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mbellu123-blog · 2 months ago

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When pretending doesn't matter anymore

Alpha!Aemond - Omega!Reader

Summary: An unexpected heat. An unclaimed Omega. An Alpha fighting for control. An intense combination of events that change your life completely.

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Ella's Notes: This story, as the summary says, explores a bit of the A/B/O dynamic. Which, of course, touches on subjects like heats and ruts, secondary designations, bonding bites, knots and the like. I tried to approach it in a simpler way, because I understand that this universe is very complex and goes beyond such things. Anyway, if this is something that sparks your interest, enjoy!! It was a challenge in some parts, but I'm pleased with the result. I hope you like it too.

(I left out a good portion of the dance events excluded in this story, since the goal was to focus on the Alpha and Omega dynamic. So it's very subjective whether there's a dance about to happen or not, and I'll leave that to your imagination.)

Happy reading!

Word count: 11k

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

You couldn’t remember ever feeling so immensely uncomfortable as you did now.

“No, no, no…This can’t be happening now.”

You felt heated and heavy in your body, as if you had been soaking in a steaming bath for too long. As if you had been lying too close to the scalding breath of your dragon’s flames. Your fever was getting worse. Your steps were starting to stagger slightly, sweat dripping down your forehead as you let yourself lean against the stone wall of the hallway for a moment.

There was no doubt what was happening, you had been in enough heat over the years to know when you were sinking into one. The thing was, you weren’t supposed to be in one, not for at least another whole month. In fact, up until a few minutes ago you had been stuck at a normal dinner with your family, listening to Aegon’s disgusting and disrespectful jokes and trying to calm the silent tension between Lucerys and Aemond. Nothing was different there. Everything was going as dull and tedious as ever.

That is, until Aemond reached out to grab a piece of bread from your side. And that simple, seemingly harmless gesture was the catalyst for everything that was deeply held inside you. The movement brought his side closer to yours, almost unnecessarily closer you would say, and you were about to voice that thought out loud to him when it hit you.

The scent.

You couldn’t say what was different, what made you so intimately aware of that smell, since you had been around the man since you were children. Maybe it was the unprecedented fact that you were sitting next to each other at the dinner table after the deliberate distance you had forced upon yourself and him over the past few years. Maybe he was about to come into a rut of his own and hadn’t even noticed yet. Or maybe Aemond had been drinking some tea or some herbal substance to suppress the worst of his own smell all this time and for the first time he was free of it...

The thing was, with that simple movement of picking up a damn piece of bread from the table, he had shoved into your nostrils a whiff of the most delicious scent you had ever smelled in your life.

Dragon scales, the burning flames of a fire, open parchments and green apples. The memory of childhood, of an old feeling. Familiar and comforting, soothing your inner omega, making you want to delve deeper into the scent and wrap yourself around him. But it also aroused you. His scent was undeniably masculine and Alpha, with a dangerous and dominating richness that made you want to submit - right there, at the dinner table, in front of the whole family.

The whole thing mixed together in a spiral of aromas that flowed straight into your lungs, pulling an absolutely embarrassing and undignified meow from your lips before you could even realize it. Judging by the annoying chatter that continued at the table, no one had noticed that sound, thankfully. No one except Aemond - who was right there next to you, unfortunately. He stared at your tense profile with a sharp gaze, his hand extended for the bread, but frozen in the air before he could reach it, not even disguising that his focus was now elsewhere.

Even staring fixedly at a bowl of sauce on the table as if it were the only thing in the world that mattered, you could clearly notice when he was about to say something and, at the same time as he parted his lips with a sigh, a strong and sudden tightening in your lower abdomen was present, the space between your legs contracting and relaxing to emit a pool of absolutely unexpected moisture on the delicate fabric of your underwear.

Your body's reaction horrified you so much that you immediately pushed your chair back, the loud creak of the wooden legs on the stone floor drawing the attention of the others at the table. You could only quickly mumble that you weren't feeling well, that you were going to get some sleep and asking please for no one to worry, before practically running out of the place, barely hearing your mother say that she would send someone to check on you later.

Which brings you to the present moment.

Emotions were already starting to get the better of you. The intensity of the sensations leaving you on the verge of tears, the sheer desperation born of falling into a heat without being in the least bit prepared for it making your fingers tremble.

Usually there would be a prelude, signs that would serve as a warning of the approaching heat, giving you time to properly prepare yourself for the intense days ahead. But this time you seemed to have skipped all the stages straight to the peak of the sensations, without warning and without preparation.

All you could do was force your staggering body through the hallways to your bedchamber, knowing there was no other alternative. The heat was here, whether you wanted it or not. And despite everything, this was one of those few moments when you felt grateful to have been born into such a noble house.

Omegas comprised the smallest part of the population, followed by Betas and Alphas. But although fewer in number, omegas were violently desired - especially by alphas. Their smaller, gentler build, delicate features, natural predisposition to submission and, of course, their heat, were just a few reasons why the rest of the population would go to great lengths to keep an omega for themselves. And you knew what happened to those poor omegas scattered throughout the streets of King's Landing and throughout the Seven Kingdoms, without any choice over their own desires, nothing more than slaves to their unfair biology.

There was no mercy when one of them went into heat, yearning intensely for the claim of an alpha - no matter who was. Which led to unwanted pregnancies, sexual slavery, omega trafficking and other heat-induced atrocities. The alphas, in turn, gave in to their most basic instincts when faced with such need, acting more like animals than humans. The brutal confrontation for the claim of an omega most often ended in blood and death - not only of alphas, but death of the omega in question many times, caught in the middle of such unbridled violence.

Despite being rare and desired for their instinctive subservience, omegas were constantly discriminated against, treated with disdain and irrelevance once they are claimed; as pariahs of society, nothing more than perfect breeding mares for the alphas. More than once you vehemently cursed the gods for making you one of them. The burden caused by your designation was almost unbearable. You would give anything to be a Beta; to fit into a standard of normality in the eyes of the people for once in your life. Wasn't it enough to suffer ridicule and discrimination for the questionable origin of your and your brothers birth? Did the gods still need to come and make you an miserable omega?

Ever since you had your first heat at fourteen, you had suffered this fate alone, since any omega of noble lineage could only be claimed when they were of suitable age to marry. Servants stocked your bedchamber with everything you might need in the days following the heat; the finest towels and blankets for your nest, personal beta guards posted day and night at your door for protection, servants discreetly entering to change your bath water and replenish your food and drink supplies. You had all the comfort and privacy that wealth could offer, but your body still yearned for an alpha — your omega begging for a knot, for large hands to hold you close, for sharp teeth to sink into your flesh to claim you as his. It was instinct, uncontrollable, a need so primal and overwhelming that you cried for days, sweating and writhing in the large, lonely bed as you screamed for an Alpha.

But when your heat was gone and this ordeal finally came to an end, you felt grateful to be safe within these walls, hidden from the violence of the alphas who would only desire you for your secondary designation.

And your foggy mind whispers it to you once more. Despite everything, you are safe. Just go to your chamber, make your nest at some point of relief and you will be fine. Like always.

And so you almost do - the large, ornate doors of your bedchamber visible at the end of the hallway, making you sigh in relief. Until a voice halts your final walk.

“Do you need help, Princess?”

The booming, recognizably Alpha voice makes you flinch where you stand, eyes widening as you turn to the source of the sound. Standing there is one of your Personal Guards, Ser Adrian Redfort.

“I-I’m fine, Ser.” You reply hoarsely, straightening your posture as best you can to support your false statement, your heart racing in your chest at being in front of an Alpha just as your heat begins to build.

“Are you sure?” he asked slowly, tilting his head slightly in curiosity — but also with something hard to describe shone there, something dark and shrewd. “You don’t look well.”

And by the gods, you really didn’t. Your face was flushed to the point where you could feel the heat radiating from your skin, a few loose strands of hair beginning to stick to the sides of your face from the sweat. Your intricate dress were wrinkled and uncomfortable on your body where it clung to your damp skin, and you were breathing hard, as if there wasn’t enough air in the castle.

“Yes, I-I’m sure!”

You had never been afraid of the man in front of you — he was one of your Personal Guards after all, someone who was there to protect you. And that was why he was never around when your heat gave signs, replaced by Beta Guards. For your safety. His being assigned to protect your chambers tonight was proof that this heat shouldn’t have happened now.

He sniffs you, a slow twitch of his nostrils that could have sent your entire world crashing down, growling low in his throat at whatever scent he can pick up coming from you. The alpha in front of you is tall, with a dark mess of curls on his head and equally dark eyes. The stubble on his tanned cheeks makes him look rough and sullen. His broad shoulders beneath his armor seem to swell even more under your shy scrutiny and his posture straightens to full height, a show of strength to win over a potential mate.

You weren’t afraid of him. Ser Adrian Redfort, despite his intimidating appearance, was a man of honor, you knew.

But not even the most honorable men were immune to the powerful pheromone an omega released during a heat. They were all alphas, after all, driven by the primal instinct to claim a small, unmated omega.

And when he stares into your eyes like that, his expression as intense as a forest fire, alpha pheromones seeping from his pores so suffocatingly that you might as well have a bag over your head, you feel like you’ve never in life truly experienced the instinctive compulsion to bow and submit to a male like you do now.

And that’s what you’re afraid of.

You’re afraid because you know it’s not you wanting it. It’s your instincts, your pheromones reacting to his and he reacting to yours in an endless loop, the stupid biological compulsion to let an alpha take over your body and use you as he best serves him. Be good, be good for the Alpha.

You know that very soon your mind will be so consumed with heat that you won’t have such qualms or uncertainties, you’ll want — no, you’ll need — an Alpha, and you’ll beg for it, no matter who it is. But there’s still some coherence and lucidity left in your mind, reeling as it is. And using that shadow of sanity, you shiver just thinking about Ser Adrian with you in your nest; his hands on your body, his teeth in your flesh, his knot deep in your cunt.

No, no. Wrong. It’s wrong.

“I could help with that, princess.”

He proposes and you both know very well what he’s referring to. The darkness in his gaze more prominent; a thin, golden ring at the edges — evidence that his alpha was taking control of his emotions.

It’s wrong, but still you feel more moisture forming between your legs, making a sticky mess on your inner thighs, reacting against your will to the alpha pheromones exuding from the man - and you almost sob, because it’s horrible. It’s horrible and no one talks about it; about how absolutely terrifying it is to have no control over your own body, even when you’re undeniably uncomfortable with a situation like that.

Your mother had raised you fierce and resilient, just like Daemon had when he came into your life as another father figure, but you still felt like a child after all, holding back tears and clenching your fists. Your only salvation was your stubborn nature and thirst to prove yourself, to prove that you were more than just a delicate and submissive omega.

Yes, a part of you was aroused to the point of being intoxicated by the sensation, but the more rational side, which was disappearing by the second, fought even harder, squirming and grunting, rebelling against your most basic instincts. Fearing the alpha more than you wanted his knot. The pungent smell of stress and heartbreak tangling deep in the air with the sweet scent of your heat.

This alpha was no good...not the right one.

"N-no, thank you," you reply, gathering all your willpower, desperately trying to think of a way out. You were trapped in an empty hallway, at the beginning of your heat, with a strong, intimidating alpha - it was not a good situation.

"Please," you find yourself arguing with him suddenly when he doesn't back down, your mouth moving before you can even think, "I know you're not that kind of alpha, Ser Adrian, it's just the pheromones getting the better of you, you'll regret it once your mind clears. I said no, please listen to me."

He steps forward anyway, invading your personal space. And as scared and aroused as you are (an honestly disturbing mix of emotions to have) you find yourself baring your teeth at him - a small growl building in your throat, standing up to the alpha who dared to disrespect your decision.

"Poor thing," Ser Adrian chuckles, the golden ring in his eyes growing more evident, your little, thoughtless act of confrontation only stirring the alpha inside him. "You don't know what you need, omega, not really. But I do."

The next thing you know, he’s advancing, so much so that you immediately back up against the wall in response, flattening your feverish, sweaty body against it as best you can to get away from him. A whimper leaves your lips as he reaches out, your body disgusted and craving the action in equal measure, making your eyes brim with tears. He’s going to touch you, he’s going to do it. He’s going to do it and still claim that you wanted it, because…well...you don’t want it, but you do too, don’t you?

A sound rings out behind the two of you.

“Get away from her, Ser Adrian.” You recognize Aemond’s voice quickly; a sharp, relieved sigh in response, your omega instantly perking up inside you. “Now.”

His voice is as calm and deep as ever, but you hear the warning there; the dark tone gnawing at the edges - a tone that promised danger if not heeded. It does something to you, fills your stomach with little butterflies - all fluttering their wings at once. A purr wanting to escape your throat. Safe, the Alpha will keep you safe. Finally.

Ser Adrian’s expression darkens as he senses your relief through the pheromones in the air, slowly turning his body to face the unwelcome presence. He shows no submission at all when he sees Aemond standing there, even though he knows he was his prince. You know he’s too far gone for that now. No hierarchy matters here. It's just two Alphas facing each other over an Omega.

He exchanges an intense look with Aemond, obviously communicating that you are worth the confrontation.

"What are you going to do?" Ser Adrian challenges, his hand slowly descending to rest on the hilt of the sword strapped to his waist. "I bet you don't have the guts, boy."

You swallow hard, trembling for Aemond, scared at the prospect of a fight. Your omega, once relieved, is now agonized at the thought of this Alpha getting hurt.

Aemond, for his part, remains seemingly unfazed by the older man's threat - in fact he smiles at the guard's words. A cold and sharp smile, disdainful really, tilting his head in mock consideration, his hands still casually clasped behind his back. "Do you really want to test that theory?"

Ser Adrian pulls his sword a little from where it is kept, offended by the younger Alpha's reaction, but he still doesn't remove the blade completely from his waist. Aemond, though he makes no move toward his own sword, stares at him with such acidity and defiance in his eye that it’s almost as if that was the only weapon he’d need tonight.

Alphas fighting over an omega in heat become wild, territorial, aggressive. Ser Adrian, from where you can see, is vibrating with tattered restraint, with the tension of a possible confrontation unfolding. He’s acting on instinct. But Aemond isn’t. Although there’s a hard shadow in his one good eye, a warning to his dark and unpredictable interior - he keeps himself perfectly in control. His hands are clasped behind his back, a provocative smile on his lips.

“She doesn’t smell like you,” the other Alpha growls through his teeth, straightening his shoulders, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.

“Hn, maybe I’m a gentleman and I’m going slow so as not to scare her,” Aemond replied in affront, the corner of his lip still pulled back in a lazy smile. "A concern that has not crossed your mind, obviously."

The older Alpha grunts in displeasure in his throat, casting an appraising glance at you over his shoulder, his nostrils flaring to catch your scent. And if you had control of your legs, you would be long gone by now. But not only is your heat consuming your to worrying levels, but the overwhelming pheromones that both Alphas exude in this confrontation are strong enough to make you flinch in response, exhaling your own cornered and fearful scent into the air.

"Are you saying you are this Omega's Alpha?" Ser Adrian snorts in annoyance, turning his narrowed gaze to Aemond.

"Yes." He doesn't even hesitate before answering. "Do you have anything to say or...do...about it?"

The clean and immediate statement coupled with the unspoken challenge makes you gasp, your legs shaking and threatening to give way beneath you, the viscosity in your pussy increasing in response to that easy words.

Did...did he say he was your Alpha?

Could it be that you heard him correctly? Could it be that the only man you'd ever wanted to be courted by had felt the same way all this time?

A thought you'd never dared to voice out loud, knowing full well that doing so would be nothing short of a confession. And you definitely didn't feel ready to confess any tender feelings for Aemond yet. Despite what your stupid heart told, you knew what a conflicted person he was. His sarcastic and unpredictable personality, even his tendencies toward cold words and actions at times.

But he was also...he could also be...

The truth was, you knew how you felt about him. You knew it all too well.

And while you usually managed to keep your unwanted feelings well caged and hidden from outside knowledge, falling into a sudden and intense heat like this made it significantly harder to maintain this charade, especially when his scent hung imposingly and proudly over the other alpha, all possessive and icy intentions. And especially when he so easily claimed to be your alpha.

Amidst the surprise of the declaration, you almost forgot about the challenge between both men, only coming back to the present when Ser Adrian growls something between his teeth (something that sounds very much like a curse), shoving his sword back into its sheath with much more aggression than necessary. He straightens himself before the other alpha - but even so Aemond towers over him, with his imposing height. The older one reluctantly steps away with a murderous look at the prince, maintaining contact as long as he can - it was not in an alpha's nature to give in, especially in the presence of another. Which shows that, on some level, Ser Adrian was still there, clinging to the shreds of control he had left over his own primal instincts.

Aemond holds his gaze, but looks at you again as soon as the guard disappears around a bend in the hallway, his steps deliberately heavy and dissatisfied.

"Come," he says as he approaches where you're leaning against the wall, his cold, affronted expression giving way to one that's almost angry. You feel yourself wilt a little at the abrupt change, but try not to show it, for fear of upsetting the alpha even more. "Let me take you to your chamber, it's not safe to be out here with so many alphas around the castle, especially when you smell like that."

He takes a step closer and you meow in response, your body so fragile and small next to his, his scent invading your nose again. Green apples and parchment, dragon scales and fire. Your omega immediately purrs, wanting to snuggle into this Alpha, let him protect you and take care of your needs.

“Can you walk?” He asks slowly, looking much more tense with you than he had when he’d challenged an older, more experienced alpha, his jaw clenched and his violet gaze refusing to stay on yours.

You feel something ache in your chest, not understanding why he was suddenly being so distant, even though he’d proudly defended you not long ago.

“Y-yes, yes, I can.”

Your legs are definitely shaking, but you still force yourself to take the final steps to your chamber, your dress clinging to your body in the most uncomfortable way, your damp thighs rubbing against each other and creating a friction that makes your skin crawl all over.

Aemond stands rigidly beside you, walking at a respectful distance, looking like he’s barely breathing. Clearly wanting to avoid smelling you. But…but why? Doesn’t he like the way you smell? Don’t you please the Alpha?

You suddenly feel frantic, scared by the knowledge that you’ve lost him before you’ve even reached him.

This is something you could handle normally. Gods, you could handle worse than this, normally. You’ve been putting up with your conflicting feelings for him for years. The heat is just making you feel silly and sad and…pathetic…

But knowing this doesn’t make it any better. It doesn’t help. And before you can stop yourself from doing something stupid, your mouth is moving.

“Why did you say that?” You ask as he opens the door to your chamber for you to enter, staggering and panting, nearly tripping until you fall onto the ornate sofa to catch your breath as if you had run all the way across the Red Keep to get here.

“What?” He asks vaguely, glancing discreetly into your chamber, but not entering it. Looking at your space. Where the things that please your omega are. No alpha has ever had such a view. But he can, you decide. You want him to look.

“Why did you say you were my Alpha?”

For a few seconds, all you can hear is the rapid beating of your heart and your breathing. He had left you in your chamber as he promised, and you began to fear that he would simply ignore the question and leave now.

“I don’t know,” he finally answers, interrupting his checking of the environment to look at you; though his gaze is vacant and distant, as if he is trying hard to just pretend to look at you. "I thought that would drive him away without the need for a physical confrontation. You wouldn't have been satisfied with such aggression, I imagine."

You bite your lip to contain a moan as you feel a strong wave of cramps in your lower abdomen, your head swimming in the rising heat, as if reacting instinctively to those words. He worried about you, about what would leave you unsatisfied.

And later, you would tell yourself that the next question was solely guided by your messy, chaotic hormones, by his enchanting scent filling your sensitive nose. Anything to exclude your conscious guilt.

"What if it were true?"

Aemond blinks, finally looking at you. For real this time. "If it were true what?"

You take a deep breath, your heart beating so fast you can feel it straining against your ribcage.

"That you're my Alpha." You mumble, cursing your own mouth as soon as the words come out. But it was too late and he had already heard each one of them. "What if...what if you really were?"

For a long moment he says nothing, just stands there, stoic and magnificent in his white hair flowing over his shoulders, dark clothes and hands behind his body, staring at you with an almost alarmed expression. And you are so nervous, so messed up with all these intense emotions and this miserable heat burning your body that you find yourself mumbling to fill the maddening silence he maintains, your hands fidgeting as you gesture them in the air.

"Y-you could come in. You could stay here, with me, if...if you wish, of course. I really-"

Aemond shakes his head suddenly once, his gaze darkening at you.

"That's not a good idea."

The way he says it, so firm and direct, his expression hardening into something determined, makes you shut up immediately. The saliva in your mouth is suddenly too thick, your heartbeat painful.

“Oh.”

The rejection stabs you like a sharp dagger, piercing your chest through to the other side in one fell swoop, and you feel like crying. Your bottom lip trembles, and you stare at the opposite wall, nodding weakly. Honestly, how many more ways did the gods plan to humiliate you?

All those years of hardening your feelings for him, keeping yourself away to keep them from growing any further. And you were doing well. Everything was going well. But then, the one time you let yourself harbor a small flame of hope, he rejects you so easily that you wish you could eat the words back, pretend it never happened.

“Right, yeah,” you mumble, limiting yourself to a few words in case you start sobbing out loud. “I understand. You don’t…” You sigh, hurt in a way that only an omega rejected right during their heat, the most vulnerable moment, could sound. Stupid, stupid hormones, you hate feeling this way. “You don’t want me. It’s okay.”

“Wait — what? You think it’s because I don’t want —” Aemond breathes out an incredulous laugh, finally pulling his hands from behind his back to rub them down his face, frustration clear in each of his sharp lines, making your omega shrink even further inside you. Alpha is dissatisfied, help him, calm him down. Despite your increasingly stronger instincts, you manage to stay in the same place, with your shoulders slumped and your breathing anxiously in your chest. "Of course I want you. You have no fucking idea, Y/N, I swear. But this..." he points to your body, to your disheveled condition and watery eyes, "...this is just the heat. You don't really want me to come in there with you. It's just the heat and when it passes, you'll regret this request."

You sigh shakily at his statement, at the restraint he's showing even as he lowers his clenched fists to his sides; jaw tense, preventing himself from breathing too deeply and taking in more of your scent. The intensity in his gaze making your heart race as he stares at you, his brow furrowed in an unreadable expression.

It all makes sense now.

So that's it, huh? He was trying to stay away because he thinks you only want him because of the heat. He thinks you would regret this. He thinks you only want him because he is an unbonded alpha who conveniently happens to be here at this moment.

God heavens, you wish that was all it was.

"It's not just the heat."

You whisper to the imposing room and he sighs deeply.

"Y/N..."

"Let me speak, please."

He holds your gaze firmly and dominantly, almost making you tilt your head down in a natural response of submission, but to your relief he ends up giving in after a few seconds with a stiff nod of his chin.

You wet your lips. "Yeah, I'm going into a sudden heat and I might be partially driven by instincts here..." You mumble weakly, the heat making your body shiver and your mind swim, but you fight to keep yourself together as much as you can in order to convey to him what you really need.

"But Aemond, I shouldn't even be having a heat right now, I'm nowhere near my normal cycle. Y-you, oh fuck -" you gasp in pain as an intense cramp makes you curl up completely over your own body on the sofa. Aemond instinctively reaches out to help, but stops when you hold up an open, shaking palm to him. "N-no, wait. I need to finish saying this." He doesn't look pleased, but he does as you say, waiting impatiently as you shift back into a sitting position, breathing slowly through your teeth to try and calm yourself.

“Do you know what sent me into this sudden heat in the first place?” You ask quietly when you’ve finally gathered yourself enough, your watery eyes glaring at the man in front of you, begging him to hear what you really mean.

“What?” He asks back, holding your gaze with just as much intensity.

You take a breath. “It was you. It was your scent, Aemond.” Your brows furrow at him, trying to hide the shiver that shakes your body as another painful cramp wracks through you. “I-I’m surrounded by unbound alphas here at the Red Keep; Aegon, a few Gold Cloaks, the Kingsguard, my Personal Guards, a few nobles from the court. Every day I see them and interact with them and yet none of them have ever sent me into an uncycled heat. Never. Only you.”

His gaze is dark and heated, a stormy violet, his expression tense and expectant.

"B-but even if my omega didn't feel that way, even if you weren't an alpha...heavens, you could be a beta and I'd still want that, with you." Your mouth is worryingly dry, which you find to be a fair contradiction to how absolutely soaked the middle of your legs is. "Because I've always liked you. Ever since we were children and you would teach me Valyrian late into the night in the library, hidden from our parents and the guards, far better than any Maester could. Or when I claimed a dragon and you were so genuinely happy for me, even though you didn't have your own dragon then. And when everyone laughed at me at court? They made jokes about my birth, but you always defended and protected me - even if you happily let my brothers be fed to the wolves." You smile shakily with the little self-control you have left, which elicits a small snort of disdain from him. "Y-you've taken care of me and protected me all along the way and I've always felt safe with you. And that had nothing to do with your designation."

Aemond exhales heavily, a husky and unmistakably masculine sound, his alpha clearly pleased to hear that you felt safe with him. A shiver runs through your body in response to that primal sound, your belly tightening and you want nothing more than to beg him to take you, or to leave altogether and let you take care of yourself - alone and apart, as you always have, but this time suffering from the rejection of the only alpha you've ever truly wanted.

Still, you force yourself to continue.

"B-but then you introduced as an Alpha and I as an Omega and everything changed. I pulled away because you didn't seem like the same Aemond I knew. You had changed. You were quieter, more mysterious, darker. You didn't invite me to go to the library or to fly with you and Vhagar. You pushed me away. I-I didn't know how to deal with it, it felt like a wall had been built between us and I didn't know how to deal with it...walking away was the easiest way, I guess. But I never, I swear I never forgot...I just-"

You didn't realize you had started to cry. Then everything you had said just hit you like a punch in the stomach. How exposed you had left yourself to him, open and raw as a nerve. But there was no going back.

"If you don't want me, that's okay. I-I'll deal with it. But I need you to know that it's not just the heat, Aemond."

You end with an almost anguished sound, another storm of emotions rising up inside your chest, too strong to be repressed. Your hands release their grip on the upholstery to move restlessly up to the scent glands on your neck, scratching and clawing at the sensitive, pulsing skin with a degree of desperation that only makes your true feelings clear. Everything hurts, everything burns, everything screams for relief, for large hands and sharp teeth. The Alpha's scent so close, yet so far away...

You're going crazy as he remains silent and it's almost like torture, his presence becoming both a delight and a punishment for your omega. The next wave of heat hits so intense that it makes every hair on your body stand on, a shock of cold and extreme heat on your flushed skin. You bite your lip hard to stop from moaning, legs squeezing together to ease the aching throb in your clit - the torturous emptiness of having nothing inside your body when it's all it's needs.

"P-please, if you don't...if it's not what you want...leave me alone. I need to be alone now Aemond-"

“I always know when your heat is here —” he cuts you off in a calm voice, his nostrils flaring slightly as he inhales deeply; a husky, appreciative sound vibrating in his throat as he allows himself to feel you properly for the first time all night. He enters your chamber with careful steps after that, but it’s the sight of his hand splayed on the wood of the door that makes you feel like you could faint right there; thick veins beneath pale skin, fingers long and elegant, adorned with thin, regal rings. You hold your gaze there as he gently pushes the wood shut with an audible click that makes you shiver in response, heart thundering in your chest.

He’s here, in your place. Just the two of you. The Alpha is here.

“No matter how much your mother, your maids, and the Guards do their best to hide you in this secluded chamber, I can always tell when you’re in heat. Even from across the Red Keep I can still smell you — warm, buttery, sweet as vanilla and cinnamon; like something that just come out of the oven, familiar and comforting like home. Like you belong to me —”

Aemond’s bright gaze is fixed on yours, watching you with predatory focus, like a carnivore about to sink its teeth into the tender flesh of a poor deer. Your chest tightens. Instantly, it’s as if an imaginary rug has been pulled out from under you and you’re weightless, even sitting as you are. The moment stretches between you like caramel, tantalizing and promisingly sweet. You arch your back and undulate your hips against the soft upholstery, as if that will soothe the itch. Instead, it spreads across your abdomen like a cloud of fire. You shiver and moan.

“I hear you crying, screaming as your heat is at in peak, begging for a knot. The whole damn Red Keep can hear it, sweetheart.” You’re panting and very, very aware of the slick slide of your poor cunt sandwiched between your thighs as you moves in restless undulations, of the blood roaring in your ears, and of the hungry look in Aemond’s eye, whose pupil is so dilated that his eye, once a pale shade of violet, is almost entirely black. He breathes very slowly, savoring the increasingly intense pheromones you exude. "Aegon usually runs to a brothel whenever you're in heat, as do most of the castle's Alpha Guards. But not me. I stay here...smelling your disturbing scent, enduring the miserable torture of hearing every muffled sound - fucking my cock between my fingers as I imagine doing this, giving in to your tearful plea. You have no fucking idea how many times I've had to stop myself from walking through these doors and giving you what you so desperately beg for, pup."

"Alpha," you sigh, cry. You've never called him that — or any other man directly — but the familiarity and naturalness tastes like molasses on your tongue now, and you repeat it helplessly. "Alpha…"

You could hear his harsh breathing, see his hands tightening into fists. He tried to hold back, but all you could think about was having him buried inside you. Having him rock his hips against you. "You were right, all this time. Ever since we received our designations I feel like something in me has changed. Sometimes it's like I have no control over this new side of me..."

Your breath hitches in your chest and you unconsciously lean into him, breathing him in. "W-what side?"

He sighs; hoarse, troubled. "This side that desperately wants to bend you and fill you until you're leaking with my seed, until the only scent that comes from you is mine...only mine. To sink my teeth into your soft flesh to claim you, to make everyone know who you belong to. It's maddening. It's dark. I'm constantly consumed by primal desires that scare even myself."

"Aemond," you beg, savoring the name, rolling it across your tongue like caramel.

He crouches on the floor, right in front of you, letting your heights equalize for the first time, both hands resting on your knee. You moan at that, tilting your head closer to him to breathe him in, letting the strong, warm, and safe scent of this alpha wash over you.

Your stomach tightens and you grip his arm tightly, bracing yourself, gasping as your inner muscles flex and spasm. Aemond strokes your knees with his thumbs as you shiver. The weight of his hand on you is equal parts comforting and tempting.

You were in the prime of your life and you were going to die.

There was no other explanation for the way your heart was beating fast, like a rabbit’s, at the way he lingered on your skin — at the way Aemond remained still and stared at you, in a way that, frankly, would have been quite flattering if it weren’t for the way his nostrils kept flaring.

“I’m sorry for putting you through this,” you truly did, but you also felt like you couldn’t take it anymore, “but I want you so much, Aemond. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Don’t be. I want you too,” he growled, leaning down to whisper against your ear, his nose gently brushing the curve of your neck. "So fucking much."

Submission was instantaneous then, without the slightest hint of reluctance or rebellion. Your neck tilts back, throat exposed to the alpha, letting him nuzzle your scent gland and inhale deeply, whimpering happily at having him there, his warm, familiar scent enveloping you safely. Omega condescending. But it’s more than that. Omega eager, the scent of your heat intensifying, overflowing between your thighs, which open instinctively as he encloses you with his hands braced on the sofa, and your happy little cry turns into a needy mewl.

His nose slowly moves up to caress your face, gently nudging the curve of your cheekbone. “Can I kiss you? Fuck, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for years.”

You nod enthusiastically against him before he even finishes the question, your eyes closing as his sweet, warm breath blows across your lips. You’ve dreamed of kissing him too, ever since you could remember.

The first touch of his lips against yours was like coming home, so right and so familiar that it almost scared you, if only the heat haze wasn’t disorienting your mind.

You wanted to enjoy it more, to take it slow, but by all the gods, the level of desperation in your body was unhealthy.

Your lips open like a flower beneath the alpha, hands gripping those long, silky silver strands, pulling him closer and closer. Feeling his jaw move rhythmically beneath your fingers as he opens and closes his mouth to lick your tongue, catching your bottom lip between his teeth in a teasing bite. Your legs swing to wrap around his waist, pressing inch by delicious inch of your bodies together. You moan into his mouth, feeling your pussy rub indiscreetly against the hard planes of his stomach, blood rushing to your groin as sticky moisture flows dramatically from your intimacy.

Aemond was perfect, you swore the alpha tasted like chocolate and wine on your tongue, that he felt like heaven against your fingertips. You could smell the arousal in the air, the way he growled into your wet kisses, and the way his large hand clenched in the fabric of your dress on your thigh.

He nestles his hands between your ass and the upholstery, helping your hips sway against his body, not wanting to let you go. His gorgeous, dilated gaze flickers to you as he breaks the kiss, gently kissing your tear-stained cheek.

“Sweetheart…tell me you accept my claim,” he demands in an eager tone, tracing the soft skin of your jaw with his lips to brush the nape of your neck again, where your swollen scent gland burns and throbs. The gentle pressure of his lips there has you squirming, practically melting into his strong hands. “I need you to understand what I’m asking. Please, focus on me, omega.”

You nod, tears weighing down your lashes. “I do, I do. It’s always been just you. Please, Aemond!”

He pulls back at this, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his pale skin as his breathing becomes shallower. His scent seems to increase, overwhelming every inch of your chamber with his pheromones. Running the tip of his tongue over his upper teeth, you see a glint of his slightly elongated incisors. The golden ring at the rim of his eye. His body, no doubt, reacting to the omega’s pheromones, pushing him into his own rut. You feel like you can vibe to this, the omega pleased to know he has this effect on the alpha.

“A-alpha, it hurts,” you whisper.

“Shhh, I got you, love,” he soothes you, though he’s losing control himself, gently nuzzling your noses together. “Put your arms around my neck. That’s it, good girl.”

He stands with you wrapped around him, carrying you toward the four-poster bed. The thin silk of your skirts soaks where his forearm braces your thighs.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet.” Aemond barely holds back a rough groan as his lips come close to your ear, clearly enjoying the way your body is already ready for him. His knot. You whimper, licking the salt from his throat and moaning. You try to straddle his waist once more, try to lower yourself and bend over, feel the thick, hard line of his cock, the bulge of the knot you know is already forming.

You barely realize you’re being placed on the bed. You barely notice his fingers undoing the knots of your corset and pulling the delicate fabric of your dress off your body. You barely notice the gentle words he whispers in your ear, the praises for your omega. The haze of heat takes over your mind and leaves you adrift, confused, needy. It's all a blur of desperate pleas and crying.

It's only when his body, naked and as absurdly heated as yours, lies on top of you that some coherence returns. The sensation of his feverish skin on yours makes you shiver all over, your cheeks burning - although you can't tell if it's just from the heat or the embarrassment of feeling him like this.

He looms large over you, as alphas tend to be, but in a way that makes you feel secure rather than intimidated. His lean, elegant muscles tense endlessly beneath his soft skin, the flames of the fireplace bathing his pale, sweaty complexion in a beautiful orange glow. The tips of his hair slide hypnotically over your skin, sending shivers down your spine with each contact.

"There she is..." he shivers with satisfaction when he feels the heat allow some of your consciousness to return, his hand wrapping around the delicate curve of your jaw to drag you into a feral kiss while he presses your body against his as if he would die without it. Rut, your confused mind answers. He is falling too. And yet, you were still empty and needy.

"N-no nest...there is no nest, Alpha...I couldn't make it...I didn't know, I d-didn't have time - please, I'm so sorry -" You stammer between gasps and sobs on your lips, your omega dissatisfied with not having a nest where the Alpha could curl up comfortably with you, let his knot sink in and keep you warm and safe throughout your heat.

"You're such a good omega, worrying about this..." he mumbles, kissing your chin and jaw, his hands fidgeting at your sides. "But it's okay, love. Your heat will last for days and I'm not going anywhere. We'll have time. We'll use the breaks between heat waves and I'm sure you'll make the most comfortable, cozy nest for us. I can't wait to see it, omega. Promise you'll make a good nest for your Alpha?"

"Yes, yes! I'll make the best nest, alpha..."

"Yeah you will, my good girl..."

When his mouth reaches your glans on your neck again, you know it's red and raised, waiting for him to touch it.

"Stay still baby," he whispers and you're not sure if he's talking to you or to himself.

His first lick against that spot hits you right in the heart. Your breath is ragged with each press of his tongue, and you can’t help the small purr that escapes your chest. When he growls in response to the sound, vibrations coursing through your glans, your hands grip his broad shoulders in desperation.

“Please, gods, please—alpha, please!” Your skin is feverish and taut, tight as a coiled spring, and you need…more. Your hips roll upward, and at the feel of him hard and solid and huge against your core, you almost come right there. Your wrists move, one behind his ear and the other toward the top of his shoulder, and you rub them subtly against his skin, the only thought in your head is for him to smell like you.

“Alpha, please—” That needy plea seems to be enough to rob Aemond of what little control he has left. He wraps those soft lips around the glans and sucks hard, making your eyes roll to the back of your head, your entire body trembling and flushing with heat.

“Omega,” he growls into your drooling skin, his primal instincts kicking in harder than a sword blow, thrusting his wet cock into your belly. “Tell me what you need.”

You barely blink before begging. “Fill me, please.” Your fingers tangle in the leather of his eye patch, pulling it away so you can take in the full extent of your alpha’s immaculate beauty as he takes you. The turquoise stone glows for only a few seconds before you sink your fingers into his silky hair, guiding his mouth back to yours, pulling him in for another heated, hurried kiss.

And with that touch of his lips, you both lose yourselves. With a guttural sound that goes straight between your legs, Aemond is everywhere.

A large hand is on your neck, his thumb pressing against your chin, opening your mouth for him as his tongue meets yours. Using his other hand, you feel the gentle pressure of a finger against your swollen, throbbing clit, eliciting a cry from your mouth clamped to his. You’re lifting your hips, stroking your own tongue against his as he rolls your clit on his thumb, his cock sliding against your hip again and again, leaving your skin wet with pre-cum.

It’s all a cacophony of sensations, too much and not enough. It’s magnificent, but not what you need.

What you need is him, right now.

Gods, you wanted to enjoy this moment, this first time, savor every touch, every new sensation, every taste and smell, but you both knew that you were at the height of this unexpected heat. Anything other than him inside you at this moment would only be torture for your body and your needs. You sob with desire on his lips, tears streaming down your face as your arousal reaches a level beyond painful; unbearable.

He pulls his face away from yours.

Pupil dilated and his tongue darting out to wet those sinful lips, flushed and swollen from your kisses.

Hungry.

He looks hungry.

"Y/N," he says breathlessly, dropping the designations for a moment, even giving up his own rut-driven instincts, to call you by name, and your eyes widen in response, pupils dilated like an endless abyss. "Do you want my knot? Is that what you need right now, baby?" You hold his gaze with a lucidity that no longer exists, but unconsciously understanding the seriousness of this moment.

"Please, please, I'm going to go crazy if you don't do this. I need it, Aemond. Now."

His growl vibrates in his chest and through yours, making you moan in response and wrap your legs around his waist. Your pussy is absolutely soaked with your own arousal. You had never produced so much fluids before, even during your heats. On the other hand, you had never had an alpha promise to give you his knot before.

Something itches in your mind, driving you to present yourself to him now, whispering for you to turn your body and let him take you from behind, this position would be better - more chances of a successful knot. Instinct, obviously, since you wouldn’t have any previous experience to draw on. And you almost do, placing your hands on his shoulders to push him away. The turn, however, is interrupted by large hands on the sides of your waist, firm but still gentle as he keep you lying with him between your legs.

You frown at him in confusion.

“Please, no. Not this time.” He whispers feverishly, leaning his sweaty forehead against yours, breath puffing across your parted lips. “I know instinct tells you otherwise, just as they are telling me, but I want to see your face. I need to see your eyes as I take you for the first time, sweetheart.”

It’s not an order. Not exactly. It’s more of a request than anything else. But you obey anyway, captivated by his need to have you in this way, for his strength in resisting his own Alpha's demands and take you the way he, the men, wants.

Warming up to the desperate cadence of your low mewls, he lines his hardened member up toward your center, your omega more than ready for this. The tip pokes a few times into your soaked folds, seeking warmth as he settles himself.

It’s an almost sacred moment, even in the haze of heat.

The chamber goes silent as he enters you for the first time, thrusting inside, slowly and steady, one hand coming up to the side of your face, the other gripping your hip possessively, his gaze locked on yours. Your hearts beat in sync, the fierce need to be joined to each other growing like a wildfire. The head of his cock barely enters before the world simply stops. He begins to rock his hips, slowly at first, so slowly that it’s almost provocative, but it’s delicious and cathartic, and you never want it to end.

Besides his hungry gaze on yours, the second thing your drunken brain registers is that it doesn’t hurt.

First time penetration should hurt, right? You’ve never had sex before, obviously, but you know that the first time should be uncomfortable, at the least. However, your body accepts him with easy submission, with your own abundant sticky wetness easing the way, and all you can feel is the same relief that his arms offer, the smell of him. You moan between teeth, satisfied, and reach out to grip his arm as he thrusts into you, feeling the muscles ripple under your touch. He groans your name once more and his erection pulses against your walls.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he demands. “Tell me you’ve kept that perfect pussy for me all this time.”

Of course you were his. The fact hadn’t always pleased you, but you’d known that since you were children and running through the halls of the Red Keep. You always knew you were made for him, and you held on to that bitter dream even when you tried to pull away from him. So it was only natural to let your animal instinct take over, exposing the truth as if it were the only thing that mattered.

“I’m yours, Aemond. I’ve always been yours.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. "Only yours."

“F-fuck,” he stutters, your pussy greedy and desperate as it molds itself to accommodate him. “You’re going so well for me, pup. Such a good little omega.”

His lips press against your cheek as he pants, struggling to hold himself together as he feels the full length of his cock inside your folds. And you sense that this is your weakness. Green apples and parchment, flames and dragon scales. He’s warm and comforting, fitting between your legs like he belongs there, like you’re his home. It’s divine how you mold yourself to accommodate him. Easy, as if it were a normal thing, and you had done this together a thousand times before.

Aemond takes a deep, shuddering breath.

And then he begins to thrust. Slowly.

You were soaked and desperate, but Aemond was an Alpha and, well, you were a virgin just a few minutes ago. His restraint was understandable. But you wanted more, needed everything he could give you...

You didn’t realize you were speaking out loud until he answered. “I’ll give you. Fuck, I’ll give you anything you want, baby. I’m yours.” His voice took on a deep, husky tone that sent goosebumps across your skin. “But I need to make sure you’re ready first.”

You whimper. “I can take it,” you promise. “Come on, Alpha. Make me yours!”

Aemond’s large body trembled with the restraint of going slow, his muscles contracting restlessly beneath your fingers. At your words, he groans and suddenly thrusts deep. The air rushes from your lungs, and you dig your nails into his back, gripping tightly as your body struggles to adjust to the massive intrusion.

He pulls back to get a better look at your face, to make sure you’re not uncomfortable. And by the gods, you’re not. Your omega rolls over and shows the belly, satisfied and purring, vibrating with joy at finally having his alpha take you. His thrusts don’t stop, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so beautiful, omega, so fucking beautiful. So good for me, pup.”

Your eyelids flutter with the long, delicious drag as he pulls out, pussy clenching his cock like it doesn’t want to let go, and the emptiness he leaves hurts, no matter how quickly he pulls away. Then he thrusts back in and you breathe once more.

“Yes!” you cry out, wrapping your arms and legs around him, clinging to his lean but strong body. “More, Alpha. Please!”

Aemond curses and then sets a steady, pulsing rhythm in his hips. Each entry was slow, each thrust back hard and intense. He fucked you like he flying on Vhagar’s back: confident and assertive, teetering on the edge of control but never losing it. The extent of his control was crystal clear as he breathed into your lips, his gaze keeping yours, his forehead sweaty and his eyebrows furrowed, even as you shuddered and moaned and clawed at his back.

You were wetter than you’d ever been, drops running down between your thighs to soak the sheets. The sounds of your joining were loud and filthy, filling your chamber with moans and growls, the wet, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin, and the harder he went, the more animalistic you both became. You were soon moaning and sobbing with every thrust, while he grunts and growls in your face.

When he swallowed hard, his gaze was, without any choice, drawn to his throat; the Adam’s apple bobbing, the veins high in his neck, his scent glands. He nods at your gaze, and you’re suddenly overcome with the need to touch him — to taste him.

You lean forward and place your mouth over his gland, alternating your tongue and lips between sucking and licking the heated skin, panting into his skin in time with his thrusts. He groans, broken and hoarse, his hips slowing to fuck you less hard, more slowly.

“Y/N, fuck, I need—”

He’s worryingly heated against you, his own rut peaking, silver strands of hair sticking to his sweaty face.

“Me too, Aemond...I need it so bad it hurts,” you cry, pressing your face against his scent gland, breathing hard. He nods, settling into a rhythm that, while less frenetic than it was a moment ago, is brutal in its intensity. Your thighs tremble around his waist, though Aemond is definitely the one doing the heavy lifting. His knot nudges against your pussy, pressing, clamping, and pushing against your entrance with each thrust.

“I can feel you getting close,” he whispers in your ear. “Do you want to come in my knot, pup?”

Your head falls back and you moan loudly as he hits you again, and again, hard and stand, and you’re right on the edge — close enough that you can feel your orgasm building in your lower back, threatening to overtake you at any second.

Yes, yes, yes, your omega cries out in response to his question. It’s all you want, all you need. To come with the Alpha’s knot inside you.

“Yes,” you sob. “Please!”

As his knot begins to force itself inside you, everything becomes shockingly clear. You know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were made for this. To take his knot, to sit on it, to come and clench around him until he paints your insides with his seed.

“Oh, good girl, almost there—” His voice grows lower, rougher, darker. “Yeah, that’s it, spread those pretty legs a little wider and let me—fuck, yeah, that’s it, puppy—”

Your purpose is singular now, as his knot stretches your entrance. He forces your opening almost to the point of pain, even as wet and stretched as it already is, but biology is on your side. You strain for his next thrust, and with a searing ecstasy, you feel his knot push a little deeper inside you.

The next movement, like everything else tonight, is guided only by instinct and basic need. You hold the back of his neck, guiding his lips to the junction of your neck and shoulder, tears streaming down the sides of your face until its soak the sheets.

"P-please, make me yours, Alpha. In every way."

Aemond sighs longly on your skin, leaving wet kisses there, his breath warm and tense. His body is so intimately attached to yours that each thrust makes your breasts drag against the hard planes of his chest, teasing your sensitive nipples. Each undulation of his hips rubs your throbbing clit against the trimmed hair of his pelvis. It is torture, the most delicious torture.

"You're going to fucking kill me, love." He half smiles half growls, gently nipping at your shoulder, just a shadow of what you really wanted from him there. You grip him tighter, frowning as you mewl dissatisfiedly through your teeth.

He silences your mumbled protests with whispers of your name and designation, intoned in an encouraging tone against your skin as he guides you closer and closer, and you feel your thighs tremble around his hips as you prepare to be pulled under. Your toes clench, body ready to jump into the waters that threaten to drown you, all you need to do is let yourself sink. Let your body surrender to what you were designed to do.

“Come for me, Y/N,” he growls into your shoulder, the vibrations coursing through your body, his fingers digging into your hips, leaving marks on your skin that your omega accepts with pleasure. “Come for your Alpha and then I'll give you my knot, I swear.”

And with that encouragement, you submit completely. The command to surrender to the pleasure was all your body needed. A primal scream rips from your throat, and your body shudders beneath his. Your pussy clench around his cock, desperate and needy for what only he could give you. And it’s nothing like cumming with your own fingers.

Aemond, feeling your walls tighten around him, thrusts harder; a long groan through his teeth before biting down hard on your shoulder, his sharp incisors tearing the skin until you’re screaming. Despite the shock of pain, your fingers dig into the back of his neck, pushing his face into the bite, wanting more. He growls at this, thrusting his hips forward one last time, burying his cock deep as his knot finally expands inside your pussy, locking him in place and joining you together.

Your spine arches, your breasts pushing against his chest with a long, broken groan that seems to escape straight from your core, your body clenching around his cock before contracting almost painfully. Aemond grunts, nearly falling on top of you as he shoots inside your pussy, filling your insides with his cum.

Entire galaxies shimmer behind your eyes as a second orgasm rips through you, just by the sensation of it being his, irrefutably. And you cling to your Alpha as he graces you with slow, shallow thrusts, his seed filling you beyond your limit. You can almost feel it filling your womb, spilling from your core and dripping down from where your bodies join to coat the sheets beneath you.

He licks your raw flesh when he releases you, whispering praise as he wipes away the blood dripping down your skin, and the throbbing in his cock begins to slow.

But though your orgasms are over for now, you know you’ll stay glued together until his knot comes undone. Your arms tighten around his shoulders until he sags, letting the weight of his body collapse onto yours, and you savor the comfort of being smothered by him. Your omega purrs, rubbing your cheek against his sweaty shoulder, trying to cover yourself with as much of his musk as possible.

The chamber is silent, except for both heavy breathings and the crackling of the fireplace.

It takes you a moment to recover. Your mind is drunk but relaxed, satisfied. And then a hand slides down your arm, broad and warm and absolutely everything you need. He takes your hand in his, so small and fragile in comparison, noting how both are trembling before lowering his lips and placing a kiss on your knuckles.

Your eyes open into lazy slits at the feeling and it’s only after what feels like an eternity that you realize it’s raining; thunder rumbles around the castle as flashes of light illuminate your chamber through the windows. But you don’t feel afraid. Because inside you are warm and safe beneath your Alpha. You both gasp together as he locks his gaze with yours, his lips swollen and a little red with your blood. An unspoken question flashes across his expression, the tops of his cheeks flushed and his skin sweaty, his gaze beginning to return to its usual violet hue. You smile in response, something vague and lazy, but enough to show that everything is okay.

With a relieved nod, Aemond can’t help but gently stroke the damp hair stuck to your sweaty, flushed face, slipping an arm under your back to cradle your head with his other hand. “Good?” he asks, his voice hoarse and rough, punctuated by another small burst of semen that makes you shiver and laugh softly.

“You’re big,” you say, flexing slowly with a fragile sigh, eliciting a breathy laugh from him as well - his head turning in a weak reprimand, as if he doesn’t surprise with your cheeky response at a time like this.

When he rolls to the side, you hum happily as feel him wrap your body around him to bring you with him, still intimately embraced and joined by the knot. He lies on his side, arranging one of your legs over his hip, your head hidden in the crook of his neck. Both of you bracing yourself for the time it would take for his knot to deflate.

You feel completely exhausted, sated now that you’ve received what you needed from the Alpha. Your mind is clearer and more aware, finally letting the extent of what you’ve just done sink into your bones. But you know it won’t last long, another wave will soon arrive, your heat had only just begun and the days ahead would demand a lot from both of you.

“Shhh, just sleep, pup. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Aemond whispers into your hair as he feels your restlessness begin, a large, warm hand slowly running up and down the curve of your back and thigh in a soothing gesture, the other arm stretched out beneath your head to serve as a pillow. “I’ll take care of you from now on. Trust me.”

With those words your eyelids begin to grow heavy, the almost painful stretch of Aemond’s knot, still deeply trapped inside you, fading into a comfortable tingle. And with a sigh of relief, you allow yourself to snuggle closer to his body, his familiar scent now ingrained in every inch of your body, feeling protected and cared for - without any doubt that he would keep his promise. The soft throb of his bonding bite on your shoulder confirming it.

He is yours now. And you are his.

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mbellu123-blog · 5 months ago

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everytime ao3 goes down for maintenance, i somehow forget that i was given warning literally days in advance and my brain immediately starts stressing about our modern day Library of Alexandria

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mbellu123-blog · 8 months ago

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I don’t talk about them as much as I used to on this account, but one direction were such a crucial part of everything I was growing up. in a shitty home with no support their music kept me alive for so many of the hardest years of my life, and regardless of what Liam has or hasn’t done recently, seeing that he has passed away has shook me to my fucking core. I idolised those men for 14 fucking years, through all my teens and my early twenties they have meant more to me than I can even put into words, and knowing that I’m never gonna see Liam again has really deeply fucking rocked me man. and I’m supposed to just go on? like go to work tomorrow as normal? fucking hell

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mbellu123-blog · 8 months ago

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you know the post that's like: one day I'll be 45 at a party and ill hear a one direction song and ill be dancing my heart out because I never learned to love anything as much as I love one direction?......... yeah.......thinking of that right now

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mbellu123-blog · 9 months ago

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when in fics they say two characters gave each other a look this is always what i envision in my head

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mbellu123-blog · 10 months ago

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Love love LOVE reading your most recent requests! Especially the cregan ones

If you’re still taking requests, could I get one from cregan pov where velaryon/targ reader must wed cregan to honor the pact made by Jace. I’d Iove to get cregans first impressions of seeing her, almost in awe because it’s his first time seeing a targ/velaryon with old Valyrian features and how he feels about the betrothal. Bonus points if you add her dragon too 👀💖

Valyrian Bride

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to Cregan to be his bride, the Lord Stark did not expect what he got - a trueborn dragon.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: I hope this is what you had in mind. 🙂

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

Cregan Stark stood tall upon the frost-crusted battlements of Winterfell, his grey eyes fixed on the southern horizon. The wind howled around him, cold and biting, but he barely noticed. The men beside him, his bannermen and closest retainers, stood in hushed anticipation. They were a hardy lot, men of the North, but today there was a tension in the air that not even their steadfast presence could dispel. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Dragon Princess promised to him, was on her way. And she was bringing her dragon.

Cregan was a man of duty, honor-bound by his word. When Jacaerys Velaryon had come to the North, securing his father’s oath to Rhaenyra, Cregan had listened to the young prince’s proposal with a calculating mind. He had known what the South was asking—his allegiance in a civil war that would tear the Seven Kingdoms apart. The North had no taste for southern squabbles, but for an alliance that could secure his people’s future, Cregan had agreed. A marriage bond, a union with the blood of kings and dragons.

But he hadn’t expected this.

The sky darkened. A shadow passed over the pale light of the day, and a roar echoed across the windswept land. His heart quickened. The unmistakable sound of wings filled the air, as if the heavens themselves were being torn apart. Men murmured in awe, some with fear. Cregan’s grip on the pommel of his sword tightened as he peered into the sky. And then, she appeared.

The dragon came first—Vaetrix, her crimson scales gleaming like molten fire against the pale snow. Larger than anything Cregan had seen before, the great beast descended from the clouds with a grace that defied her monstrous size. Her wings flared, casting a shadow over the courtyard, and the air was filled with the smell of sulfur and smoke.

But it wasn’t the dragon that took Cregan’s breath away.

Atop Vaetrix, astride the monstrous creature as if born to it, was the princess. Her silver-gold hair streamed behind her like a banner, long and flowing, catching the sunlight as she descended. Her features were sharp, unmistakably Valyrian—the high cheekbones, the proud set of her jaw, the violet eyes that seemed to pierce through everything they beheld. She was a vision of Old Valyria, like the stories his father had told him as a boy. She bore little resemblance to her half-brothers, with their softer features. No, this was the blood of the dragon in full force.

His bannermen whispered around him.

"She looks like a goddess," one muttered, his voice thick with awe.

"Old Valyria reborn," another added, his voice trembling.

Cregan said nothing. He could only stare, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. He had expected a girl, a lady to wed and secure an alliance, but this… this was something else entirely. There was power in her, in the way she moved, in the way she carried herself atop that dragon. She was not just a girl of noble birth—she was a force of nature, a storm in human form.

Vaetrix landed with a deafening thud, snow and dirt kicking up around her as she folded her massive wings. The ground trembled beneath her weight, but Cregan stood firm. He watched as the princess dismounted with a fluid grace, her hand brushing along Vaetrix's scaled neck before she strode forward. Her boots crunched in the snow, the chill of the North seemingly unfelt by her as if the dragon's fire warmed her from within.

When her eyes met his, Cregan felt a jolt run through him. Those violet eyes… they were ancient, wise beyond her years, and yet held a fire that could burn a man alive if he dared to challenge her. His mouth felt dry, his usual steady words faltering in his throat.

She approached, and as she drew nearer, Cregan noticed more—her height, the proud way she held her head, the confidence in her steps. She did not walk like someone being delivered to a husband. No, she walked like a queen in her own right, a woman who expected the world to bend to her will.

When she stopped before him, she inclined her head ever so slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment rather than submission. “Lord Stark,” she said, her voice smooth and strong, carrying the faintest hint of the Valyrian accent that lingered in her family’s tongue. “I have come as promised.”

Cregan blinked, forcing himself to regain his composure. “Princess,” he replied, his voice rougher than usual, betraying the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind. “Winterfell welcomes you.”

Her lips curled into the faintest of smiles, though it was hard to tell whether it was one of amusement or mere politeness. “I am honored to be here, to fulfill the promise made between my house and yours.”

He nodded, his gaze locked on hers. “I did not expect—” His words caught in his throat for a moment, and he shook his head, cursing himself for his loss of composure. “I did not expect such… splendor.”

The smile deepened, and there was a flicker of something in her eyes—perhaps amusement, or perhaps something more dangerous. “I am not what you expected then, my lord?”

Cregan met her gaze evenly. “No, princess. You are far more.”

Behind them, Vaetrix rumbled, a deep sound that reverberated through the stone walls of Winterfell. His men shifted nervously, glancing at the beast with wide eyes, but Cregan paid them no mind. His focus was entirely on her.

The princess tilted her head, studying him with those sharp, knowing eyes. “I have heard much of the North, of its strength, its honor,” she said softly, her voice carrying on the wind. “It is a land of fierce men and harsher winters. I hope that I will find my place here, as your wife.”

There was something in the way she said it, a subtle challenge, as if she were testing him, seeing if he was the man she had been promised. And for the first time, Cregan understood that this marriage was not just a bond of convenience. She was not some southern lady to be tamed or coddled. She was a dragon, and if he were to claim her, he would have to prove himself worthy.

“You will,” he said, his voice steady now, conviction settling in his chest. “You will find your place here, with me.”

Her eyes gleamed with something close to approval, and she nodded once, a gesture as regal as any queen’s. Then, without another word, she turned her gaze back to Vaetrix, who stirred at her silent command, lifting her massive head.

Cregan watched her walk away, feeling a mixture of awe and excitement. The North had never seen a woman like this, and he knew, in that moment, that his life—Winterfell itself—was about to change forever.

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mbellu123-blog · 10 months ago

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Dragons In Chains

Pairing: Jacaerys x Targtower reader

Tags: angst, degrading language, power imbalance, dub con, mention of grief, humiliation, mild smut, p. in v. sex, open/hopeful ending

Wordcount: 4,015

Captured by the Greens, Jacaerys is given to Aegon's sister to keep as a pet in her chambers. However, he soon discovers that his captor might be as much a prisoner as he is.

Jacaerys Masterlist

The heavy tolls of the bells from the city was what pulled you from your reverie as you lounged in your bath, the back of your neck resting on the copper rim. It seemed some sort of event was taking place, but no one had come to fetch you, so you supposed it was neither grim news nor victorious—still you rose from the scented water and walked into the fresh linens your maid held up for you.

You were dressed with an embroidered gown, but with your hair still damp as you walked across the square and into your elder brother Aegon’s chamber, inquiring of the sudden buzzing in the Red Keep. You were stunned into silence and stillness as you crossed the threshold and were met with a pitiful sight.

Your nephew Prince Jacaerys was bound in the middle of the room, on his knees in front of Aegon, who was sneering down at him. His dark hair was matted with what you guessed to be dried blood, streaks of reddish brown tainting his temple, and chains were binding his ankles together, as well as his hands, kept tight at his lower back.

“What is the meaning of this?” you asked Aegon, who turned to you with a welcoming smile.

On the floor, Jacaerys’ eyes widened at the sight of you, his chest rising up and down as his breathing quickened, and you truly felt sorry for the young man who had once been a precious childhood companion of yours.

“A celebration, sweet sister. Our uncle has brought a prize from the Riverlands,” he replied, clearly inebriated, cup still in hand. Dark wine spilled on the carpet as he gestured wildly to the prisoner at his feet. “The bastard prince of Dragonstone!”

Aegon erupted in giggles, but you could not find it in yourself to share in his feeling of victory, especially not after what you had just heard from a servant as you had crossed the royal floor. “You had his dragon’s head paraded around the city,” you accused with faint disgust.

“So that everyone could see his demise… the whore’s own son and heir!” he proclaimed, spilling more wine—this time it wet Jacaerys’ curls, but the young prince remained silent, his mouth curling downwards. A dark bruise was blooming on his cheekbone, purple and yellow, and his lip bore a cut, which was freshly bleeding.

“The people will see this as a dark omen, brother!” you cried out as you approached him, and he took a stumbling step towards you. “Now they’ve all seen that dragons can be slain like any other beast!”

“And they’ve seen that I am to feared, that I will come out victorious!” Aegon protested, gesturing wildly again until you took the cup from him and set it aside. “Don’t you see that, sister?”

“He is still a Targaryen, still your kin,” you defended, gentler, desperate to appease him—only the gods knew what the grief-stricken king would do now he had his hands on a son of Rhaenyra. “Show him mercy, and let it be known throughout the realm that King Aegon is gracious and honorable.”

Aegon hesitated, and for a moment you thought you had spoken reason into him, but then a wicked smile spread over his face and amusement danced in his eyes. He extended his hand and the sentry gave him the chain that bound Jacaerys, and horror curled in your stomach as you saw it led to a steel collar around his neck.

“Here sister, you always wanted a pet, didn’t you?” he asked, and for a long, agonizing second you clung to the belief that he was jesting, but then the chain was put in your hand.

“Aegon, you cannot be serious,” you breathed, and he giggled, clearly satisfied with his idea.

“You're the only one of us without a dragon,” he said with a shrug, reaching up to stroke your cheekbone with the back of his knuckles. “This is the best I can do…”

You trembled, the chain cold in your hand, your mind rushing as you thought of how to escape this indignity, but he spoke again before you could refuse him. “Would you rather I give him to Aemond to keep as his plaything?” he asked, his eyes turning serious again, and you startled.

“No!” you cried out, then forced yourself to smile, cradling the chain to your chest. “No, this is a very generous gift, your grace. Thank you,” you said, pressing a kiss to Aegon’s cheek, who giggled again and turned to his prisoner.

“My sister will take very good care of you,” he said, kicking Jacaerys with the toe of his boot. “Which is more than a half-breed like you deserves.”

One of the sentries forced him to his feet and he hissed, clearly wounded, and he stumbled a bit, only kept upright by the guard’s hand under his arm. “Make sure to break in the little beast,” Aegon told you as you were escorted out, your new charge in toe.

Jacaerys watched as his aunt let go of the chain as soon as the two of you had crossed the threshold of what he assumed to be your chambers, dropping it to the floor as though the steel had burned your hand. You were quick to order a bath to be drawn, and for the bulky chains to be removed, claiming they were too heavy for your comfort.

Jace floated in and out of his own head as he was bathed, the caked blood rubbed from his curls and his skin, hissing slightly as fresh clothes were pulled over his bruises. He swallowed furious tears as a green doublet bearing the Hightower sigil was fastened across his chest.

He was left on the ground, chained to the heavy bedpost with his arms behind his back, to await his captor’s return—he brought his knees to his face, hiding his frustration and despair. He had only himself to blame for his recklessness and arrogance. He had thought he could fly across the realm safely and recruit armies to his mother’s cause, but that was without the ambush laid at the Twins, and the scorpion that had taken the life of his dragon.

Now it would be days before his mother would learn of his fate, and she did not have the advantage; he was well and truly defeated now, and only the gods knew when he would know freedom again. His only consolation was that Aegon had had the twisted idea to give him to you, his aunt, rather than the kinslayer that had taken his brother’s life. It was a small blessing, but one brought by drunkenness and idiocy rather than mercy.

Jacaerys was pulled out of his miserable thoughts when the door opened again and he saw two sets of feet appeared though the curls that had fallen into his eyes—small, dainty slippers that he knew to be yours, and a pair of boots that he recognized as a Kingsguard.

“By order of the king, you are to remain here until the princess commands us to fetch you and put you back in your cage,” came the harsh order, and he nodded silently before his head was pulled back by his hair, and the guard pointed to the open door where he could see in the hallway.

Bile rose in his throat as he saw the large cage pushed against the opposite wall, and he understood he was not to be kept in a dungeon like he had assumed, but rather like a dog.

“Thank you, ser. I shall keep him here for now,” you said pleasantly, if a bit tense, and the man let go of Jacaerys. “He makes for a rather pretty sight, and you know what a collector I am.”

Jace’s chest hurt from swallowing a sob as he remembered details from your shared childhood, how you were indeed fond of collecting pretty things. As a child he had often brought you trinkets to add to your collection of beauties, and now he found himself part of it, prisoner in what was only a gilded cage.

The door closed again, and for a moment the room was filled with your combined breathing, both hurried. With a sigh you sat in front of him on the carpet, searching his gaze until he could see the tears in your eyes, but they only made anger coil behind his breastbone, hot and heavy.

“I am sorry. I could not let Aegon give you to Aemond, he’d sooner feed you to his dragon—” you started, and he shook in his chains.

“Am I supposed to be grateful?” he spat out, and you visibly recoiled, ashamed.

“I cannot free you of the shackles, but you may be comfortable here,” you offered, still kind despite his outburst, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. At the least you would not strike him, he surmised, as he didn’t remember you inclined to violence.

“Leave me be,” he whispered, curling in on himself, and you complied.

Some sort of gasp pulled you from your sleep that night, and you laid there, wide awake in the darkness as you listened to Jacaerys, who was quietly sobbing. Still chained at the foot of your bed, you had preferred the humiliating sight of him kneeling on the carpet to the utter indignity of the cage in the hallway. You had ordered your guards to leave him for you to enjoy—the words had burned your throat, and you had loathed how smooth the lie had sounded, how easily you had been believed.

“Jacaerys?” you called softly, and silence fell over your room like the strike of lightning. “Are you cold, or in pain?”

More silence came over the two of you until finally, he spoke in a whisper. “No,” he said, his voice rough and broken, slightly breathless.

“For what it is worth, I am truly sorry,” you offered once more, your eyes fixed on the ceiling. “You do not deserve to be kept here in this fashion.”

You had given him a plush pillow and an embroidered blanket— a servant had come with a plate of supper that he had refused to touch, and a cup of water that he had drunk only when you turned, averting your eyes from the miserable sight he made.

“Then set me free,” came the pitiful answer, and your chest ached as you refused him.

“I cannot. Aegon would have me beaten bloody. And Aemond…” you said, tears coming to your eyes once more. You wished to reach out in the darkness, to forget about the horrors of this war and to find your friend again.

“You fear them,” Jace said, and you loathed how you could hear the frown in his voice. Your tears spilled on your cheeks, and you wondered if his own eyes were doing the same, flooding his face with silent sorrow.

“I fear what power has made of them,” you admitted, wetting your lips. “What grief has made of Aegon.”

As there was no answer you rose slowly, forgoing your slippers and padding barefooted on the cold stones and plush carpet until you had wet a cloth in water, and to the low light of the candle, turned to Jacaerys once again.

Your face was flushed, your eyes red, as you sat across from him once again. Perhaps it was the darkness and coldness of the night that had lowered his defenses, but this time he did not send you away as you pressed a cold cloth to his cheek. It was aching, a low pulse that made him remain aware of the violence of the blow he had taken across the face.

He contemplated the grief that had brought the both of you here as you dabbed his face gently, your hair spilling across your shoulders, rays of moonlight in the thick night.

“Did my sister order this?” you suddenly murmured, and you didn’t need to be more explicit. “Tell me the truth.”

“Daemon took it upon himself to avenge Luke,” Jacaerys swallowed against his own tears, loathing how his voice broke nearing the end of his sentence. “Aemond was supposed to be the target.”

The cloth fell to the floor as you were taken by silent sobs, and his chains rattled as he tried to move against them, to reach out to you despite his anger. “She is sorry, that an innocent was struck down,” he said with difficulty, and it did not calm your tears.

“I am sorry… about Luke,” you whispered, and the darkness swallowed your shared sorrow. The two of you remained a while, collapsed on the floors, crying into the darkness.

Darkness became your refuge, the place where you would converse in whispers, sometimes in hissed breaths as you disagreed, or he pleaded for your help, sometimes in soothing murmurs when you reminisced of your shared years within the walls of the Red Keep.

The ghosts of your mutual losses hung heavily between you, and in a way you clung to the innocents as though they would keep the two of you from insanity, from going mad in these chambers.

During the day he was allowed some leave, walking your quarters free of his chains, save for one at his ankle, and as night came, he was brought back to his place at the foot of the bed, his wrists bound again in shackles, by his sides.

Time dragged on and he could hardly tell how long he had spent here, suspended, on the outside of his life. A servant had tied him again after a light supper—he had finally accepted food after feeling his mind fading from him, and decided that he needed his strength for when the opportunity to escape would present itself.

The maid had left the key for you to find on a high dresser, but you did not spare it a glance when you came in after your bath, a flurry of fabric and loose, damp hair.

“What has happened?” Jacaerys asked, dread curling in his stomach. He watched as you clung to the back of a chair, breathing deeply.

“Aegon is wounded, the Maester doesn't think he will live,” you finally managed to say, and Jacaerys hid his relieved face in his knee, but he supposed you could guess the smile that spread across his face. However his joy and hope were short-lived as you spoke again, and the dread returned to him.

“They have appointed Aemond as regent,” you said, fear making your voice waver.

By now you were painfully aware that your faction was creating chaos more than peace, with Aegon deeply wounded, Aemond would surely be going on a rampage soon enough, and set the realm ablaze. You could hardly find your breath again as a knight knocked, then entered without waiting.

“The prince regent,” he announced, and you swiftly turned to face the door, painting a pleased expression on your face.

“Well, well,” Aemond crooned as he stalked in, his wrists resting atop the pommel of Blackfyre, and you took a few steps back until the back of your knees hit the mattress.

“Come to admire my prize?” you smiled as you sat at the foot of your bed.

Jacaerys tugged against his chains furiously at the sight of Aemond, and you grabbed the back of his head, burying his face into your thigh. Your fingers curled into his hair as you attempted to shield him from Aemond’s eye and soothe his sudden agitation.

“You’ve always been fond of pretty things,” the prince commented, almost contemplative.

“Now I have a dragon, just as the rest of you,” you quipped with false humor. “You’re not going to come take my plaything now, Aemond?” you asked, fear turning your tone cold and hard, and Aemond’s bowed lips curled in a mirthless smile.

“Is that what he is, your plaything?” your brother asked, low and dangerous.

“You get to play at the throne now, allow me more… pleasant pursuits?” you suggested, lifting your chin to look at him, almost teasing, and it earned you a pleased hum before Aemond kissed you, curling his tongue into your mouth with ruthless intent.

Jacaerys made a sound as your hand tightened in his hair, betraying your tension. Aemond laughed as he pulled away, an edge of disgust to his tone as he spoke. “I think your pet requires your attention.”

You made a soothing sound, forcing yourself to pat the back of Jace’s head as you would do an upset hound—it hid the trembling of your hand well enough, and you hoped Aemond’s lack of depth perception would work in your favor.

“Show me he’s worthy of you, and I’ll allow you to keep him,” he said against your hair, making you shiver in dread. Slowly, he reached for you, parting your knees with the back of his knuckles—he was uncharacteristically agitated, on edge, and you feared to upset him.

Aemond lifted your dress, humming pleasantly. “Come on, pet, show us how you please your mistress,” came the chilling words as he pulled the chain that was wrapped around the bedpost, forcing Jacaerys to come between your legs.

You looked down as your nephew pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, almost an apology, but there was utter fury in his eyes, and Aemond made an impatient noise, tugging the chain again. You gasped aloud as Jace flattened his tongue on your folds, bold, as though he was practiced—and you thanked the gods that he did not seem hesitant. Aemond hummed again, pressing a hot kiss into your temple, then turned.

“Are you leaving?” you forced yourself to ask as Jace rested his forehead on the inside of your thigh, frozen in place.

“Playing at the throne is serious business, sister, we cannot all lounge in silk and debauchery all day,” he said over his shoulder as he left. Both you and your nephew startled as the door slammed shut and you rushed to lock it, pressing your ear to the wood and listening to your brother’s retreating steps.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered as you turned, watching as Jacaerys swallowed painfully, wiping his mouth on a corner of the bed, his cheeks flushed.

He had not set eyes on Aemond since that fateful dinner, a mere few hours before the realm had tipped into chaos. Upon seeing his smug expression and the arrogant way with which he wore the emblematic sword and dagger, and a fury so burning it had nearly choked him had erupted in him.

It had made his blood hot, and he curled in on himself to hide his reaction to the touch he had been forced to perform on you—he was disgusted at himself, at how your warmth had also made heat bloom within him. He had not felt any sort of pleasure since being captured and his body longed for release, and there you were, kind and sweet.

As you lay together in the dark that night, you watched the shadow of his head as he rested the back of his neck on the foot of the bed, looking up at the ceiling, very much like you often did. You wondered what images appeared on the smooth surface, cast by his own mind.

“You are not safe with him,” Jacaerys mused out loud after a long while of silence, and you shivered. You knew how dangerous Aemond was, now that power was within his grasp, and with it the utter certainty that he would not hesitate to take what he thought was his.

“Aemond takes what he thinks he is owed,” you replied, your voice strangely flat.

“What will you do when he comes for you?” he asked, then you heard him swallow audibly. “What will he do with me?”

His words hung heavy in the air until they suffocated you and you bolted from the bed without thinking. Jace called your name as you retrieved the key and knelt on the carpet to unlatch the cuffs, which fell to the carpet with a muted sound.

He froze at that, and so did you—he could easily hurt you, perhaps even subdue you before you could call for help. He would not get far, he knew, certainly not past the guards, but another man might think harming you would be enough.

However, now he realized that this room was your gilded cage as much as it was his, and your cuffs were not made of steel but of silk, of the color of your hair and of your gender. The two of you were breathing furiously, and Jace’s heart ached when he reached out and you didn’t flinch, but looked surprised when instead of pushing you down, he pulled you up and guided you to the bed again.

Without a word he climbed onto the mattress and you scooted back until he had you pressed upon the plush pillows. You might have whispered his name before his mouth descended on yours and you swallowed his fury, his hope, his grief.

Only your hurried breaths disturbed the quiet of the night as you pulled at your gown and unlaced his breeches, fingers trembling. You said nothing as he pressed into you and he did not ask if you had been breached before.

Your arms around his back were almost suffocating, your fingers digging into his flesh as he thrusted into you, careless but not ungentle. He took you harder than you would have liked, but you did not begrudge him, and his kisses to your mouth and neck tasted like apologies.

In a few hours he would be back in chains, but for now he allowed himself a few moments of freedom, lost in the pleasure between your legs.

“We shall face Aemond’s fury together,” one of you murmured after the crashing waves of your combined pleasure had passed, and it sounded like an oath.

The next time the night was disrupted, it wasn’t by sighs of pleasures or tentative moans, but by the furious knock of a servant. Jacaerys rose from where he was nestled against your chest, and you rushed to the door, barely opening a sliver.

Hushed whispers set Jace on edge as he waited in the middle of the rumpled sheets—now he spent his nights tangled in them, shackled to you by hope, rather than by steel at the foot of your bed.

The door closed and you turned again, your face partially obscured. “Your mother has raised commoners into dragonlords,” you said in a confused tone, and a strangled laugh escaped Jace’s lips.

“She’s done it…” Jacaerys whispered, a great sense of victory taking hold of him, and you made a questioning sound. “We entertained the idea, I did not think it would come into being,” he said, rising to meet you, his hands curling at your forearms. Hope was nearly choking him, and he knew the morning would bring terrible choices.

“She has at least two new riders now, perhaps three. She is surely coming for you,” you pressed in a panic, your breath hot against his face.

“Come with me,” Jacaerys whispered, his hands holding your face close. You still smelled of him, of his sweat and his pleasure. “We will keep you safe.”

“What of my sister, of my niece?” you asked, shaking your head, but Jacaerys did not let you step away, holding you firmly against him.

“Either I stay and we take Aemond down together,” he said, looking down at the chains that were pooled on the floor, and an image of pure horror came to your mind, choking you. “Or you help me escape this place, and leave with me.”

The ground crumbled under your feet just as your certainties did, and you fell to your knees on the plush carpet. Jacaerys did not kneel, instead remained standing, tall and proud and finally, after all those weeks, filled with hope. You pressed your forehead against his knee and he held your hair as you cried, suffocated by the grief of your own decision.

Dividers by @/saradika

Thank you to @zaldritzosrose for beta reading ♡ and for my lovely anon who gave me this idea.

Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, this is how we keep stories alive on this platform. Likes and comments are equally appreciated.

Comment to be added to my Jacaerys masterlist.

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mbellu123-blog · 11 months ago

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i’ll beg whatever gods i need to. | cregan stark

cregan stark x f!wife!reader

format: one-shot

tw: MDNI warning (oh boy here we go) in depth descriptions of gore and bodily injury, blood, ANGST, cregan crying and in pain, mentions of religion and praying, hurt/comfort, more angst, angry cregan, insecure!cregan, unprotected piv, oral (both receiving), face riding, cowgirl, breeding kink (duh he’s a stark), uncut cregan. (written in 3rd person POV) (she/ her pronouns)

word count: 5,539

excerpt: Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging anyone who could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

- or -

cregan gets mauled by a direwolf.

song inspirations: youth by Daughter, human by Daughter, i gave you all by Mumford & Sons, heavy in your arms by Florence and The Machine, i found by Amber Run, roslyn by Bon Iver and St. Vincent, work song by Hozier, family tree by Ethel Cain, in the woods somewhere by Hozier, glory by Dermot Kennedy

The hour of the owl came passing over Castle Black, and still Cregan had not returned from his patrol of the Wall. Her worry had grown tenfold, the knot in her stomach was now a heavy stone. She knew something was amiss. Moving from their shared chambers to the corridors of the small castle, she decided a short walk may alleviate some of her anxiety, allowing her to clear her head.

However after only several minutes of beginning to wander, she heard commotion coming from the direction of the courtyard. Yelling and shrieking, men could be heard barking orders at each other, calls for the maester were loud, but the one thing that rose above it all was the most blood curdling roar she’d ever heard. Not wasting any time, she ran through the narrow hallways towards the source of the noise, only to come to a dead stop, the beating of her heart doing the same.

There he lay on a gurney in the middle of the courtyard, thrashing against the hands trying to hold him still. Crying out in agony as the maester tried his best to assess the situation at hand.

“Oh gods…” she gasped when the source of his pain became clear to her. His armor was covered in deep crimson streaks of blood, the leather ripped to shreds revealing the metal beneath. His face, contorted in pain, bore two long gashes from above his right eyebrow and trailing down his temple into his hairline. It seemed as if a deep crimson curtain had been pulled over half of his face as the blood seeped from the deep, jagged cuts. However the worst of his injuries were to his left shoulder, which seemed to be attached only by the grace of the gods. It was so gruesome she began to feel ill. The bone of his upper bicep was exposed, the flesh hanging from it. Blood seeping profusely from the wounds, teeth marks littered his forearm and hands. The fabric of his pants torn and she could see more crescent shaped puncture wounds littered across his legs, and his right ankle was bent at a sickening angle. They were large, belonging to something much bigger than anything she had seen in the North. A direwolf.

A young knight was holding the Stark ancestral sword, Ice, which was now covered tip to hilt in blood. Another man standing next to the knight who bore her husbands sword, stepped towards her.

“My Lady you mustn’t be here, you should not witness this,” he said, trying to block her view of her husband.

“No! No, I must be with him,” she rushed forward, only to be stopped by the strong arms of the guard holding her back.

“Please! He’s my husband, I have to -,” she began to plead with the man keeping her in her place before Cregan’s loud yell stopped her sentence short. The maester and his assistant were beginning to pack his wounds with whatever clean cloth the other men could find, Cregan seemed as if he was trying to pull away. Arching at the contact to his arm and shoulder, neck straining and face red as another scream erupting from deep within him. Tears were streaming down his face as it crumpled into an expression she never thought she’d see from him; fear.

It took two full grown men to hold him still, even in his weakened state, as they began to move him from the damp ground. Although, consequently the motion caused his body to shift and in turn sent him into another fit of agony.

At the sounds of his screams getting even more broken and strangled, her knees fell weak, slumping into the man’s hold as the air left her lungs.

He could die, the thought crossed her mind when she caught a glimpse of the expanse of blood leftover on the muddy ground.

————————————————————————

They had placed him in their bedchamber and the maester had since given Cregan milk of the poppy to calm him. He had been cleaned up and mended as best as the maester and his assistant could manage. They had also taken measures to prevent infection, although they informed her that it wasn’t fail safe and to be prepared for any outcome.

“He will have an incredibly long recovery period… if he survives,” the maester said to her as he wiped his hands of her husbands blood, his voice lowering as he spoke of his Lord’s possible death. She only nodded, eyes wide, feeling as if she was submerged in water. All the words being said to her were muffled and distorted. Some of the men from the Watch had tried to pull her from the bedchambers when they had first begun to work on him, whispering false reassurances and pleading with her to not witness this.

She couldn’t look away from his limp form laying on their shared bed, smothered in white bandages that were slowly blossoming red. However, his torso was somewhat unmarked by the direwolf’s teeth and claws (save for several deep purple bruises beginning to show their full form) due to the steel armored chest piece he had adorned upon her request, just before leaving for his patrol.

This might be his deathbed, she thought to herself. Tears beginning to pool on her lashes.

“I shall leave you. I will return in several hours to replenish the milk of the poppy… if he wakes again,” the maester looked down at the floor in despair. Exiting the room, the maester bid his condolences.

Nearing the bed, she knelt down and lightly took his hand in hers, brushing her lips over his bandaged knuckles and letting out a shaky breath.

“Please, my love you must wake up. Heal well and return to me, do not leave me in this world without you,” she pleaded with the unmoving form in front of her. The tears beginning to fall as she placed her head upon the bed next to their interlocked hands.

She did not pray, she never had found an interest in paying much attention to the new gods or the old. But in this moment she found herself reaching out for guidance as she called upon the gods to help him. Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging any god that could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

————————————————————————

The night dragged on, as if time had been weighed down by the gravity of the situation, and on its continued trek forward it somehow had slowed.

The maester had come and gone twice before, but Cregan had not woken yet. She refused to move from his side the entire time, having wept for hours she now felt empty and void of anything at all.

“My Lady you must eat,” a guard had come in, trying his best to persuade his Lady of the North to eat something or else she would fall ill.

“I am not hungry,” she flatly responded to the young man, whose face fell as he nodded and exited the room.

It was several more hours before Cregan awoke, he was still deep within the fog of the poppy’s milk but he was whispering something. His mouth barely moving, the sound coming out more like a silent prayer than a word.

He spoke her name, breathed it more like. But still, through all the hell he had been through in the last several hours, his mind only fell upon her.

“My love,” she said softly, lifting his hand to her lips once more. “My love, can you hear me?” She asked, but was met with nothing. Cregan drifting back into sleep, leaving her in the silence once again.

He woke like this periodically over the next several days, the maesters visiting every couple of hours to assess his wounds and change his bandages. Still all the while providing him with an ample amount of milk of the poppy to ward off his pain. They were somehow successful in warding off any major infections to the wounds, which was nothing short of a miracle. They had spent hours on different herbal remedies to help the Lord of the North heal without a fever.

As the days passed, she still refused to leave his side. Six days had passed by the time Cregan finally gained enough consciousness to express his pain level.

She had been napping in a chair next to the bed where he lay. Waking suddenly to the sound of a loud, pained groan.

“Cregan!” She gasped, his eyes opened just slightly, and she saw they were bloodshot but open nonetheless. He hissed in pain as she touched his hand.

“What’s happened?” He asks weakly, looking down at the bandages still covering most of his body.

“There was an incident beyond the Wall when you went to patrol the perimeter several days ago. They say you and the men were attacked by a direwolf.” She explains softly. His face drops, his eyes going wide at the memory. With some effort he tried to look down at his left shoulder, and when met with the sight of layers and layers of white bandages, he grimaced.

“I remember,” he whispers. His eyes closing as he inhales deeply, wincing again at the movement. When he opens his eyes again she can see the tears gathered within them.

“I - I cannot feel my hand,” he said, his voice breaking as he looked down at his left hand once again, his dominant hand.

“I will fetch the maester, it must just be a symptom of the damage caused. They will mend it though, as they have everything else,” she reassured him and stood to leave and get the maester, but they both know her reassurance was empty of any fact.

Worry gripped at her stomach again as the maesters words rang within her ears; “he will have an incredibly long recovery period”.

But what if there was no recovering fully from this? What if he would never be able to wield a sword again? Or walk properly? The thoughts swam in her mind, each drowning out the other.

She returned shortly with the maester, who breathed a sign of relief at the sight of Cregan fully awake.

He tried to offer Cregan more milk of the poppy before he began assessing the healing progression of his injuries, but Cregan refused.

“My Lord, I do not wish to see you in pain. But I must remove the bandages -,” the older man tried to explain, but Cregan cut him off curtly.

“Then do it,” he said, his face stern.

“Cregan, please listen to the maester, this is going to be more painful than you think,” she tried to reason with him, but his jaw was set and so was his mind.

“As you wish, my Lord,” the old healer nodded solemnly, moving to remove the first bandage. Upon contact with his arm Cregan did not grimace or contort in pain, his brows furrowed as if confused.

“I cannot feel it,” he said, his voice sounding far away, as if was in shock at the realization finally setting in.

“What, my love?” She inquired, looking at his arm as the maester began to unwrap more of the white fabric. The stitches were surrounded by bruised skin, what couldn’t be stitched back together was healing under a protective salve the maester had prepared. It will scar badly, but it didn’t matter, they were able to save his arm when she was more than certain he would lose it. As the maester lifted his arm Cregan had no reaction, just staring blankly into space. She was sure he must be in pain but he wasn’t reacting to what the maester was doing whatsoever.

“My darling, are you alright?” She asked him quietly, placing a hand under his chin to turn him to face her.

“I cannot feel anything,” he said, still his voice was hollow.

“What do you mean?” She questioned, not fully understanding what he meant by that.

“In my arm, it does not hurt because I cannot feel it,” he explained finally meeting her eyes. That was where she saw the flicker of fear again come across his face, worry painting his features.

“This is my dominant hand, I must be able to use it whenever necessary. It is the hand with which I wield Ice. But now I am not even able to move it. I am no longer a sufficient warrior… or man,” he said, his voice shaking as tears came to his eyes. The maester gave Cregan a pitiful look that just upset the Lord more.

“No, no that is not true my love,” she rushed to comfort him, cradling his face, making sure to avoid the stitches on his brow and temple.

“Do not do this to yourself, my darling. Do you understand what you have survived? You were attacked by a direwolf, Cregan… and you survived. That is next to impossible, but here you are,” she said, her voice soft and dripping in empathy. Brushing a tear from just under his eye as it began to fall. He shifted his gaze away from her, his eyes hardening again.

“But what good is survival if I am no longer able to live how I am meant to?” He said, still not meeting her eyes.

“It will take some adjustment, but we will get through this. You will get through this,” she assured him.

“Cregan… look at me,” she says quietly, trying to get him to connect with her again and not sink deeper into his darkening thoughts.

“Look at me, now,” she commanded in a more firm tone, which caused him to finally look at her once more, a sheepish expression in his eyes.

“Stop this at once,” she said, still holding her firm tone. He nodded and sighed, knowing he would not win this one. But as he cast his eyes downwards and frowned slightly, she knew he couldn’t be swayed in this moment from the doubt that was consuming him.

This will be a long recovery indeed, she thought to herself.

————————————————————————

About thirteen moons after Cregan had been nearly killed by the direworf, the head of which now hung in the council room, he had recovered quite well by what the maesters had told her.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell had since moved back from their residence at Castle Black when Cregan was finally well enough to travel. Although his body was healing well with time, his mind only sunk deeper into the belief he was now not worthy of his station as Warden of The North and the Lord of Winterfell. He had become easily irritated and many days she wished to not spend time with him, however she understood this too shall pass. She had sworn to him in her marriage vows to be by his side through sickness and in health, and she had no intention of breaking those vows in her lifetime.

As the Winter continued on, and as Cregan's strength grew back and the feeling began to make its way back into his limb, he was insistent on beginning his sword work training. She understood his urgency, finally having hope after such a long time of uncertainty was an addicting sort of feeling. It was hard for Cregan to accept that he would have to relearn how to use a sword with this new complication, and not train as he once did, as if nothing had happened.

Once the maester overseeing the Lord's care had cleared him to begin his lessons, she asked him if she would be able to accompany him. He agreed instantaneously, he was going to ask her anyways, feeling much better in her presence than anyone elses.

She busied herself with a book, perching upon several barrels of wine that sat on the edge of the courtyard, waiting to be taken to the cellars. Cregan had begun his lessons, and within minutes was already frustrated at the difficulty he had with even just handling the sword, let alone swinging it. She watched from the distance with a frown painting her face as he continued to struggle and bark at the knight he was sparring when he would try to offer his help. After much protest, Cregan finally gave into the offers to get him a wooden sword to wield instead. It was easier for him to handle, however his skill had rusted over with time and lack of use. His frustration became paramount when the young man bested him again, Cregan threw down his sword and stepped forward, grabbing his opponent by the collar.

"Do you wish to humiliate your Liege Lord?! Get out of my sight at once!" he roared in the mans face, causing him to stumble back and retreat from Cregan as quickly as possible.

She sat watching the scene as her own anger began to surface, standing and coming towards Cregan once he'd let the other man go, still breathing heavily and fuming.

"Come with me, now," she growled as she wrapped a firm hand around his good wrist, pulling him along behind her like a toddler being scolded and hauled off for punishment. She thought it best to bring him to their bedchambers as the conversation they needed to have was private.

Once they had entered their shared chambers Cregan immediately started in on his defense, to which she put up a silent palm in his direction, causing his sentence to halt before it finished.

"I can not do this anymore," she said softly, trying to keep her voice level, but to no avail. Placing a hand over her mouth as she began to silently weep, still refusing to look at him.

He softened immediately at the sight of her tears, hating desperately to make her upset. He took a step forward and brought his hand to her cheek, getting her to turn to him. She did not lift her gaze from the floor, sniffling lightly and trying to keep her tears from cascading and overflowing.

"You cannot do what anymore, love?" Cregan asked gently, moving his right hand to place at the back of her neck, and the other moving under her chin. His fingers intertwined into her hair at the back of her head as he tipped her head back slightly using the finger beneath her chin to raise her face to his. Taking another step closer to her he engulfed her in his size, pressed against her body, in complete control. Cradling her head completely in his hands, he moves the hand below her chin to place on her cheek once more.

"What was it, hmm?" he hummed to her, bringing his lips to brush against hers. She had become putty to mold as he wished, letting out a small sigh as he continued to tease the possibility of a kiss.

But in that moment she remembered her anger and could not let the lust for her husband overpower something that was becoming a serious issue between him and the rest of the world. She pushes away suddenly, putting space between them again. Cregan lets out an exasperated sigh as his hands fall to his sides.

"I can not possibly understand the stress you are under, and the constant unease you must feel within yourself. But I can understand how that affects me, and how that has affected our staff and those on your court. You were not slain, Cregan! You still have so much to live for, even if it means you cannot see battle again. That is what your army is for. Your value lies more in your character and not your physical form. Allowing that of which keeps you on solid ground to be the demise of what lies within your head, when you are so intelligent, and kind, and humorous. That is a sin, and the more treacherous of fates to befall a Warden of the North, even more so than a direwolf." She said, silence filled the room as Cregan realized he had no rebuttal. She was right after all, he could have been killed, and the fact he is allowing his mind to destroy what a direwolf couldn't, well it just seemed downright mad.

"I am so sorry, I never saw it that way," he responded softly, his heart feeling some what heavy in his chest as he felt the onslaught of emotion begin to creep up his throat. He had repressed so much in wanting to keep a certain image, and with his own wife being able to see through his facade so clearly, he realized how much pain he was really holding in. With that thought the dam broke as he let out a choked sob, leaning on the back of a chair closest to him he began to fall weak to his emotions.

At the sound of his whimper she turned around again, seeing him holding the bridge of his nose as he wept uncontrollably. Barely keeping himself upright with the back of the chair next to him.

"Oh, my darling," she went to him, quickly gathering him into her arms and bringing him down to kneel on the ground as she sat in the chair he was using for support. With his head tucked to her breast and his arms tightly wound around her body, hands finding purchase in her hair, he finally began to rack with sobs. She just let him collapse into her, stroking the hair from his face, tracing the scar on his temple and kissing his hairline. All the while cooing sweet reassurances into his ear.

"I have you my love, I have you," she whispered into his hair as he began to regain his breath. Not letting her go in the slightest, but relaxing nonetheless, Cregan began to breathe normally again, silent tears still coming from his eyes every now and then.

But he knew he was safe, and above all, he knew he was loved unconditionally.

————————————————————————

“Cregan, we cannot you aren’t healed properly yet,” she breathed out in a sigh as his lips traced the column of her throat.

“Your shoulder… and your ankle, it is too risky,” she tried to protest but the affect he had over her was undeniable.

“I am fine, my love. I am in need of my wife. It has been many moons and I cannot refrain any longer, injuries be damned,” he said, scoffing at the last part of his statement. Her skin was set alight with his touch as she leaned into him more. Laying in their bed, beneath a mountain of furs, he began to move atop of her, but she stopped him.

“If we are to do this, you will not lift a finger, is that clear?” She said firmly, and Cregan’s eyebrows rose in surprise at his wife’s sudden dominance, his cock twitching within his small clothes. He nodded quickly as he moved to lay back against the many pillows, eyes darkening as she rose from the bed to lean back on her heals. Very slowly she removed her shift, revealing the whole of her body to him.

“It is as if you are a goddess yourself, there is no need for religion when you are the alter I pray at, and the deity I pray to,” he whispered as he took in the sight. His mind putting to memory every curve, every inch of skin he laid his eyes on. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before, but after such restraint it is like they are newlyweds once again. With her help he removed his tunic and small clothes, breath shaky as he looked down upon her naked form crawling up his body.

She was gentle with her touch, ghosting it over the small scars that now cover each of his legs. He shivers at the contact but does not pull away, allowing the sensitivity to wash over him and settle within his groin. He reaches with his good arm to touch her face, but she retracts to his disappointment.

“No touching,” she said with a small smirk forming at the corner of her lips. The mischievous look in her eyes was enough for him to understand it would be better to not protest. Leaning down she places soft kisses across his thighs, moving closer to his stiff member, his hips buck involuntarily as she finally takes his tip into her mouth. Swirling her tongue around the top just before pulling down his foreskin to lick at his sensitive slit.

A groan erupted from deep within his chest, wavering at the end as he gasped and sputtered. She had taken him fully into her mouth at this point, beginning to move up and down his length in a rhythmic motion.

His chest flexed as he threw his head back, his right hand hovering just next to her jaw. Knowing she would stop if he disobeyed her direct instructions, he held himself back from caressing her face. Broken gasps and whimpers were falling unabashedly from the Warden of the North’s lips, his strong, muscled body molding into putty in her hands.

Suddenly she rose and removed her mouth from him, to his disappointment. Breathing hard he kept his eyes on hers as she began to move even further up his body. His brows knitting into one another as he wondered what exactly she was doing, until it clicked, and the biggest smile graced his handsome features. He understood and shifted himself to be fully lying down, moving down the bed slightly to give her room as she moved to take her rightful place on his face. He hummed happily at the sweet taste of her on his tongue once again, having not indulged in his most favorite delicacy in far too long. She let out a sharp gasp as his lips wrapped themselves around her sensitive pearl, sucking lightly before exploring her deeper. She looked down to see his eyes closed and the most blissfully content look upon his face as he continued to ravage her with just tongue. Switching between broad strokes of his tongue along her cunt to small kitten licks upon her clit that had her panting and grinding her hips down onto him. The scruff on his unshaven face added to the sensational feeling against her as he sank his tongue within her finally. Moaning uncontrollably and quite loudly, she found herself leaning against the headboard for support as her body began to give into the pleasure he was bringing her.

“That’s it, my darling. Fall apart for me, I have you,” he coaxed, breath hitting her clit, causing her to groan, which shortly turned into the most obscenely moan. He hooked his left arm around her waist and continued to guide her to completion. With his tongue in her cunt and his nose teasing her clit, she came apart with nothing short of a scream of his name. Throwing her head back as she felt her muscles go limp from the intensity of her orgasm.

“So perfect for me,” he whispers to her, kissing the inside of her thighs softly.

She smiled and breathed out a sigh of relief as she had been just as pent up as he’s been, and finally getting some form of release was euphoric to say the least.

As she moved from his face she could see the way his lips shown with the remnants of her. She looked down to see his cock almost impossibly bigger than when she had first taken him into her mouth. She couldn’t wait any longer, and neither could he. Grabbing ahold of her hips he quickly shifts her down his body back to his waist. The tip catching at her entrance ever so slightly and they both moaned loudly in unison.

With his right hand having an iron grip on her hip, he helped her position her on top of him. As she began to sink down on his length it was as if all the air in the room had suddenly been removed. The sensation punching the air out of her lungs.

Cregan thought he was seeing the gods, his vision almost going completely white as he feels her tight, hot cunt envelope him. Arching his spine while his eyes roll to the back of his head as soon as she is fully seated on him. Staying still for a second to give them both a minute to catch their breath, she regains her strength and begins to shift her hips.

“Touch me,” she commanded softly, he didn’t need to be told twice. He moved to sit up, his forehead resting on her sternum, placing open mouthed kisses between the valley of her breasts before taking one into his mouth. His left arm secures her hips in his hold while the other hand snakes its way into her hair. Grabbing at the roots he tugs her head back to expose more of her neck to him. Laying hot, wet kisses upon any expanse of skin he could reach. As his grip around her waist tightened slightly, he kept guiding her to ride his cock slowly, thrusting up every so often causing her to choke on a moan.

“Cregan…,” she moaned his name, groans continuing to slip from her mouth as he moved to suck on her other breast. Gently lapping at the nipple as she whimpered.

“So gorgeous, my love. So good for me. Taking me so - nnnggh - well,” he grunted out, groaning when she squeezed him as his words sent a shock wave to her core. She threaded her fingers into his chocolate strands, pulling slightly earning another pleased noice from her husband.

“I’ve missed this, I’ve missed us,” she pants, looking down at his face. As he looks up, her breath catches at the sight of her fucked-out husband and his pink cheeks and kiss swollen lips.

“I know, me too,” he responds breathlessly, she cups his face and brings her lips to his. It’s messy, he crushes his mouth to hers and suddenly begins thrusting upwards, hitting that one spot deep within her.

Her gasp causes him to pull away from the kiss, but not from her. Their mouths still close, breathing in each others air as he continues to thrust into her. Tipping his head back as his face scrunches in pleasure and groaning loudly, he then ducks his head into the curve of her neck as his thrusts get more and more sloppy. His right arm still snaked up her back and his hand tangled in her hair to keep her close. She was reaching the precipice of heaven for the second time that evening, and he could tell. The way she began to squeeze him, how she fluttered around him, he knew.

“I know, my love. Give yourself to me,” he begged, whispering the pleas in her ear before kissing the shell of it. With several more thrusts she was coming undone around him, moaning and gasping as she collapses into him. With only several more thrust he too was coming undone in the most beautiful way. Flushed and groaning, he is the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Only moments afterwards, still basking in their post-coital glow, he lays back against the pillows once more. Placing a hand directly over her womb, he mutters something about “seeing her round with child in several moons” and she felt his cock jump within her as he continues to cradle his hands around her lower stomach.

“I can’t wait for you to bare my children, my love,” he states, looking into her eyes with such adoration. Resting her hands atop his she nods.

“I can’t wait to be the mother of your children, I’m sure I will be soon,” she responds, equal adoration radiating off her.

————————————————————————

She missed her moon’s blood the following month, and he was the happiest he had been in a very long time.

Although the feeling never fully returned in his left arm and hand, he had re-learned how to wield Ice with just as much skill as he did before the incident. His ankle and legs did recover after more than a year of rehabilitation, but eventually he no longer walked with a limp.

The gratitude which he felt was immeasurable. Thinking about how many ways his life could have been different if he didn’t have her to keep him sane through the most difficult thing he had ever faced; losing his physical strength and health. Most days feeling as if he couldn’t go on, but then she would be at his side to aid him in whatever he needed. Never wavering in her love or loyalty to him.

He woke every day from then on thanking the old gods and the new for sparing one of their angels to be his wife.

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mbellu123-blog · 11 months ago

Text

Rage Becomes Her

Aemond x bastardTargaryen!female

Summary: of all the Targaryen bastards he could have underestimated, it should not have been her | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings: smut, Aemond being a fat douche, mentions of sex work, angst, oc described as having Targaryen features

No day was as cursed as the day her mother looked between her bloodied thighs, glancing up at the faces of her friends and common women, with shame and fright. The babe between her legs was pink and crying, their skin glistening with afterbirth, and a tuft of silver hair atop their tiny head.

What was survival, when the Gods had bestowed a Targaryen bastard into her belly.

Her own daughter lived as her mother did, learning the ways of the body and pleasure. She could recall the first time a man leered at her. Only two and ten and barely formed into the shape of a woman. Somehow the silver sheen to her hair made men think they could have her before her ripening. Plucked from the tree too early.

If only her mother could have resisted the irresistible pull of greed. Purses of gold coins lined her pockets, paid to her with the virtue of her only daughter.

An income. Nothing more.

It was only when she died, that she formed her own protection. Madame Sylvi gave her more freedoms than the usual whores. Bestowed upon as her ‘choice’. Something she had known little.

The brothel was tucked away in one of the narrow, winding alleys of King's Landing, a hidden enclave where nobles and commoners alike sought the pleasures denied to them in the light of day. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the low murmur of whispered promises. Sweet ones, from between the lips of whores.

The men who paid for the service or fucking a young woman with silver hair were usually all the same. Drunken fools with egos far bigger than their cocks, eager to stick whatever they pleased between her legs to make themselves feel like men.

She rarely spared it much thought. She moaned sweetly and whispered hushed mutterings to inflate their already fragile masculinity. Did what she had to do to survive, like so many around her.

But she would be remiss not to think about her most recent patron. One whom she had stolen from Madame Sylvi, who did not seem particularly precious about the loss, seeing as the One Eyed Prince simply crossed the threshold to her room instead. As long as business was within her four walls, she was content.

He was, at first, quiet and required work and effort to calm his fraught and tense muscles. But like most men, the second he sheathed himself inside her, he was a man driven by the inescapable warmth of not only her cunt, but by the comfort of what it provided. However false.

The night is seared firmly into her memory. His body heavy with Milk of the Poppy, he staggered as he pulled his clothes off, and for some time he was unable to become hard due to its calming effects. And she saw the familiar pang of annoyance most men got when their fleshy counterparts would not do as the mind commanded.

She will never forget the look upon his face as she knelt in front of him, took his heavy manhood in her palm and pressed her lips to the shaft, stroking upwards with her touch and tongue. Beneath him like this, his face angled and sharp, one could be mistaken he was a statue. His skin resembled such porcelain. Made smooth by the hands of the Gods themselves.

He had looked upon her as if she were an entity of the Seven Heavens. And when she took him into her mouth, his breath hitched, and his hands instinctively tangled in her hair. The sensation was overwhelming, a blend of pleasure and relief that washed over him in waves.

She moved with an expert's grace, her rhythm steady and unhurried, drawing soft moans from his lips. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist; there was only the warm, wet heat of her mouth and the exquisite torture of her tongue. He closed his eye, surrendering to the pleasure, feeling the tension in his body slowly melt away. Aemond's grip tightened as he guided her movements, lost in the sensation and the raw intimacy of the act.

He fucked in very much the same way. With urgency. As if someone were to take her away.

Was it some necessity this great man needed, away from the bustling court and the duties of his birth?

Or she reasoned he fucked her because he was simply bored of Sylvi.

But as it became more and more regular, she began to realise that her forbidden parentage played a more significant role than she had first thought. He wanted someone who looked so like his ideal, but someone who ultimately was destined to remain, steadfastly, inferior.

Aemond Targaryen pushed open the heavy wooden door, its creak swallowed by the hum of conversation and laughter inside. He pulled his hood lower, shielding his face from prying eyes. Though he was a prince, here he was just another man seeking escape. Several women crowded him, offering wine, their bodies and services with doe eyes and lips framed with rouge.

The back of the brothel was shrouded with silken curtains, providing no real privacy but rather giving one the security of feeling it. Pale pinks, lilacs, warm amber glows bounced off the stone walls, a warm emanating through the space as if walking through honey, and willing to be drowned in it. It was a dangerous feeling indeed. The warm, sticky call of a woman’s body.

The first time he saw her he did not like her. The whore with silver, golden hair. She had a bastard’s taint on her bloodline despite its noble sheen. There was a part of him that refused to admit that despite the muddied nature of her birth, that she was beautiful. He was still willing to be held by Sylvi back then, cuddled against the woman’s breasts like a babe.

It was different now.

Sylvi regarded him, using her body as somewhat of a shield, to part him and the heavenly depravity that lay across the threshold. She said nothing, and simply extended her hand, to show her palm. Aemond noted the surprised look in her knowing eyes when she felt the weight of the purse, the familiar tune of coins ringing true and greedily.

She fetched a hefty price compared to the others. One Aemond was willing to pay for her company.

When he pulled the silks aside and stepped within her lair, she was seated as usual, upon a chaise draped with rich fabrics, her posture relaxed and yet alert. Her hair, so much like his own, caught the flickering candlelight, like looking up to the stars when one was too deep in their cups, only to find the silver light stretching across their vision.

Only the muffled music was heard, and the rapid thud of his heart.

The fabrics lay like water on her skin, cinched at her waist. The translucent material had her rosy buds perk beneath it, the glimmering and blushing shade of pink almost alike to her own flesh in the low and intimate amber light. She did not need to show herself to entice, he thought.

“My Prince.”

She greeted with a soft, warm melody of enchanting, in a manner that eased his shoulders but not his soul. He regarded her face the same way Sylvi did to him. One eye glazing over her familiar features.

His motions were easy to memorise. He would do no more than was necessary, as most patrons did. He would strip from his clothing, lay between her thighs and take her roughly. Preparation for someone as lowborn as her, and getting paid for it, was no necessity for a customer, nevermind a prince.

There were glimpses where it was enjoyable. But Prince Aemond was guarded, sometimes so much so she hardly thought him capable of the act. But he would surprise her. And once he was done, he would lay beside her, and he would talk, with only their flesh as comfort.

Sometimes, like right at this moment, he would just lay beside her, running her bright locks, ruffled from their salacious acts, through his long and slender fingers. She often thought he looked like a lost soul, eyepatch discarded and bared in this wretched place for her to lay her eyes upon. And then another thought lay under that still. The thought that this man before her had such hate in his heart for his half sister’s children, and yet visited her every other evening to sink into the haven that her own existence offered.

An existence she was sure he internally loathed.

But it seemed he loathed himself more than anything else.

“Do you dream of being more than you are.” Not a question. An inquisition shaped as a demand.

She hesitated, knowing that her answer must please him. "My dreams are inconsequential, my prince. My only desire is to serve you and to bring you comfort."

He smirked, satisfied with her response. "It is the natural order of things. Your role here suits you, providing solace to those of us born to higher stations."

She felt her brows furrow in annoyance, but tried to soften her features, his keen blue eye boring into her face. Your role here suits you. And what was that exactly? A whore who merely existed to be a sheath for men’s blades whenever it suited them. A vessel, nothing more.

"I would never forget, my prince," she said softly, her eyes downcast. "Your presence is the only thing that gives my life meaning."

Aemond reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. "Sometimes, I wonder if there is more to you than just your services to me."

Her heart quickened, but she kept her voice calm and composed. "I am whatever you need me to be, my prince."

Often, that was all it took to sate him.

He would always come back, in varying moods, and she felt the reins on her white-hot temper begin to slip, the flames rearing to the roof of her insides the more delicate insults came out of his mouth. Those among her argued that he cared for her deeply. But how can a man care for a woman and say such hurtful words in exchange?

A bastard, indeed she was. But her existence strayed the line between demanding some semblance of respect, drawn to her by the milky skin and pale hair that he recognised in himself. She pondered this contradiction endlessly. Why did he come to her, night after night, seeking her presence, only to remind her of her inferiority? What was it about her that captivated him, despite his disdain?

Her thoughts often wandered as she prepared for his visits, trying to unravel the mystery of Aemond Targaryen. Did he see something in her that he could not find elsewhere? Was it the shared blood, tainted as it was by her illegitimacy? Or was it simply the thrill of asserting his power over someone who mirrored his own visage?

“You seem troubled.”

“It is nothing,” his response was cool, followed by the discarding of his hood, only turning when she urged a decently full glass of wine into his hand.

“You forget, my prince, that I am well-versed in the art of reading men. Tell me, what burdens you tonight?”

Stealing the wine from his lips, he cannot help the wandering of his fingers, tracing the golden spun locks of her hair that glow moonlit as he touches them. “Your features betray you,” he muses, “do you ever wonder what it would have been like, had you been born legitimate?" he asked, his tone laced with condescension.

She hesitated, searching his eyes for any hint of sincerity, but found only the cold amusement that so often accompanied his words. "It is not my place to wonder such things," she replied, her voice steady. "My fate was decided long before I drew my first breath."

He tilted his head, studying her. "And yet, you bear the mark of our blood so clearly. It must gnaw at you, knowing you could never rise above your station, no matter how much you resemble the dragonlords of old."

"Perhaps," she admitted softly, "but we all have our roles to play, my prince. Even those born amongst lust and lechery."

Aemond's fingers continued their path through her hair, his touch both gentle and possessive. "You speak wisely for one of your birth," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It is a pity you were not born to a higher station. You might have made an interesting rival."

"Or an ally," she suggested, daring to meet his gaze.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Or an ally," he conceded. "But as it stands, you are here, and I am there. The order of things remains unchanged."

"And you come here to see me," she retorted, her gaze unwavering. "What does that say about you, my prince?"

“I enjoy you.”

"Or perhaps the dragon seeks something he cannot find elsewhere."

Aemond’s expression hardened, his pride pricked by her words. "Do not presume to understand me. You are here because I allow it."

"And you are here because you need it," she countered, her voice a seductive whisper. "What drives you to seek solace in the arms of a bastard? A whore?"

He pulled back, his eyes narrowing. "You speak too boldly-"

"I speak truth," she said, her gaze unflinching. "Something even a prince cannot escape."

Aemond regarded her for a long moment, a mixture of contempt and fascination warring within him. She was a puzzle, a riddle wrapped in the enigma of her bloodline. He hated and desired her in equal measure, drawn to the mystery of her existence.

She let out a breath, surprised when his fingers wrenched around her face, tugging her towards him. But her expression never faltered. “I wonder who is the depraved cunt who sired you,” Aemond murmured, deep and low against her face.

“Prince Daemon or the late King Viserys, it does not matter. Half of the whores on the Street of Silk knew the shape of their cocks-”

Aemond's grip tightened, his eyes blazing with fury. "Watch your tongue," he hissed, his breath hot against her skin. "You may have Targaryen blood, but you are still a whore. Do not forget your place."

She winced but refused to look away. "And yet here you are”. Her voice was steady, defiant, challenging him despite the pain.

His eyes narrowed, the fury in them warring with something deeper, something he could not name. "I am a man who indulges in his whims," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Nothing more."

"Is that all it is?" she whispered, her voice softening, searching his gaze. "An indulgence? Because if that's true, you wouldn't keep coming back."

Aemond's grip loosened slightly, his fingers trailing down her cheek. "You know nothing of my reasons," he said, a trace of vulnerability slipping through his hardened exterior.

He looked at her for a long moment, the conflict within him evident in his eyes. "You remind me of what I am and what I can never escape," he said finally, his voice a raw whisper. "The blood we share, the legacy that binds us. You are a mirror, showing me my weakness. The weakness of my House."

"And you, my prince, are the reminder of what I could have been. The life I was denied, the nobility I can never claim."

Aemond's hand twitched, a sudden urge to pull her close, to feel the warmth of her body against his, but he forced himself to remain still. He could not afford to show that side of himself, not to her, not to anyone. In another world, she might have been born legitimate, a sister to him, one he could wed, bed and breed at his leisure.

And yet.

"You speak of nobility as if it is something you could ever grasp," he said, his voice softer, yet still laced with condescension. "You will never be more than what you are now. A whore, a bastard, a mere footnote in the history of my House."

Her eyes flashed with quiet anger, a smouldering fire that burned beneath her calm exterior. How dare he speak to her this way? He knew nothing of the struggles, the pain, the countless indignities that had shaped her life.

"How fortunate you are, my prince," she said, her voice measured but tinged with bitterness, "to never have known the struggles of those who are less fortunate. To speak so easily of things you can never truly understand."

Aemond's gaze hardened, but he did not interrupt her.

"You may see me as nothing more than a whore and a bastard," she continued, her words steady, each one a dagger aimed at his pride. "But you know nothing of the world outside your gilded cage. You have no idea what it means to fight for every scrap of dignity, to claw your way through a life that was decided for you before you even drew breath."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and something he couldn't quite name. "You forget yourself," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You forget to whom you speak."

"And you forget, my prince," she shot back, her voice unyielding, "that respect is earned, not given by birthright alone. And certainly not because you have a dragon."

A silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken truths and simmering tension. They stood there, locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to back down, both caught in the web of their shared blood and conflicting worlds. There was a strange respect in his gaze. As if he had seen the same flames that captivated him.

Slowly, she reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out the purse Aemond had paid her that night. She held it out to him, her hand steady. "Take it back," she said quietly, but firmly. "I don't want your coin."

He stared at her for a long moment, the purse heavy with silver between them. Slowly, he reached out and took it from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers. The touch was brief, but electric, a spark that neither could ignore. He could not help the smile that rose to his face, testing the weight of his coin in his palm. Looking down upon the woman in front of him with a cold but unyielding respect.

The events of that night lingered in Aemond's mind, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. The war was intensifying, and the tension within the Red Keep was palpable. It was during one of these tense small council meetings, that Aemond found his thoughts straying.

“Prince Daeron’s dragon, Tessarion, has at last taken to wing. Your brother expects to join the fight soon.”

He half listened to Lord Wylde, his head half turned, eyes darting to listen to the cries of the smallfolk so loud it was as if they were in the room. Screams. Cries of terror.

“Dragon!”

“Get inside!”

“And when he does…the Hightower host will be unstoppable.”

He acted on instinct, feeling the hot whips of something he would not admit was panic at the back of his neck. The doors gave way to a bright, sunny afternoon. His one eye squinted to peer into the blue abyss, narrowed to the appearance of a great beast.

A dragon, its silver scales gleaming in the sunlight, descended from the sky.

Silverwing.

And there, riding atop the great beast, was her. Her silver hair flowed behind her like a banner for war, and her eyes, filled with determination, met his with an intensity that took his breath away. Aemond's mind raced, understanding dawning on him as he realised the implications.

Rhaenyra's recruitment of Dragonseeds had borne unexpected fruit.

She guided Silverwing to soar over King's Landing, her movements graceful and confident. She made several passes, almost as if she were flouting. The dragon's powerful wings created gusts of wind that rippled over Kings Landing, sending leaves and dust swirling, with smallfolk and merchants knocked off balance.

Aemond stood there, watching in a mix of awe and resentment. There was a part of him that couldn't help but admire the sight, the sheer power and majesty of the dragon, her commanding presence. But another part of him burned with anger. The idea of a bastard riding a dragon, flaunting her newfound status above the city, challenged everything he believed in.

What did that make him? How was he special if bastards could claim dragons? The exclusivity of his birthright felt tarnished, the unique status of House Targaryen diluted.

She seemed to sense his gaze, turning Silverwing to circle back and hover momentarily over the Keep. Her eyes locked onto his, a silent challenge in her gaze. She was revelling in her newfound power, asserting her place in a world that had tried to deny her.

Aemond's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white. He liked her, there was no denying that. She fascinated and infuriated him in equal measure. But the sight of her riding Silverwing, basking in her defiance, stoked the flames of his inner conflict.

As Silverwing ascended higher, leaving King's Landing behind, Aemond's eyes followed them until they were mere specks against the sky. He stood there long after they had disappeared, wrestling with the tumultuous emotions swirling within him. Admiration, anger, attraction, and resentment collided in a storm that he couldn't quell.

The sun was setting by the time Aemond reached Vhagar. The great dragon stirred, sensing her rider's agitation. Aemond's resolve hardened as he climbed onto her back. With a command, Vhagar spread her immense wings and launched into the sky, the force of her takeoff shaking the ground below.

The flight to Dragonstone was swift. The wind whipped through Aemond's hair, his mind racing as fast as the dragon beneath him. He couldn't let this challenge go unanswered.

As Dragonstone came into view, the outline of Silverwing against the darkening sky confirmed his target. He urged Vhagar to increase her speed, but the older dragon's pace couldn't match Silverwing's agility. Aemond's frustration grew with every beat of Vhagar's wings, the gap between them refusing to close.

She watched him, the man who had insulted her, bedded her, wronged her, as he turned his great beast mid-air, her own dragon purring against her touch atop the peak of a tower of Dragonstone. Even from afar, she could sense his frustration, the simmering anger that radiated from him, and she revelled in this unique reaction, savouring the way it felt.

For a moment, their eyes met, and in that silence, a thousand emotions passed between them. He glanced back over his shoulder, watching as she sat firm atop her beast, the wind whipping her hair around her face. The tension in the air was palpable, but there was also a sense of resolution, a quiet acknowledgment of the lines they had drawn.

That this was no surrender.

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mbellu123-blog · 11 months ago

Text

Gates of the Moon • Chapter 1

Pairing • Jacaerys Velaryon x Arryn Reader/Unnamed OC

Tags • love at first sight, sex outside of marriage, loss of virginity, p. in v. sex, third person narrative

Wordcount • 3,350

Upon getting his brothers to safety in the Vale, Jacaerys finds a kindred spirit in Lady Jeyne’s sister. They share a night before he leaves for war.

Jacaerys Masterlist

Chapter 1 • The Eyrie

Word of the passing of King Viserys had barely reached the Eyrie when a small green dragon landed in its courtyard, and Prince Jacaerys came to ask for the allegiance of the Lady of the Vale.

The region had not dealt directly with the crown in years, not since Lady Jeyne had refused Prince Daemon his ludicrous demand of inheritance of Runestone after the passing of his wife—who was nothing but that in name.

The Eyrie was unlike any castle the prince had seen in his short life, and its lady was as elegant and intimidating as the tower from which she ruled. The Lady Jeyne was not surprised that the Hightowers had supplanted a woman in favor of a male heir, as her own cousins had several times tried to take her seat from her. Her Lord father had only had two daughters, and now two maidens sat at the ancestral seat where the Arryn kings ruled before the Conquest.

Sitting at the ancient throne, Lady Jeyne received Prince Jacaerys as she would any common lord coming to petition her, and Jacaerys had to admit he felt quite intimidated, perhaps a bit too much to feel offended at the lack of deference. However he respected the way Lady Jeyne listened, and replied with sharp, wise words.

“In this world of men, us women must band together. The Arryns will not turn from their kin, and their true queen,” Lady Jeyne assured him, and the young woman standing at her side as though she was the Hand to an Arryn queen smiled.

She had not been introduced but Jacaerys gathered from her looks that she was Jeyne Arryn’s close kin, her sister no doubt. She had the same elegance to her posture as her eldest, and her eyes were bright and piercing as they looked down on him.

“Thank you for receiving me and for being so quick to assure me of your continued allegiance,” Jacaerys replied, and he instantly saw a flicker of surprise cross the younger Arryn lady’s face.

“Not so hasty, my prince,” Jeyne said solemnly, and his eager face fell slightly. “I assume you would want more than a vow of allegiance.”

“Indeed,” he quickly rebounded. “Your Queen would like you to supply fighting men to defend her cause.”

“And who will guard the Vale while our men are at war?” resonated the immediate answer—the prince hesitated then, and Jeyne’s sister cleared her throat softly.

“If I may,” she started politely, continuing only after her sister’s approving nod. “The Eyrie is impregnable from land, but as my prince surely noticed when he came on his dragon, we are unprotected from the skies.”

“Quite,” Jeyne confirmed. “Who is to defend us if the Hightowers send their own dragon to ask for allegiance, and we refuse them?”

Jacaerys squirmed. “You would want a dragon to guard the Vale?”

“It seems a fair exchange for our fighting men. The realm does not stop living once a war is started,” she said as she rose, and Jacaerys knew the negotiations were over. “Promise me a dragon, and I shall gather my bannermen.”

As Jeyne went to send ravens and call upon her vassals, her sister was left to deal with Prince Jacaerys. “Your sister is quite the character,” he commented with slight amusement.

“She has had to toil for what was rightfully hers, she hardly tolerates that others would have it easier,” she explained as they walked side by side to the main hall of the castle.

Jacaerys almost chuckled at that, a toothy smile that made his eyes sparkle, and the young woman looked away, her cheeks tainted with pink. She wasn’t one to look at knights or squires more than any other woman her age, but she had to admit the prince was handsome.

He had a regal bearing but seemed humble and agreeable, and her enchantment continued all the way to supper that night. She supposed it was only natural for a maiden to admire a royal prince, and from the way his dark lashes fluttered over his freckles cheeks at time, her attention was not unwelcome.

Even though she was old enough to marry, her sister kept her protectively at her side, under the guise of waiting for the most auspicious match. It is rare for women of our station to have a choice in this matter. I would not part from her until she willingly committed to a suitor, Jeyne had said recently when a cousin had commented on her unbetrothed state.

“Some might call you a romantic, Lady Jeyne,” Jacaerys said pleasantly over dinner when Lady Jessamin retold the tale.

The grave look on Jeyne’s face quickly changed his tune, and he gracefully rebounded. “Only if they didn’t know you. You strike me as too wise and practical for such whimsies.”

Lady Jeyne rose her cup of wine to him—she appeared charmed by his diplomatic grace. He had a natural presence that seemed to enchant her even though she was notoriously cold, even more so when it came to men.

Negotiations went on for a full day after his arrival, as House Arryn had called upon its bannermen to renew their pledges and to take count of how many men could be promised to fight for the queen.

A dragon to guard the Vale was promised, and with the assurance that a few thousand men would be ready to march, carrying black and red banners, Jacaerys turned his sight north.

“I regret that you must leave,” the young lady confessed as she walked with him to the courtyard on the morning of his departure.

“So do I, but I must secure the support of the North,” Jace replied.

He had held onto his manners under the watchful eye of Lady Jeyne as he didn’t wish to give offense, but he could not deny that he had been quite struck upon meeting her. She was his age, with a countenance that agreed with his, along with a lovely figure.

She was sweet, with a sunny disposition; the conversation was easy, and there could be no denying their mutual attraction. An inherent connection seemed to have formed between them, as she seemed enchanted by him just as he was by her. He was flustered by her lingering gazes, and truly regretted that they had not met at a banquet or a tourney.

“I wish we had met under more auspicious circumstances,” he said regretfully, the fleeting thought of twirling her at a ball coming to his mind. He vowed to himself that when his mother was finally sat on her throne and peace was to be celebrated, he would ask her for a dance at the celebratory ball.

“So do I,” she replied, but her gaze was soon fixed on the green beast that had brought him to the Vale.

Vermax was still young, but he supposed his size was formidable to someone who was unused to dragons. “Had you ever seen a dragon before?” he inquired.

“Not until you came flying above the Bloody Gate,” she replied. “The height from the Eyrie is already impressive, I wonder what it must be like to see the ground from the sky.”

Jacaerys stopped to contemplate her wonder over a situation that was second nature to him, and he secretly relished in her admiration.

“It is quite formidable,” he couldn’t help but boast slightly, a proud grin parting his lips, and he found her answering blush was worth the slight arrogance.

For a moment she observed him, admiring the way his dark curls danced in the breeze, shining under the soft morrow sun. She shivered when he took her hand and pressed a galant kiss to the back of it.

He looked up as her fingers were still in his soft grasp, catching her yearning gaze. He wasn’t one to be easily led by his impulses, and even though he was no stranger to desires of the flesh, he found it hard to restrain his most innocent want for a kiss.

Surely the guards would report to Lady Jeyne if he crossed a line, and he could not afford to make a bad last impression. “Until our next meeting, my lady,” he offered politely, and she put an end to his hesitation.

“Allow me, for luck,” she exclaimed, and in the next breath her lips found the soft skin of his cheek, near the corner of his mouth. “I hope that when we meet again, the circumstances will be happier and that the realm as a whole will be calling you its heir,” she gave him as parting words, and he kept them at the forefront of his mind as he flew north.

However the next time they met was even more grim and devastating. Prince Lucerys had been slain, and the Queen now feared for her children’s safety. Escorted by nursemaids, guards and the young Vermax, the three young boys arrived at the Eyrie to be kept away, safe and protected from the horrors of war and the claws of vengeance.

The youngest Arryn lady had not been called to join her sister in the main hall, but was pulled from her chambers upon hearing commotion in the hallways—servants carrying crates and cases, and fetching cradles. Intrigued, she made her way to the main dining hall, her heart sinking as she saw the grave face of Prince Jacaerys who was seated across the table from her sister.

“Jeyne, what is the matter?” she inquired.

“We have been asked by our queen to look after the future of her house,” Jeyne answered. “Her three youngest sons are to be our wards until the throne is won back.”

Jacaerys looked older than the last time they had met, a mere few weeks prior. His eyes were rimmed with darkness and his cheeks lacked the color she had seen at their first meeting. She had wept for him upon learning the death of his brother, and seeing the grief etched on his handsome features pained her once more.

“Rest assured that they will be safe here,” Jeyne assured, and Jacaerys smiled, visibly grateful, but his eyes remained gray with sorrow.

Unwilling to send the prince back into the darkness, flying across the storm that was brewing along the east coast, Jeyne had a room quickly prepared for her royal guest. He took supper in solitude, and no one begrudged him for his lack of social grace—after suffering the loss of one brother, he was now to abandon his remaining siblings, two of them still babes, unsure when he would see them again.

Jacaerys was settling in for a night of fitful sleep when a quiet knock at the door of the guest quarters interrupted him. He called a quiet yes, and soon the young Arryn lady was slipping into the rooms, dressed for bed as well.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she offered, and he smiled softly.

In truth he was glad for the company—he was frustrated of late, feeling rather alone and dismissed by his mother. He knew that as queen her duties and burdens were now heavy, but he wished he was trusted with more active tasks. He was eager to help win back the throne, and even though he knew how crucial getting his brothers to safety was, he longed to be an active weapon at her service.

“I wanted to personally tell you how sorry I am for your loss, my Prince,” she said kindly, which he appreciated, but he did not want to talk about his grief.

“Jace, please. If only for tonight,” he replied. She looked soft in the light of the hearth and candles, slightly shy but no less endearing. A strange sort of warmth rose in his stomach and he was quickly reminded of how taken with her he had been upon their first meeting.

“Is this war that bloody, that your mother would send your brothers here?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Will you be going to battle?” she pressed, tears in her voice and her eyes swimming with emotion.

“Perhaps. I certainly hope so,” he replied, slightly dejected, but mellowed at her bereft expression.

“Promise me you will be safe,” she pleaded, taking a few steps forward until she was close enough for him to smell her hair.

Her eyes were flitting about his face, and upon a spur of the moment impulse, she pressed on her toes and kissed his cheek again. Warmth erupted on his cheeks and he leaned into her, seeking her mouth, welcoming the comfort she offered.

She sighed into his kiss, the gentle press of lips soothing their respective nerves. He kept it chaste, telling himself there was nothing inappropriate about this simple display of tenderness, but when they went to pull away from one another, the warmth in his stomach erupted into greedy heat.

He sought her mouth again, breathing into her, and she welcomed him with hands on his firm chest. They pressed chaste kisses to each other’s lips, growing more and more frantic until Jace finally pushed forward and tasted her tongue with his.

Their next kisses were hot and desperate, clumsy in their hunger; he cradled her waist in his hands as she wrapped her arms around his neck, curling her fingers into his luscious curls.

“Jace,” she whispered as he dipped his head in her neck, breathing her in.

They held each other tightly, swaying slightly on their feet. It could have almost been innocent if her hands weren’t trembling at his back, clutching, pulling him closer into her body. Her breasts pressed against his chest through their night clothes, warm and soft, and Jace pulled away as he realized he was hardening.

Reason and propriety were dictating that he should not allow their embrace to go much further despite the sweet temptation. He licked his lips as he searched for his words, unwilling to make her feel rejected.

“I would not do anything to compromise your honor,” he whispered, flustered by the lovely flush of her cheeks.

“I won’t tell anyone. As long as I remain intact, it will all be fine,” she murmured back, and their next kiss carried the promise of tenderness.

They seemingly both trusted the other as their hands roamed firm, flat planes and soft, yielding curves through their linens. They lost themselves in a long, breathless kiss, then took a few steps to the side and fell softly to the sheets. Robes were discarded at the foot of the bed but their nightgowns remained on, the nerves of first times making the both of them shy.

Jace’s hands shook as they pressed against the mounds of her breasts—she sighed in his neck as he did so, and it made his length twitch.

Soon their hands were gripping cotton and curls as their hips pressed together, his hardness against her softness. They both moaned as the first licks of pleasure spread the same heat into their bellies. The fabric turned wet and uncomfortable after a few minutes of uncoordinated grinding, and they pulled the garments out of the way.

“Oh that’s—“ he started, flushing crimson when he couldn’t find appropriate words to describe how lovely the sight was to him.

A patch of tight curls were framing two rosy folds, a small bud at the apex of them. They watched, their bewildered pants turning into whines as the swollen tip of his cock caught on her pearl; the skin to skin contact was heavenly, turning each touch into a blaze.

Sitting astride his lap, she rocked against him until his tip slid between her silky folds. It was he most delicious torture he had ever experienced, one that started at his core and irradiated over his entire frame.

“I would not breach you,” Jacaerys gasped as his swollen head caught on a dip at the base of her folds.

“I will tell you when the pain comes and we shall stop,” she replied breathlessly. “My maidenhead will remain.”

Forehead to forehead, he nodded his agreement—from his knowledge of the act, he was certain that as long as he didn’t push against her maidenhead, she would indeed remain unspoiled.

For a while they lost themselves to the heady tease of the forbidden, marveling at how their bodies were meant to fit together. As the head of his cock caught against her entrance once more, the way she clenched made him groan.

“Am I hurting you?” he whimpered.

The wet heat made him feel utterly mad, like he had drunk the sweetest of wines and lost his wits to it. She shook her head, just as lost to these new sensations as he was. “No, it’s lovely.”

“How does it feel?” Jace asked, curious. She looked as dazed as he felt, her eyes fluttering close with each desperate grind.

“Like my whole body is on fire,” she whimpered.

There was a mounting urgency to her embrace, one that echoed the pressure coiling at the base of his cock, which was coated in her wetness.

They were caught in a whirlwind of their own making, neither of them able to pull the other away from the edge—they both clung to the other’s body as they chased their high, promising themselves that in the next breath they would break away and slow this madness down.

However the next breath never came as pleasure took it all from their lungs until they burned, and they were left panting in each other’s mouths, bodies trembling with restraint.

She couldn’t tell if one of them pushed first, or if their instincts took over without their conscious knowledge, but soon she felt her body give and soften. No pain came, only a delightful stretch that left her floating high, caught teetering on the edge of the greatest pit she would ever encounter.

She whined as Jace groaned, rocking up desperately into her warmth, and it was too late when they both realized what was taking place—he was sheathed inside of her.

Jace could only cry out and shudder as his cock pulsed, the tension inside him snapping with an unprecedented suddenness. He was powerless to stop his peak, just as she ground desperately against him, growing wetter as she clenched in waves.

Their breathing settled as their peaks subsided, and with it came the realization of what they had just done. Jace realized she was fully seated on his lap, her core flush with the base of his cock. Her arms were tightly wound around his shoulders and she was shaking.

Shame made his head spin—he had taken her fully, in a way he had promised he wouldn’t, and worse perhaps, he had spent inside of her.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked in a small voice. He hadn’t felt her maidenhead give, and she hadn’t cried out in pain—or perhaps she had, and he hadn’t heard it. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“You didn’t hurt me. I swear to you, the pain didn’t come…” she shook her head, and as he pulled away the same shame was etched on her face. “I’m sorry.”

“The shame is not yours, it is mine,” he said hurriedly as she shifted in his lap, pulling from him with a soft hiss.

They watched in silence as she wiped the evidence of their transgression from her inner thighs with the hem of her nightgown.

“Do not be ashamed, I wanted it,” she assured, pressing back against him. “We will not tell anyone,” she breathed into his mouth and he gripped her lower back gratefully, afraid she would flee from his company.

“We cannot tell anyone,” he echoed, and they promised to one another that this moment of weakness would remain their secret.

They remained tangled together for a long while after that, sweat cooling on their skin and hearts growing heavier with the shadow of their impending separation. As dawn painted the horizon in warmth over the mountains, the towers of the Eyrie soon bathed in sun, she walked back to her chambers, unknowingly carrying the consequence of their embrace.

Dividers by @/saradika

Thank you to the lovely @happilyhertale for her help with this ♡

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Comment to be added to my Jacaerys masterlist.

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@thenameswinter99 @v0relino @jacesvelaryons @nanaldy

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mbellu123-blog · 11 months ago

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One day you think: I want to die. And then you think, very quietly, actually I want a coffee. I want a nap. A sandwich. A book. And I want to die turns day by day into I want to go home, I want to walk in the woods, I want to see my friends, I want to sit in the sun. I want a cleaner room, I want a better job, I want to live somewhere else, I want to live.

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mbellu123-blog · 11 months ago

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tumblr night shift is crazy everyones ready to die or ready to fuck

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mbellu123-blog · 11 months ago

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Edge of Desire

summary | Your efforts in the marital bed stayed fruitless after many moons married to your uncle, and Aemond wants to change that. (based on these requests.)

pairing | aemond targaryen x niece!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, oral (f), lovemaking, morning sex, medieval conception practices, awkward pining, enemies to lovers kinda, cockwarming

song rec | Edge of Desire - John Mayer

wordcount | 5.5k

note | something softer with aemond this time around :)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Ow! My hair!”

“Stay still, woman.”

Aemond readjusted his weight above you, grumbling as he leaned on his elbows. He huffed out a hot breath of air, which fanned your face while you lay on your back. His length softened within your walls the longer you stayed connected, preventing any seed from leaking out per the maester’s orders.

It had been nearly a whole year since you proclaimed your vows to your uncle under the eyes of the Seven. Your hand had been offered as a gesture of good faith, arguably a desperate attempt between both sides of your family to mend the rift that has been growing for years. It had worked somewhat, but as the moons passed and your relationship with your husband refused to warm, there have been growing concerns on either side of your family. Your animosity towards each other was no secret, with the vile insults Aemond had thrown against you and your brothers regarding your questionable parentage throughout your youth, which ended of course, in the incident. You had no part during that horrific night in Driftmark, but you were not saved from the consequences of that night.

Barely a moon after you had turned eight and ten, you sailed towards King’s Landing, to your fate. Your only comfort was the sight of your dear dragon flying above you, watching over you like a guardian. After you were draped by your lord husband with the dark, dragon-embroidered cloak, you made an agreement with each other. Aemond shall have his space, and you will have your own. You shall not bother him, and neither will he. However, you are expected to keep up appearances, at court, at the feasts, and even at the dinner table where queen Alicent pestered you both endlessly with any progress on your efforts in the marital bed. With the lingering friction still driving you apart from your husband, it was no surprise your womb still bore no fruit. He would call you to his chambers to perform your duties for one night each week, sometimes twice, for extra measures. Your efforts remained futile, for his seed never took and you remained childless many moons after your wedding. This growing concern has led to an intervention by the maesters, who recommended a myriad of methods that would aid in your conception.

You were to lay together every morning. Not at night, unless you wanted a girl.

The princess must clench her fist while her husband “did nature’s work”.

Your bed must face the east while you coupled, to ensure it is a boy.

The prince must remain inside the princess for an hour after he has finished to guarantee the seed is taken.

The last measure was absolutely dreadful. It was painful enough to have your womanhood assaulted by a man you rarely saw eye-to-eye with, but to stay there for an hour? Gods be good.

Aemond let out another grunt in your ear when his left arm grew sore from carrying his weight, shifting to lean onto the other arm instead. You turned your head to look at the hourglass on the nightstand. There was still a good amount of time left, and you silently prayed that the sand passed through the glass faster so you may escape this awful predicament. Your tailbone was starting to grow numb from the lack of movement, causing you to subtly shift your hips upwards to relieve the pressure from your backside.

“Stop it,” your husband hissed, making you huff in annoyance. Aemond rolled out his shoulder to relieve the soreness from the joint, before shifting his weight to do the same to the other. His long, silver hair enclosed you like a curtain, soft and light like the touch of a feather. You would be tempted to feel it under your fingertips if only it wasn’t tickling your face, adding to your aggravation. You moved his hair away from your face, letting out another huff. “Stop acting like this inconveniences only you, wife, I would’ve been much happier spending my mornings down in the training yard. My arms are getting too fucking tired,” Aemond grumbled.

You could feel his muscles start to tremble from the exertion of holding his weight up, unwilling to touch your skin by even a hair. You bit back a snarky response, starting to feel bad for him.

“Can’t we switch positions? Perhaps I could be on top,” you recommended, to which your husband only responded with a grunt.

“No, the maesters said we must stay this way. Any other way would make the seed fall rather than stay in. I do not want to do this any longer than we have to.”

You snickered at his words, turning your head away to subtly roll your eyes. Despite your irritation, his subtle quivering was making you feel sorry for him. You bit your lip as you thought about what to do.

“Here, why don’t you…” You placed a hand on his back, urging him to lay against you. Aemond had started to refuse, but you insisted, assuring him he wouldn’t crush you under his weight. With a sigh, your husband relaxed above you, finally letting his arms rest. He laid his head right beside yours, and with only a small turn you could smell the remnants of smoke in his starlit hair, coupled with the rosemary oil rubbed into his tresses every night. His lips ghosted over your shoulder; the skin exposed from when your nightgown had shifted askew. His warmth engulfed you like a warm blanket, his weight surprisingly comfortable. It was quite nice actually, despite your reluctance to admit the fact.

“Is this better?” you asked, your tone simmering down into a softer tone. Aemond hummed in response, turning his head to the side. His lips were now positioned right under your ear, and his every breath fanned the side of your face like a warm breeze on a summer’s day.

“Quite. Though this whole ‘laying for an hour’ nonsense is still quite dreadful, in my opinion,” he muttered. His voice buzzed directly into your ear, pulling a strange twinge in your chest when he did so. You trained your gaze on the embroidery on the roof of the canopy, studying the two dragons seemingly entwined against each other. It was almost like you and Aemond, funny enough.

“It is easy for you to say when men often find the act more enjoyable,” you commented almost bitterly. Aemond was silent momentarily upon your words, before seemingly snuggling even closer to you, though you assumed he was only trying to make himself comfortable.

“Is it so horrible?” your lord husband asked, a subtle hint of concern in his words that you barely caught. You turned to look at the hourglass again. Still quite a bit to go.

“Well, it hurts, more than anything.”

Another silence passed. Aemond’s mind ran a league in a minute at your words, reflecting on the pain he unknowingly inflicted upon you on the times you did your duty. As much as he harbored no love for your family, especially your bastard brothers, you were still his wife. His mother had instilled in him since he was a boy that any woman he would take as his wife should always be treated with respect, for she was an image of the Mother. Granted, Alicent was surely not picturing Rhaenyra’s only daughter beside her favored son upon the altar of the Sept when the day came, but the sentiment still extended to you all the same.

Aemond shifted his weight back to his hands as he lifted himself once more, so he may look upon your face. It was then he granted himself to really get a good look at you. He may be half-blind, but Aemond knew you were beautiful, there was no denying it. His good eye studied your features, noting the absence of the crease between your eyebrows whenever you were displeased, which was most of the time you spent by his side.

“I have no wish to hurt you,” he whispered.

“I know, ‘tis alright. I am tougher than I look,” you replied softly, your lips turning into a downward smile. Before you could stop yourself, your hands moved to tuck a stray strand of silver behind his ear on instinct. You looked into the purple of his good eye, the other covered by a patch of leather. “Besides, Daemon always used to say men have it much worse on the battlefield, for there is far less mercy when facing your enemies than your own wife,” you added to which Aemond only scoffed in response, shaking his head. Your chest rumbled with a laugh at his reaction, especially after his lips pursed into his signature feline-like pout.

Of course, Daemon would think that way, Aemond thought. His uncle was hardly the image of chivalry for any married couple across Westeros, and it was rather gauche of him to be bestowing any words of wisdom to his stepdaughter about the matters of matrimony.

All of a sudden, there was an odd feeling in his chest when your eyes seemed brighter than they had even before when you looked at him. He’d seen that light before, when you looked at your brothers, his half-sister, even at Helaena, but never him. You had such beautiful eyes, ones he could swim in their depths forever. Aemond faltered, unsure of what to do with this newfound flutter in his otherwise stone heart. He opted to lower himself to your warmth once more, burying his head into the junction where your neck and shoulder met. The scent of your flesh was naturally sweet, making him subtly press his nose into your skin.

“I am not your enemy,” he said, with a rather unfamiliar softness. He felt your hand come up to rest on his back, resting on the space in between his clothed shoulder blades. A small smile lifted the corners of your lips, one hidden from his view. You turned to look at the hourglass, which had already emptied. You made no move to tell Aemond to get up, but instead, you pressed the side of your face against his own, breathing in the scent of his hair.

“I know, husband.”

Walking through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, Aemond thought back to all the depraved remarks Aegon would make him listen to about his experiences in the Streets of Silk— how the whores would touch him, and how he would touch them, making them mewl and sigh in delight. He knew not whether they were doing it only for show, but perhaps in some way his brother might have learned a thing or two in the many years he frequented the stinking streets of Flea Bottom just for a taste of flesh.

Despite better judgment, his feet led him to his brother’s door. His fist had raised to rap against the old wood, but then he faltered. Though seeking Aegon’s insight would surely be far less embarrassing than continuing to follow through with whatever the maesters have him and his wife doing in the marital bed, the endless jests and amusement the elder shall find in the matter would definitely haunt him for a long time. Your husband did not wish to humiliate you any further, not when the matter has already involved too many people. With a hair’s breadth between his fist and Aegon’s door, Aemond sighed, dropping his hand and turning on his heel to walk away.

He and his brother have had their fair share of women who have warmed their beds, Aegon more so than himself, but they have only ever fucked. It was for their pleasure, to quench the fire in their cocks. It wasn’t tender or sweet, or gods forbid… loving. He knew he couldn’t treat his wife the same way he did a whore if he wanted your partnership to prosper; he couldn’t treat you this way.

He thought about asking his mother, though letting her know of your problems in bed, even more than what she already knew, would probably do them more harm than good. Perhaps Cole? No, that wouldn’t be a good option. Matters of the flesh are a touchy subject for Aemond’s mentor and father figure, perhaps even more so when the blood of the woman who shunned him is involved.

It had always been like this for him. A plethora of questions would boggle his young, curious mind, yet there was no one to indulge him. It had hurt him, of course, but he had learned that some things would have to be acquired by his own volition. This is how he had become such a prolific scholar, had come to claim Vhagar, and proven himself a man worthy of praise.

A laughter through the halls snapped him out of his exasperating worries. The glimmery shrill of youth, unmistakenly that of his sister’s babes, beckoned him like a beacon towards the nursery. There he found little Jaehaerys riding his wooden pony, mimicking a horse’s bray as he rocked back and forth. Helaena watched on in amusement, little Maelor clutched in her elbow. And then there was you, tickling his niece’s belly on the floor, a joyous laughter of your own adding to the symphony. You bent to pepper kisses into the crook of Jaehaera’s neck, making the girl squeal and kick her legs in delight.

You were so good with the babes, this Aemond couldn’t deny. You would offer to help Helaena watch over them on most days when she would grow weary and Aegon was away on the council. As much as your husband would try to look the other way, he couldn’t miss the way you looked at them with fondness, how you would press your nose into the youngest’s hair to smell that sweet, milky scent of his skin. Perhaps he would like to see you with a babe of your own. Yours and his, he wondered what they would be like.

“Oh, Aemond, come!” Helaena exclaimed, beckoning him over. It was then he realized he had been standing in the doorway like a fool, and so the prince stepped into the nursery. Jaehaera, after having spotted his approach, jumped to her feet in excitement. Aemond greeted her with a fond smile and a pat on the head, kneeling to her height. You moved your skirts to let your husband settle by your side, your knees slightly pressed against each other.

His eyepatch had been knocked askew when the young princess had gleefully embraced her uncle, and you had quickly righted it in its place. Your touch was light on his scarred cheek, a foreign featherlike caress that sent a slight shiver down his spine.

“Thank you, wife,” Aemond whispered, turning to you. There it was again, that little look on your face. You regarded him with a budding warmth he hadn’t quite known, a smile that rounded out the apples of your cheeks, though he figured it was one you directed to the little girl in his arms. He returned his gaze to Jaehaera, who had handed him a dragon toy to play with, willing himself to pay little mind to your lingering gaze burning the side of his cheek.

You couldn’t quite recall when your affections towards Aemond had started to change, all you knew was your heart didn’t hold the same twinge of displeasure in his presence, nor did you dread having to keep up appearances in court. There were some instances where you even sought him out, had peeked out the Keep’s yard to watch him train some mornings, all without his knowledge of course. Your coupling was still as unpleasant as ever, but you had grown to not mind the feeling of his weight on yours once the hourglass had been turned to start the hour, the pair of you descending into a comfortable silence most times. Going through the motions had gotten easier by the day, a well-practiced dance between the two of you.

You would wake with the sun’s rise, and then make your way to your husband’s chambers. He would be already awake, always, awaiting your arrival. The bed would be quite warm from his heat, thanks to his dragon blood, and it was a pleasant comfort to have. Once the deed was done, you were off to your separate duties for the day. It was routine at this point; therefore, it was quite odd when you were summoned to your husband’s chambers late into the night.

“It is nighttime,” you said when you entered as if it wasn’t quite obvious from the darkness that enveloped his apartments. Your husband was clad in his cotton tunic and breeches, sipping on a glass of wine.

“I know,” Aemond replied, turning to you. He could chuckle at the look of confusion on your face, with your furrowed brows that creased the skin between them, if it weren’t for the odd nerves swarming in his belly.

“Was there something you need?” you asked, accepting the cup of red that was handed to you.

“No, well… perhaps,” he muttered. You gulped your wine, a droplet spilling over the corner of your lips. Before you could act, Aemond’s thumb darted out to wipe away the tear of red that was on its way to run down your chin. You stopped yourself from jerking away, though you couldn’t deny your perplexion. “I just… I figured we could try something.”

“Try what?” you asked again. He was acting odd, with the way he was looking at anywhere but you, a contrast to his usual sharp form. This was starting to grow concerning; gods, he’s not about to kill you, is he?

“Do you trust me?” Aemond asked. He had gotten closer to you, quite close enough that you could feel the warm waft of his breath on your cheeks. His large, calloused palm cupped your jaw, warming up your cheeks. You stared up at him, wide-eyed, nodding your head meekly.

You trusted him, you really did, in an inexplicable, convoluted way. The past would tell you not to, but your time as his wife had shifted your connection into something intimate. Away from the endless troubles within your kin, all the terrible infighting with burning words and stares sharp as knives, you and Aemond found little trouble with each other, especially with the arrangements you agreed upon. After you had said your vows in the great Sept, you spent your first moons as the one-eyed prince’s wife with a guarded vigilance. You blocked the entrance to Maegor’s tunnels with your vanity, had given the first bite of your food to the rats in search of poison, and had even slept with a dagger underneath your pillow in case your uncle came to you in your sleep. There was none of that. Granted, the Hightowers weren’t the warmest, most welcoming bunch, but they treated you well— some of them, at least.

You weren’t sure where you stood with Aemond. You didn’t hate him, not anymore at least, and you would like to believe he wasn’t coming for your head anymore. The pair of you were… fine. You figured this was a comfortable position to be in, and you dared not utter the wish in your heart of hearts, in fear of rejection. The budding light in your chest as he looked at you now, in the dim glow of his chambers, made known what had been growing over the days you spent in his presence. It couldn’t be helped.

And now, as you stood toe to toe with him, your face cupped in his palm, you knew the balance was about to tip over; for better or for worse, however, you didn’t know.

Your breath came out as a shudder as his face descended upon yours, the time moving all too slow in your perception. Your hands tightened into fists in anticipation, your pulse thrumming in your ears so thunderously you could only hope he didn’t feel it. Just as his lips were a mere hair's breadth away from yours, Aemond stopped, sensing the rigid tension in your spine. With a sigh, he leaned his forehead against yours.

“Aemond, w-what has gotten into you?” you whispered, cautious to not break the solemn air in the room. Your hands came up to rest on his biceps, squeezing at them in question. He was silent for a moment, his eye closed in thought. You waited, patiently.

“I want to make you feel good,” your husband finally uttered in a whisper. You sputtered half words in shock. He did not need to do that, you expected little as a woman and were doing your duty in bed just fine. Why would he willingly want to do so? By the gods… why did he want to?

His thumb caressed your cheek ever so softly, pressing on the supple plumpness under the pad of his finger. He had leaned away, not too far, just enough to gauge your reaction.

Your throat felt dry, and you longed for the cup of wine you had set aside. Your mind ran a league in a minute, the proposition he was offering was one many women would kill their spouses for. Truthfully, you didn’t know what making you “feel good” would entail, your lack of knowledge and experience from your sheltered upbringing limiting your mind on the art of the ways of the flesh.

“Will you let me?” he asked.

You could say no and he would dismiss you, and the night would be over. You would pore on what could’ve been if you had said yes, and you would never know what would have transpired. You could say yes, and this whole thing would be a disaster, an embarrassment if it ended in proving how incompatible you truly were. Or… you would enjoy it, you both would.

You nodded your head again, still untrusting of your own words. Aemond walked you backward to the bed, urging you to lay back once the back of your knees hit the frame.

As his deft hands lifted your nightgown to your hips, you fisted the sheets tight in your hands in angst. You watched him as he watched you, or your womanhood, rather. Your husband’s tongue ran over his bottom lip, his good eye twinkling under the subtle warmth of the dimness in his chambers.

You felt open… exposed. The urge to cross your legs shut threatened to overwhelm you, but his hands caressing the meat of your thighs prevented you from doing so. He descended upon you, planting a trail of kisses down the inside of your thigh. Gooseflesh rose all over your skin, and you gasped when he came close to your flower, making you grip his shoulder to stop him.

“Aemond…” you breathed out.

“Let me do this for you,” he whispered, taking your wrist to direct his kisses there. “Have faith in me.”

You retracted your hand from his firm shoulder, leaning your weight on your elbow to watch him. His breath was hot against your slit, making you involuntarily clench. He started with light kisses on your mound, then little licks against your slit. His good eye flickered to gauge your reaction, where you had started to bite your lip. Two fingers split your folds open, baring all of you to his hungry gaze. His tongue delved deeper into your slit, penetrating you.

“Oh,” you exhaled, tilting your head back. With a surge of confidence, your husband began to devour you in earnest, licking and sucking. Sweet sounds, ones unheard of before, had started to spill from your lips, and what a delightful song it was.

A finger soon replaced his tongue, entering your gummy walls as though it were his cock. It thrust in and out of you the same way, and when he bent to feel up a rough patch within your walls, your toes clenched as a jolt ran up your spine.

“Good?” Aemond asked, to which you could only respond with a nod and a whine.

His lips found your pearl, and then another finger had joined the other. The prince soon found a rhythm, one that had you writhing and moaning unabashedly. What an odd sensation it was, yet utterly delicious as it was depraved.

The pressure in your stomach built in a steady rise. It sparked your muscles to twitch in Aemond’s hold, growing spasmodic as you were hurled closer to your precipice. You came with a whine, your head thrown back into the feather mattress as your husband guided you to your end.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” you asked, breathless. Black spots danced around your vision of him, swarming around the otherworldly sight of his flushed, glimmering lips and the loose silver strands that framed his face. It quirked into a small smirk as he regarded you, his arms caging you in between his hold. His hair draped around you like a curtain, the wispy ends tickling your nipples through the cotton of your dress.

“I am quite diligent in seeking the knowledge I might find useful, dear wife, and it seems they have proven to be so,” Aemond responded. You dared not ask what he meant, unwilling to learn who he had sucked and licked the way he did you to be so proficient in the act, how he had learned to poke all the right places to earn such lewd sounds from you. You merely hummed, tracing the line of his jaw in a trance.

His deft fingers had grabbed a hold of the straps of your nightgown, pulling them down to bare you fully. You let him, willingly so, encouraged by the look in his good eye that promised you more. His good eye was glued onto your breasts immediately before his warm, calloused hands took them into his hold. They fit perfectly in his palms, much to both of your delight. You bit your lip as he squeezed them, massaging the supple flesh and rubbing on your sensitive bud. Aemond could do this for hours, and if it weren’t for the throbbing in between his thighs, he would’ve done so.

His cotton tunic soon followed, then his breeches, and as he stood before you, cock stood stiff in attention, you get a good look at him. He was utterly handsome like this, bare and unguarded. You beckoned him closer, pulling on the strip that held half of his hair up. Soft fingertips trailed his jaw, his scar, before circling the leather patch that masked his left eye.

“Can I?” you whispered, looking into his good eye as he studied you. Aemond paused for a moment, almost faltering. The warmth of your thighs caged onto the sides of his waist was a welcome comfort, luring him closer to wanting to nestle in your ever-loving heat.

“Tis not a good sight to gaze upon,” he mumbled. You had cupped his jaw when he started to look away, keeping him close with a small smile.

“You are my husband. I wish to have you, all of you, as you will have me.”

A promise. An agreement.

A solemn echo of your vows upon the altar.

I am his and he is mine from this day, until the end of my days.

He had pulled the patch off from the clasp on the back of his head. The sparkle of the sapphire had stunned you in awe, and as you cupped his jaw, the look of wonder on your face and the lift in your lips couldn’t be helped.

“It is beautiful, husband,” you said, beaming up at him. “You are beautiful.”

He had huffed in amusement, planting a kiss on your cheek before mumbling into your skin, “I should be telling you that.”

His stiff length was hot and heavy as it sat against your hip, a reminder of the fire that still coursed through your veins. Aemond pulled away, the look in his eye taking a warmer, softer tinge as did yours. The smile on your lips had melted away to something sincere, hopeful. With a nod, you watched him take hold of his shaft, lining it upon your entrance. His breach was much smoother this time, no stabbing pain that made you scrunch your face, all thanks to his efforts in preparing you. It was rather delightful, a delicious stretch that made you bite your lip as he grunted above you. He would have asked you about the pain, but the deep kiss you had pulled him in to let him know there was little of it.

Aemond’s hips took on a steady pace, rocking into you gently and slowly. It was nothing lewd or animalistic, but rather sensual, intimate. You had never felt closer to him the way you did now, your connection transcending that of something physical. Your husband’s face was buried into the crook of your neck, his grunts and moans traveling straight into your auricle. You fared no better, your mewls echoing into the quiet of the room. Aemond had taken hold of your fisted hand, the godsdamned instructions from the maester taking on memory in your muscles, and he had pried them open. His larger, rougher fingers intertwined with yours, holding onto you for dear life as he took you deeper, and deeper, poking a spot within your womb that made you shiver in delight.

“Aemond,” you breathed out. His aquiline nose pressed into the side of your face, breathing into the sweet scent of your dampening flesh.

“Say it again… say my name again.” His voice was growing raspier by the second, but his tone was ever so soft with you, only you. His lips closed around one of your nipples, sucking on the stiff bud in a way that made you moan.

“Aemond, oh, Aemond! My lord husband,” you whined, holding onto the planes of his back as his pace hastened. His pubic bone rubbed on your pearl, sending shoots of fiery pleasure up your spine. Your grip on him was tight, almost numbing, but he relished in it. He wanted to feel you everywhere, kiss on every ounce of flesh he could, you were his after all.

“My wife, my dearest darling. Will you come for me again? Spill around my cock, hm?” You nodded fervently at his dirty whisper, wanting nothing else to do exactly as he asked. His forehead was prickled with salty sweat when he had pressed it against yours, his lips barely an inch away from yours. The silver-haired prince’s breath mingled with yours, and you had chased him when his tongue darted to lick a swipe across your bottom lip. Your release washed over you the moment he kissed you again, your moans swallowed by his hungry mouth. His length drove into you still, chasing his own release, and your spasming walls massaged him to guide him to his end. Aemond pulled away to look at where you were connected, committing the sight of his cock, painted with a white ring around its base, disappearing into your sweet cunny. His pace grew rhythmless as his hips began to sputter. He was close, evident from the way his eyebrows scrunched together. With a hand on your breast, the other on your jaw, your husband came with an open-mouthed groan, spilling his hot seed into your womb.

Aemond had moved to collapse by your side, but you had pulled him close to your chest, letting him lay on you with his softening length still nestled in your walls.

“Stay.”

You lay there together in silence, breathless, boneless. His hand rubbed on your waist, as did yours on his muscled back, comfortable in the silence you were in.

“I am sorry,” your husband had whispered, before shifting to lean on his elbow to look at you. “For…”

He need not say everything, or anything at all. You knew what he meant. That was all too long ago, almost a lifetime that scarcely felt yours. It was different now between you and him. The world could descend into flames and tear itself inside out, but you and Aemond would not lose each other.

You nodded, tucking a loose strand of silver behind his ear. “I am sorry too, deeply so.”

Slumber had found you while you were wrapped in your husband’s embrace, the heat emanating from his bare body pressed against yours a comforting blanket. In the morn, he had taken you again, slipping into your welcoming walls as you both stayed laid on your side. Aemond had left Cole a waiting fool in the courtyard while he missed his training, a curious deviation from his otherwise strict routine.

You were both learning how addicting this could be, though it seemed neither of you wanted to complain. You could hardly separate from your husband’s hold to dress to break your fast, and the pleasant glow on both your faces at the dining table with the rest of the family was a dead giveaway of the progression in your relationship. With the frequency of how much you latched onto each other every moment you found yourselves alone, it came as no surprise that by the end of the moon, the realm celebrated the growing babe in your womb.

A life forged by your own hand. Yours and his.

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mbellu123-blog · 11 months ago

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Sons of the Wolf

Pairing • Cregan Stark x Targaryen reader

Tags • semi-graphic depiction of childbirth, protective Cregan, hurt and comfort, fluffy ending

Wordcount • 2,290

On your way to Dragonstone to visit your sister Rhaenyra, you find yourself in labor during your stop in King’s Landing. Cregan protects you from Alicent’s intrusiveness.

Cregan Masterlist

Laboring in the dreary atmosphere of the Red Keep had not been part of your plans. You had wished to give birth on Dragonstone, where your older sister Rhaenyra now resided, and had made your way south in good time, or so you had believed.

Your first child Rickon was his father’s pride and joy, a dark-haired beauty with a strong disposition and all the classic Stark features. Cregan loved his little son and had been eager to see you round with a second child.

Your second pregnancy had been slightly unpleasant but until then, you had yet to feel any pains or fatigue that would signal the nearness of your term. However on the eve of your departure from King’s Landing, your labor pains had suddenly started in the afternoon.

Forced to remain in the Red Keep, you had been given your elder sister’s old rooms for your longer stay, the ones you had spent many evenings of your childhood, making plans for the future with Rhaenyra.

Now the afternoon had turned into night, darkness falling over the Keep, and your labors had not progressed. Several midwives were fussing over you and the Maester hovered over your shaking form, trying to keep your lord husband away.

“It is not custom, Lord Stark, that the father be present during the birth. You are welcome to wait in the corridor and we shall call upon you when the child is in hand,” the Maester informed him carefully, but still the solemn northern lord squared his shoulders.

“Customs be damned, I shall not abandon my wife while she suffers to bring my child into this world,” he replied, and the raised voices and tense tones only added to your distress.

“Air, air,” you cried out, pushing one of the midwives away from you. She looked upon you with pity, turning to your husband with a sad look on her face. “I need air!” you wailed, frantically pacing.

“What is happening?” Cregan hissed to her, struggling to keep his composure. Your labors with Rickon had been painful but hadn’t carried any of this urgency and he dreaded to think what this unexpected panic meant for you and the child.

“She is unsettled, unable to find her breath,” she replied, shaking her head in worry. “Perhaps some air would indeed help.”

“All the windows are open already,” the Maester placated.

“Can you walk?” Cregan inquired, offering you his arm which you took eagerly.

“Please,” you begged, clinging to his shirt, the linen bunching under your hands. He had discarded his thick doublet a while ago, his worry making his blood run hotter than usual.

He welcomed you into his arms and you grunted through your next contraction, furiously breathing in his familiar scent. “I want to go outside, to the Godswoods,” you whined into his neck.

“Let us walk, then,” Cregan replied, and the midwife came to take your other arm, supporting you. Another kneeled in front of you, slipping your bare feet into slippers.

“My Lord, she should be abed,” the Maester continued and this time Cregan couldn’t reign in his temper.

“Silence! If my wife needs to walk then she shall,” he admonished, and the old man could only obey.

Holding your swollen belly with one hand, the other clutching Cregan’s arm, you painstakingly walked to the Weirwood tree. Your pained panting resonated in the empty corridors, but you finally breathed in relief as the cold night air hit your face.

Cregan prayed to your Gods in the secrecy of his mind, unsure if they would be listening—please bring her peace and ease, he pleaded as you leaned your forehead against the white bark.

Your groans and whines broke your whispered prayers, and for a long while Cregan held you throughout each of the waves that stole your breath and seized your body. Pressing his lips to your hair and murmuring praises, he supported you with hands to your elbows, until you cried out suddenly, bending forward.

The midwife rushed to you, kneeling at your feet and pulling the lapels of your robe open; your shift was wet, tainted with pinkish fluids. “Her waters have burst,” she said with joy, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“The babe is coming, I can feel it,” you laughed through the pain. An intense pressure came to your core, familiar and permeating. You had done this once before, delivering a son quickly after your waters had come and now you were confident you could do it again.

You slowly walked back to your rooms, feeling the babe make their descent into your hips with each step. Once again you refused to lay down and this time the Maester held his tongue, stepping out to leave you alone with the midwives and your lord husband.

Standing at the foot of the bed, you held onto the bedpost with all your might as the pressure grew until you heaved. You could vaguely feel your husband’s large hands rub soothing circles on your lower back, praising you softly as you panted and cried, and soon an urgent feeling overwhelmed you until you almost choked.

“Cregan!” you called, pulling urgently at your shift, your skin erupting with an unbearable heat.

He knelt in front of you, holding the fabric away as you groaned and pushed, your body yielding to the pain. Your core felt as though it was being cleaved in two, but the midwives’ joyous cries kept you going.

“Our babe is coming, my love, the head is out,” you heard Cregan gasp.

He watched, mesmerized, as a midwife caught the babe’s shoulders, and another took the fabric from his hands—together they encouraged him to reach between your legs. With a great cry you delivered a final push, and soon he was catching his child with his own calloused hands.

Those were the hands of a warrior, rough and dry, and now they were holding the first breath of his second child. Tears came to his eyes as you collapsed against the bed, aided by your lady, grateful sobs wracking your frame at the sight of your lord husband holding your crying babe.

His usually solemn face was trembling with emotion, utter joy and love painted over his noble features. “You have a son, my lady, my lord,” the older midwife said. “Healthy as can be.”

Cregan sat at your side as you laid down on the sheets, and he put the babe against your breast as the afterbirth came and the cord was cut. “You did admirably, my love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into your hair.

You closed your eyes for a moment, surely exhausted, but to your husband’s dismay a maidservant entered your rooms.

Head lowered, she spoke in a meek voice. “It is custom, my Lord, that the babe is brought to the queen.”

Silence fell over you and your midwife sighed in regret. Surely the Maester had reported the impeding birth to Queen Alicent, robbing you of your peace. Without a word you pushed yourself from the bed, finding your feet with as much confidence as a newborn foal.

“Wife, you should remain abed,” Cregan admonished.

“Yes I should, but I would not stay in bed while my child is carried away,” you replied, clutching your son to your chest.

“Allow me to carry him, at the least,” he pleaded, and you allowed him to take him into his arms, cradling his small body to his chest. The baby fussed for a moment, but settled with a soothing hum from his father.

Your wobbled out of the room, pushing past the servant. Your sworn shield, Ser Erryk, called your name in surprise as you left the room, determined to match to the queen’s chambers with all your spite.

“Ser Erryk, please escort the princess,” came the order from Cregan, and the knight rushed to obey.

“This quarrel shall never end,” you complained to your husband as you were lead up the stairs, grateful that the late hour allowed you privacy from the prying eyes of the courtiers. “Her dislike for my sister does permeate everything.”

You remained silent save for uncomfortable grunts as you walked up the stairs, steadied by Ser Erryk’s strength. At your side, Cregan was carrying the drowsy babe, at which you smiled every time you paused for breath.

The Queen’s chambers were dimly lit as you entered, closely followed by your lord husband. He did not greet her, only nodded solemnly, which she did not comment on.

“Princess,” she said quietly, putting on a false smile. “Lord Stark. What a wonderful news in this cold evening.”

“Queen Alicent,” your husband replied coldly.

She approached, peering up at the bundle of linens. “A son,” he murmured, hiding his joy—he was a man of reserve, and did not wish to share his happiness with the queen.

“Little Rickon is surely elated to have a brother,” she replied.

“He will be when he learns of the news, we haven’t had the time to introduce him yet,” you said.

“Shouldn’t you be abed, Princess?” she suddenly gasped, as though she was only now realizing you were standing.

“Yes I should, your grace,” you replied curtly.

Cregan took in a sharp breath as Alicent pulled a lapel of the linens aside, and her face faltered slightly as she noticed the babe’s stark white hair. She had started her custom of seeing every babe born to noble ladies in the Keep after the birth of Prince Lucerys, curls as dark as his eyes.

Nature was strange indeed, and now that you had had a raven-haired child as well as one pale as snow, it did cast the shadow of doubt upon the queen's mind. “What is your son to be called, Lord Stark?” she asked, stepping away.

“We have not—” you started, but your husband’s answer stunned you into silence.

“Baelon.”

Tears rose to your eyes and you gasped audibly, reaching for your husband’s arm. You had often spoken of your departed brother, lamenting that you would only ever speak in this name with grief—you hadn’t dared suggesting it for your own children, as you thought a northern name would be preferred.

“Unusual name for a Stark,” the queen commented, and Cregan raised his chin in pride.

“A perfectly appropriate name for a child with dragon blood,” he replied. “Furthermore I thought it appropriate to pay homage to Queen Aemma, and to her departed son.”

Understanding dawned on Alicent’s face, but her gaze was looking over your husband’s shoulder. “A most kind gesture, Lord Stark,” said the king’s voice, and as your turned, you noticed your father standing in the doorway.

“Father,” you beamed, and Cregan was eager to hold the babe against the king’s chest as the frail man pressed a kiss to his pink brow.

“I am glad the name pleases you, your grace,” he said with warmth. “We shall take our leave. My wife needs to rest, and our son needs to nurse at her breast as soon as possible.”

“You shall nurse him?” Alicent gasped.

“It is custom in the north. Our children grow stronger for it,” Cregan answered and you leaned against his arm for support, looking at the queen.

Side by side, dragon princess and wolf lord, the two of you stood in silence and pride for a moment under the kind gaze of the king, and the colder one of the queen.

You used your husband as a crutch as you both walked out into the corridor, but you stopped at the stairs, pain making your head spin. “Thank you, husband,” you murmured gratefully, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“I meant it. Your ancestry is to be celebrated. Now allow me to carry you, wife, you have toiled enough,” your lord husband offered.

“I would not get blood all over you,” you replied, looking down at the stones where blood was pooling under your foot, having run down your leg.

“I carried my wounded brothers on the battlefield, I can carry my bleeding wife after she gave me a son,” Cregan replied, and you knew there was no use discussing the matter further.

He then gestured for your midwife to come forward, and she rushed to him. She took the babe from his arms carefully, and proceeded to walk down the steps, herself escorted by your sworn shield.

“My mother used to say the childbed was the battlefield of women,” you remembered as your husband pulled you up into his arms, the back of your knees resting in the crook of his elbow.

If you weren’t so exhausted you would have blushed at his strength and the effortless way with which he carried you. “She was a wise woman,” he commented as he brought you down, step step, with a care that made tears come to your eyes.

“I wish you had known her,” you sighed into his neck as he cradled you closer.

“Perhaps you shall speak her name in joy again…” he hinted, and you smiled.

“I am barely done with delivering a babe, that you would give me another?” you asked, and another grateful kiss was pressed to your brow.

“I am merely assuring you of my eagerness to fulfill my duties as your husband. If you ever desire a little daughter to call by your mother’s name, then I shall provide,” he vowed, and ahead of you in the bleak hallway of the Keep, your baby soon cooed in the arms of your trusted midwife.

Dividers by @arcielee

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