration and determination. You looked down at him, your annoyance melting away as you saw the earnest look on his face. His violet eyes were bright with trust, and his small hands clung to your skirt as if he never wanted to let go. You couldn't help but smile. "Oh, all right," you said, bending down to scoop him up. "But just for a moment, mind you." As soon as you lifted him, Aegon wrapped his arms around your neck and buried his face in your shoulder, his giggles vibrating against your skin. His small body was warm and surprisingly comforting. "You're a stubborn little thing, aren't you?" you murmured, rubbing his back gently. He just laughed and nuzzled closer, making happy little sounds. You carried him over to a nearby tree and sat down, letting him settle in your lap. He looked up at you with a beaming smile, then pointed to a butterfly fluttering nearby. "Fly!" "Yes, a butterfly," you said, feeling a strange warmth in your heart. "It's very pretty, isn't it?" Aegon nodded, his eyes following the butterfly's every move. Then he looked back at you and patted your cheek with his small hand. "You p'etty." You couldn't help but laugh at that. "Flattery will get you everywhere, little prince." He giggled again, clearly delighted by your reaction. For a moment, you just sat there, holding him and enjoying the simple pleasure of his company. It was a small, unexpected moment of joy that made you realize how precious this little boy was.

Part 2

[ivy-targaryen]

˗ˏˋ A Golden Cage ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x aunt/targ!fem!reader words: 8.6k synopsis: "The butterfly escapes the web, but the dragon’s breath will singe its wings." notes: hi my bbs! thank you sm for the love on my first fic - here's a smut that i just wrote this morning and didn't want to wait to post. follows a non-canon timeline/events (just stretched out for the sake of the story), and involves time skips; characters aged-up to 20/21. Jace is a tits man i will die on this hill lol warnings: canon-typical mentions of war/violence, canon-typical incest, brief mention of blood, angst/grieving, Jace has a distinct way of grieving, surprisingly dom!Jace lol, mommy&daddy issues, hair pulling kink, mentions of virginity/experience, smut, oral(f!receiving), fingering, arguing (fr enemies to lovers), improper use of High Valyrian (and obviously idk if its correct nor do i care tbh), fluff at the end but they fight the whole rest of the time lol. feedback is appreciated <3 requests open.

part two. masterlist

THE LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR BETROTHED, YOUR FATHER WAS STILL ALIVE.

It was your mother’s strict words and the gleaming glint of her seven-pointed necklace that had forced you out of your chambers, that night: after that disastrous dinner, when Aemond and Aegon had teased and tortured Rhaenyra’s sons; in which your sweet sister toasted to you, insisting your marriage to your nephew Jacaerys would not be too bad – that he’d just ignore you until he’d had too much to drink. 

Now, they were to leave in just an hour; you, to remain in the Red Keep to prepare for your betrothal, before returning with your half-sister after her visit next week. 

You’d been betrothed to Jacaerys Velaryon when you were ten and two; some effort to save the stringent bond between your sister and mother - and though you and Jacaerys are two of the same age, carrying the ancient Valyrian bloodlines, it was still a shock to your young mind.

Growing up, you’d always assumed you’d marry your brother, Aegon - just a few years older than you, it made sense. Though when your younger sister Helaena and Aegon became betrothed, it left a shudder of shock through you; not particularly in disappointment, as you’d grown to rather detest the boy, but a shudder of confusion: It was the first true act of betrayal, small as it was, that you would come to understand from your mother and grandsire. 

The second you were soon to experience, after the death of your father and the usurping of your sister’s throne - but before then, you’d allowed yourself to be pleased; Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Wife of Jacaerys Valeryon - noble, growing to be very handsome, and though you did spend a lot of your childhood watching him with interested eyes and bright cheeks, that soon tapered out once you were all young adults.

Your brothers accusing them of bastardization can taint such a thing. 

At the time, you’d simply played with your fingers to calm your nerves; you must do it. Your mother had held back her tongue, you could tell - she was disappointed in you, in the way you’d spat a snide comment at dinner, when you’d struck your own brother in front of everyone after he’d insulted your honor. As if you weren't a grown woman of eight and ten, but a mere child. You must do it, lest you drive me crazy- 

You didn’t care to hear much more; you’ve always had trouble with your tongue, pressing buttons and dancing around the shadows just to be seen. A sad desire, yes - but one that came naturally when you landed yourself in the middle of a loveless family who seemed to care more about the weather than yourself. She's so much like Rhaenyra, you father had said in your youth - perhaps that is why your mother rejected you so.

But as you’d protested against the task of apology one last time, your mother had snapped. 

She’d muttered something under her breath -You’re nothing like Helaena. It was true, and she’d finally spoken it. Your Queen mother’s regret had rippled through her face, but you were already on your feet, already down the hallway to find your betrothed and his mother, to issue them all an apology - an apology that should be coming from your mother’s other children who caused the scene at that horrendous dinner; yet you, cursed to deliver it, ever the branch of olives. 

The echo of your footsteps was almost silent in the dimly lit halls as you made your way toward their family quarters; The weight of your impending betrothal to Jacaerys pressed heavily on your mind, as this impending discussion with your half sister and uncle drew a pit of dread in your stomach. 

As you approached the open chamber, the flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows on the stone walls; be it nerves or hesitance, you slowed your pace to a slow few steps. 

 The voices inside were low but distinct, and you recognized Rhaenyra and Daemon immediately. “You used to enjoy her company as a child,” Daemon remarks, a hint of amusement laced through his words. “Always following her around, trying to keep up with her mischief.”

“Jace, you were once quite taken with her.” His mother’s voice, “You danced with her tonight, did you not?” 

Your breath hitches, registering the memory of Jace’s palm in yours; avoiding your eyes, even as you danced - moments before he asked your dear sister Helaena to dance and your brother melted with irritation.

"As was my duty." His voice retorts.

You leaned closer, desperate to hear more. Rhaenyra’s voice grew softer, almost wistful. “It’s a good thing, you know. Even if your feelings seem mixed up now, there’s a strong bond beneath it all. It may take time to realize it.”

“Nothing is mixed up, mother.” Jacaerys’ voice is defensive, “She’s just as much of a nuisance as her brothers.”

There is a pang of offense, of hurt, within your stomach at his words, yet you’re rooted to the spot. 

“Must she always be annoying someone?” He bemoans; a boil of anger in your stomach at the childish complaints from a man of ten-and-eight. The heir to the throne, whining like a child. 

You ignore the true pain of rejection, the embarrassment of your residual harbored crush, and let your anger curdle instead. 

“She is to be your wife, Jace,” Daemon added, his tone stern - but his sentence is cut off by a thud and then Jace’s voice, once again. 

“It’s like she opens her mouth and her mother speaks through it,” Jace continued, his voice laced with bitterness, “She doesn’t have a brain between her ears-” 

“Jacaerys!” Rhaenyra’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and authoritative as you hide a gasp, heart freezing as your eyes sting. “-You will speak of your betrothed with respect.”

Jace’s response was muffled, but you caught the frustration in his tone; your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you swallow your embarrassment. 

“You will make it work,” Rhaenyra interrupted firmly. “This is not just about you. It is about our families, our legacy. You owe her, and yourself, more respect.”

The reality of your situation - detested by your betrothed, unloved by your mother - it all washed over you like a suffocating shroud, the pain and humiliation too much to bear. Unable to listen any longer, you turned and fled, steps quickening as you hurried away from the open chamber.

As you rushed down the hall, you heard the voices behind you falter, and you grew even more embarrassed knowing they realized they’d been overheard. The sting of tears threatened, but you refused to let them fall until you were back in your chambers, eyes stinging with regret.  Not here. Not now.

YOU FLED THE RED KEEP SOON AFTER LUCERYS’ DEATH.

The roar of your dragon echoed off the jagged cliffs of Dragonstone when you landed, the bitter wind whipping your hair and stinging your cheeks. Your one and twentieth birthday passed last week; the ring you received from your mother is thrown into the tumultuous sea with a scream of pain. 

The journey had not been nearly as perilous as your escape; nicked down the arm in a similar wound your own sister had once bore from your mother, you and your dragon barely escaped the Kingsguard once they realized you were fleeing. 

As you dismounted, the weight of everything; your nephew’s death, the cruelty of your brother, of your own mother - heavier than any burden you had ever borne. Perhaps, you considered as you entered the throne room of Dragonstone, you have always bore this burden. Fated, in a way, to lose and lose and lose. 

A tremendous effort, truly, to grasp at who you’d always known, always revered, always idolized: Your sister. 

Her charm, the sharpness of her wit, the fierce love of all her children; something you envied quite often in your youth, something you’d come to recognize as jealousy of Lucerys and Jacaerys and their brothers. Something you’d been told to hate and scorn - by the very woman who saw you completely indifferently.

It was two weeks after Lucerys was killed that you found yourself entering the hall to Dragonstone, hands shaking and in a panic. 

Your younger sister’s words; they echo still in your head, as alive and distant as they’d been the first time she’d murmured them those weeks ago, after Rhaenys had broken from King’s Landing. The butterfly escapes the web, but the dragon’s breath will singe its wings.

The great hall was thickened with grief; it seemed to drip from the obsidian slates, trail behind your cloak as you’d staggered, ragged and panicked. 

Your Queen sister Rhaenyra stood at the head of the room, her commanding presence shadowed by sorrow - the faces of those gathered were similar, and you quickly found the eyes of Jacaerys, standing beside his mother. 

It was years ago you last saw him, and he had grown quite more than you’d expected. His own grief was worn like a cloak - eyes hollow with the recent loss of his brother, a fury swirling within. You had to fight not to look away - though it’s been two-and-half years, he looks much different; hair, longer and curled around his jaw - eyes angry, shoulders full and tall. Lips that part slightly in a sharp inhale of shock when he registers your own figure - whom he likely assumed he’d never see again. 

There was a moment, suspended in air; a breath, the fluttering of lashes, in which you remembered the fond times of your adolescence with the boy. Picking apples in an orchard; stumbling from your dragons with wind-stained cheeks and small laughter; tickling his younger brother until he screamed, Jace and you laughing yourselves sick. It was as if an entire lifetime had passed in their faint memory, tainted by the embarrassment of growing up and the humiliation by your brothers. You're not sure you've seen Jacaerys laugh since you were four and ten.

Jacaerys’ eyes snapped away from you as they grew full of some kind of emotion; you were too exhausted to decipher, instead, taking weak steps forward. 

You'd wondered what they saw when you stepped forward, kneeling before Rhaenyra, your voice clear and unwavering. “I proclaim Rhaenyra Targaryen as the true heir to the Iron Throne. I bend the knee and swear my allegiance to her.”

There had been many things said - murmurs, rippling; to send you to the cells, to feed you to the dragons. Rhaenyra’s voice was sharp.  “Why should we believe you?”

You’d met the pain in her eyes with some of your own, exhausted by the journey, hand streaked in blood from your wounds. “I am no loved daughter of Alicent’s,” you’d protested, your voice trembling with emotion. “I have never been trusted by any of them besides my father, least of all my grandsire Hightower nor my mother. I was a pawn, I-”

It was Jacaerys’ voice you remember most, sharp and accusing. “You expect us to believe you, now, when Lucerys is dead?” 

Your heart ached at the mention of Luke, but you'd pressed on. “I was left behind in a pit of snakes.” You’d turned to your half-sister Rhaenyra, your voice breaking as you continued, “Betrayed by my own family after my brother usurped your throne. I watched them tear us apart for their ambitions.”

Rhaenys - the vision of her, nearly burning you all to death in the Dragonpit after the coronation of your brother; she had stepped forward, discussed with the Queen and Daemon and the others. You, swallowing as your boots made to swipe over the blood pooling from your arm to the stone floor. 

Rhaenyra had not believed you - none of them truly did, and you expected as such. Somehow in the sorrow of her gaze, there was something, a softening - memories of all the court whispers about you as a youth. Unfair and dishonorable as they were, it is all in the past now.

Your Queen would not betray you the way your mother had. 

  “We will listen to what you have to say,” she said, her voice resolute. “For now, let us have your wounds attended to.”

You’d rose, eyes wide with the mercy your sister showed you; the room around you had buzzed with cautious acceptance. Jacaerys was gone before you even rose to your feet. 

IT WAS MORE THAN A WEEK BEFORE HE SPOKE TO YOU.

It was a week of loneliness; in the cells below the Dragonstone keep, the only company dripping walls and spare rats. 

Even in the days following your proved devotion, in which you’d laid out plainly to the Queen’s council a recount of how you’d escaped and what the Greens were plotting; though you’ve proven not to be a spy, just one phantom limb remains of your sister’s humming musings through the Red Keep of your mind: The butterfly escapes the web, but the dragon’s breath will singe its wings.

It was more than a week until you chose to seek Jacaerys out; he, as you well understand, has taken the worst to your presence, avoiding you and missing each supper you happen to attend after being appointed your own quarters and freed from your prisoner status. 

And even in the sparse interactions you find, you can see the concern, the sorrow in his mother’s eyes; Jacaerys is grieving. He hovers away from people, avoiding eye contact - quick to anger, lost of that level-headedness he’d grown into as a young man. 

All that seems to remain is fire.  

It becomes too much one day, at a council you were asked to speak in - Jacaerys walking in, taking one look; turning around and leaving with no more than a glare and a clench of the jaw. 

You find him later, sparring against a dummy; sword freshly polished, you allow yourself a moment to gather your thoughts. It is with anxious eyes that you prepare your emotions, trying to curb the part of you that wishes to build up that same armor your older brother has; That slimy urge, that desire under your mother’s loathing glare, to poke and prod until you were noticed, even if for the worst. 

“Jacaerys.” You say, hoping your voice curls out less than deriding as you make your way towards him. A flicker of anger, but he does not stop. 

“Would you leave me be?” Jacaerys snaps, throwing back a gaze like a dagger. You clear your throat, the hatred in his voice curdling any semblance of calm you have and replacing it with that beastly panic; the one which makes you act foolish. 

You trace the dummy behind him with the tip of your finger, tensing your jaw. 

“Well,” you start quietly, avoiding the casual sting of memory with your facade, “I must always be somebody’s problem, yes?”

He freezes for a moment - recognition, perhaps, of that night; that it was you, who’d overheard their discussion. He turns slightly, not fully giving you his full attention, before he turns back to his sparring dummy, striking it with a ferocity that reveals the depth of his grief. “You always were a thorn in my side,” he mutters, his voice thick with emotion.

You wish it didn’t still hurt, after all the years. 

“And you were always a self-righteous Prince,” you retort, your own anger simmering beneath the surface. “But here we are, fighting for the same cause.” You sigh, determined to let him vent his anger if it means he might find some measure of peace. “Isn’t that something?”

This indeed garners attention. “Do not try to relate to me. You have no idea what it’s like to lose a brother.” Jacaerys growls, his strikes becoming more erratic. 

“You’re right,” you say quietly, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance, wary of the greatsword he yields with surprising strength. “I don’t. But I know what it’s like to lose everything else.”

He pauses, his chest heaving with exertion and emotion, as he turns to you. “You think you can just waltz here, switch sides, and everything will be forgiven?” His voice is thick with emotion; jaw clenched, chest heaving, the wind whips his hair and nips at the red of his cheeks. You nearly mention that his mother the Queen had been the one to decide your fate, to show mercy - but then, he opens his mouth again and it stings more than a wound in the ocean. 

“That you can replace my brother?”

It hurts. You’ve seen how things have changed - there is no light in the castle, no smiles; downtrodden, solemn; you ache for their pain, for the loss of your sweet nephew. Lucerys took with him the hearts of everyone. 

You shake your head. “I don’t want to replace anyone,” you snap, your façade cracking. “I came here to help, to do what’s right. I’ve lost too, Jace-” The nickname from your childhood - back when the extent of your adversary was when he pulled your hair or you tripped him in the hall - slips from your lips without trying. It feels wrong, though - foreign. Cold. “My family, my home...” You add. 

“Your family?” he interrupts, his voice rising. “The same family that killed my brother?”

The truth stings, and you feel your own anger rising to meet him. “Do you think I chose to be born into that vipers’ nest? I risked everything to be here, to stand with you. To stand with my sister.”

“Stand with us.” He scoffs, shaking his head as anger boils; he takes a step towards you as you feel a speck of rain hit your nose. “You’re nothing but a traitor. Scorned because you couldn’t marry your brother the Usurper. A snake in dragon’s clothing.”

Your teeth clench. “A golden cage is still a cage.” You defend, the air cooling as the night dawns; a few tears fall upon your shoulders, splattering Jacaerys’ armor with rain from the heavens. 

This only makes him shake his head, sighing. “You’re nothing but a puppet, dancing on strings pulled by whoever promises you a bit of power.” He snaps. Fury flashes through you, blinding you to his obvious pain. 

“And you’re a fool, Jacaerys.” 

A mistake, surely. Somewhere in the back of your head, you know that in another world, your mother would have struck you across the face for saying such a thing to anybody.

Before you can react, a sword is staring down your nose, pointing at you with a shaking hand. “Say that again,” Jacaerys dares you, his voice trembling with barely restrained fury. You swallow thickly, heartbeat thundering though you know there is no real danger. 

You stare at the blade, then back at him, your own fear overridden by a surge of defiance. “You won’t hurt me, Jace-” you say softly, stepping closer. 

“-Don’t call me that.” He snaps, eyes rimmed with simmering tears. 

You hold your hands up, nodding, “Nephew.” You mend, tilting your head. 

His jaw ticks but you sully on, concerned this may be the only way to break through to him. He doesn’t move, his eyes locked on yours. Slowly, you reach out and grab the blade with your bare hand, the sharp edge slicing into your skin. 

It stings and you try not to wince; Blood drips down your fingers slowly, crimson tears over your veins. The rain picks up; its soft whispers against the tumultuous waters of the ocean. 

“Do it,” you whisper, your voice fierce. “Prove to me that you’re nothing more than your anger and grief. Show me that you’re just as lost as the rest of us.”

Tears well up in Jacaerys’ eyes, his grip on the sword faltering. Eyes flickering between your face and the blood that trickles from your hand, you can see the weight of his guilt and sorrow becomes too much to bear.

“I cannot understand your grief,” You whisper, “But I can help avenge him.” 

Something snaps; with a choked gasp, he lets his grip go slack - your hand falls from the blade with a release of a breath you didn’t know you’d held. 

“I’m sorry.” 

EVENTUALLY, YOU COULD NOT HIDE FROM EACH OTHER.

There came a night - after a simmer of stalemate in the edges of war, where your Queen and council at Dragonstone finally found yourselves at the hall’s long dining table. 

Adorned with flickering torches and banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen, the wide walls cast a warm, flickering glow over the assembled company. Flanked by her sons and Daemon, Queen Rhaenyra sits at the head. You, sitting across from Baela and regrettably besides Jacaerys, find yourself rather out of place and uncomfortable - the buzzing anger seems to rove off the man beside you in waves, these days. You nearly feel the searing gaze that burns a hole through your head. 

For the first course, things remain; you, alight with the story Baela recounts of her cat chasing a rat through the kitchens, nearly forget where you are. Clinking of glassware and silver; though nobody seems to eat much these days, the hearth is full and there is more life than there has been on Dragonstone in weeks. 

A burning sensation permeates you by the second course; silent unless spoken to, Jacaerys remains on your right, near his mother and across from Daemon. He throws daggers concealed as glances to you, but by the time you become fully aware, it is too late. 

The heat of his silence, directed just a bit lower than your visage, makes your stomach turn. 

You dare spare a glance and nearly startle at the snap of caught eyes; a low, hidden beast that stirs within your abdomen at having caught him. His eyes flicker away from where they’d perched - centered near the neckline of your dress - you could laugh in disbelief. 

Lest he find accompaniment elsewere; the castle is large enough, he handsome and kind enough - there would surely be no shortage of women ready to entertain his sights. Your jaw sets - you know why. The Prince, despite his cold disposition towards you, is too honorable.

Huffing gently, you allow a quick roll of your eyes, telling yourself that when you cross your arms, it is in vexation. Certainly not to see if his eyes will land upon the subtle line of your cleavage again, and ignoring the creatures in your stomach that certainly aren’t butterflies.

It is only minutes before attention is called to Jace from someone down the table - a question you neither heard nor much cared to have repeated; yet he stirs, startled at the voice, and as you turn you meet his guilty eyes again. 

His cheeks are pink; yours heat with something you tell yourself is anger, schooling the desire that begins to leak through the chinks in your armor. 

“Unbelievable.” You hiss, wary that his ears pick up on your word - that nobody else does. 

There is nothing wrong, objectively, to feel flattered when a handsome man admires your beauty, you tell yourself. Even if it’s the stare of a man who refuses to speak to you. You spend several minutes trying to convince yourself of your own words. 

You dine on meat and vegetables; a cup of wine that you sip on while listening to Rhaenys discuss politely with the Queen, until falling into your own soft conversation, halted and unsure. 

Jacaerys’ eyes roam you again - it is only then that you finally sigh, dropping your fork gently to your side. “Kostilus lua aōha laesi naejot aōla, Dārilaros?” You snap smally, hiding your voice; it is only partially effective, as the eyes of Daemon and his daughters catch on your glare. Would you keep your eyes to yourself, my Prince?

When his eyes flicker to yours, there is an embarrassment; good, you think. But his lips quirk in some small cruel smile as he shakes his head, looking elsewhere. 

It leaves you unsettled and with a flicker of curiosity, of hunger, within you. 

“That gown is stunning.” Rhaena compliments, eyes wide as she takes in your new dress; an entire new wardrobe has been commissioned for you, of course - you’ve been borrowing garments and getting by with the few dresses the servants found in the dredges of the castle as to avoid any reminder of your previous prison. 

It is indeed a stunning gown; you wish to be the one who boasts the skills of the beautiful needlepoint, but it was one of the sweet handmaids assigned to you who created it- a silver dragon inlaid with silver chains; clasps to the front with a pleasant black satin beneath. 

“That is very kind, Rhaena,” You smile gently, pleased to have heard such complimentary words. Small conversations around the table on either side of you; though you can feel Jacaerys’ stare upon you like the heat of a dragon’s breath once more. 

You think you can ignore the scrutiny, and you do for several seconds: until Jacaerys leans forward slightly, his voice carrying just enough to reach your ears.

"Tell me, aunt," he begins, a smirk playing at his lips that leaves you on edge, "is it true that your taste in fashion matches your taste in allegiances?” His head tilts, unkind eyes burning with the blood you share behind them, “A bit confused, I presume."

His words land like a slap; mostly as they draw a momentary hush from the table, quiet as they were. Embarrassed, you find a rise of indignation and annoyance within you, stung by the jab at your attire and loyalty. “Funny, I didn’t notice you paying much attention to my fashion until tonight, nephew.” You jab back, raising a brow. 

He is only momentarily thrown off; always just as quick to fire as you. Two sides of the same mad coin, perhaps. “Oh, I noticed,” he says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “It’s hard to miss when someone dresses as if they’re trying to hide the stains of betrayal with a new cloak-”

Queen Rhaenyra’s voice cuts through the air, firm and commanding as a bolt of electricity. “Jacaerys, enough,” she commands, gaze hardening. “We are here to enjoy a meal, not to indulge in petty squabbles.” 

Jacaerys’ stare is hard at his mother, his cheeks aflame. You focus yourself on the empty plate in front of you that awaits dessert; you are no longer hungry. A soft brush of a foot under the table has your eyes glancing up against the anger and humiliation - Baela sends a gentle smile, some kind of apology. You send a soft nod back, grateful. 

“A word outside, Jace.” His mother demands, rising from the table; all of you follow suit, but the Queen waves you down, nodding regally. “Do not hold up, we’ll just be a minute.” 

Jacaerys follows; jaw set, eyes sharp as he stalks out of the room with his mother, leaving a tense silence in their wake. 

YOU COULD NOT BEAR TO STAY FOR DESSERT. 

Excusing yourself, you’re tearing out the hall, gasping as panic and humiliation threatens to choke you. Some sick twist of survivor’s guilt echoes in your heart - The butterfly escapes the web, but the dragon’s breath will singe its wings.

You almost snap at Helaena’s voice in your mind to shut up - catching yourself, you lean against the hallway, taking a deep breath. Anger and hurt war within you, a storm of emotions that threaten to spill over. 

And you will not allow anybody to witness such weakness. 

Not moments later the doors to the hall open and slam shut; one pair of footsteps echo in the hall, exiting the dining room - you dare to crane your head and see which other guest is tired of the meal. 

Jacaerys storms towards his quarters - revenge swirls within you as you push yourself up from the stone pillar, smoothing your hair before stalking after him. You follow him through the winding halls - nearly to his chambers, you’re unable to hold back any longer. 

“Jacaerys.”

 He halts abruptly, turning to face you with a mixture of irritation and surprise. “You didn’t need to follow me,” he snaps, edged with anger and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“I wanted to,” you replied evenly, your voice tinged with irritation as you carry yourself closer, until you can see the heaving of his chest under that dark doublet, the clenched jaw just below the dark curls of hair. “To see if you had more kind words to say about my attire. You seemed to be enjoying it earlier.” You snap. 

The glare he gives you nearly turns your heart into a gallop; in the flickering light, he has never looked more handsome, and it makes you all the more angry. 

He does not say anything; turning, his pace picks up as he stalks to the door of his quarters. You follow him in a blind desire to show him what he’s done. 

You wish your voice wasn’t so laced with hurt as you call to him in the dark once more:

 “Do you enjoy humiliating me in front of everyone?”

He stops abruptly just as his hand reaches for the iron knob to his chambers, turning to face you with a mixture of anger and defensiveness. “Humiliating you?” he repeats incredulously. “I asked a simple question.”

You can see the obvious lie within his eyes - of course he does not believe his own words. 

“You are a child,” you snap, the anger boiling over. “Hiding behind your jests because you’re too afraid to confront your own feelings.”

Jacaerys’s jaw clenches, his expression hardening at the words. “It’s not my fault you can’t take a little teasing.”

You scoff, incredulous. “You’ve always had a talent for belittling me, even when we were betrothed.”

“We’re not betrothed—” Jacaerys starts, but you cannot bear to hear it. You cannot bear to hear anybody else affirm what you’ve felt your whole life. “-and I thank the Gods every day for it,” you snarl back, cutting off his sentence with a sharp retort.

Jacaerys’s jaw tightens, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something deeper, more conflicted. He takes a step closer, his voice low and strained as he slides away from his doorway. “You drive me mad, do you know that?” His voice is a strained whisper, barely containing the storm of emotions within him.

You’re faced with his full height - taller still than the last time you saw him years ago, chest out like a soldier, chin up like the heir he is; your throat dries at the smell of his soap. 

“Good,” you retort, your breath hitching. “At least then you know how I’ve felt all these years.”

There’s a charged silence, the air between you thick with tension - Jacaerys’ gaze drops to your lips, lingering there for a moment too long before snapping back to your eyes and you feel it; that pull, that angry heat that makes you unsure if you’d rather strike him or taste him against your lips. 

You’re not betrothed, you remind yourself. Why does the sentiment not comfort you, but instead strike a deep longing within you? 

He recovers; a dusting of a heated flush over his cheeks as he shakes his head.  “You have no idea how I feel.” He snaps, eyes searching you. When you hesitate, he steps even closer, breath warm against your face. You’re suddenly incredibly aware of your proximity - the heat of his body nearly pressed against yours, the arousal that drips from you and pools under your skirts; evidence of your traitorous heart. You’re supposed to be mad. Angry. 

You laugh incredulously, “You think I don’t feel anything every time you look at me like that?” You hiss, gesturing with your chin to his eyes, molten with some poorly concealed desire - a heat, a craving. The way his eyes dip, lower - to your chest, heaving with the exertion of your boiled over desire, to your lips, chewed and ripe. 

He swallows hard; you watch the apple of his throat move and subconsciously, your tongue moves to swipe over your bottom lip. 

His eyes dance with the motion; a muscle ticks in his jaw. “Why must you make me feel these things?” he growls, his voice low; it stirs the dangerous desiring beast that remains low in your abdomen. Arousal, its fierce and wanting claws, gnaw at your ribcage. “I hate that you have this power over me.” He says, voice quieter - the stare of a Prince, begging for something. 

Power over him? Your heart races against your ribcage and you are forced to blink in confusion. 

“I’m sorry.” You breathe, “I did not choose this. Betrayed by a loveless family and fighting constantly with the man I was one day betrothed to marry."

Jacaerys’s eyes burn bright, “Do you think it was any easier for me? Watching you, wanting you, and knowing that you were always just out of reach?”

You sneer at his audacity, the bitterness rising in your throat. “Out of reach? You pushed me away every chance you got. We were betrothed at two and ten, Jacaerys, and are nearly twice that age now and yet you still refuse to speak to me without raising your voice.”

His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, mirroring your own. “We were children. I did not know what I wanted.”

“And what is it you want now, Jace?” you challenge, your voice dropping to a whisper.  

Your hand seems to have a mind of its own, raising - but Jace’s hand snaps out to clutch your wrist, holding it tight in the suspended thick air. His brows raise - in a teasing manner, one that has your heartbeat thrumming through your veins. “You know what I want.” 

The hand gripping your wrist pulls you closer as you utter the words, his eyes darkened in the empty hall. "Then stop fighting me." You hiss. 

His grip on your wrist tightens, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the heat between you almost unbearable. He looks into your eyes, his gaze searching, desperate -  for a heartbeat, you think he might push you away. 

Instead, his lips crash against yours in a sharp intake of breath, the slope of his nose bumping against yours, teeth clashing; all you feel is the fire of his touch, the slight shudder in his chest as your hands snake to the nape of his neck, threading through the locks of curls which lie above his doublet. 

His teeth nip against your lip; a mistake, unintentional as you feel the pent-up frustration and anger within him - nevertheless it sparks a rove of desire through you, keening towards his touch as you press up into his embrace.

He’s pushed you against the door to his chambers; the wood, digging into your back, is suddenly gone as his hand struggles against the doorknob and your balance is fully thrown. 

Stumbling back, robbed from Jace’s fiery grasp, you yelp - into his chambers, he takes you in his hands again, catching you before you stumble. In your peripherals, you see his foot shove the door shut, a resounding echo down the halls, swallowing up the short burst of desire you’d both shown. 

His cheeks are nearly as red as the doublet he wears; hands pulling you closer by your neck and back. Slowly grows a satisfaction in your gaze - you let yourself smirk. “Flustered, dear nephew?” 

His eyes search you for a moment, and the teasing look on your face melts under his stare. A hand reaches out, grasping your jaw - a surprising action, one that dries your throat as his chest heaves, watching you with some new ire. “You are quite beautiful like this.” He observes, as if he’s just read it in one of his lessons; like it has always been known. 

The heat that floods to your face and chest causes you to squirm - standing, still, under his watchful gaze and soft grip on your face. A small smile, one that teases a trace of dimples in the firelight. A smile that makes your stomach flip and your heat pulse. 

“It seems quite easy to have you flustered too, Sodjisto.” Aunt. You resist a shiver - High Valyrian drips from his lips like the rolling of waves on a rocky shore; it ignites desire heavily, coating you in a sense of need. 

You dare not let him speak any longer. 

Stumbling, your lips catch his once more - you, experienced only in the base pleasures you’d found in days sneaking off with young men in the shadows of the Red Keep; his own lips, somewhere similarly between confident and unsure. It is a comfort to you.  

It does not seem, as Jacaerys presses you against the post of his bed, that he is wholly inexperienced as your brother implied those years ago; The thought flares you with some kind of envious bitter sigh as his hands dare to trail lower. 

A gasp is pulled from you when the fingers of his right hand tug your thigh up, hooking it over his hip - a bold move, one that presses the lines of your body impossibly close, and you feel a distinct hardness to his own desire between his hips. You wish he does not hear the hitch in your breath as his own hips slide against your heat; as your legs tremble with the ache of need. 

Blunt nails trace the bare of your thigh as he slips a palm under your dress skirts, raising a wake of shivering want from your body. One hand tugs his hair; a hiss from between his teeth as his head tilts back, glancing up to the Gods as if to thank them and curse them in the same breath. His hips buck against yours in pleasure and you bite back a moan at the friction. 

In the flickering of the hearth, Jacaerys’ throat is smooth, freshly shaven; on display for you. Your lips find the skin of him before your teeth do, soothing over the bites you leave in their wake. 

He groans your name - it is like a song, a praise, a prayer. 

You swallow your burning desire when his fingers, climbing up the inside of your trembling thigh, graze your cunt tentatively. “Jace,” You gasp, keening sharply, throbbing though the touch was light and forgetting. 

He drinks up the attention, the power - as if he was born for it. 

Humming, the man before you tilts his head, waves of hair glinting as you pull back from his jaw. “Iksos konīr mirros ao jaelagon?” He whispers innocently, lips nearly pouting as he watches you.  Is there something you want? 

Your throat dries at the timber of his voice, tongue curling deliciously as your ancestral language tumbles, still wobbly and half sure, from his lips. You understand it all the same. 

In a heated attempt to save your dignity, you push your hips against his, feeling the length of his cock against your lower abdomen, a low whine from your lips. 

He lets his fingers brush against your cunt again, gathering a moisture that coaxes a smug grin on his face. You’re unsure if the flicker of pleasure is from the stare he gives you, or his touch. “Ivestragon issa.” He demands, voice so commanding and honorable; tell me. 

Your breath is regretfully shaky when you catch his stare, your own hand sliding out from his hair, clutching him close by the red doublet. “Renigon issa,” You whisper in reply, cheeks aflame with his sudden commanding presence. Touch me. 

This seems to please the Prince; in a flash of pleasure within his eyes, you catch a boyish relief - as if concerned that your actions leading up to this moment were somehow tainted. As if you did not live half your life expecting to be his forever. 

He shows you a quick mercy as he presses against you again, a moan swallowed by him as you exhale onto his lips, tugging him close by the curl of his hair. Long, slender fingers press against your mound, sliding down lower to where you ache for him, your thigh closing in on him to pull yourselves closer. 

“I crave you,” You whisper against his lips. A short groan before he whispers against you, “Lie on the bed.” 

You do, heart in your throat; still fully dressed, you lie and stutter your inhale at the sudden scent of Jace within the sheets; an intoxicating presence more strong than any wine you’ve ever tasted. 

Your pleasure is curbed, however, as you watch Jacaerys instead drop to his knees, holding your stare. 

You swallow as you pull up onto elbows, buzzing in excitement, confusion. “What are you doing?” 

He chooses to ignore you; palms calloused from sword wielding slide once again, ruching your skirts until they gather at your hips. Flushed, your cunt is exposed to the air of the room and to the gaze of your nephew, knelt just before you. 

“My cousin was right,” He chooses to mutter instead, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. His eyes break away from yours to roam over every inch of your body before him - the curve of your breasts, heaving in the firelight. “This dress is quite something.” 

 You’re unsure how to handle yet another compliment - just as you begin to respond, “Th-thank-” 

You let out a sharp moan, jolting against the mattress below you and arching your spine.

His lips have pressed a chaste kiss against your womanhood, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Hands, trembling, find his hair as he presses another kiss against you, palms moving to tug your thighs. You gasp as he lifts them until he is firmly settled between your legs, thighs resting upon broad shoulders.

You nearly smack his head when his tongue, hungry and curious, licks a fat stripe through your seam, gathering your nectar against him and nudging your pearl with the tip. “Gods, Jace-” You tug harshly instead, hips unable to cease as they move against him. 

It is nothing you have ever felt in your miserable life. Streaks of hot pleasure, of ecstasy, desire- they flood you, tensing your muscles and shaking your legs. 

A swirl of his tongue over your bundle of nerves and you gasp, head thrown back onto the mattress. You resist the urge of pleasure that coaxes your eyes to roll back, instead forcing yourself to look - look, at the lewd way Jacaerys eats your cunt, eyes dark and watching for the signs of your pleasure. 

The sound of you against his mouth has your face burning; a pleasure you cannot control as his tongue circles your entrance - clenching around nothing, begging for him. “How did you-” Your gasp is ragged, tugging at the strands of hair between your fingers as your hips buck. “Learn of this?” 

A gasp, a raspy moan of his own as you tug his hair tight; the sound you wish to keep for yourself forever in your lewdest, darkest fantasies. “The North,” he utters, barely bringing his lips away from your glistening heat as if he can barely stand to stop. Though there is a low burning sense within you, one that you’ve felt just a few times before, you have to fight the jealousy from reaching your lips. “Have you a sweetheart up there, my Prince?” You ask, curbing the envy that curls green and dangerously in your voice. 

You can feel the smirk of Jace’s grin against your cunt; it sends a rove of shivers through you. “You ought to learn to hide your jealousy better.” He mutters, lips brushing against your pearl and sending your back arching; forearms hold your thighs, tongue delving deeper to spread your leaking desire, sliding within you as his nose presses your sensitive bud. You near the very edge of some ecstatic revelation - unable to voice it, you instead maintain the short clips of conversation that feel much too casual. 

“I had thought you would have more honor, dear nephew.” You’re sure it is supposed to come out as an insult - instead it falls with a small type of sadness, a melancholy despite the pleasure he delivers. 

Jacaerys’ tongue slows as he pulls away, lips shining in such a vulgar way you nearly cast your glance aside. His breath hits you and sends your eyes rolling in pleasure. 

“I’ve been with others,” he admits, his eyes not quite meeting yours either. “But never… fully.”

His cheeks are once again that sweet rose pink; pursing his lips, he looks up at you from his position between your thighs, hair mussed and curls wild from your hands. It is a sight so endearing you nearly look away once more. 

“It is the honorable thing to do, to save myself for-” He stops the thought, though, his eyes laced with that same pain you have come to know. 

Your face warms - was he about to say you? Or to his future betrothed, whomever she may be? 

Swallowing thickly, you nod, letting your head fall back. “I’ve never... I’ve been waiting too.” You admit to his ceiling, trying hard not to breathe in the deep scent of his soaps and cologne that lie within the bed’s sheets. 

He seems to be forgiving this evening; with a breath of air that stirs a shiver of pleasure over your molten core, he hums. “Enough.” He utters, “If you can still talk, my job is not yet finished.” 

And so he resumes; with a gasp of air, you whimper his name, thighs closing in around his head. Lips, full and wanting, mouth at you; moving again to your entrance, he pulls away just enough for you to jolt as one long finger gathers up the mix of your essence and his own saliva. 

He will not tear his eyes away as he watches his own digit prod against you; you whimper, clenching in need, as he shushes you against your sensitive pearl. The vibrations make you jolt, and it is with a sweet, low moan that you feel his finger slide deep into your heat. He hums a low sound into you that sends your toes curling, nails dragging against his scalp as you push him further against you. 

He slides another finger into you after just a few seconds - no more patience, perhaps, or he can tell the way you squeeze him that you will not last much longer. Your head thrashes against the sheets as two long fingers curl deep inside you; hitting that sweet spot that makes your breath hitch and your ankles kick against his clothed back. Arms pulling tighter, he pins you to the mattress, eyes fluttering shut as he grazes his teeth against your pearl

Any semblance of propriety or honor is gone; out into the quiet of the halls, as Jacaerys takes you apart with his tongue and fingers. 

It is near minutes before you’re kicking, bucking your hips as a slight fear of the impending feeling roves through your abdomen. Heat licks through you as his nose nudges your sensitive nub; you shake your head slightly, “It’s- I’m going to-” 

“Good,” He affirms, barely looking up from his ministrations, his cadence just as desperate as your own. You let out a low moan of his name, tugging his hair until he looks up at you; you shake your head, the ecstasy nearly too much, right on the precipice- 

But he instead chooses to mock you, nodding yes as you shake your head furiously - the feeling is nearly about to make you burst; with a gasp, you whimper, “Jace-” 

His voice is low, speaking into you as his thumb rubs against your sensitive cunt, “Gaomagon daor vīlībagon ziry, Sodjisto.” His words evoke the emotions from before: Desire, heat, hunger, some kind of anger. Do not fight it, aunt. 

So you don’t. 

Instead, you let out a sharp cry of ecstasy as you begin to tremor, desire pulsing from you more than you’ve ever known. Jace mutters against your clammy thigh, nipping at the soft plush of your thighs, “Fuck,” He utters. If you were any more composed you might find yourself shocked at his swear; always more than composed until provoked to action, it is unlike Prince Jacaerys - though, as you release your vice-grip on his curls, heaving a sigh as you ride out your pleasure, you’re not truly surprised at all. 

You still shake slightly, unable to stop your body in the aftermath of such a high; even as you lean forward, crashing your lips against his own, tasting your essence upon his lips, his chin. 

YOU LEAVE HIS CHAMBERS WITH SHAKY LEGS AND HIS ARM BRUSHING YOUR OWN. 

You’d insisted, despite whatever foolish trysts you’d allowed yourselves in the heat of anger, that you could make your way back to your own quarters fine on your own.

Though, after he’d wiped his face and brushed a hand through his curls, he’d melted back into that Prince, the kind, chivalrous one who shook his head, eyes still alight with something like bashfulness.

How you wished to pay back the favor as he’d risen from between your legs, his arousal more than evident through his trousers; he’d denied, mentioning it would only be so long before your handmaids sent the guards to find you. 

And so you walk in the eerie silence, ignoring the heat in your cheeks or the brushing of your knuckles against his. 

When you arrive in front of your quarters, Jacaerys’ hand catches your arm gently. You look at him, unsure whether to expect mercy or anger. 

"I owe you an apology," He begins, voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. "For the way I've treated you, especially in these trying times. My grief... it clouded my judgment."

You meet his gaze, watching as guilt and sincerity etch themselves in his brow. "I understand," you reply softly, your voice laced with empathy, "I know the pain runs deep, and I'm forever regretful, forever sorry for the role my family played in all of this." You purse your lips, gathering the courage to continue, "And I, too, have harbored resentment," you confess, your voice catching slightly. "For the misunderstandings, the hurt I had not realized I inflicted."

He nods solemnly, the lines of tension in his face softening marginally. "I do believe I let anger cloud my perception of you."

You can only lift one shoulder, your skin glowing in the light of the moon as you offer him a small smile. His face - soft, pale, regal - watches you.

 "I never… planned for..” His face is soon pink, a soft grin hidden away. You swallow, shaking your head with a faint, nostalgic smile at the thought of past wounds. 

 "Nor I," you admit softly, your gaze drifting to the moonlit courtyard beyond the arched windows; beyond, a roaring sea. "But perhaps it was inevitable, given our history."

A flicker of something in his face before he turns back to you, sending a soft smile. Dimples grow shyly in the moonlight, “Maybe so.” 

part two

Requests open. Taglist open.

[ivy-targaryen]

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄. being a Septa, and Jace having an obsession with you.

Many times, the firstborn son of Rhaenyra would find you quietly praying in the Sept to yourself. And along those many times, you’d find yourself sinning.

“your devotion is admirable— satisfying, I’d dare to say.” you’d hear him say, as his face was buried between your leg, grasping his rosy lips against your inner thigs; planting soft kisses & smooches. Jace would try to convince you that “the Seven would want someone to be as devoted to you, as you are to them”.

Guilt often overwhelms you, or at least, it did at the very beginning of your private meetings— but the Prince is a pleasure you can’t deny, especially with the way he takes care of you in every sense.

Your fingers would be interwined in between his brunette curls, head thrown back as you mutter his name in between heavy pants, your hand fervently kept in the back of his head, rubbing yourself against his lips — already moistened with your oozing fluids —, feeling them placing gentle kisses all over your aching cunt before his tongue teasingly abuses your clit.

“You should be praising me instead, though.” Jace’s voice would coo in a lower tone, his own breathing hitting against your throbbing genitalia— the ghost of a proud grin forming on the corner of his lips, as you, the seemingly innocent-faced Septa, pants his name in a trembling tone; legs trembling from the pleasure you receive.

“Or, perhaps, I should be begging to be allowed to praise you as you deserve.”

◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` taglist .ᐟ

@damatheirin @jacesvelaryons @capellaadara @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @mstxdes @valeriecash @cookielovesbook-akie @zzz000eee @bellarkeselection @feliuuuksks @visenya-reigned @maria699669 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @sweethoneyblossom1 @jamiemydeer @snowprincesa1

@aegonswife @cloveradora @angrybirdxx @crack240 @number-0-iz

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@hibari-maika-muller @bailey1212 @aniisbavk1 @housetargaryenloyalist @imanewsoul

@withjinkoo @hearts4li @atargaryenlover aaand last but not least, my Queen Velaryon @lady-ashfade. ♡

[ivy-targaryen]

He’s so Legolas coded.

Or should I say like he’s a dark Legolas

For science....... here's Aemond mounting the horse in slow-mo.....

[ivy-targaryen]

Cloudless Moon, Summer Night

Pairing • Aemond x reader x Aegon, Aegon x Aemond

Tags • wedding night, threesome, p. in v. sex, sibling incest

Wordcount • 3,430

As you and your newly wedded husband Aemond struggle to consummate, you seek the help of his brother the King, witnessing their tormented relationship up-close.

Aemond Masterlist • Aegon Masterlist

But of all lovely things, she loved a cloudless moon on a summer night. —Charlotte Brontë

The moon was high beneath curtains of white clouds stretching against the dark background of the night sky, round and full. It was said to be an auspicious omen for fertility, and it had been praised as you were led to your marriage bed earlier in the evening. 

The young king Aegon had called for a bedding ceremony, but a sharp look from his brother, your newly wedded husband, had made him change his mind. 

Your engagement with the prince had been long, as the betrothal had been made at the start of the war, but it wasn’t until peace had been won with blood and dragon fire that you had finally wedded. 

However such a courtship had been short and curt, as the only time you had set eyes on him had been in your father’s halls as he was made to declare for King Aegon. Your intended had flown back to King’s Landing with your house’s banners behind him, and only an hour of supervised conversation with you—most of it had been talk of duty and the looming war.

Now, merely a fortnight after your arrival to the capital, you were wedded to the man you had been given to in exchange for your family’s advancement and a dragon to guard your father’s region. 

For all his confidence and intense presence in public, Aemond was shy and reserved in private, and even though you found an endearing tenderness in him, you were soon disheartened to realize that your wedding night would not be so easy.

Caged by his slim but firm arms, white curtains of silky strands falling on you, you hissed as the sting of one of his tentative thrusts, and Aemond pulled away, hiding his dejected sigh behind his long hair. 

“I’m sorry,” you said for the tenth time since the doors to your chambers had closed, closing your legs as he pushed himself up and away.

“The fault is not yours,” Aemond replied, and you could only be glad he didn’t seem inclined to blame you, or to force himself inside of you, pushing until your body yielded with great pain. 

You sat up, bringing your knees up to your chin, hugging them to your chest defensively, and it drained the last drops of arousal still lingering in Aemond’s stomach. 

He had never given the matters of consummation much thought; he knew it to be straightforward, and had believed he knew enough from his brother’s teachings to succeed, but he now realized bitterly that he had been a fool. 

For reasons he dreaded to consider, every attempt at breaching your maidenhead had failed, and he didn’t have the heart to make you bleed and cry. 

You had been patient and soft so far, but he could tell from the trembling of your hands that you struggled to keep your composure. He knew it was his role as husband to lead you, but he lacked the innate confidence of men in those matters, and your body was as a map he couldn’t decipher. 

“Do you think me deficient?” Aemond suddenly asked as he wrapped a robe around his shoulders, covering his slender frame. He sat across from you on the sheets, face still hidden in shame.

Your brow immediately furrowed at his question. “No, of course not,” you replied with a confounded smile.

You could not help but notice how he had gone soft again, and bitter tears rose to your eyes. It was the third time in the night that the both of you had tried to consummate—the first time it had failed, you had both put it on account of nerves and unfamiliarity, and had spent the next hour confiding in one another, sharing a few cups of wine in the hope that it would ease your difficulties.

However after the second attempt failed again, your body refusing to soften and let him in, and Aemond refusing to assert himself and push more than an inch. You had come to the conclusion that your marriage bed wouldn’t be as easy as you had been taught. 

You had been told that satisfying the desires of men could be burdensome and uncomfortable, yet now you were puzzled that such desires didn’t seem to come easy to your husband.

More wine had been drunk, and you had both spent a long moment side by side on the sheets, a hand between your own legs; you, trying to prod and push past the resistance Aemond didn’t have to heart to breach, and him trying to arouse himself to full hardness. 

Unfortunately, neither endeavors had worked, and your third attempt had been short-lived and utterly disheartening.

You swallowed your tears and summoned the last confidence you had, putting your shame aside and bringing back the dutiful words you had exchanged on the night of your betrothal.

“We have a duty to the realm, to my father and to your brother the king. There needs to be an heir to the alliance between our families,” you reminded him, hiding your own insecurities behind the screen of duty and solemn promises. “Throughout our recent courtship, I have noticed that matters of intimacy don’t come easily to you, and I want you to know that I don’t expect this match to become one of love.”

Aemond looked up at you, tilting his head and humming a silent question. “Is there anyone who could help? Is there a servant you trust?” you clarified, then licked your lips before adding. “Do you have a paramour, a confidant?”

Aemond felt himself flinch at the question, but he could not bring himself to speak the truth. “No,” he replied after too long a silence.

“You thought of someone. Have them summoned, it matters not to me,” you insisted, and while he was grateful for the grace with which you were dealing with the predicament, your offer did not ease the knot in his stomach.

“It is not someone that can be… summoned,” he said, hoping you would drop the offer.

“Is it your sister?” you asked after heavy contemplation. 

Aemond shook his head with a great sigh; in a way, it would have been easier if the person that had come to his mind had been Helaena. They shared a bond of unspoken trust and understanding, but it didn’t cross the line of desire. 

Aemond looked up at you, pushing a strand of his hair behind his ear, but you couldn’t decipher his gaze.

“My brother,” he then admitted, his voice low. It was his darkest secret and perhaps his greatest shame, surpassing even his hatred of his missing eye. Aegon was as an overgrown limb, something he desperately wished to be rid off but that remained attached, irrevocably part of him.

He had always been eager to impress his family, his grandsire and father, his mother, and of course his older brother had been no exception. He was the eldest son, the heir, the golden child, and Aemond’s impressionable mind had been drawn to him in his early years. 

He loathed Aegon as much as he adored him, and that constant torment was a pillar of their relationship—sometimes tempers ran hot, and sometimes they were cold to one another, dismissive and biting, until the forced indifference turned to fury again.

As Aemond grew and his brotherly admiration turned into something else, it was always tainted by the knowledge that Aegon wasn’t his to desire. Even though there was no love between him and Helaena, a vow was still sacred, and he had no wish to defile it.

Furthermore, he knew the words of men who coveted others were called. Slurs and insults that stuck to their skin no matter where they went; he had heard enough of those sticking to Ser Laenor to want to avoid the same humiliation.

The more debauched Aegon grew, the more Aemond’s admiration turned sour in his stomach, still as bright as ever if only more confusing. There was nothing to love about his eldest, and yet he burned for his attention, for his approval.

“Then we shall go to him,” you replied after a moment of contemplative silence.

You jumped from the bed without another word and reached for a robe, wrapping it hastily around your shoulders and marching into the corridor decidedly. Aemond could only follow, his long strides catching up with you easily, his words stuck in his throat.

The guard standing vigil at the door looked at your bare feet with surprise, not even noticing your flushed face and disheveled hair. “The king has requested for us to come when it was done,” you said slowly, attempting to convey your meaning without expliciting. 

The guard allowed you in, and as the door closed behind you, you realized that in your haste, you hadn’t taken the time to think of how to breach the subject. “My king, we were wondering if we could have a moment of your time…”

Aegon gazed at you starting from your bare feet up to your flushed face, one of his hands propping him up on the mantle of the fireplace and the other one carrying a cup of wine to his lips. 

He was dressed in nothing but a robe that grazed the floor, tightened loosely at his hips, revealing his bare chest and legs—you could tell he was not wearing smallclothes, and you were afraid the slightest movement would reveal him.

“Drop the pretenses and the polite language. I know why you’re here,” he replied with a conniving smile and you sighed, your shoulders dropping. 

“You were expecting us?” you asked in confusion.

“I had expected my dear brother to knock upon my door under a false pretext, only to rush back out an hour later, declaring it to be the last time,” Aegon sighed with a chagrined smile before downing the rest of his wine. The dark red stained his lower lip before he licked it clean.

Beside you, Aemond shifted his weight. “I did not come here to be subjected to your jests,” he spat out, his hand reaching for the sleeve of your robe and pulling you along. “Let us go, I should not have indulged your idea.”

However you did not budge, but he was prepared to march back out on his own—he could never rid himself of the stench of his own sins, of the shame that came from how eager he was to please, especially on the nights Aegon was too drunk to tease him for it.

“Wait,” came the sharp yet gentle command, and Aemond froze, his profile standing out.

Aegon admired his slender frame that carried such lethal strength—he had often silently lamented it was Helaena born that was born with the cunt, and not his sweet, yet deadly little brother. They were a more harmonious match, their bond that of an incessant push and pull that bordered on flirtation as much as on violence. 

But a few hurried, silent touches was all Aemond allowed, and Aegon could not be sure if it stemmed from genuine desire or from envy—if Aemond desired him, or the blood of the first son that ran through his veins.

“Nyke urnēptre ao skorkydoso naejot gaomagon ziry, gōntan nyke daor? I showed you how to do it, didn’t I?” Aegon asked, intense. The High Valyrian didn’t seem to come as easily to him as it did your husband, but it still has its effect: Aemond seemed to coil in on himself as Aegon stepped closer to him in measured steps. “Nyke mirre ao istan sȳrī bodmagho. I made sure you were properly educated.”

“Īles daor drējī sȳz. It wasn’t exactly pleasant,” Aemond admitted, his eye snapping up even though his frame didn’t move an inch, as still as stone and braced for Aegon’s next move. “And you omitted that bedding a wife, a maiden, is quite different from a whore.”

“Gōntan nyke drējī ōdrikagon ao bona olvie? Nyke jeldan ao naejot sagon vala. Did I really trouble you that much? I wanted you to be a man,” Aegon inquired, speaking almost as though he was thinking aloud.

“Hae lo vala hae ao iksin mirros naejot jurnegon bē tolī. As if a man like you was something to look up to,” Aemond retorted.

Aegon laughed at that, reaching to push Aemond’s hair away. “Bona ōdrikagon, lēkia… yn kesīr iksā, iepagon ñuha dohaeragon. That stings, brother… and yet here you are, asking for my help,” he grinned before turning around and gesturing to his rooms. “You’ve been here before, you know your way around my bed…” he then added in the common tongue. 

“Are you drunk?” Aemond hissed. 

“Undress,” Aegon said to you before taking a sip of wine, ignoring his brother's question. “How do you expect him to get it up if he can’t see you?”

While you were stunned by the king’s forward words, you knew he was correct. You stood at the foot of the bed, pulling your robe off and letting your shift drop to the floor in a soft puddle of cotton. 

“My, my…” Aegon whispered, leaning against the bedpost. You shivered under the king’s appreciative gaze but didn’t hide yourself, instead reached for his goblet and took a sip of the dark liquid. 

“All your hours of training have certainly paid off, brother,” he said, looking over your shoulder, and as you turned you realized Aemond had unclothed as well, his robe draped over a chair. 

Aemond preened under his brother’s scalding gaze as he stepped up to you, and you were both glad to fall into one another, distracting yourselves from Aegon’s scrutiny with a deep kiss. 

He was seemingly emboldened by Aegon’s eyes on him, his lips crushing your harder and his tongue prodding yours with more intent. He was more relaxed in the king’s presence than he had been alone with you, and you welcomed his passion. 

Aegon’s hands traveled along your curves as you kissed, making you flinch before you melted back into Aemond’s arms, his hands on your waist. He marveled at the difference between your suppleness and Aemond’s hard edges, his protruding bones and your inviting curves. The young king bit his lip as he watched Aemond’s cock fill slowly, pressed against your soft abdomen. 

“Just tip her backwards,” he commented, and Aemond rolled his eye but complied. 

Aegon watched as Aemond flattened you to the bed, then followed, kneeling on the sheets at your side. His hand roamed up and down Aemond’s back, in his hair, as he found his place in the cradle of your thighs. Aegon’s mouth dropped open slightly as both Aemond and you looked between your bodies, then reached to bring yourselves together. 

“Not yet,” Aegon stopped you.

He laid down next to you, looking up at Aemond—his robe had fallen open, revealing his own hard cock resting against his thigh. You traced the fullness of his pink lower lip with your eyes as he spoke. 

“She’s not ready. She’s a maiden, which means her body won’t welcome you in quite so easily…” he explained, you supposed for your sake as well, and you ground back against Aemond instinctively, feeling him twitch against your core. 

“Ilagon. Lay down,” he ordered, but you didn’t have the time to wonder what the words meant as Aemond stretched his lithe form next to yours. You found yourself bracketed by the two brothers, and Aegon’s gentle hand on your knee forced you to splay your thighs wider, exposing you to both their gazes and touches. 

“Give me your hand,” Aegon prompted, and soon he was pressing Aemond’s forefinger at your core. You squirmed, oversensitive, and the touch lightened. 

“Konīr iksis iā dīnagon rȳ se bē, paktot skoriot zirȳla ñelly rhaenagon. There’s a spot at the top, right where her folds meet,” he said, throwing a glance at your face as he guided his brother expertly. The High Valyrian seemed to be a comfort to Aemond, who was growing more assured. “Emā naejot shifang skorkydoso ziry hae sȳrje. Paez iā adere, bē se ilagon, iā isse byka renigon … You’ve got to figure out how she likes it best. Slow or quick, up and down, or in small circles…” 

As he guided Aemond, their fingers slowly teasing a heat within your core; he tucked his face in your neck, and Aemond mirrored him. You could only throw your head back as they both sucked kisses into your skin, Aegon’s mouth quickly leaving your neck for Aemond to enjoy alone, instead moving on to your breasts. 

“That’s it, fuck…” he whispered before sucking one of you buds into his mouth. 

You closed your eyes, your hips slowly falling into the rhythm of their joined hands. For a while the room faded and there was nothing to the world but the heat of their mouths on your skin and the pressure of their fingers at your core. Your skin burned with it, shudders wracking your frame. 

“Renigon skorkydoso lōz issa sir. Feel how wet she is now,” he added, dipping a finger between your folds. Aemond grunted, gently rocking up against you, and you felt his hard length against your side. 

“Aemond,” you moaned, turning your head to crush your mouth to his once again. He didn’t break the kiss as he slid back between your thighs, Aegon retracting his hand to fit it at Aemond’s back, still wet with your desire. 

Aegon pressed his forehead to Aemond’s temple, looking down where his brother’s cock was pressing at your entrance, then pushed forward easily. “Gentle thrusts,” he guided.

Aemond sighed in relief as he felt your body finally yield, welcoming him inside. You winced slightly, a victorious smile on your lips nonetheless—the sting was muted this time, and the stretch that followed was a welcome distraction. 

Aemond followed the gentle pushes of Aegon’s hand on his lower back, and soon you were rocking up into him. Caught between the vice of your cunt and the warm pressure of Aegon’s palm, slowly drifting from the small of his back to the curve of his ass, Aemond’s head spun. 

“It’s good,” you sighed, encouraging him.

“That turn you on, fucking in front of the king?” Aegon asked with a grin, and Aemond swallowed your answering moan. 

Without asking for permission to touch you, he slid his hand to your pearl, where you and Aemond were pressed together, and his boldness incensed you. 

“Gaomā sīr sȳz … ūndegon skorkydoso issa kreni, skorkydoso ziry obūljagon zirȳla arlī. You’re doing so good… see how she flushes, how she arches her back,” he said, and the rolling vowels of High Valyrian made you shudder even though you didn’t understand it. The words seemed to spur Aemond on as your hips started to grind up into his hand, clenching around your husband’s cock. “Iksan mirrī isse jaelagon. I’m a bit jealous,” he added, and you felt Aemond’s pace quicken.

“Ao jorrāelagon bona, drēje, naejot qogralbar aōha dārys? You’d love that, wouldn’t you, to fuck your king?” Aegon asked next, and as your eyes fluttered open, you saw the question was being pressed into Aemond’s temple—your husband turned his head, leaning into his brother, the young king pulling at his own cock in rhythm with your coupling.  

Heat ran up down your spine, pooling at your core, as you saw Aemond’s lips part for Aegon, their mouths crushed together eagerly. They kissed with the hunger from years of repressed desires and unsaid words, and the forbidden sight was almost enough to trigger your undoing. 

“Let’s finish her, before we get carried away,” Aegon decided as he pulled away for breath. 

The edge was rapidly approaching and you were powerless to stop it; it was under your husband and your king’s hooded gazes that you were swept away by your peak. You clenched around Aemond’s cock as your core pulsed, your back arching off the bed. 

“That’s it, Aemond,” Aegon groaned, his grip tightening on his brother’s ass. 

Aemond panted his pleasure in Aegon’s mouth when his peak took over, shuddering in the cradle of your hips. As soon as he stopped shaking, Aemond pulled away from your body and turned his attention to his brother. Aegon was dazed as his own hand quickened between his legs, his look stunned when he felt Aemond shove him backwards into the bed. 

“Aem,” Aegon whined as his brother’s long fingers, still tacky with your earlier pleasure, wrapped around his cock and picked up his frantic rhythm. Aegon cursed and keened as he spilled, pulsing hotly over Aemond’s hand. 

Aemond fetched a wet cloth as you stretched your pliant body, your skin shivering with delight; you buried yourself into the rumpled sheets. Aegon laid beside you, running curious fingers along your curves, then dipping into the warmth where his brother’s spent was slowly dripping out. 

You made a noise of protest, oversensitive, and Aemond pressed a soothing kiss to your lips as he climbed to lay at your other side. 

Slumber lured you into its warm arms, and the plusher pillows of the king’s bed welcomed your heavy, loose limbs. As you drifted away, you heard Aegon murmur to Aemond. 

“You’ll bring her back to my bed, won’t you?” he inquired, a touch of desperation to his voice. 

“Hm,” came the answering sound. “Or perhaps you shall come to ours, if she wishes.”

“Eman dōrī ūndegīon bona paktot hen ao gō. I’ve never seen that side of you before,” the young king said with marvel, and you felt Aemond twitch against you. Your fluttering eyes watched as he drew mindless circles on Aegon’s hip, his arm resting across your belly. 

“Kessa ziry mazverdagon ñuha dārys biare naejot ūndegon ziry arlī? Would it please my king to see it again?”

“Daorun kessa mazverdagon nyke tolī biare. Nothing would please me more,” he said and if Aemond answered, it was lost to the darkness that pulled you under, the round, cloudless moon watching over your entwined bodies.

Dividers by @/saradika

A huge collective thank you to the lovely people who helped with this request; thank you to @themoonofthesun for brainstorming Aegon and Aemond's relationship with me; and thank you to @zaldritzosrose and @arcielee for beta reading ♡

Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed reading. Comments and likes are equally appreciated.

Aegon and Aemond Taglist 1: @snowystark @qyburnsghost @darkenchantress @itscatlien-blog @castellomargot

@cardi-bre91 @avengingangelfanfic @malfoytargaryen @mari0302 @iamfandomnerd

@hb8301 @pasta-rask @chattylurker @svtansdaddyx

@its-sam-allgood @amarillys92

[ivy-targaryen]

THE WARM OF BOTH BODIES

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

✧Rating: +18 mdni explicit

✧word count: 3.1k

✧gif credit: aegon ✧ aemond

-ˋˏsummary: Dragons are greedy, and both of your brothers have perverted desires that you take no issue on entertaining. ✧Warnings: : MDNI 18+, mummy kink, lactation kink, breastfeeding, threesome (f/m/m), aegond, targcest, polyamory, oral (f and m receiving), masturbation (f and m receiving), aegon is the most submissive to exist, switch!aemond. ✧ this is a part from @targaryen-dynasty 's 3k celebration ! check all the other works too, and as always a pleasure to participate with my silly things and congrats to her ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ ✧ note: i added my own spice. it didn't say anything about aegond but i am... weak... #i tried

By no means had you known what being alone was like.

After Aemond, you were the fifth child of king Viserys to survive childhood. Daeron was your youngest by two years, and like your sister, you were dotted and cared for by your mother and father… unlike your brothers. 

Your mother had a weird way to demonstrate affection to them, you always thought. With Aegon was non-existent, and Aemond had this burden to be the reliable sibling amongst them all. 

When Aegon had to marry Helaena; you married Aemond. It was how the tradition dictates, and it was under your father’s wish, much to your mother’s dislike.

And just like Helaena, you recently had a daughter with Aemond, Rhaelle, who was the apple of his father’s eye. Yet, the only difference between your duty and Helaena’s is that she wasn’t the one who had to take care of Aegon. Instead, you took care of Aegon’s whims, alongside your husband’s.  

Aegon was greedy, whiny and clingy. He searched you whenever he wanted, following you around like a puppy for your attention. Whereas Aemond was quiet, reserved and embarrassed, but not less greedy. He often wanted comfort, praise for his action and the reassurance that he was doing no wrong in his desires. 

Both of them accepted the other, in a quiet agreement. You were a petulant person, and if you wanted, they knew this, all of it, would be over. So they shut up their differences for the sake of it.

Aegon was curled by your right side, lying on the bed of your chambers. Post coital bliss at its finest, as he was slightly sleepy, and even a bit grumpy when bothered. It had been some cold days, but the fire made it more bearable, and it gave some sense of cosiness to both. He was just resting, a bit sleepy, his head on your stomach as you read some silly book about Valyrian fashion, as his legs were pressed against your shoulder, as you slowly caressed his leg, soothing him like that.

You hear his soft yawn, as the laziness of the evening consumes you both as you are cuddled against the other for the warm. As Aegon draws slowly patterns upon the lower part of your chest, you feel the door of the chambers opening knowing it was your husband 

You lower your book, caressing Aegon’s heel and calf, as you look at Aemond, walking closer to the bed as he makes a slight face at seeing Aegon here, as if he wanted you all for himself. He takes his boots quickly, moving to take off his leather jerkin.

“Hi” You say, softly, and he hums. You can see it in the slight frown on his face. 

Aegon stirs a hit, not greeting Aemond as he sits on the bed, closer to you. Like a lazy cat, he yawns, and you feel his muscles stretching a bit. 

“Did you tuck Rhaelle?” Aemond asks, his shoulders tensed up as he takes off his eye patch and loses up his hair. He was tired, you could see.

“Yes, she is sleeping in the nursery…” You say softly, looking at him. “What is it?” You ask, seeing how Aemond wants something, yet he doesn’t know how to say it, looking at you a bit unsure. 

“Mummy” He whines softly, frowning as his tone was a bit sheepishly, sitting closer to you, by your left side. 

You press your lips together, looking at him as he seems so vulnerable, and tired, for whatever reason he probably will tell you later. Aegon nuzzles your stomach, his interest piqued on Aemond’s word, because if it involves Aemond, it will involve him as well. 

The unspoken words between you and Aemond are no obstacle to knowing what he wants. You know your brothers, surely, but Aemond was different. Aemond was your husband, and you knew him like the palm of your hand. 

Aemond nods shyly, as if agreeing with the thought on your mind, and he scoots closer once you sit better on the bed, leaning back properly on the pillows. Your nightgown is easy to untie at the front, more so when you are lactating and need an easy way to open the dress. Rhaelle would fuss and wail her little lungs out, so your clothes were always easy to undo. 

Now, if Rhaelle’s father and uncle enjoy the same, is another thing. 

You undo the laces in the front of your dress, and you know how Aegon reincorporates to sit, suddenly all woken up and interested in this. The dress is pure cotton, and it is comfortable to wear. You pull the fabric out of the way, and with their gazes following your each movement, you know it is a matter of time for them to hungrily latch onto you.

Aegon curls up to your right side, whereas Aemond does the same on your left. He always preferred your left, since the blind spot faces Aegon, so he doesn’t have to bear seeing him too. Aegon is much more shameless, clinging to you and moving his hips softly against your right side.

You feel both men getting closer, and their breaths hit your nipples as they nuzzle your blossom, in hopes of sucking hungrily.

 “Aegon…” you say softly as he was growing impatient, moving a bit as he pressed his face closer to your breast, restless and eager.

Aemond is never restless; he stayed still as he loved, caring. He always pressed faint kisses, around your tits, before suckling calmly. His left arm always found its way to wrap your waist, keeping you close to him as he delighted himself with soothing milk.

Instead, Aegon immediately latched onto your breast, suckling and trying to get all the milk he could, eagerly as he always seemed relentless, always craving more and more. He’d watch you with bright, purple eyes as he craved for your attention.

You comb their hair with your fingers, kiss the top of their heads and rub their back. They were your older brothers, but behaved like hungry little kittens that needed their milk.

Always was a bit strange, as they weren’t always amicable. It took a long time, for Aemond, at least, to join in. It was mainly due to the fact that Aegon rarely left you alone, even if you were Aemond’s wife. Little by little, they learned how to warm up to each other, and sometimes to your request, they’ll kiss.

The suckling sounds are loud, almost obscene, as you feel both swallow each drop from your leaking milk. Aemond had probably been tasting it since the end of your pregnancy, yet it didn’t tire him at all. And Aegon? He was always hungry, and he suckled and his tongue lapped your breast, milking more and more. 

You can feel how they swallow the milk, both eager. Aemond has a hand around your waist, as Aegon has his hand around your breast and squeezes it slightly as if to have more.

“Mummy” Aegon murmurs, pulling back as he looks at you, and he has wide purple eyes “are we being good?”

The reassurance is a must, you realise with time. “Yes, baby. You both are my good boys” you murmur, caressing the top of their head “Both of you, my best boys…”

They delight themselves in the praise; you hear Aemond’s faint moans, as you feel his body at ease. You caress the back of his head, feeling the loose hairs on your fingers. 

It always made you feel the arousal settle in the lower part of your belly, and feeling so turned on you had to press your thighs together a bit. Aemond loved when your breast grew larger, and full of milk. Aegon was not behind that feeling, as he was the one to propose the idea to ‘help you with the heaviness of them’.

Aegon gulps on the milk like a glutton, and his eyes are closed in the delight of nursing. You feel his cock hardening little by little by your side. Aemond instead, looks at you. His eye is deep and intense, watching your face as his mouth is still working on your nipple, his tongue pressing against the nub getting more milk. His hand on your waist loosens up slightly, slowly moving down all the way to your stomach, and little by little, makes its way to your centre. 

Aegon is oblivious to that, as he suckles and slurps loudly, with not a care for the world, nipping and licking all of the sweet milk that your breast can produce. He whines a bit, scooping closer and closer as he tries to get more and more. 

“Doing such a good job for mummy, darlings…” You say to both, as you feel Aemond’s hand almost innocently brushing against your womanhood. “So good…” You murmur dreamily, sighing as Aegon nuzzles his face closer to your right breast, his nose brushing the skin as his mouth slightly presses a bit harder, eager for more.

They could feel you moving under their touch, almost possessive as they fed from you, keeping you right there at their mercy. The sound of your praise stirred something in both of them, yearning more of your affections, more of mummy’s affections. 

Aemond is the first one to pull away from your breast, beginning to shift as his body moves higher, his mouth kissing all the way up to kiss you in the lips. You hum, feeling the taste of your own milk on his lips. 

“Mummy” Aegon protests, not wanting to be left out as always, as he pulls away from your breast, an obscene sound from it as he moves his head to nuzzle your cheek, kissing lazily to keep on worshipping your body. 

Aware of how his hand was still between your legs, Aemond pressed it harder against your core, rubbing more firmly. As if wanting to draw more sounds from you, Aegon moves his hand to grope softly, carefully your breast, not wanting to leave a part from you unattended. 

“You are such good boys for me, always wanting to please me, hm?” You say, panting a bit from how good your husband's hands on your pussy feels.

“Yes mummy” Aemond murmurs, and Aegon nods in agreement. 

It’s as if Aemond knows your thoughts, because he turns to watch Aegon, moving slightly his other hand to place it on the back of his neck, pulling Aegon closer to share a slow, yet passionate kiss between both of them.

They could feel the milky taste in the other’s mouth, and you could see how their tongues crashed against each other, making it as sloppy as possible as they made out for quite some time, as Aemond’s fingers tried to pry into your clit and pussy. 

You know that at the beginning it was more to put on a show for you, for your delight that they agreed to do as well. If they enjoyed it, you could never know. But now it’s different, watching how they hungrily seek each other’s mouth, and if one tries to pull away, the other is quick to lean, following their mouth to keep on kissing. 

It’s hot, to say the least, and it makes wonders for your arousal to see both of them kiss like this. You think, for a moment, if you could maybe propose the idea for them to follow this lust for each other further. Maybe for another occasion. 

As Aemond’s lips move to kiss Aegon’s neck, you see how your baby seems so aroused, you could always see it clearly with Aegon, how his cheeks turned pinker and he had that blissful expression. You feel Aemond’s hand moving away from your core, and before you could ask anything, they both pulled away from each other. 

Aemond probably murmured something in Aegon's ear, because they shared a look before the eldest slowly turned to you. 

 “Mummy, can we please you…? We wanna taste your pussy… please…” he asked, and you see how Aemond looks at you, awaiting your answer, as his hand caresses your thigh softly.

You caress Aegon’s thigh softly, as they both almost look at you with puppy eyes. 

“Yes, my darlings. Please mummy with your mouths” 

It does not take them long to accommodate between your legs, Aemond presses one hand to your left leg, keeping it still. Aegon does not bother to do the same for your left thigh, as he has other priorities. 

You feel Aegon’s mouth first, his tongue tracing along her slit. Aemond moves his hand to the back of Aegon’s head, pushing his mouth further into your cunt, as the eldest savours your wetness. And at the sound of your moans, he doubles his efforts.

Then it’s Aegon who pulls your husband’s face down to join his mouth, both of them licking and sucking your wet cunt. You can see both of them, their cheeks pressed together as they pleasure you with their mouths at the same time, licking and slurping in unison.

“Fuck, f-fuck, gods…” you moan, your hips moving closer, grinding against his tongues, grabbing Aegon’s hair, short and easy to grab (unlike Aemond’s)

Aegon seems delighted at that, and you feel his tongue darting out to suck your clit eagerly, and you feel your jaw moving at the motion, and he whimpers with need. Aemond is, as always, focused as he slurps and sucks on her entrance, obscene sounds fill the room as his expert mouth works on you. 

They both clearly relish both the taste and the privilege of having their faces buried between your thighs, moving to please you, and their tongues crashing together as they do so. 

“Mummy, you taste so good” you don’t even recognise the sound, the sound muffled by the little space between his mouth and your folds. 

“Fuck, so good…” the other agrees, and your legs tremble, as your hips try to get more and more of their wicked tongues.

Aegon is the one whining, you know that. As you pull his hair, you see his needy eyes looking at you. You press your heel on his back, as if pushing him closer to your cunt. He moans, closing his eyes as he goes back to feasting on your pussy.

Aemond moved to your clit now, and you can see how the sapphire glints on the dim lights. You imagine that both of their cocks are rock hard, throbbing impatiently. 

Maybe it’s Aegon or Aemond (maybe both) the one who drools, while the muffled moans still come and go. You, on your side, are a mess, as you try to keep both of them close to you, feeling Aemond’s hand caressing your breast. Your pussy can’t take longer, and your hips grind against both of their faces, as you roll your eyes back and lean your head back in the pillows, as you feel your orgasm so close.

 “Fuck, babies, so good for mummy, fuck…” you mean it, moaning loudly as you feel them whimper.

“Wanna make you cum so hard, mummy…” Aegon’s raspy voice is a bit clearer, as you clench on his hair.

“Hmmmm” Aemond hums, not separating one bit from your cunt.

As you start cumming, both of them press their mouth against your pussy, wanting to taste your cum as they try to be the one to get more. You are cumming hard, and their greedy tongues only fuel your orgasm even more. 

Feeling your pussy quivering and pulsing around their tongues it's probably one of their favourite things, along with the rest of you. The feeling of your creamy juices made them greedy, and they share it all

Their faces are shiny with your arousal, and even when you retreat, they lick their lips as if wanting more. You can’t exactly see in the faces of your brother’s what they are thinking, but you feel tired to think about anything but the great orgasm you just had. 

You are not exactly sure who started the kiss, but it's messy and sloppy, as you see their tongues sharing the last tastes of your cum, as their hands clenched to the other to keep him close, and keep on the passionate kiss.

It’s Aemond who groans, Aegon pressing his body to his, almost humping his cock to any part of your husband’s skin, who holds him close, one hand on his jaw and the other moving down to the eldest hips.

You move a bit, sitting better on the bed, yet your back still leans on the pillows, body relaxed as you accommodate to watch them devour each other as one does sit to watch men fighting in a tourney. But both of them were involved in different practices, which was a show for you to see and most importantly- enjoy. 

You can see their tongues pressing together, their heads moving to not break the sloppy kiss, messy and passionate. They surely are doing this out of passion and lust, rather than rational thought, but you are not complaining.

Aegon’s hand comes to caress the firm abdomen of Aemond, like you enjoy doing. Your husband is a creature of many sides, and he can be as submissive as he can be dominant. He moves the hand on Aegon’s hip to grip his short hair, and keeps him in place to keep on kissing him. 

“Aem… mummy” Aegon’s little whines come in a low tone, and a bit slurred, as Aemond does not give his mouth a break. 

It takes you a while to notice that Aegon is using his hand to stroke Aemond’s cock, using the side of his thigh to hump and grind his own cock. He was needy, but he was too much of a needy baby to fight for dominance. Aegon relished on being submissive, either with you, or Aemond. 

Aemond breaks their kiss, his head falling back to pant, groaning slightly as Aegon uses his hand on his cock. You know Aegon is the most lustful creature since he discovered pleasure, and he was always good with his hands. 

“Mummy…” Aegon whines, wanting you to help him with his cock, and you move on your knees closer to where they were having this exchange of pleasure, because both of them wanted to cum very badly. 

Your hands on Aegon’s cock make him go weak, whimpering as he leans closer to Aemond, moving his lips down on his body, his abdomen and the tip of his cock.

“Good boys, hm? You both are such good boys for mummy, pleasuring yourselves…” You say, that sweet tone of yours makes Aemond’s arousal explode. 

“Fuck-” Aemond mutters, groaning and whimpering as he cums one of his hands moving to grip your shoulder, and as your hands stroke the eldest’s cock, your hand over stimulating movements on his cockhead, as if trying to replicate his tongue movements on Aemond’s tip. 

Aegon is greedy, and he whimpers, still pleasuring Aemond, his hips bucking on your hand, as his own orgasm hits hard. Aemond is the one holding him, as your baby’s orgasm hits him hard, trying not to fall on the bed, panting loudly and whimpering. 

He makes a little sound when you kiss him, wanting to taste Aemond’s cum on his tongue. It was delightful, and you feel his body melting on your touch. You feel how your other brother moves to caress the back of your head, nuzzling your shoulder and kissing it tenderly.

You could get used to this new dynamic, surely.

[ivy-targaryen]

HE NEEDS ME.

+ . aegon ii targaryen x f!velaryon!reader

synopsis. is it punishment or comfort aegon seeks with you? either way the path to either allows him solace and aegon is nothing if not selfish.

3 + . contents. no use of y/n or any variation. suggestive content. smut. p in v. doggy style. hair pulling. unhealthy depictions of love. dacryphilia. mentions of blood. rough sex? light angst. hurt w/ no comfort. canon-divergent. canon/period-typical incest. fingering. implications of power imbalance. 2.5k words.

Aegon is a bad man. He could be good, perhaps even great – but he isn’t. By choice or environment, he’s unsure but he simply knows he’s rotted. Filled with maggots and crawling with rats throughout his innards to rival the angelic and perpetually sad beauty of his Targaryen face. Cruel, drunken, unforgiving, Aegon is plenty but he is selfish to his very being. Spoiled. Selfish. Spoiled. A child that was coddled in ways that didn’t matter, a child given whatever he wished with the exception of nurture and kindness. Such children grow into sour adults, selfish ones that still feel as if they’re owed something. Anything. That seek satiation for something never received in any way and any form they can get it from anyone. Aegon’s never cares how or where he receives it from, what he never obtained in his youth. He’s a bad man. Awful truly.

So why do you love him so?

Maybe he isn’t so awful. He does in fact love you. Maybe you’re the only person aside from his children that he loves in a way. And he does feel guilt over you, over what he does. Beneath the blanket of night as he walks down the corridors in his night cloths, he does feel guilt. There’s a little voice in his head telling him what he does, what he’s doing, is wrong. Taking advantage of a sweet rabbit too trusting and too kind, grown in a garden of a nurturing mother and loving father unlike the likes of him. He does feel guilt, he does have that little voice in his head as he approaches your chamber doors while excusing the guards.

That has to count for something.

But, as always, the moment Aegon enters your quarters, his guilt and that little voice are silenced. Nothing is loud in your atmosphere that smells of you. When his perpetually sad, violet eyes find themselves trained on you sitting by the fire with a book in hand he feels like a wounded man given enough morphine to knock an ox unconscious. You smile at him, it’s a beautiful smile that makes his own touch his pink lips as you set aside your book and stand up. Walking over to him, readily embracing him. That voice tries to speak but Aegon shuts it up the moment you fall into his arms and he embraces you.

No one smiles at him like you, hugs him like you – treats him like you do. One day, you’ll look back upon this with regret or disgust and you’ll see him as the rotted maggot and rat-infested prince he is. But that day has not yet come and by the way you embrace him it will not come any time soon. Aegon enjoys this, basking in it as his face finds the hollow of your throat and his hands grasp tightly at your sleepwear soft beneath his cold hands. The drunken prince exhales deeply against your throat, body against body and face in each other’s neck.

“I missed you, uncle.” You mumble into his throat. And Aegon believes you.

He doesn’t return the sentiment. He never does. But he replies in a gentle kiss against your throat. Aegon can smell your recent bath. There’s still a dampness in your hair as one hand cradles the back of your head. “Did you?” Aegon only wants to hear it again, words echoing against that hollow and nose brushing the soft skin.

You nod while you hold him close and tight. “Too many duties of a princess, it has been three days since our last. I missed you.” He shudders in pleasure and satisfaction.

Aegon wonders if you want him to say it back. But only for a moment before he pulls back and his hands cradle your face to admire your beauty. The beauty of a bastard, of a girl borne of love and care not obligation and duty. Aegon traces your features with his doe eyes as he’s done so many times before and you do what you always do. Smile up at him in pure adoration and care as your hands hold his wrists, thumbs sweeping pulse points where you must feel the soothing and calm beat of his heart. Sometimes he wonders if such a look of affection is false, if all you do is false to keep him calm and soft beneath your thumb. Like a dog warming to that who holds their leash.

But he knows you’re sincere. Honest. Genuine. Because you’re everything good, the light he holds in his palm. Capable of so much yet made small by him. Are you aware of that? Of course not. You’re you.

Leaning in, Aegon doesn’t reply to your words with his own words. Instead, his soft pink lips find your lips. Immediately, you lean up into the kiss and your hands hold his face rather than his wrists. The taste of wine from supper remains on your mouth, his tongue impatient when it invades the hot cavern of your lips that have only ever touched his. Only ever tasted him. Lips that are, by nearly every definition, his. That passing thought brings the kiss more bruising, more needy, more desperate. And you’re so eager to reciprocate. You love him. You love him. You love him.

No, you adore him.

Aegon’s nimble hands begin to undo the fabrics of your clothes as your hands undo his own. Steps forward take your steps back until your legs are against the edge of the bed and fabrics hit the floors of stone. “Lie down as I like you.” Aegon speaks against your mouth. You nod with a face so hot he can feel it against his own and through his palms. Despite his order, your obligeance sends his lips after yours.

Lying down as he likes, as you’ve learned just as he taught you all else, Aegon exhales deeply with a rapidly thumping heart and splotchy reds against porcelain cheeks. You’re lying down across the bedding horizontally, knees pressed and to your left to display both your cunt and your face to him. Already he can see the shine against your cunt, the need for the man who can provide ecstasy unimaginable because you have nothing and no one to compare such to. Aegon crawls forward, positioning himself between your knees he spreads and he leans back down to capture your mouth again.

Kissing you almost bruisingly, Aegon’s left hand holds your hip while the other traces along the shape of the side of your bare torso. He feels your soft flesh warm beneath his hands still cold. Warmth fanning his flesh when his right hand dips down between your legs. The moment his middle finger’s pad touches that sweet and aching bundle of nerves, you squeak out against his mouth and pull from the kiss to turn your head. “A-Aegon–” You moan his name and he circles around the hyper-sensitive spot with the single finger. Lips ghost your cheek to press against your jaw and kiss open-mouth against your throat. Careful to not leave marks.

Your hips gently rock and your hands hold onto the nape of his neck and back of his head, woven through soft white locks. Only when his finger slips down your folds slick and pliable does his ring finger dip beside his middle to breach your entrance. Familiar warm and gummy walls perfectly fit for whatever he provides surround his skin and your soft gasps and whines become full-fledged moans. Shifting hips begin to writhe and his hand holds your hip tighter, his nose pressed against your warm throat.

“Stop fidgeting or I will stop.” Aegon orders.

“F-Forgive me…” You moan against his ear and he shudders with his cock already weeping pearls.

For a while, Aegon brings you to your edge. Coaxing you along a tightrope with his fingers, gentle and soothing in his touching of you because he knows when he sinks in and offers attention to his cock he will be anything but. You whine, moan, recite his name like prayer and it lights every candle within him to create an inferno capable of melting gold. When he feels you clench, your hands gently tugging his hair, he eases his fingers out. You cry out and shake your head as his own lifts and Aegon smiles softly, tutting as he smooths his thumb against the surface of your hip.

“Shh shh…you’ll come soon.” Aegon murmurs softly, your half-lidded eyes fluttering open to meet his with a glassy appearance. Panting softly, your brows sew up and he nods. “Open.” The sight is obscene. Obedience in knowing what to do with his wet fingers when he brings them to your mouth. A tongue he’s felt in his mouth and along his cock and body cleans off the stickiness from his fingers with pleasurable hums that may very well be stroking his cock. Aegon pulls them out with an obscene popping sound and he plants a gentle kiss against the corner of your lips as he grabs your other hip. His last moment of gentleness and you both know this. “Good girl.” He hums as he turns you over.

Aegon’s never taken you on your back. He lies to himself. Tells himself he simply enjoys the view of your ass more than your breasts – but he knows it’s because it’s different. To see your face while knuckle deep in your warm and inviting cunt is one thing, but to see your sweet and adoring face while his cock nestles within you is another. Besides, your ass is a view he does adore even if your breasts are preferable.

His hands smooth down your hips as you lift them off the bedding, ass in the air and shoulders against the bedding, cheek pressed into the silks. Groping the flesh in his hands, he rocks his hips to smooth more wetness along the length of his weeping cock. You pant heavily as he breathes with the same weight. Your hands pressed into the bedding. Aegon looks down as his tip breaches the entrance to your cunt. He can’t help himself but to trace your profile as a moan leaves his lips at the inviting gummy walls. Your brows sewing up and lashes fanning cheeks, a bastard’s face of pure bliss driving him to ease in without waiting much for you.

But when your eyes open and you meet his doe eyes, adoring – loving, he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head. Neck arching and a grunt slipping through teeth as he begins to move his hips. You moan in the room of warmth and sex as his cock pushes in and out, nearly to the tip and then to the base of well-groomed white hair to contrast that of what rests against your cunt’s mound. Aegon’s head leans back, one hand holding your hip and the other fisted so tightly in your hair that his knuckles are white. His balls hit your clit and skin slapping skin joins the symphony of infidelity and adultery. Of what he knows to be wrong, but of what he would do even if it promised the end of days.

“A-Aegon–” You cry out, reaching your climax and bathing your thighs and a bit of his own in a clear fluid as your walls tighten around him. But Aegon continues the assault on your most intimate of areas, pistoning his hips with his head back and face contorted in pure euphoria. Whines and moans meld from your mouth and in the hot air, you always come too quickly. And you always end up so sensitive. But that brings about Aegon’s favorite bit.

He’s such a horrid man.

“L-Look at me–” He grunts out amongst his hard thrusts when he hears that first sniffle, when he feels the tremble of your thighs after your second climax. Aegon’s fist tightens in your hair and he looks down as your hands grasping desperately at the sheets hold you up. Your eyes open and tears spill down your hot cheeks. His cock twitches and throbs inside of you as more tears spill and your soft whimpers reach his head. “Y-You look s-so beautiful…” Aegon pants raggedly as his movements become sloppier and messier. Your brows sew up, that loving look makes him shove your face down into the bedding.

Your sounds are muffled but his guilt is as well.

Aegon’s hands grasp your hips and his release approaches. Moon tea harms you, it makes you sick for days after despite being well into child-bearing age. But Aegon is a bad man.

When his release paints the insides of your cunt, you cry out and toss your head back, back arching as he buries himself to the base and digs his hands into your hips so tightly that his nails drag down. Blood beads at your flesh and more tears slip across the bridge of your nose, cheek buried in the bed.

You shudder and choke out a whine when he pulls out with a ragged gasp. His softening length is a mess and his hands slipping down the curve of your ass to catch your folds with his thumbs. Spreading them to peer at your hole and seeing white dripping down to your swollen clit, he hums in satisfaction and gently brushes his pinky over your clit, earning a jolt from you and soft whimper. Aegon then releases you and he slowly eases off the bed. Grabbing his clothes and looking at you as you roll over and rub your thighs together with a face twisted in spent euphoria.

Pretty eyes flutter open and watch him as he clothes himself again. Your lips part, he worries you’ll ask him to stay again yet hopes for the same. But you simply nod and swallow thickly. “Thank you.” You say so sweetly, innocently. As if he’s given you a candy rather than a problem you’ll need to rectify come morning. Aegon’s brows twitch, his jaw tightens and he only nods in return. “I love you.”

You always say that. Always. As if the words weigh nothing. Aegon wishes they could be so light to him, so easy to carry in his mouth and in the air to one he truly loves. But it isn’t, they’re not. Aegon leans close and he brings you forward by a piece of your hair, a smile spread on your blissful face as he cups your cheek. Looking into your eyes, he sees hope. You hope he will return the words, don’t you?

Aegon nods. “I will have the moon tea here come sunrise. Goodnight, niece.” And he pulls away, a coward in the face of the disappointment that pulls at your pretty face.

He’s a coward. A bad man.

But Aegon is nothing if not selfish, such a fact solid and true still as he leaves your chambers – satisfied and ready to ignore you come the following days until the brothel workers and maids no longer suffice.

[ivy-targaryen]

Pray for me

Pairing ✵ Gwayne Hightower/Niece!reader

Warnings ✵ Hotd season 2 spoilers, incest, littleee bit of crybaby!reader, smut (frottage, oral F receiving, fingering, and slight dacryphilia), and religious themes

Word count ✵ 2.5k

Summary ✵ Your uncle Gwayne arrives from Oldtown at your brother's call, and pays a visit to you while you pray.

"Your mother told me I might find you in here,"

You whipped your head around to see the source of the voice that disturbed you from your prayers and saw none other than your uncle, Ser Gwayne Hightower. He had finally come from Oldtown, answering your brother's call for assistance in his war.

"It is the seventh day, I thought I ought to pray. Especially now..." You explain with a small smile. You stood from your kneeling position on the cold, unyielding sept floor so you may look upon him. Your face twists into a cringe as you feel the bruises from kneeling for so long begin to form on your knees, and you are sure they'll be an ugly purple color later. Relaxing your features, you finally turn on your heel to face your uncle. It has been so long since you've seen him.

Too long.

He's as handsome as you remember, with his auburn hair, pale blue eyes, and the faint freckles that dust his face. How you wished you could map kisses along those freckles, connecting them with a trail of where your lips had been. But your faith and virtue prevent you from giving in to the desire. Besides, you are sure that if he ever found out you ever thought such things, he'd look at you with such revulsion that you'd crumble to the floor in shame.

He steps closer to you, tucking a stray hair behind your ear tenderly. "You have your mother's beauty, but your father's features," he hums, tweaking your nose playfully before wrapping you in a firm hug. It is not lost on you the slight curt tone his voice took on at the mention of your late father, but you dismiss it.

"And tell me, how have you been fairing during these trying times, hm? Don't tell me you hole yourself up in this sept all day." He teases, bringing a feeling of embarrassment over you for he had guessed correctly. Recently, you do spend the brunt of your days at the sept, praying to almost every facet of the Seven for mercy, strength, wisdom, and safety. Today, you were praying at the statue of the Mother, and after you lit a candle for her altar, you prayed for mercy and protection for your family members. It is one of the few things that brings you comfort nowadays, your faith in the Seven who are One.

"Well, there isn't much I can do," you shrug, letting a small frown tug at your lips. "It's not like I can sit in on a council meeting, and mother refuses to let me on my dragon. She seems perfectly content in keeping me idle and useless," you remark with a tone of annoyance, one that draws a low laugh from your uncle.

"Your mother means well, sweet niece. You're better suited here, getting favor from the gods as opposed to being in the midst of battle. Believe me, it is a bloody, nasty affair, and you are far too delicate to join in," he grips your chin in between his forefinger and his thumb, keeping your lilac gaze trained on his ocean-blue eyes.

You cannot even think of a response to his dismissing words, as you are too busy trying to push away the familiar ache you get between your thighs. It always comes at the most inconvenient of times, like when you watch the men in the training yard move, sweaty and shirtless, or when you spy on your brother coupling with a serving girl. All you know is that it persists for ages, and no amount of praying stops it.

But you can only try.

"S-Shall we pray, uncle? So that the Mother may grant us safety, of course," you propose, shifting nervously on your feet. Perhaps it is the light flush that has appeared on your face, or how you try to discreetly press your thighs together for some form of relief, but Gwayne knows. He always knows.

To save yourself some embarrassment, you resume your kneeling position before the statue and altar of the Mother, clasping your hands together in the standard praying position. You expect your uncle to kneel beside you, or just leave the sept all together, so you are quite surprised when you feel him loom behind you.

His firm chest swiftly presses against your back, and his larger and calloused hands come to rest over your softer ones, and you find yourself trapped in this embrace. Whether it is to your delight or misfortune, you cannot decide. You squeeze your eyes shut and silently beg for forgiveness for the unseemly thoughts that run through your brain at his actions. 'Who thinks such perverse things in a holy place?' you think, mentally chastising yourself.

"Well, go on then, sweet one. Pray for me," he whispers, and you can feel his breath fanning against the shell of your ear. Gwayne is enjoying this, enjoying this little game of denial you two play. Of course, it is wrong for him to want to take you in the lewdest positions, to have you scream his name so everyone knows who is fucking you so good, but he has restrained himself all this time. Patience is a great virtue, yes, but he wishes to reap his reward for remaining ever so patient now.

"M-Mother Above, have mercy on us all. I beg you for your protection, and for you to-" you cut yourself off with a gasp as your uncle buries his face into the crook of your neck, and gently nips at the soft skin there. He begins pressing himself against your ass, making your cheeks flush even more.

Noticing your sudden pause, he pulls back to look at your blushing face with a devilish smirk. "Well? Go on, don't mind me," he says before going right back to nipping and sucking at your neck. It is impossible for you to stay concentrated on your prayers as he continues, and you resign to praying in your head as your words fail you.

Your prayers only falter as you feel something hard poking against your backside, prodding and bumping against you relentlessly. Gwayne begins peppering kisses from your neck and to your jawline before tugging your head back gently, and letting his lips brush against yours. He only pauses as you tilt your head a little bit away in reluctance.

"U-Uncle, this is wrong. N-Not here, we cannot do this-"

"Shh, enough with that. It isn't wrong, not in the slightest. It's not wrong, not when you're meant for me. Surely even the gods will understand," he mumbles against the softness of your lips. You feel in that little moment of pause that his are a bit chapped, most likely from days of riding on horseback and camping in the wilderness. But it matters little then.

Once his lips are on yours, you cannot help the cascade of little moans that leaves you. His mouth is overwhelming and easily overpowers your rather inexperienced one, and you feel his hands move from their position over yours. One hand moves to your neck, and the other to your breast, fondling it through your dress as he continues humping you from behind.

You are thankful the sept is empty today. If word of what you do now reached your mother, of the depravity you partake in with her own brother, you're sure she'd have you sent far away to become a septa.

With a final peck to your lips, your uncle stands. He drinks in the sight of you like this; cheeks flushed, hair a bit messy, clothes rumpled, and swollen lips, all from him, of course. He swears then and there he's never seen a more beautiful sight.

"Up you go, princess," he mumbles, before picking you up with ease and setting you to sit on the edge of the altar. He messily pushes away the candles and various offerings left there to make room for you, and you cringe at the disrespect, disrespect born from lust and hastiness.

The new position allows for you to be relatively level with his face, and he soon hikes your dress up and stands between your parted thighs. As he begins to rub his erection against your clothed cunt, you grab onto his forearms to ground yourself.

His erection rubs against your dampened smallclothes, brushing against your bud and your folds. With each grind of his hips, you feel something like a fire burning through your bones. But with your clothes acting like a barrier, and the slightly awkward angle, it's not enough for you. Even with your unfamiliarity to such actions, you still know it is not enough.

"M-More, more. Uncle, I need more." you whine, pulling him closer by the laces of his breeches, eliciting a sly smirk from him.

"Well well, I never thought I'd see the day where my own niece was begging for me like a whore." he teases, making you frown at the crude and cruel word.

A cruel word indeed, and you feel the familiar sensation of your eyes watering, and your nose instinctively sniffling. Gwayne's smirk falters for a moment as he watches little tears spill from your eyes, but only for a moment.

"Aw, come now sweet girl, don't take offense. It was all in good fun, yes?" he coos to you, and you feel him begin to lick your tears away, catching the salty evidence of your crying on his tongue. "But oh, darling one, how pretty you look when you cry. Are you gonna cry more with what I do to you, little princess?" he asks with a mocking little pout, before kissing back down your neck.

You've always been a bit of a sensitive girl, everyone knows this. The smallest hint of frustration or anger to you, or even words spoken to you all in jest send you easily into tears. What you were not expecting was for them to be met with something other than the typical annoyed shushing you are used to receiving when you begin to cry.

Soon, Gwayne is kneeling before you, and pulling your wet smallclothes down. His lips pepper light kisses along your soft inner thighs, teasing you once more. "So wet...all for me, little princess?" he asks before nudging his nose against your bud, making you jolt with pleasure. He inhales your sweet scent. 'The scent of a wet virgin', he thinks crudely to himself.

You keep yourself propped up with your arms, and you look down at him between your thighs. Both of your legs have been thrown over his shoulders, and the instinct to wiggle your core closer to him grows. With a knowing gaze, Gwayne looks up at you with a smirk, before his tongue darts out and he dives in.

He eats you like a starved man.

His tongue licks stripes along your core, lapping up your arousal hungrily. His mouth works expertly, and all you can do is sit there helplessly and moan. Your little squeals and high-pitched whines sound adorable to him, and he laughs against your cunt. The vibrations, of course, make you jump again.

"My my, little niece, aren't you quite the sensitive one? Is your cunny as sensitive as your heart, hm?" he teases, as he continues to lick and suckle you. You cannot respond, too incapacitated by the pleasure his mouth brings you. It is nothing like you've ever felt before. Even your pillow or your hands don't feel as good as this.

"U-Uncle, uncle Gwayne, it feels s'good," you practically babble out as the lewd sounds of him slurping against you echoes around the sept. Your hand comes down to grip at his auburn hair, tugging him closer to your cunt. You care not anymore if this depravity is sullying a holy place, or if the gods watch with disapproval. There's always time to repent, after all.

The little pain you yanking his hair brings him makes him groan against your puffy folds, adding only to the stimulation you feel. "Yeah? Feels good? Oh, baby, you have no idea..." he murmurs, leaving you a little confused at his choice of words.

But you soon find out what exactly he means.

His mouth moves to focus only on your sensitive bud, sucking on it gently while he introduces two fingers to your wet folds. His fingers dance along your slit, dragging up and down in a slow, almost torturous manner.

You cry and squirm against him, greedily pushing his face right against your cunt. He heeds your signal, and finally pushes his fingers inside your velvety walls.

The stretch and feeling of something penetrating you are new and utterly foreign, but with the added stimulation his mouth still gives, the uncomfortableness of it all soon washes away to make room for pleasure. He begins pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly, careful to not hurt you as he works you open.

Once he is sure you are ready, only then does he move his fingers faster. Your thighs squeeze around his head with the intensity of it all, and he has to wrench them back apart. "I can't move if you're trying to block me, sweetling," he chuckles, earning a sheepish "sorry" from you.

As he continues his ministrations, his fingers finally brush against and find that spongy sweet spot hidden up you. He begins to nudge against it with his fingertips, making you gush your arousal all over his face. You've never felt such an intense and yet wonderful feeling in your life, and soon you find it all beginning to build up and crescendo.

His free hand massages and strokes your hips gently, and rubs circles over your belly a little, just to soothe you. He can feel your walls tightening up, and how your thighs tremble and shake around his head. "You can do it, baby, you can do it. Go on, sweet niece," he coos, finally sending you over the edge.

With a loud cry, you tremble and feel such intense pleasure crashing over you like the waves during a tumultuous seastorm. You chant his name, worshipping him as if he were a god.

Once your peak washes over you, you slump against the base of the statue of the Mother. Gwayne promptly stands, his mouth and chin dripping with your juices. "You're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted. Perhaps I should have you every night instead of wine." he smiles, before thumbing stray tears that rest on your flushed cheeks away.

He wipes his mouth with his forearm, before kissing you once more. You can taste yourself on your tongue. "I have to go now, sweet one. Pray to the gods for me, will you? And when I come back, we can pray together again. Wouldn't you like that?" he grins, cupping your face in his hands.

A knowing smile forms on your kiss-swollen lips as you understand the insinuations of his words. As he rides off to fight your brother's war, you will remain praying in the sept, longing for the day he will return and come to pray with you again.

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[ivy-targaryen]

👁👄🪩

[ivy-targaryen]

Aemond had been welcomed at the council

English is not my first language, be kind.

•Warnings: incest, p in v, smut, kissing, taking of sexual themes, smut, chocking.•

OC!Aemond x Sister!Reader

“You’re so good– So good– Fuck, Aemond!” She moaned loudly, as she arched her back, her hands tucked up her head on her mattress, held tight in his hand.

“Fuck– You’re so tight– You’re fucking sucking me in–” He growled as he started moving faster, meeting her skin with harsh hard thrusts as he felt himself loosing in the feeling.

“My big brother is part of the council now?” She moaned as she widened her legs more, looking down at his cock entering her so furiously. He let go of her wrists, grabbing her throat to make her lay back her head.

“Such a dirty sister I have, mh?” He growled against her temple. “Aegon simply welcomed me.” He said as he trailed his other hand on her chest.

“Aegon–” She pants as she tries to speak despite the overwhelming pleasure. “Aegon trusts you– You’ll find yourself being his hand in no time– Fuck! Aemond!” She threw her head back as he hit one particular spot inside her, that almost left her breathless. He put his hand over her breast, squeezing it in his hand. 

She reached his face with one hand, but he pulled away for a moment, a flash on challenge flashing his eye, but she quickly reached again, tearing off the eyepatch from his eye.

He chuckled as he felt her clenching around his cock at the sight of his scar.

“You’re a freak. Fucking freak.” He groaned as he thrusted faster, trying to angle himself to hit that sweet spot inside her once again.

“I’m a dragon–” She panted. “I’m your dragon–” She choked as he tightened his hand around her throat.

“Mine.” He growled in her ear, as he loosened his grip around her neck, leaning down to suck her breast in his mouth.

“Oh, Gods– Aem– Fuck– You’re so good to me–” She placed a hand on the back of his hair, keeping him close as he licked herr nipple, sucked and bit, wettening with his own saliva.

“You like when your brother takes care of you? Mh?” He squeezed her tit again, licking it all over, as his hips pace never faltered.

“I’ll kill them!”

The sound of skin slapping was filling the room, Aemond and his sweet sister too engrossed with their own pleasure to care about what was happening outside her room.

Careless if the world was about to fall apart.

If some head was rolling around.

“Yes– Fuck!” She moaned loudly again as he hit that spot again.

“There it is– Yes!” He leaned back up as he gripped tightly her hips, pulling her back against him as he started thrusting in her like a mad person, watching as her tits jumped up and down by the force and speed of his hits.

“I’ll kill them all!”

She moaned loudly in despair, as she started leaning back on the mattress.

“Fuck! Aemond!” She leaned back enough to make him slip out, as she panted, looking up at him as he growled, his eye fixed on his core, as his sapphire glistened, reflecting the light of the candles.

“Don’t you dare–” He pulled her back and slipped back in, resuming his thrusts just the same, finding, to her surprise, the perfect angle again. She whined in despair, as he pulled her legs back on her chest, getting deeper inside her.

“Gods– Aem–”

“You’re so fucking loud, sister—“ He panted. “Everyone will hear you, if you keep going like this—“ He kept thrusting harder and faster. “Is that what you want? Everyone to find out how your big brother is fucking you good? Uh? Find out how much of a whore you are?”

She moaned at his words, her cunt clenching around his at the idea.

“They’d have to marry us then— Finally— Aemond!”

He shushed her with an aggressive kiss, slipping his tongue in her mouth greedily, savoring her taste. She is quick to respond to his kiss, and return it, she sucked his tongue in her mouth, forcing a moan out of him.

“This is war!”

He pulled back from the kiss, hovering over her, leaning on his elbow as he lowered his hand on her pearl, massaging it lightly.

“Ohh–” She sucked in a breath, arching her back suddenly, letting out a long whine. “Aemond! Aem– Fuck– Aemond!” She gripped his forearms tightly, digging her nails in her skin, making him groan. He could feel her clenching repeatedly around him, sucking him in in such a delicious way, all of it, mixed with her moans, the smell and the sounds on sex, and the sting of pain on his arms, he was losing control.

“Fuck– You like me being a powerful man? You like the idea that I am on the council?” He leaned down to growl in her ear. “That I could be the King’s Hand?”

“I declare war!”

“Yes– God!” She threw her head back. “Fuck me– Fuck me like the powerful man you are– Ah!” She kept moaning, her voice completely out of control.

“God– Yes, you feel so good, sister–” He moaned as he kept thrusting harder faster, gripping her tightly.

“Come on my cock, I can feel you clenching like crazy– Shit– Come on me– Now.” He ended up growling like an animal, but it only fit the way she was fucking her right now. She moaned again, her legs wrapping around his waist as she came undone with a long moan, holding on to him, as he thrusted a few more times, finally reaching his own release.

“Shit– Fuck–” He quickly pulled out, despite her moans and her cunt sucking him in so sweetly. He jerked off in front of her as she spread her cunt with her hands, the sight too arousing to hold back any longer.

He gasped as his sperm painted her inner thighs, his body jerking violently by the force of his release.

She smiled up at him, gathering with her hand some of his release, then bringing her fingers to her mouth to suck them clean. He looked with a moan at her movements, as he sat back on his haunches, caressing her calves.

Only then they heard the fast steps and rustle outside.

“Gōntan mirros massigon?” She asked as she looked at the door, confused. 

-Did something happen?-

He looked at her, then at the door.

“Nyke ȳdra daor gīmigon.”

-I don’t know-

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[ivy-targaryen]

The most Aegon/Aemond thing ever

[ivy-targaryen]

Is it just me or maybe it’s the ditto by on the new season of HOTD. But Aemonds hair is like whiter like way more blonde.

Like it’s giving me Kadaj or Yazoo from the final fantasy VII advent children movie.