#AEM AUTHOR

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼 

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up. 

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

.

.

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[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

➸ masterlist

taglist:

@joemama-2 @erencvlt @pickuptruck01 @hanakotateyama @nuronhe

@beabadobeee @air3922 @timetoletmyimaginationfly @chiyokoemilia @jotarohat

@sirencholia @sorcerersseestars @horisdope @to-dabi @staoru

@aliidarling @ninjaturtletoes @lavender-hvze @lanadelreylover11 @chckn-pi

@satoryaa @gojodickbig @v4mpieres @reinam00n @sleepyyammy

@haikomaiko @tbzzluvr @myahfig4 @arabelluhhh4200 @bloopsstuff

@nat-the-gayass-down-bad-mf @badbclub @blackunecorn @geniejunn @n0tviv

@verystrawberryhottub @iheartshopping @peonysfordayz @dreamsxmerci @aishies-stuff

@milkm4nz @athinasaurus @sashisuslover @welldamnsatoru @aeriiixhh

@crystalymin @dcvilxswish @miakxn @satxoru

[fushitoru]

i can't stop looking at his d—d—d—d—FACE!

pairings ⸺ (SEPERATE) boy next door!gojo x reader, wrestler!toji x reader, gym trainer!sukuna x reader, pizza delivery boy!choso x reader, husband's boss!nanami x reader, perv on train!geto x reader

summary ⸺ jjk men as overused p0rn/h3ntai plots! inspired by this awesome post by the talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular @/osamucide! pls check it out and the rest of his work :3

warnings ⸺ SMUT (mdni), consent is pre-established in all scenarios (but dub con just in case), everyone is of age (or older), exhibitionism, infidelity in nanami’s, pussy drunk men lol, not edited (as always), cowgirl, missionary, creampies, VERY public sex in toji’s, art by 3-aem, lmk if I’ve missed anything!

a/n lolll i'm ngl this was so fun to write. some of these scenarios are so funnny hELP. this one is also for some of the anons who are so obsessed w choso and sukuna in bridgerton au. wrote them for you 🫡 choso’s is my fav hehe

general masterlist

SUKUNA RYOMEN ⸺ HOTTIE'S PERSONAL TRAINER HAS A VERY HANDS ON APPROACH!

“Brat!” Sukuna’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. “Watch your back. You’re supposed to be hinging your hips back, not whatever lazy shit you were doing.”

He steps around to your side, the heavy thud of his boots on the gym floor adding to the oppressive weight of his presence. Squatting down, he sets his hips back in one smooth motion, demonstrating with sharp precision. “Like this. Not whatever the fuck that was.”

You glance at him, your legs trembling under you. Sweat clings to your skin, a thin sheen that feels heavy after the grueling thirty minutes with your personal trainer. Sukuna definitely takes the "tiger mom" approach, every tattoo on his body echoing the sharp, uncompromising authority in his eyes. Right now, those eyes bore into you, narrowed with impatience, his hands on his hips. His scowl is practically carved into his face—stone-hard and unmoving.

Breathing hard, you slump forward, hands gripping your knees as you gasp for air. Your heartbeat drums loudly in your ears. “Sukuna, g-give me a sec. I just—fuck—” You can barely string a sentence together between gulps of air. “I just maxed out. My legs are literally shaking.”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment, but his voice softens—just a little. “Fine. Catch your breath. But as you do that, let’s practice proper form.”

You nod exhaustedly, not being able to think very clearly. Wiping the sweat to prevent it from getting into your eyes, you put your legs hip width apart as Sukuna gets behind you to observe your form. You bend down, trying to sit back onto your hips as best as possible, but as soon as your ass grazes Sukuna’s crotch, you lose the form in your back in surprise. “Sorry—”

“That was wrong.” Sukuna’s voice is in your ear as he puts his hands on your hips, and you are dizzy with the contact. “Here.” Both of you squat down, Sukuna’s hard body moving right behind you, and at the lowest position, Sukuna’s thumb roves over the fat of your ass, and they leave your hips to trace up your back. “Your back should be neutral, otherwise you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“O—okay,” you breathily reply, dizzy with the way he was touching you. If you listened closely, it almost sounded as if you were whimpering. Unfortunately for you, it seemed like Sukuna was more observant than you had hoped because he was looking at you in suspicion, eyes raking up and down your figure to observe your appearance. Disheveled, chest rising rapidly, sweat dripping right in the middle of your breasts—

Sukuna, out of nowhere, grabs your hand and begins walking away. “Come with me. You’re not doing them right.”

Soon, you’re led into one of the gym’s stretching rooms—the private ones, the ones meant for Sukuna to help you after the workout. 

“Sukuna, what are we—” you breathlessly ask, but you’re quickly shushed by Sukuna as he hoists himself on the massage table.

“Come here,” he motions to his lap, and you wordlessly follow his directions, sitting directly on top of his lap, gasping as you realize there’s a bulge making contact with your pussy. “We’re going to try an alternative way of doing squats, one that involves a bit more cardio.” He pulls down his sweatpants, blushing, furious cock springing out as he pulls down your yoga pants.

Soon, you’re moaning as you slowly take in his cock, sliding down as his precum and your copious amount of slick mix and drip onto his pelvis. Your feet are on either side of his legs, making you squat every time you lower yourself down on his length.

“Fuck! You’re so tight.” He slaps your ass as you bounce yourself rapidly on his cock. “Pretended to not know how to squat just for me to put this fat cock in you, isn’t that right?”

You didn’t have the capacity to answer, just moan as his cock hits your spot. Unsatisfied with your pace, Sukuna flips you both over until your back is on the table. 

“Oh fuck yea,” Sukuna pants, hips pistoning into you rapidly, effectively fucking you into the table, and his quads are bulging in sheer strength as they clench and unclench in reflection of his pleasure. “Didn’t know my client had such a sweet pussy.”

KAMO CHOSO ⸺ SHE ORDERS BIG SAUSAGE PIZZA AND GETS HER DEEP DICK CRAVINGS FILLED! (the title is so ridiculous im crying)

“Your total’s $14.93. You’re five bucks short.” The delivery boy—an emo looking guy with hair in space buns—responds to the wad of cash and coins you had just given him. He couldn’t look any less bored than he was as he stared down impassively at you, hot, steaming pizza in one hand.

"Wait, but I ordered a small?" You ask him in confusion. "I couldn't possibly finish a large one by myself!"

He pulls out your receipt from where it was tucked into the pizza box. "Your order said a large." Upon glancing on it, you look that he was indeed correct—right next to your pizza, the size LARGE glared at you through the sheen of the reciept's paper.

"Oh," You said, dumbly, blinking in confusion. "Well, I can pay the rest in card if that's okay."

You get an impassive "I don't have a card reader."

"Oh, okay," you laugh nervously, hand going up to scratch the back of your head and fiddle with the rest of your fingers. "Okay, well," you squinted at his nametag, "Choso, let me just check the remaining cash I have. You can come inside if you'd like." 

He comes inside, dropping off the pizza you ordered on your kitchen counter as he makes his way to sit on your couch. You go to your bedroom, checking your desk drawer for any loose cash you may have stored but to no avail. Heart racing and nervous, you frantically search the upper shelf of your room, on your tiptoes as you look for your money jar, praying that there was a 5 dollar piece of cash lying around. Instead, your fingers crash against some book propped on it, tumbling down onto the floor with a large thud!

You hear footsteps coming up to your bedroom door. Choso, standing near the door. "You good?"

"Yea," you strain, still reaching up high to grasp at the jar. "I'm just trying to find somethi—”

The heat of Choso's body surrounds you as he presses closer to you, reaching up effortlessly to grab at the money jar. His groin presses against your backside, acutely aware of his breaths as he passes you the jar. 

Which is empty.

"Fuck!" you curse. You turn, looking at Choso in anxiousness, as you notice he hasn't backed away at all. "I'm sorry, but is there any alternative way to pay for the pizza? Again, I'm really really sorry for the hassle."

"You have to pay for the food in some sort of way," he says with a stony face. Your mind is racing, thinking of ways you could pay but coming up short.

As a result, you end up with your face stuffed against your pillow, the hot delivery boy plowing and drilling his cock into you. 

"Fuck, so irresponsible. Couldn't even pay for the pizza she ordered without a stranger's cock inside of her." At his dirty talk, you whimper and squeeze his pussy, Choso groaning as a result.

"What was that?" He grabs your hair and pulls your face up as his tongue traces the frame of your ear. "What were you trying to say, you cockslut?"

"'M sorry!" You squealed and babbled, eliciting little ah! ah! ah!'s as he continues bumping his cockhead against the gooey spot inside your pussy.

"Yea, you better be. Wasting my fucking time. I'm going to come inside, got it?" Choso growls as he continues pistoning his hips inside.

GETO SUGURU ⸺ ANIME GIRL GETS HER PUSSY FINGERED ON PUBLIC TRAIN!

He pulls you in for a deep kiss while rutting inside you. "Aren't you my good girl? Taking this cock for me like a good girl?" You squeal, blabbering nonsense as he fucks you into next Tuesday…

You read the smut from your favorite author on Tumblr, devouring each word while remaining stony faced as the train rocked underneath your feet. In the corner facing the doors, you made sure that you were angled in such a way that no one would be able to see the filthy things you were reading on your screen. 

However, the metro was slowing down and you looked up quickly—which was painful, considering you were so invested in the story—to make sure it wasn't your stop. As the rush of foot traffic simultaneously populated and vacated the metro, you paid no attention to the people behind you. After all, other people would be too busy on their phones to see what you were reading, right?

"You're going to take this cum, right? I'm going to breed you, my sweet, sweet girl." He laughs.  You take a moment to take in his pretty features. Long hair, beautiful face, all filled with lust for you...

You scan the words, blush evident on your face as your favorite writer has done it yet again. Adjusting, you squeezed your thighs for relief and toyed with the hem of your skirt, failing to notice the soft breaths trailing down the back of your neck just because of how enthralled and taken you were with the plot.

And then, a hand trailed up your thigh, catching you by alarm. You almost drop your phone in your rush to turn and look at the creep that was touching you, ready to beat the shit out of him. 

But when you do turn, you stop and widen your eyes. The man in front of you seems even prettier than the fictional man you were reading about, and you take him in as he rubs circles on your thigh. His sultry eyes rake down your figure, his lips pulled back in a knowing smirk. "That's some filthy shit you're reading."

Looking at him, your heart starts beating faster solely because of the promise of what his hands would do as they were currently softly stroking your thighs, getting closer and closer to going under your shirt. "I—I—uh sorry—I—"

"It's okay, pretty girl." He gives you a kiss on the side of your neck. "Continue reading it. Can you do that, baby?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Coincidentally, you're at the part where the man helps the girl masturbate, rubbing and teasing her pussy up and down. The man behind you does the same, teasing your lips while refusing to delve inside your panties, no matter how badly you want him to do.

"That feel good?"

You whimper. "Yes—ah—it feels good. Please touch me on my pussy directly. Please."

The man behind you chuckles, and your knees buckle at how rich his voice is. You would join a cult for this man. "Since you asked so nicely, I will. Call me Suguru."

His fingers pull your panties aside and enters, soon knuckle deep inside your cunt, and as quietly as you can, you moan his name as he continues fingering you in front of all the strangers on the train. His hips press closer to your ass, and you throb even more at the huge bulge he’s sporting. He’s sloppily licking on the outside of your ear, right where you’re sensitive, and you shiver and lose yourself in the pressure even more.

The pleasure was building in you steadily and Suguru groans. “That’s right, take it all.”

You almost jump when the PA sounds. "The next stop is Shinjuku."

“That’s my stop. You have to cum before then, or you won’t be able to cum,” Suguru whispers in your ear, speeding up and hitting your g-spot with precision. There are tears forming in your eyes as you make an effort to stay quiet, especially with Suguru giving seductive kisses to your sensitive neck. 

“Fuck, you got so tight,” he groans. “Gonna cum?” He uses his thumb to rub fast circles on your clit, and you see stars. 

“I will—I will,” you cry, as the throbbing and pulsing sensation grows faster and faster until finally, you cum with a muffled cry, because Suguru has his fingers in your mouth to ensure you don’t scream out on this very, very public train.  “Squeezing my fingers so much, relax,” Suguru laughs, popping his slick-coated fingers in his mouth. “You gonna do that to my dick next?”

NANAMI KENTO ⸺ BEAUTIFUL WIFE HAS TO FUCK HER HUSBAND'S BOSS! (NTR)

“Mr. Nanami,” you scrape a hand through your hair and clear your throat. “You wanted to see me?” 

For a moment, your husband’s handsome boss eyes you down, catching on the top button of your blouse currently unbuttoned. You mainly did it because of nervousness, the heat of the room escalating with Nanami Kento’s presence. After a long bout of intimidating silence, he finally speaks. “I assume you can guess why you are here?”

You bounce your knee as you sit across from the man, and you suddenly start sweating. Of course you can guess. Your bum of a husband—the one currently under your charge—neglects to do his deliverables, choosing to take comfort in the fact that you were his higher-up to trust that he would not be getting terminated for his lack of responsibility. 

But what he doesn’t know is that you’ve been begging Nanami not to fire him, despite the propelling and clear reasons to do so. And you fear the day he finally chooses to stop listening to you. 

“Team leader, I’m going to need much more convincing. Your team has been decreasing in productivity ever since your husband joined, and it’s hindering the company,” he reminds you stoically. “I’ve seen you working overtime far too frequently to cover up for your spouse’s negligence.”

You wish time would speed up just to get this difficult conversation with. “I—I’m going to be honest, Mr. Nanami. I don’t have much warrant to continue having him on the team, but it would put my family in much…emotional conflict if this were to happen.” The said emotional conflict would really only be from your husband. You’re sure he’s going to take this as an excuse to drink himself silly, blaming you for not being able to keep him employed. Your throat dries as you finally meet eyes with your boss, silently pleading him to come up with a solution.

“I see.” Nanami crosses his arms. “I suppose there is a…favor you could do for me.”

At that, you perk up and nod your head frantically. “Of course. Anything.”

Which is why you find yourself bent over Nanami’s desk, his cock drilling inside you. He’s ripped your stockings, pulled up your miniskirt, and put your panties to the side as he moans about how sweet your pussy feels. “I’ve been waiting for this forever. Tell me, is my cock better than his?”

“It is!” you squeal. “You’re so—so big!”

Nanami moans as he ruts inside you, your walls squeezing him tight. “Darling, I c—can tell he doesn’t treat you right. You are so tight around me, pussy’s been waiting for a while for a real man.” 

You moan and curse, blabbering affirmations while his dick impales you. Even though Nanami is the one who’s owed the favor here, his hands wind their way around your body to rub at your clit, simulating you even more, making you sob. “Please don’t stop!”

“I won’t ever, sweetheart,” he pants. “I’m going to finish inside her, okay? Make sure to keep it in when you go home and greet your husband.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI ⸺ BABE GETS IMMEDIATELY DESTROYED IN NAKED WRESTLING (WITH AN AUDIENCE)

Cheers surround you as you step into the arena. You know who your opponent is—-Fushiguro Toji. Even when you looked at his pictures earlier, you knew you were doomed. No matter what angle the photographer took the photos in, his muscles seemed to be bulging, effectively spelling out the sore defeat you were about to face today.

And there he is. Him in the flesh. He’s leaning against the boxing ring’s outer borders, head tilted back lazily while his manager, Shiu, was informing him quickly (and intensely) about the rules of today.

Nothing crazy. Only fuck when all clothes are off of her.

The way his neck is tilted back, compression shirt showing off his upper physique made you weak in the knees already. Additionally, judging based off of the bulge he seemed to be sporting in his grey sweatpants, you knew you were doubly fucked.

Shiu seems to be done talking, so he steps back and takes a seat. Toji leans his head back, rolling his neck to stretch it out, and in the middle of doing so, catches your eye.

You almost drench your panties.

His eyes darken, giving you a sultry look as he cheekily winks. While his cocky demeanor was warranted (he was much stronger and bigger than you), your cheeks heated up in both arousal and irritation.

The sound of a whistle is heard as music starts to play. The stadium’s screens flashes the cocky image of Toji, who saunters in the middle of the ring, flexing his muscles to his screaming fans.

When your signature theme plays, you do the same, to no shortage of fans yourself. You can feel everyone in the stadium, especially your male fans, rove over your figure. You’re wearing a very low cut top that displays the swell of your boobs and even tighter shorts that squeeze your ass and show off the shape of your pussy. As you walk towards Toji, you can feel his heavy gaze on you as you nervously shake his hand.

“Try to last long, okay?” Toji smirks, patting your shoulder. “I’ll try to drag this out as much as I can, but it’s gonna be fuckin hard if that ass is grinding against me.”

You glare at him, but there’s not much intensity there. “Yea, yea,” you huff. “For all I know, you’ll be my personal dildo today.”

And the fucker’s smile widens. “Let the games begin.”

Soon enough, the sound of the whistle draws you towards each other, keeping each other in a lock to tackle the other down in an objective to take off layers of their clothing. Your fans cheer when you have Toji underneath you for a split second, only for female ones to become more riotous as he easily overtakes you, pins your hands down, and wrenches your shorts off of you.

“Toji is currently in the lead!” The announcer’s voice in the stadium echoes of your defeat as you flail around, now bottoms only covered by your panties. Deciding to pull out your signature move, you maneuver so your thighs surround Toji’s waist and hump your hips against his bulge. This momentarily distracts and weakens Toji, and you take full advantage of it by overtaking him and now straddling him. You quickly take off his shirt, salivating at the muscles you see. The whole stadium, in fact, can his abs and pecs glistening with sweat.

Your attention is back to Toji as he chuckles darkly. “You’re going to regret that. I was going to drag this out, princess, but I gotta fuck the brat out of you.” With that, he puts his whole body weight on you and strips you down one by one.

The arena cheers as your lace bra is uncovered, your sweat shining on the screen as your breasts are displayed. Toji then unhooks your bra, and the roars get even louder as your tits pop out. He takes a moment to grope them, your whines ignored as he pinches your nipples. “What a sensitive girl,” he coos. “Too bad she was too weak. Now she’s going through to have to take my cock.

With that, he finally unveils your glistening pussy for all eyes to see and the crowd goes wild, chanting for Toji to finish inside you. Toji flips you over so you’re on your hands and knees and pulls down his pants.

You don’t look back at the monster that’s about to enter you for the sake of your mental health, but your legs are shaking in anticipation of his cock, slick dripping down your thighs.

“Fuck.” And Toji’s slowly entering you, the humiliating plap! plap! plap! of his hips against the flesh of your ass echoing multiple strangers watch your pussy get wrecked. “The fuck this pussy’s so tight for? Thought you were a slut?”

You’re tearing up, but not fucked out enough to prevent you from snarkily replying, “You’re not turning me on, small dick.”

He did not like that very much.

Toji drills his hips into yours faster and slaps your ass multiple times consecutively. “Yea, so why is she clenching so fucking much? Why is she dripping? Just for that, I’m going to come inside of your slutty pussy.”

The crowd chants cum, cum, cum! and Toji just does that. Ropes of his cum fill you, and you drop down in exhaustion to hear Toji declared as winner.

GOJO SATORU ⸺ GIRL GETS FUCKED BY PEEPING TOM NEXT DOOR!

You sigh, extending your back and un clipping your bra, letting your tits bounce free after a long, long week of college. It was finally Friday night, and with no one in the house due to a party the rest of your family was attending, you could finally enjoy your time home on the holidays, starting with a solo session.

You clench your thighs in anticipation as you scrolled your phone, seeking an audio you could masturbate to. And you were close to finding one, until you felt eyes on you.

These eyes were nothing new. The boy next door, Gojo Satoru, has also been your crush since middle school. Even though neither of you have ever made a move, you’ve made bold moves since starting college, stripping with the blinds open to give him a show. You had kind of had a sixth sense as to when the fucker would start watching you, and it flared as you slowly dragged your hands down. Bending over and shaking your ass, you slipped your skimpy shorts down your legs, giving him a clear view of your wet pussy.

But masturbating wasn’t enough for today. None of the college frat bros could make you cum, no matter how much they boasted about their fuckin roster, and you were tired of Satoru just watching. Just seeing him work out shirtless in his lawn, sun shining his sweat to give him a golden halo, was enough to make you sick, hungry for his dick. The way he was so shy and the mannerisms he had (as a loser) let you know he had a big fucking dick.

Needless, to say, you were tired of just fantasizing and speculating about his dick. Turning around, the moonlight allowed you to see the silhouette of his wrist moving up and down his length, even if he had tried to make his best effort to darken his rooms. Putting on your best show of an angry face, you grab your phone aggressively and dial his number.

The line rings, and he picks up. “Hey,” and you can tell he’s a little breathless. “long time no see. What’s up?”

“Cut the fucking act out,” you spit. “I know you’ve been fucking watching me, perv.”

Satoru’s panic is comically obvious over the phone as he rushes his words. “Wait, wait—listen, I—I can explain.”

“On how you’re being a peeping tom?” You glare at his window. “Come over, Gojo. Then I’ll listen to your fucking explanation.”

One thing leads to another, and now you’re spread out on your childhood bed, Gojo whimpering and whining as he plows his dick into your pussy. “You feel so—so good. M’ sorry—sorry for doing that. Your pussy is too good for me to look at.”

You laugh meanly and grab his chin. “You feel sorry yet, you pervert?” And Satoru can only cry out as you yank his head. “Remember, this is the only fucking thing you’re good at. Being my glorified dildo. Got it? Now, you’re going to fill me up only after you make me cum at least two times.”

a/n yea this was depraved….lmk what yall think tho 😭

comment and reblog I’d love to hear your thoughts! (also, requests are open heheh)

[haetero]

a little death.

PAIRING: aemond targaryen x afab!reader. WORD COUNT: 0.4k

CW: filthy smut, creampie, cowgirl position (save a dragon, ride a targaryen), unprotected sex. dirty aemond smut really. mdni <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: a little drabble i’m reposting from an old account! hotd season two has brought back every filthy emotion i have :) like, comment + reblog if you enjoy and i’ll give u a kiss c: (divider by the ever talented @/cafekitsune)

ABSTRACT:

aemond was always sure he'd die in battle, surrounded by lesser men. but here, balls deep in your pussy, aemond understands there's nothing more fatal than the sight before him.

aemond's willing to bet you could put the street of silk's finest out of work, mesmerised by the way you rotate your hips onto his length, tits bouncing in rhythm with your perfected movements. he can't force his sapphire gaze from your cunt if he wanted to; your slick coats his dick and drips down onto his tightening balls.

his pretty lady wife, typically adorned in the riches and glory of the targaryen dynasty, weeping on his cock. he ought to light a candle to the seven, aemond thought as you fucked yourself back onto him in a daze. he was fucking you silly, or maybe you were, he didn't care to know anymore.

"fuck, fuck, aem, please," you cry, pathetically grinding onto his cock, as he leans back onto the headboard, taking you with him. chest to chest, your shaky arm comes down from its position next to your lover's face to furiously rub your clit. heat curls in your pussy as aemond slightly reangles his cock inside of you and begins to thrust back into you.

"you're making me feel so good," aemond all but moans into the crook of your neck, his callused fingers gripping your hips as you chase your release. he smells of dragonback and you, you register in some part of your brain that hasn't been fucked to absolute ruin. you feel his tongue dart out to lick up the column of your throat, the taste of your sweat causing aemond to let out a sound akin to a growl.

but it's the pressure of his teeth at the juncture of your neck that has you seeing stars, eyes rolling back as you clench around aemond's cock for the last time that night.

you fall onto his chest as aemond's pace quickens, desperate to flood your pussy with his cum, to mark you as his from the inside out. aemond grunts, bucking his hips into your abused hole. your legs quake as he heaves you up and down his cock, the overstimulation threatening to wring another orgasm out of you.

"i'm gonna fill you up," you mewl at his warning, feeling aemond's fingers grasp you tightly, your cunt clenching around aemond as he finally cums. your mixed spends seeps out of your cunt, a ring of white forming around the base of aemond's cock. planting a kiss on your forehead, aemond pulls you into him, content with watching himself drip out of you.

[kirantech]

Empowering Content Authors with AI: Using ChatGPT with AEM for Enhanced Assistance

ChatGPT is a large language model trained by OpenAI based on the GPT (Generative Pre-trained Transformer) architecture. I was designed to generate human-like responses to a wide range of natural language inputs. Essentially, I'm an AI chatbot that can con

[magicalworldweb]

New Chapters

This time of year I think of two things. One, the memory of finishing the first draft of Phoenix Incandescent minutes before the strike of midnight. There’s not been a feeling like that since, though I suspect finishing the series will have an impact. Speaking of, I also think of what my plans are for the new year. I’m not your typical new beginnings person at the start of a fresh year, mainly…

[drunk-person]

Uncontrollably (One shot)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x cousin!reader

Summary: After long years without seeing each other, Aemond is reunited with his cousin who came from Dragon Stone for a festival in the kingdom. And after a warm reunion in the library Aemond decides, against his better judgment, to visit his cousin's room just as they did when they were younger before her father, Prince Daemon, took her to Dragon Stone. He just didn't count on the fact that things could get so out of his control.

WARNING: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, fingering, Oral Sex, loss of virginity, no description for reader.

Word cont: 3.900 k

Author's note: This One shot is a deleted scene from a chapter of a long fic I've been writing for a while. However, after writing it, I didn't think the scene was so consistent with the story's setting and I rewrote it differently, so I decided to share the deleted scene with you. I hope you like it, and again English is not my first language.

Aemond knew he shouldn't be there. Not after what had happened in the library, he knew he was playing with his luck, testing his own self-control. But he couldn't help it. Y/n was so close, he knew how to get to her, it wouldn't be long now before she would have to return to Dragon Stone again, and then he didn't know when he would see her again.

— To hell with it. — He sighed before pushing the wall and finding himself inside the wardrobe of Y/n's room. Aemond took a deep breath and knocked twice on the wardrobe door from the inside.

— Aem? — Came her sweet voice with expectation and a slight fear outside.

— Yes, it's me. — He replied nervously and then the light illuminated the dark wardrobe as Y/n opened the door smiling at him. Aemond tried, but couldn't help but look from top to bottom, she was only wearing a nightgown with a very thin fabric and a silk and lace cloak on top.

— Hey. — She said shyly as she closed the front part of the slip, better hiding her body from his eyes.

— Hello. — Aemond cleared his throat a little nervously — I thought we would read a little, just like the old days.

He lifted the book "Tales of Ancient Valyria" that he had in his hands, still inside her wardrobe, her favorite book, and Y/n's eyes lit up.

— Well, first you need to get out of the wardrobe. — Her playful voice made Aemond's body relax as he smiled and lowered his head to get out of the furniture without hitting the top. He then saw Y/n's eyes staring at him in awe.

— What it was? — He smiled, already out of the wardrobe and facing Y/n in the room.

— You got so tall. — She spoke simply.

— Did you just realize that now? — Aemond frowned, teasing her.

— Certainly not. — She laughed. — But it's strange to see you coming out of the wardrobe so big, when the last time you did that we were practically the same height.

Aemond smiled and guided her by the hand to the rug in front of the fireplace, feeling the skin on his hands tingle where his palm met hers. He sat on the floor and just like when they were younger, Y/n sat next to him, leaning her head on Aemond's shoulder gently, and the prince had to hold back a sigh.

He began to read aloud the Valyrian words from the book that he already knew by heart from so many times he had read it with her in mind. Aemond practically recited the stories, and barely wasted time looking at the pages, focusing too much on admiring the beauty of the princess lying on his shoulder.

— Se skori janderys geptot, zȳhon ābrazȳrys ozmijiō zirȳla tolvie tubis, se ziry jumban syt zȳhon amāzigon, gīda skori everyone ivestretan zȳhon ziry istan. — Aemond recited this part almost whispering, lost amid Y/n's beauty.

"And when Janderys was gone, her wife missed her every day. She waited patiently for her return, even when everyone told her it was impossible."

After that part, Y/n looked at Aemond and he didn't dare look in another direction, he just got lost in the beautiful eyes that he loved so much. Her sweet smell entering his nostrils intoxicated him and he felt his entire body shudder from one moment to the next with her proximity. The lack of control almost took over him once again, as had become common in the last few days, but this time he got up quickly, leaving the book lying on the carpet next to Y/n.

Aemond pulled away a little as he tried to regain his senses and contain the urge to kiss her again, just like he had done in the library. When they were children everything was so much simpler. Why now that he was a man couldn't he just sit on the rug and read a book with her without feeling like he was going to combust?

And just as thoughts were starting to flow again in Aemond's mind he felt the touch of Y/n's hand on his shoulder, the intoxicating smell once again overwhelming him.

— Aem? — She called him with that sweet voice that did things to his mind that he never thought possible. Aemond pressed firmly on the eye, keeping it firmly in place. — Are you okay?

— I am. — He turned back to Y/n, trying to maintain his composure, but as soon as he turned back, his gaze went straight to her red lips. Aemond quickly looked away, trying to look anywhere but at her lips. But then... his eyes fell onto the bedside table and the prince's eye pupil dilated instantly.

The tournament crown he had given her.

— You brought it with you.

— Of course, it's not every day that I'm crowned the queen of love and beauty by the greatest warrior in the kingdom.

His words awakened something within him that he hadn't yet realized. Such a feeling of possession and pride washing over him that Aemond could barely breathe, he didn't want to breathe, unless the air was the same as Y/n's.

The memory of the sounds she made against his neck in the library while she rubbed against his clothed thigh and that he tried not to think about tonight at all costs flooded his mind, the way she looked at him full of desire when he handed her that crown dominated him, the feeling of her skin against his during the dance that she had granted him hours before made him lose the control he swore to maintain.

And without being able to contain himself, Aemond pulled her firmly towards him by the hips and kissed her on the mouth hungrily. He wanted her so much it hurt. Y/n sighed and took her hands to his hair, tangling them in the silky strands as she pulled him even closer into the kiss.

He squeezed her hips between his fingers as he had been dreaming of doing for some time, and lightly squeezed her ass, pulling her closer and closer amidst the voracious kisses. Aemond kissed Y/n's neck while they both tried to catch their breath, he gave light bites and sucked in some spots while she sighed for him.

— Aemond.

She moaned his name sweetly and Aemond barely had control over himself when he raised his hands that were on her hips to the top of her back and holding tight to the collar of the fragile nightdress he tore it, making Y/n moan and rub herself against him as the pieces of fabric fell to the floor.

The Vision in front of him could easily have killed him. The naked body he had only seen in his wildest dreams was even more beautiful than he could have dreamed, it was perfect. Her breasts were as beautiful as he had imagined, the delicate curves of her waist and hips seemed designed by the gods themselves and between her beautiful thighs that she pressed firmly in search of relief, her intimacy that he was sure was already wet for him.

Aemond wanted to control himself, he would control himself. But he wanted to at least prove it first. And then he swore to himself that he would just taste her and pleasure her, just as he had the day before, and then he would leave. He would ask the gods for forgiveness for his indolence, and everything would be fine.

And with that thought he approached her again with his hungry gaze pulling her for another kiss while he brought his hands to her ass cheeks, squeezing firmly. Aemond guided Y/n to the bed and sat her down on the mattress with a mischievous smile on her face. She then looked up at him, looking confused with her lips swollen from kissing and the skin on her neck slightly red.

— Open your legs for me jorrāelagon. — He asked softly as he knelt in front of her, Y/n felt her whole body burn with shame, but obeyed, languidly opening her legs before Aemond's hungry eyes. My love

He said a filthy curse in Valyrian that made her blush even more if possible as he brought both hands to her smooth thighs, caressing and squeezing them. Aemond began caressing his left hand slowly while listening to Y/n's sighs and when he got to where he wanted he gently separated his lips from Y/n's intimacy and took two fingers to her sensitive pearl, caressing it.

Y/n sighed with pleasure at the new sensation of Aemond's fingers caressing her, and when he brought his fingers to her entrance and slowly placed them inside, making soft back and forth movements, she threw her head back while biting her lips.

Aemond enjoyed watching her reactions and smiled when he saw a slight frown of disappointment form when he moved her hand away, moving it back to his thigh. But before she could say anything, he firmly grabbed both of her thighs to keep them open. and dipped his head between her legs, licking her firmly from the entrance to the pearl.

Y/n moaned loudly at the sensation and gripped the sheets tightly between her fingers, and Aemond groaned as he finally felt her sweet taste on the tip of his tongue. He penetrated her tongue with his tongue and Y/n squirmed, begging for more.

— Aemond. — She said his name like a song, and he responded by giving her more and more pleasure, going deeper between her thighs with even more desire as he felt her squirm under his care. His mouth took every little part of her pussy for himself, while his nose hit her clit in a way that made her want to scream.

Y/n felt her entire body out of control, the feeling a thousand times stronger than the day before in the library. Spasms wracked her body and without control she fell back onto the sheets as she arched her back and moaned desperately. She took her hands to Aemond's hair, tangling her fingers between the strands and practically rubbing herself against his face without any shame.

— Aemond. — She practically screamed when she reached her peak, writhing against Aemond's mouth as he sucked her as if his life depended on it.

He felt her spongy walls contract more and more against his tongue and the delicious spasms brought with them Y/n's orgasm. Her taste numbed him, he wanted to feel that taste on his lips forever. The sound of her voice screaming his name at her peak almost drove him crazy, he wanted more.

Aemond moved up his lips, leaving kisses on her sensitive intimacy while he felt her shudder, and he went up her belly, kissing and sucking slowly, drawing sighs of pleasure from Y/n.

—It tastes so good. — He said as he continued to kiss more amidst the gasps of pleasure that Y/n emitted. — Sweet and perfect, like everything about you.

The kisses reached her breasts, and Aemond knew he should stop, that this was going too far and her virtue was at stake. But he told himself that if he could just touch those perfect breasts he would be satisfied. And then he took her left breast into his mouth and sucked it hard, driving her crazy as she had barely recovered from her recent orgasm. He squeezed her other breast with his hand, and gently pinched her nipple, giving her even more pleasure. Breasts so good, made for him to love, made for him to suck, with every sound made by Y/n, Aemond thought he was going to die

—So sensitive. So good for me.

Aemond rubbed his clothed body against her naked body looking for pleasure, his hardness pressing against her intimacy. He could feel her fluids moistening his pants and he moaned in pleasure at the sensation.

— Just for you Aemond. — She moaned sweetly at him. — Only yours.

A feeling of possessiveness came over him when he heard her say those words. From him. He wanted so badly to feel her bare skin against his bare skin, he needs to have that feeling at least once in his life. And he assured himself that he would go no further than that, that he would keep her maidenhood intact.

Aemond felt Y/n's hands pulling him by his clothes as she tried to kiss his neck just like he had done to her. And he ripped off his doublet and threw it haphazardly on the floor, then removing the lighter shirt he was wearing underneath and throwing it too, leaving his chest bare under Y/n's watchful gaze.

She pulled him back to her and kissed him passionately on the lips, and Aemond felt his skin burn and tingle as it came into contact with hers. Her warm breasts rubbing against his chest, Aemond took his hands to her back and pulled her further up onto the bed, where the two became even more entangled in kisses as they rubbed against each other in search of pleasure.

Y/n put her hand on the drawstring that held Aemond's pants in place and he held her hands, stopping her from pulling.

— Aemond. — She sighed his name with her eyes closed.

— I can't do that. — He spoke against her neck. — It would ruin you.

— I just want to feel you... feel your body against mine. — She sighed and scratched his back. — It's not fair that I'm naked and you're not.

Aemond took a deep breath and then inhaled. He couldn't do that, it would be going too far. The prince then got up from the bed with difficulty as he tried to move away from her delicious body.

— Aemond. — She begged there sprawled on the bed, naked, with her hair messy, her lips red from kissing and her silky legs parted as moisture ran down her thighs. He couldn't deny her. Just that more and he would go away to his own room, he was a gentleman. He wouldn't take Y/n's virtue without being married to her.

He untied his pants under her watchful gaze and then ripped them off, throwing them in the pile of clothes, leaving him completely naked, with just his eye patch. Aemond walked to the bed again and lay down on her body, now being able to feel the moisture that dripped from her directly onto his dick. By the Gods, how he would like to bury himself in her.

The two kissed eagerly and Y/n intertwined her legs against Aemond's slim waist in search of friction, making him moan against her lips as he rubbed himself against that hot moisture.

— Take it off. — She begged breathlessly between kisses, putting her hand to her eye patch.

— No. — Aemond denied, gently taking her hand away from the eye patch and stopping kissing her neck.

— Please Aemond. — She begged, looking at him while caressing his face. — I want to see you in full, I don't care about scars.

And Aemond knew that there was nothing in this world that she begged him naked under his body that he wouldn't do. If she asked him right now to ride Vhagar and burn an entire city, he would burn it without a second thought. And taking his hand to his face, he removed the eye patch, looking at her slightly nervous, fearing to see rejection in the eyes he loved so much.

Y/n admired him enchantedly. It was different from the last time she saw him, there was a shiny sapphire stone where Aemond's eye had once been and the wound was well healed. Y/n gently brought her hand towards his eye, stroking it softly the region.

— It hurts? — She asked in a soft voice.Aemond shook his head slightly as he turned and placed a kiss on Y/n's palm.

— Almost no more.

— Gevie. — She said with a look of pure adoration as she pulled him into another passionate kiss that made Aemond sigh.

Y/n kissed his way up his face until she reached his left eye where the sapphire was and she left a long and affectionate kiss, as if Aemond was the most important thing in her world.

— Vok issa jorrāelagon. — She said with her eyes full of pure adoration, making some tears well up in Aemond's eye, who, with a genuine smile, kissed her even more passionately than before. You are perfect my love.

— Ao issi vok, se olvie gevie mirre vēttan ondoso se jaes. — He spoke with his face glued to hers while rubbing their noses and lips against each other in an extremely intimate way. You are perfection, the most beautiful creature ever made by the gods.

Aemond's throbbing member rubbed against Y/n's wetness, leaving them both panting with desire amidst the intimate caresses. And she wanted him so badly in that moment, more than anything she had ever wanted in her life.

— Aem. — She whimpered. — I want you. I want you so badly.

— We can not do that. — He panted, pulling away slightly from her.

Y/n tangled her fingers in his silver hair, pulling him back into a voracious and messy kiss.

— Y/n... — Aemond sighed between the kiss, trying to pull away, but not having the strength to do so, he wanted so much, but knew he shouldn't.

— I was made to be yours. — She grunted, holding him by the hair and looking at him in a way that bordered on despair. — Only yours. Not from him.

Him. Aemond knew who she was talking about, and for a moment in that haze of lust he had forgotten about that bastard who wanted to steal what was his.

— Aemond, I'd rather die, I'd rather be ruined, I'd rather anything than let him lay his hands on me. I feel sick at the thought of him putting his hands on my body. I don't want him. I want you. With everything in me, I want you. She looked directly into his eyes as she spoke, still holding him by his silky silver hair.

— I am begging you Aemond Targaryen. — She sighed beneath him, her eyes shining with desire. — Ruin me.

Aemond can't resist any longer, not with her begging like that. And with a groan he looked into her eyes and began to penetrate her soft, warm intimacy with his hard bulge. And at that moment he came to the conclusion that he had never felt anything as good as that in his entire life.

Y/n dug her nails into Aemond's back as she felt him slowly enter her insides.

— Aemond. — She sighed amidst the pleasure and slight pain and he immediately stood still, looking at her with slightly frightened eyes.

— Did I hurt you?

— No. — Y/n grabbed his shoulders pulling him closer to her. —Don't stop, I'm fine.

Aemond continued pushing inside her slowly, fearing to hurt her in any way, and little by little he sheathed himself completely inside Y/n, who was squeezing his shoulders and scratching him lightly. Aemond lay still inside her, panting as he felt her hot walls pressing and pulling him closer and closer, and trying to contain himself he buried his head in the curve between Y/n's neck and shoulder.

— You can move. — She sighed.

—Are you sure? — Aemond asked, looking into her eyes again while trying to contain himself.

Y/n confirmed with her head, putting her hands through Aemond's already messy hair and pulling him into a wet, slow kiss that got messier as he started to move inside her.

Aemond pushed himself lightly inside her and felt her gasp into the kiss and pull his hair. He then started to move harder and faster and the feeling of y/n's intimacy contracting against him was killing him.

— So good. — He moaned to her amidst the kisses and thrusts that became increasingly stronger as he lost himself in Y/n's moans.

— More. — She begged amidst moans. — Please Aemond, more.

Aemond bit her neck hard and sucked it uncontrollably when he heard her cry out for him like that. He then fucked her hard and loudly while they both panted amid the kisses and love bites, the prince seemed obsessed with her neck and was sucking it in an almost animalistic way at that point.

— Mine. — He panted.

He then took his right hand to her breast and desperately bit and kissed it down her lap until he reached the other breast, putting it in his mouth and sucking it as if he were going to devour it. Y/n threw her head back in pleasure at feeling so many sensations at the same time, and when he removed his hand from her breast and placed it between her legs, caressing her furiously, Y/n felt like she had lost all control over her own body.

— Yours, only yours Aemond. Always only yours.

The pleasure that hit her was even stronger than before, the feeling of Aemond inside her made her want to cry with joy. His naked body against hers, his mouth kissing her everywhere and she came against his cock pressing and milking it while she moaned Aemond's name wildly, crossed both legs against his naked ass and scratched his back pulling him closer and closer.

Aemond, feeling her coming and pressing against him, could no longer resist and without thinking about anything, without looking at tomorrow or the possible consequences, he spilled his seed deep inside Y/n while moaning breathlessly looking at her contorted face of pleasure.

— I love you. — He declared in the midst of pleasure and he could see her eyes, lost in pleasure, filling with tears as she brought her hand to his face and caressed it.

— I love you too.

And completely exhausted after the climax, they both fell into unconsciousness, still naked and hugging each other with satisfied smiles on their faces that lasted until the next morning, when Aemond did not appear to do his morning chores and they were both awakened by the horrified scream of the queen at the enter his niece’s room. Followed by Aegon who, upon seeing the scene, gave a malicious smile towards Aemond.

— Well it looks like we're not going to have a wedding anymore, at least not one with little Jace, isn't that brother?

---------------------------¤¤-----------------------

Tag list: @anukulee

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Thorough

aemond x preg!sister!wife!reader 

Summary: Aemond is overprotective while you’re pregnant but never ceases to make sure you have everything you need and are well satisfied. 

Warnings: 18+ p in v, oral(f receiving), swearing, bondage(but like not intense? idk!), nipple play, lactation kink, breeding kink, description of birth but not super intense 

Authors Note: i’ll literally secure this man’s line whether it’s 1 or 20 kids idec, im not ready to write a full birth scene yet, this is me testing the waters since im going to write a literal "x preg!reader" series soon

Word Count: 3.6k

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

“And you’re positive?” Aemonds voice carries through the maesters chambers as I lay back on the bed. 

“With all of my years of study and her symptoms they both are telling me yes, my Prince.” he nods his head. 

My hands hold onto my lower abdomen as my head spins. I’m with child already and we’ve only been wed one turn of the moon. Aemond has been very thorough waiting for this news so I can’t say I’m surprised. A smile splits across my face as his hand joins mine. 

Aemond is quickly pulling me up to my feet and ushering me out of the maesters chambers as he shouts after us to send word to him if we need any help. He has us down the stairs and turning the corner to our chambers hauling me along with him. 

“Aemond slow down.” I giggle as he tugs me into our chambers. 

His lips are on me the instant he turns to me. He starts pulling off my dress and backing me to the bed. I squeak as I fall back onto our bed as he starts to undress before me. He’s crawling over me in no time and I feel his hardened length against my thighs. His hands roam all over my body stopping at my breasts. 

“I cannot wait to see these swell with milk.” he rolls my nipples between his fingers. “Along with your stomach round with our child.” he groans as he captures my nipple with his mouth. 

My breasts have been more sensitive than usual, which was the first sign. Aemond refuses to leave them alone and turns me into a whimpering mess any chance he can get. As he suckles I push my chest up into his face as I hold him to me. 

“Gunna fuck you until you’re full of my seed just to make sure you’re with child.” he mumbles against my chest and I squirm beneath him. 

He kisses back up my neck and lets a hand travel down to my core. He slides his fingers down my slit and chuckles at my wetness. He dips two long fingers into me and I let out a shaky breath. He brings his thumb up to swirl slowly around my bud and I clench around his fingers. I come undone and he’s quickly replacing his fingers with his length. 

“Already squeezing me so good.” he groans as he rolls his hips. “Can’t get enough of my seed can you, my greedy little wife?” he pants as he starts to pound into me.

“Aem, please,” I whine as I cling to him. 

He captures my lips as he continues with his fast pace. I whimper into his mouth as I feel pleasure sneak up and wash through me. His hips slow as they start to pump into me slowly, hitting deep within me. He rests his forehead against mine as our hips meet seeking more pleasure. I feel his warmth start to spread throughout me as I moan holding him close. He continues to grind his hips into me as he keeps pushing his seed into me. 

Our pants mingle as he slowly settles in me. My body is vibrating as he refuses to pull out leaving me completely full of him. He rests above me and we kiss each other desperately. After a couple minutes I feel him start to harden again inside me. I whine as I feel him start to move his hips once more. 

“You can take it.” he grunts as his fingers start to swirl around my bud. 

Between his fingers and his slow pumps I’m clenching around him again. After I come down I can feel that he’s fully hard and I feel him smile against my neck as he starts to rut into me. I’m whimpering beneath him as he continues to circle my sensitive bud. 

“Aemond I can’t-“ my body starts shaking from pleasure and he chuckles lowly. 

“You can.” he purrs as his hips start to move even quicker. 

A moan tears through me as I explode around him and I feel him begin to fill me once more. My eyes squeeze shut as pleasure continues to course through me in waves. He settles in me once more but this time he flips us so I’m resting against his chest. I rest my head listening to his heartbeat as we come down from our highs. Every once in a while he’ll push his hips up into me pulling a soft whimper from my lips. 

“Rest, my beautiful wife.” he hums petting my hair. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

5 months along

Aemond and I have been getting into spats about what I can and cannot do. He’s become so fiercely protective that I can’t even leave our chambers without him on my heels. Today’s fight is about me wanting to ride on dragonback which he hasn’t allowed me to do in almost a fortnight and I’ve had enough. 

“I want to go out riding.” I huff looking up to him with my hands on my hips. 

“And I said I would take you out on Vhagar.” he looks down at me equally as stubborn. 

“I want to go on my dragon.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Vhagar is larger than the seven fucking kingdoms and you want me to climb up her?” I walk closer to him. 

“Do not use that tone with me.” his nostrils flare. 

“I’m going out on my dragon and that’s final.” I roll my eyes and go to walk past him to exit our chambers. 

“You will not.” he grabs my arm. “You will ride Vhagar or me.” his eyes darken as they go to my growing stomach as he spreads one of his hands across it.

“Aemond.” I warn hoping he doesn’t catch my blush creeping up my neck. “Let me ride my dragon and then you can keep me in bed for the rest of the day.” I know my blush is visible by the way he’s smirking at me. 

“I could keep you in bed now if I wanted.” he pulls me to his chest. 

“Please, husband.” I look up to him with pleading eyes. “Please,” I cup his face begging at this point. 

“You know I can never say no to you.” he relents shaking his head. “Gods I would do anything for you.” he dips down to kiss me. 

“Do not try to distract me.” I pull away and tug him to the doors. 

He has a carriage bring us to the pits within minutes. The servants and the guards try to steer clear of him. He’s been particularly hellish this past month once I started showing. If a man stares at me for too long he threatens to take their head. I’ve had to pull him away multiple times from quaking guards who feel his wrath. I was starting to think he already yelled that the dragon keepers to not allow me to ride. 

“If anything feels wrong land immediately and I will carry you back.” he looks to me intensely as we wait for my dragon to come out. 

I roll my eyes at him before a smile breaks across my face and my dragon emerges. She stops in front of me and chuffs softly nudging into my hand instead of my swollen stomach. I pat her happily and she sings a soft song. 

“How I’ve missed you.” I coo as I hug her. “Shall we go for a ride?” I smile as she dips down lower than normal to accommodate me. 

I climb on with ease and settle into my seat. I fasten my belts and clips and look down to Aemond. I see the worry painted across his face as he looks up to me. 

“I have half a mind to tell you to get down.” he calls up to me. 

“I have half a mind to burn you where you stand.” my tone playful. 

“I love you.” he smiles up to me. 

“I’ll see you in the skies.” I hum as my dragon leads us out of the pits. 

Once she’s in the sky I let out a laugh of euphoria. The wind in my hair and the sun on my skin is exactly what I needed. We fly around the city as we wait for Aemond to make his way to Vhagar. I hear her groan from the city limits as she makes her way into the sky. We make our way to Vhagars side and she gives out a deep grumble. 

My dragon and I twirl around Vhagar and I can feel the concern radiating off of Aemond. I care not about the scolding I’ll receive later. For now I enjoy the freedom of the breeze and laugh wildly. After an hour I relent and make my way back to the pits. I have them bring out feed for her and watch her indulge as I wait for Aemond to come collect me. 

“If you must be on dragonback again it will be Vhagar or no one. I can’t believe you would fly around so recklessly while carrying our child.” I sigh figuring this would be his response. 

“So I can’t ride you either, husband?” I look up to him biting my lip hoping I can sway him. 

“I do not jest. I will tie you to the bed if I must.” he holds my arms tightly. 

“What if I want you to tie me to the bed anyways?” my voice low as I look up to him through my lashes. 

He pulls me out of the pits by my arm and I smile trailing after him. The carriage ride back to the Keep is silent and he keeps a firm hand on my thigh at all times. He pushes us through the Keep halls avoiding everyone until he has us sealed in our chambers. He towers over me and grabs my face. 

“Get on the bed.” his voice low as his eye bores into mine. 

I start walking over to the bed as he begins pulling my dress off of me. He leaves me in my slip as I lay back on the bed. He goes over to the posters of the frame to find the silk ribbons we leave tied to them. He grabs one of my hands and he secures it with a knot and moves to my next hand. 

“Is this what you wanted, my naughty wife?” he taunts as he looks over me. I nod my head squeezing my thighs together looking for friction as he strips off his clothes. “Don’t hide from me now.” he rasps sitting on the bed spreading my thighs exposing my dripping core. 

“Aemond,” I whine as his hands ghost up my legs. 

“I shouldn’t let you come but I love the noises you make. So I’ll make you come until I’ve decided you’ve had enough.” he dips his head down and licks up my slit. 

My head falls back into the pillows as he laps at my bud. My body begins to shake as my pleasure already starts to coil. I grind against his face and cry out when his nose brushes against my sensitive bud. His tongue dips into my core and explode around him. 

He licks back up my slit and swirls his tongue quickly around my bud. My legs squeeze around his head as he continues his assault. My hands pull against the silk wishing I could touch him or myself. My hips buck into his face and he chuckles as I come against his face again. 

He snakes up my body and stops above my breasts. He smirks as he dips down and traces over one of my covered nipples with his tongue. My breath catches as I push my chest into his face. When he grazes his teeth against my sensitive peak I give out a soft cry. As he nibbles on one he brings his fingers over to my other to start pinching and pulling as I mewl beneath him.

“Gods are you gunna come from just this alone?” he mumbles against my chest. 

I let out a sob as he pulls my slip up baring me to him. When his hot mouth wraps around my nipple once more I buck my hips up into him. He brings his hand up to grab at my other breast and I let out a tortured whine. My body goes taught as he pinches and pulls and I come undone pulling at the silk. 

“You are absolutely divine.” he chuckles against my chest. 

He trails his tongue between my breasts and licks at my throat. He licks along my lips and finally locks us in a kiss. His hands trail up my arms and interlock our fingers. I arch my body into his trying to get closer. He slowly pushes into me and I whimper into his mouth. He starts a quick pace and watches as my face contorts. 

“I should leave you tied up to this bed for the rest of your pregnancy. Only come up here to feed you and fill you.” I cry out at his words as his hips grind into me. 

He brings his fingers down to my bud and I burst around him. He grunts as his hips slow as my walls flutter around him. He continues to push into me slowly as I pant his name over and over. I feel him twitch inside and when I feel him begin to fill me I come undone with my eyes rolling back. 

“My perfect wife.” he sighs rolling to the side and spreading his hand across my bump. 

“Will you untie me?” I ask still trying to catch my breath. 

“I’m not done with you yet.” he smiles capturing my lips once more. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

8 months along 

I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my entire life. My back hurts and I feel like my breasts are completely full yet seem to expand everyday and it’s becoming too much. All I do lately is take baths and lay in bed. I’m not miserable but I would definitely like this baby out of me sooner rather than later. 

“How is my wife and our child?” Aemond asks the grand maester. 

“You can ask me how I’m doing.” my words have a bite to them as I lay back on the bed as they look down at me. 

“I’m sorry, Princess. I know it’s been a long couple of moons but the babe will come soon.” the grand maester offers me what he thinks is a comforting smile. 

“Mm and how is that looking?” I look up trying not to sound so annoyed. 

“Everything looks good and from how the pregnancy has gone I believe the birthing bed will be kind to you.” the grand maester nods his head and dismisses himself from our chambers. 

“What can I do to make you feel better?” Aemond rests a hand on my stomach. 

“I just feel so tense and I want a hot bath but they won’t let me.” I say tearing up. “My back hurts and my breasts are so tender I can’t even stand having this fabric touch them. I just want some relief.” I hiccup as a tear slips down my cheek. 

“It’s just us, let me remove this.” I nod as he grabs the hem of my sleep dress and lifts it over my head. 

He moves pillows behind my back to help support me better as he helps me relax back into the bed. Tears continue to fall down my face as he helps adjust me and makes me comfortable. 

“What’s wrong?” Aemond whispers as he wipes my tears away. 

“You’re just so gentle and caring with me.” I sniffle. “I love you so much, husband.” my tears fall down faster now. 

“What else can I do to help you?” he smooths my hair looking to me with scrunched brows. 

“Lay with me, please.” I look up to him and he’s immediately getting in bed next to me. 

He holds me close to him and kisses the side of my head. His hands travel to my swollen bump and whisper words of adoration to me. His hands trail up to my tender breasts and I sigh at his soft touch. When his thumb swipes over one of my nipples a strangled whimper leaves my mouth. 

“I’m sorry.” he mumbles as he removes his hand. 

“I just need some of this milk gone.” I whine and his eye snaps to mine. 

“I can try-“ 

“Yes Aemond, anything, please.” I plead reaching for his hand. 

He brings his mouth to one of my nipples and a sigh falls from my lips. As he sucks and laps at my sensitive peak I start to feel the relief I’ve been seeking. I look down to him and see that his eye watching me. I look to him with flushed cheeks as he continues to swirl his tongue around my nipple. I push my chest up into him and he groans against me. 

“Aemond,” my voice strained as I bring my hand to his hair. 

He kisses across my chest and brings my other nipple into his mouth. He offers this one the same attention and affection. I hold him to my chest and give out soft sighs as I smooth his hair. He looks at me with a blown pupil as my breathing becomes more ragged from his tongue. He pulls back from my chest and looks down to me. 

“Thank you,” my voice breathy. 

“Anything else I can offer you?” he kisses me softly laying next to me once more. 

“I want for some relief a little lower.” he chuckles at my words. 

“Mm I wouldn’t want to leave my beautiful wife wanting.” he starts to kiss my neck as his fingers find my sensitive bud with ease. 

“Aemond,” his name falls off my lips like a prayer as he swirls his fingers. 

My legs are already beginning to tremble as I feel wetness pool between them. His fingers slide down my slit and I moan loudly. He brings more wetness back up to my throbbing bud and slowly circles it. My hips buck as much as they can as I feel my pleasure ready to burst. All it takes is his lips attached to my nipple and I’m clenching my thighs around his hand. 

“You’re so perfect. My beautiful wife carrying our child.” he showers me with compliments as my breathing settles and I begin to drift off feeling relief. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

birth 

“Fuck,” my voice breaks as the maester and midwife try to coax me to push again as I’m squeezing Aemonds hand. 

“You’re doing so good.” Aemond wipes my brow with a cool cloth. 

“And you’re doing nothing.” I grit out through my teeth as I feel myself splitting open.

“The babes head!” the midwife exclaims looking up at me. 

“One more big push Princess.” the maester says with a calm voice. 

“What do you think I’ve been fucking doing?” my breathing heavy as I push using all of my strength. 

A half sigh and chuckle leave my lips when I feel the baby slide out. I hear a cry and look down at our child. I turn to Aemond who is still looking at me with reverence at what I just did. They wrap the child in a blanket and bring it to my arms. 

“A healthy baby boy.” the maester says smiling to us. 

They help clean me up and clean up the room before leaving us. I softly caress the babes bright white hair as he stirs in my arms. Aemond holds me closer and wraps his arm around mine that’s holding our child. We sit in silence as a family and Aemond kisses our son’s brow before pulling me into a kiss of our own. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

2 months after birth

I sit in the maesters chambers with Aemond at my side and the babe bouncing on my knee. The maester looks over our son and declares he is still healthy and turns to me to ask how I’m doing. He looks over me curiously as asks how feeding is going and if there’s any tenderness and soreness. I tell him how I’ve been feeling and he looks to us with a smile. 

“I want you both to know that there is no rush,” he chuckles and I tilt my head to him. “but I believe you’re already with child again.” I turn to Aemond with a scowl who smiles proudly. 

“How sure are you?” Aemond asks fussing with our son. 

“As positive as I was the first time.” the maester nods his head and I sigh but smiling nonetheless. 

“At least you both know what to expect this time around.” he smiles as we slowly get up to exit. 

“After this next babe, I will have a break husband.” I look up to him as he holds the doors open for us. 

“Mm of course.” he looks down to me as if he has no plans on not keeping me with child anytime soon. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

masterlist 🔌 

i’ve never been preg or wrote anything like this so if i fucked anything up please reach out and let me know!! 

taglist ✍️ 

@clarityisnofun @callsignwidow @gabriella-aesthetic @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @anaviieiraaa @zanygot7straykidsbonk @hueanhdang

[two-white-butterflies]

fucking in my bmw sedan | aem. targaryen

Description: You suddenly get horny in the middle of the road. A one-shot where Aemond experiences real heat.

Rating: Mature 18+ [no protection (wrap your willy, don't be silly), vanilla sex, slight brattiness)

Looks like you were stuck in the middle of the road - with that throbbing feeling in your pussy. Aemond's jaw clenches, your hands were reaching for his groin. "Calm down, princess." he growls, driving through the empty road with difficulty. "Do you want us to crash?" he scolded - but it seems like he was scolding himself.

"Then stop the car," you smile - already prepared to free yourself from the seatbelt. "- my seat is plenty wide." you purr, tempting him for a second round of loving.

He turns the car to the right, settling the wheels on the grass beside the road. He opens all four windows - turning the engine off. "Naughty girl," he mumbles while freeing his chest off the seatbelt.

"Don't leave me waiting," you complain with a pout - moving the chair slightly backwards to allow enough space for him to get on top of you. He reaches for your seatbelt - unbuckling it slowly with a malicious glint on his eye. He grabs your chin, pulling your face and inviting a deep kiss.

"Rhaenyra's gonna be mad at us," he chuckles - knowing that punctuality was never your strong suit. "I don't care," you hum - reaching for his necktie and pressing your lips together. Aemond chuckles again. His darling girl always thinks with her cunt.

He hovers above you - avoiding the equipment in the middle of you. You reach down on his pants - unbuckling his belt and freeing his penis from the malevolent hold of his pants. A moan escapes his mouth, feeling your hands slightly glide across his bulging cock.

"Just a quickie," he says rhetorically.

He grabs your thighs, moving one of them in another direction while he lifts your dress - exposing that lace underwear he gave you. "We can make it longer," you whisper on his ear - nibbling it until he moves the underwear out of the way.

"Temptress," he whispers in return, rubbing slow circles on your mound. "That's why you love me," you moan - feeling his fingers tease your gaping hole. "Put it in," you demanded - another chuckle escapes his mouth.

"Eager too," he pointed out - but still obeying you.

He presses the tip of his length on your pussy. Moving back and forth to allow you enough time to adjust. "Aem," you moan, grinding on his cock to find enough friction. The pleasure was nice - but it could be better. "You only take what I give you, princess." he warns, inserting a quarter of his length inside your cunt.

It was wet - in no need of lubrication.

There was sweat dripping down his forehead, eyes staring deep at yours. His cock goes in and out of you - walls clenching at his girth. "Ahh," you moan again - feeling half of his cock inside your hole. He moves his hand down, using his thumb to rub circles on your clitoris. "Heavy," you complain - his right hand was carrying his entire weight.

He grins, pulling his cock out of your pussy.

"Let's switch," he commands, shoulder resting on the seat as you scatter to leave him enough space to lay down. "Here," he pats his lap - and you sit on him. Feeling his cock press against your thigh.

"Let's see how you like it this way."

Author's Note: Inspired with BMW by (Because)

@nyctophilicvitnir @bellstwd @pearlstiare @glame @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @nitimurinvetitumsposts

[happilyhertale]

Hi I’m the anon who asked if you watched Breaking Dawn, that’s crazy how recently you just watched it, haha. Well the reason I asked was cause I was wondering if you could write an Aemond x pregnant wife story where her pregnancy is kinda like Bella’s. The maesters have tried everything to lesson her condition but she gets worse and worse, they even think she is cursed. The reader is Rhaenyra’s daughter but has her mothers features and rumored to be a bastard like Jace & Luke, but Daemon is incredibly protective of her and treats her like his daughter. Daemon is even angry at Aemond and blames him for what is happening to the reader, that he hired a witch to curse her and the babe. Aemond deeply loves the reader and is incredibly troubled by her state and feels guilty, but she reassures him a lot. Aegon teases her about being a bastard and when she falls incredibly ill with Aemond’s baby he says that it only proves she’s a bastard cause she can’t carry the seed of a dragon. Everyone is preparing for her death once the babe is born, but she defies everyones expectations and survives and Aemond says he always knew she was a dragon and calls her fierce and just fluffy stuff.

Breaking down - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Author’s note:

Thank you dear Anon for the request! Now I have finally written the story!

I hope you like it (: English is my second language, soo.. please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 3 k

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You are hanging over a bowl. Your eyes are closed and your breath comes in short bursts.

"Not again," you whisper.

But then another wave of nausea hits you. You bend down to the bowl and fill it with the contents of your stomach. But what comes out of you is a secret to you. You have not been able to eat for days.

You whimper softly. Your eyes are closed.

Suddenly you feel a hand on your back. A warm hand stroking your tense back.

"Hey... Love," you hear Aemond say softly, "still not feeling better?"

You shake your head just slightly, your eyes still closed. Desperately, you try to concentrate on your breathing to distract yourself from your nausea.

You and Aemond have been married for a year now. You love each other dearly. Aemond would do anything for you, you have changed his whole life. And when the news of your pregnancy came, his devotion and affection for you only increased.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, was not at all convinced at first that you should marry Aemond. But King Viserys, your grandsire, thought it was a good idea to accommodate the quarrels in your family. And after much discussion, your mother finally gave in.

Your father, Laenor Velaryon, died in an accident some time ago. Your heart broke when your mother broke the news to you and your brothers. You cried a lot, felt a sudden emptiness. But Rhaenyra was there for you, consoled you.

Like your brothers, you bear little outward resemblance to your father. You are the image of your mother. But unlike your brothers, you have inherited your father's hair.

Shortly after your father died, your mother married your current stepfather, Daemon. This was not surprising to you. Ever since you can remember, Daemon has been around you. He is almost affectionate with you. Always looking out for you. Even comforted you when your brothers or Aegon and Aemond annoyed you. Daemon has become something of a surrogate father to you.

And that's exactly why rumours are going around the realm. That Daemon is your real father and not Laenor. That you're a bastard. You don't pay much attention to these rumours, because you know who your father is.

Yet no one dares to say it openly. But still, the thoughts of man are free. It is different with your brothers. They didn't inherit silver hair from your mother or father and the looks they get literally scream the word bastard.

But you were speechless when the betrothal between you and Aemond was announced. You stood in front of Aemond and just looked. He didn't look pleased either and gave a barely perceptible nod to his mother, Queen Alicent. But when your mother repeated her question if it was okay with you, you nodded at her with a forced smile.

It was a mystery to you that Aemond didn't immediately erupt in a fit of rage, after all, the dislike he feels for your brothers is known to all. And even though the rumour that you were a bastard had not yet been voiced publicly, you could only guess what Aemond thought of you.

But things turned out differently. At first it seemed like he was just doing his duty. He often went for walks with you. You had done that before, but now it had a completely different meaning.

But still, somehow you got used to each other's constant presence and you soon realised that there was more between you. You found out that you shared a love of reading and sword fighting. Hours of conversation and laughter followed, as well as sword fights on the training yard. Almost as quickly, love developed between you.

But those memories seem to be fading, just as you are now hanging over the bowl, barely able to breathe.

You look at Aemond, your voice trembling, "It has to get better eventually, hasn't it?"

He looks pained, but he nods at you, "I will send for the maesters again... they must ease your discomfort somehow..." he whispers.

You close your eyes again and exhale heavily.

You spend the rest of the day over the bowl. At times you curl up on the floor, gently caressing your belly. You love your little ball. You lovingly call your baby your little dragon. You love your little dragon inside you. You know that the little dragon does not want to hurt you. It loves you as you love it, you can feel that.

But it gets worse and worse.

The bigger your belly gets, the worse your discomfort gets. If you ate little before, now you are hardly able to even think about eating. Nothing stays inside you. And by now you can see this agony on your body.

You are getting thinner and weaker. Your purple eyes have lost their glow. Your delicate skin is covered with bruises, as every touch seems to harm you. Aemond is visibly distressed. For hours he sits by your side. Caresses you, tries to make you eat all the food that seems appetising to you. He tries to ease your suffering with a mountain of pillows on the bed.

And even Daemon is at your side at least as often as Aemond. Every time he is with you, you see the worry and anger in his eyes. He wants to punish someone for making you feel so bad.

At some point, the maesters seem to have the right idea. They want to feed you fortified baby milk and porridge. Food that usually only babies get to eat. In the hope that it will suit you and that the baby will accept the food and leave it in you. You keep hoping that it will work, that you won't be overcome by nausea.

And at first it seems to help. The food stays inside you. Your hand trembles with every movement from your plate to your mouth, but you can finally eat again. It's not much, you're too weak to eat larger quantities. But you don't throw up.

Everyone is fed with new hope that you will get better now.

But still the maesters approach Aemond anxiously.

"My prince... Princess y/n's condition remains critical"

Aemond looks up from his desk as the Maesers are with him. He says nothing and just looks at them as if admonishing them with that look to keep talking. He suspects what is coming.

"My prince... If her condition does not improve, we fear that she will not survive the birth. Not even our knowledge and skill can counter that... Giving birth is a strength-sapping task for women and..."

"Stop it!" hisses Aemond. There is a cold silence in the room.

"She will survive it. She will. She is of the blood of the dragon. There will be no other eventuality!" Again, the oppressive silence spreads through the room.

The maesters just nod and look at the floor. They dare not meet his gaze.

After a few days of being able to eat again, you decide to have dinner with your family. Aemond leads you into the hall. He is not enthusiastic about the idea. He wants to spare you this journey, but you are stubborn. And so he walks slowly with you through the corridors. You are breathing heavily. Your belly is almost as big as the rest of your body. You arrive at the hall, the rest of your family already gathered. They look at you with a mixture of worry and hope.

You avoid their gaze.

Aemond helps you to sit down. You feel dizzy. You close your eyes briefly when you are finally seated and exhale heavily. When you open your eyes again, you notice Daemon watching you with concern.

"Is everything alright? Shall I take you back to our chambers?" whispers Aemond to you.

But you shake your head and look over at him, "No... I want to stay here," you say softly.

He nods at you and gently kisses your forehead.

You try to eat some porridge. Your family is eating around you and the room is filled with soft conversation. But suddenly you notice yourself beginning to tremble. You feel dizzy.

"Aem...", but then you fall off your chair.

Aemond jumps up and prevents your head from hitting the floor.

Daemon is also immediately at your side. But your vision blurs until it goes completely black.

"y/n!" shouts Aemond. But there is no response from you. He strokes your face.

"This is your fault!", Daemon suddenly shouts at Aemond.

Aemond looks at him angrily.

"You and your bastard lover! You're the one who let her cast a spell!" he shouts at Aemond.

Aemond's gaze fills with hatred, "I would never! I love y/n!"

"Love...", Daemon scoffs, "You emotional cripple aren't even capable of such feelings!", he shouts in rage.

Aegon sits on his chair and watches the scene with amusement. He drinks his wine and grins.

"I don't think Aemond would be able to persuade his witch whore for anything... I think as a bastard you're just not capable of carrying a dragon's seed," Aegon chuckles softly to himself.

Daemon is now looking angrily at Aegon, "Shut your drunken mouth. Say something like that again..." he says through gritted teeth.

But he is interrupted by Aemond, "I will take your tongue if you say something like that about my wife again!", Aemond hisses the words.

Suddenly you move. Aemond immediately looks at you, "My love... hey... my love... please say something...", he whispers to you.

But all you feel is a sharp pain in your abdomen and you cry out.

All is silent in the hall. Your mother by now is also standing by your side and notices it, "Her water has broken! The baby is coming!"

You just whimper. The pain eats through your entire body.

"Aemond..." you whimper.

"I'm here, I'm here my love...", Aemond whispers.

Aemond looks up, "We need to get her into a bed"

"Can you get up?" he asks gently as he looks back down at you.

But you can barely shake your head. Aemond doesn't hesitate for long and carefully lifts you up. You whimper. When the next contraction comes you cry out. Aemond bears it stoically, but his heart breaks at your suffering.

Aemond carries you. He tries to hold you carefully, but still he tries to move quickly. You cling desperately to Aemond. You groan in pain. You feel every step he takes, right to the core.

He walks into a room where many maids are walking around. They prepare the bed that is in this room. Many cloths and bowls of warm water are also prepared.

He carefully lays you down on the bed. But you don't notice much. You are whimpering, your hands are on your belly.

The maesters follow you closely and are accompanied by midwives. The mood is sombre as the maesters stand in front of your bed. You cry out with the last of your strength as the next contraction comes.

The maesters look at each other, they look worried.

A maester steps forward and addresses Aemond, "My prince... the princess is very weak..."

"I don't want to hear about it," he hisses quietly to the maester. His gaze wanders to you, so as not to worry you, he continues to speak quietly.

"If anything should happen to her... I will feed you to Vhagar," he says dryly.

Aemond is convinced that with the right motivation, the maesters will be able to help you.

He looks over at you again as you cry out once more.

You are lying on the bed. You are already drenched in sweat and tears are running down your face.

Aemond comes to your side. He kneels down and holds your hand. He kisses it gently. He reaches for a cloth and dabs the sweat from your forehead.

You don't notice much. The vision in front of your eyes blurs again and again.

But you notice that voices keep saying "Push, princess!" and you do your best. But you don't know if it will be enough...

You want your child to survive. Your baby, your little dragon. The product of Aemond's and your love.

You keep seeing silver hair all around you. But you cannot tell whether it belongs to Aemond, Daemon or your mother Rhaenyra. You feel your hands being held. The sweat is dabbed from you. Again and again they talk to you, but you cannot react. You feel yourself fading.

And then it goes black around you.

Baby cries suddenly fill the room. The midwives take the baby and bring it to a table where there are many cloths and a water bowl. They clean the baby. But Aemond has no eyes for it. 

"Y/n.. Love... Please.. Answer me," he says to you.

He shakes you lightly

"Love.. Please... I need you... Answer me," he repeats.

He searches for your pulse.

He finds a slight pulse.

He looks down at you. You are lying in a sea of blood.

Aemond panics.

"Clean her up!" yells Aemond suddenly. He doesn't know what good it will do to clean the blood and dirt off you, but he hopes it will make you feel better.

The midwives nod eagerly at Aemond.

They fetch new warm water. They gently try to get the afterbirth out and clean you up.

The baby is still crying in the room. Rhaenrya comes into the room and goes to the baby. The maesters examine the baby. Examine to see if it is healthy. When the maesters nod at Rhaenyra, she accepts the baby.

She cradles it in her arms and smiles at it.

She turns and sees Aemond bending over you, stroking you. She sees the look of despair in his eye. The tears in his eye.

"Aemond," she says softly.

He doesn't hear her.

"Aemond," Rhaenyra says a little louder.

Aemond looks up.

He looks at Rhaenyra, startled, as if he is only now being reminded again that there are other people in the room.

"Aemond... this is your daughter," Rhaenyra says softly.

Only now does he look at the bundle in her arms. He looks down at you. You are lying on the bed, your eyes are closed.

But you are breathing.

He looks at the baby again and then at you.

Rhaenyra notices the conflict in him, that he doesn't want to leave you alone.

"Aemond... you can't do anything for her right now... But... but your daughter needs you," Rhaenyra says gently.

Aemond looks to her again and nods slowly.

He gently kisses your forehead. Leaves his lips pressed to your forehead for a while and then goes to Rhaenyra.

He stands in front of her and looks down at the baby. Then he slowly takes her. And he is immediately fascinated by his little daughter.

The little girl cries softly, but she stops when Aemond holds her in his arms. She opens her eyes briefly and the Targaryen purple can be seen. Aemond has to smile.

This is what he has created... Created her with you.

He turns around again. You are still lying there.

But he sees your chest gently rising and falling. You are still breathing.

He looks back down at the baby in his arms and he holds it, "Hey..." he murmurs.

"Your mother will make it... I know she will... and then she will greet you," he continues to murmur.

He kisses the baby's forehead. Breathes in the scent. He closes his eyes and smiles.

Rhaenyra watches him and also smiles slightly.

You sleep through the next few days. Aemond does not leave your side. He makes sure you don't get too cold. From time to time he sits you up slightly and tries to give you something to drink.

Rhaenyra comes in from time to time and puts your daughter by your side. She is convinced that it helps you to gather strength and that the little girl needs your closeness.

But after a few days, Aemond sees you moving. He sits beside the bed, your daughter lying by your side. As you slowly stir, a smile comes to his lips. Carefully he leans forward and takes your daughter in his arms.

You slowly open your eyes. The sun shines into the room and you immediately squeeze your eyes shut again. You groan softly. You open your eyes again. You realise that you are lying in your bed. Your throat is dry. It hurts to swallow.

But then you remember. You look down at yourself. Your baby bump is gone. You immediately touch your stomach. You feel empty.

"What..." you whisper.

"She's here, my love," you hear Aemond say. He seems to realise what you are "looking for".

You immediately look to the side and you see Aemond, holding your baby. You smile slightly. Your breathing is still a little labored

"She...?" you ask softly in a dry voice.

Aemond nods at you, "We have a wonderful daughter," he whispers.

Your smile widens.

Aemond leans forward slightly and places your daughter in your arms.

You see your girl for the first time. She looks at you with her small eyes. Light purple glows towards you.

"My girl," you whisper. You kiss her head

"She's perfect," you say softly to Aemond.

He just nods at you. The smile does not leave his lips.

As your door suddenly opens slowly. You see your mother peek in cautiously and you smile at her.

Rhaenyra smiles back at you.

Rhaenyra turns her head back, "She's awake," she says and with her Daemon and Alicent step into the room.

You just smile and cradle your girl.

"We were so worried," Alicent says, joining you at the bedside. She gently strokes your arm.

"I told you she would make it," Aemond says to his mother.

But Alicent only smiles.

"Do you finally have a name?" asks Rhaenyra a little impatiently, but with a smile.

You look at Aemond, "Haven't you told them the name yet?" you ask him quietly.

But he just shakes his head, "I didn't want to announce the name without you..." he says softly.

You smile, "We thought of a name beforehand," you say softly, "But before the birth we didn't want to reveal it..."

For a short time there is silence in the room.

"Alaenyra," you say softly, "a combination of the names Alicent and Rhaenyra," you add with a smile.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemond-targaryenx @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

[ultralightpoe]

The Court - Aemond Targaryen

Description: You and your best friend Aemond begin to pull away from eachother, which is sad because you really love him 

Authors note: Idk. Please don’t hate this

Warnings: Angst?

Word Count: Over 4k.  

The evening of your name day was spent aggressively sobbing in your chambers, still dressed in the expensive gown from Dorne and your hair done up in intricate braids as your maid rubbed your shoulder in an attempt to calm you as the sobs racked through your body. 

You had shouted for her to leave the second you both made it to your chambers, but the maid refused to. She, as sad as it would be to admit, seemed to be your only true friend. 

“Lady Y/n….. take a deep breath in-”

“I NEVER WISH TO SEE THAT ONE EYED BEAST AGAIN?!” You felt as though you were being a slight bit dramatic, but the rationals were not going to be winning your thoughts any time soon. You were hurt, betrayed, feeling foolish. All the times the females at court told you to stay away from the third bord royal child, and you hadn’t listened. “IF I EVER SEE HIM AGAIN I WILL GOUGE HIS OTHER EYE OUT MYSELF!”

You both stop, your anger releasing for a moment as the tears free fall while you stare at each other. 

“Lady Y/n, you don’t mean that.”

“I do. I do indeed.” You snap, turning away and pulling one of the pillows over your head. “I hate Prince Aemond, and I will never speak to him again.”

It hadn’t started out that way, in fact you had always loved Aemond. 

Your family came to Kings Landing when you were five, and your mother had grown close with the queen who had insisted you meet her children. Aemond was a year above your own age and you both got along splendidly, over years you had grown as thick as thieves. One would not be seen without the other. 

The other girls at court always giggled whenever you two passed by, whispering amongst eachother. You simply didn’t care but Aemond always had. “Wouldn’t you like to be amongst them? You know…be apart of court rather than friends with me?”

“Who would want to be their friend over yours? Don’t be daft.” You laughed, linking your arms together and walking to the dragon pit. 

“Yes, who would want to be friends with the girls in court rather than the weird dragonless Targaryen.” He mutters bitterly, leaving you to roll your eyes. 

“They would rather talk about marriage and babies. Neither of which I want at the current moment. Not to mention you don’t need a dragon to be excellent, Aem.” 

He shrugged off your compliment but kept your arm locked with his as you made your way down to the pits. He bid you farewell, just as he did every day and you walked with Helaena back to the keep because she never wanted to train with her brothers or cousins. 

You had always known Aemond was worried about how people viewed him. He was the son of a great king that would claim no crown, he was the member of a dragon riding dynasty that would claim no dragon. He felt useless and the people of the courts liked laughing at this often. He just wanted to fit in. You never seemed to care enough to do so. 

“Lady Y/n?” Your maids voice fills your mind, drawing you from your slumber with a gentle touch to your shoulder. “Are you feeling alright?”

Sometime last night you had passed out during your sobbing, and your face felt absolutely heavy against your skin. Pulling your face from the pillow and sitting up to find you were still in the uncomfortable gown and hair. “I feel…..”

Your maid, who must have been pitying you, smiled lightly and reached for your hand. “Come on dearest, let’s get you bathed.”

Soon enough you were sitting in the tub, feeling lighter than when you woke up since the ghastly dress was thrown to the corner of the room and your hair was undone from the wretched hairstyle you had wasted. 

Your maid, Agna, was brushing through it now. A gentle touch with a quiet hum that had you relaxing into yourself as she worked the knots from your hair. For a moment you felt grateful that Agna had been with you all this time, since you felt miserable and alone. “Thank you…”

It was a small whisper, one she giggled to and kissed your temple. “Sweet girl, just relax. Things will be okay. Why don’t you tell me what happened, hmm, dearest?”

Aemond had asked you to go with his family to his cousins funeral, down to Driftmark, had insisted on it really. 

He came bounding in the day of the trip with books in his arms and a wide smile on his face. “I found a book on Maegar.”

“Do not jest, Aem.” You snap, fixing your slipper as he jumps to you and practically shoved the book into your arms.

“I would never tease or jest about something like this!” You giggle as you read the title, the excitement getting the best of you.

“But I thought that they destroyed all the-”

“THEY DID?!”

“Then how did you fin-”

“The forbidden archives. Come on, we will read it on the boat.” 

And so you did, as his brother and sister flew over the ship you both hunched over the book on  the cruel king Maegar, whispering amongst yourselves knowing you were not supposed to have it. His father, Viserys, looked over to the two of you often, through the window of the cabin on the ship, eyes squinting as if trying to recognize you both. 

Aemond ignored him as he tried reading faster than you. You laid your head on his shoulder, happy to be in this moment with him. 

If only you knew.

“Things changed after Driftmark.” That much was obvious. Aemond had left with two eyes and come back with just one, and a dragon. 

He always had troubles ignoring the people of the court, how could he when it seemed they were all against him? Though he had never really let it ruin him, you had always been there to cheer him up and root for him. You had loved him, it wasn’t hard. 

But once he came back from Driftmark it was a whole new story. He seemed to let it get the best of him, desperate to fit into the courts as word got around that he was a monster due to the eye. But you didn’t leave his side. 

He began training with Ser Criston, every day. And every day you would sit in the yards to watch him train, when you tell your maid this she just sighs and mumbles that she knows that already, the fact making you blush.  “But soon enough my period came. And my mother began the courting.”

The second you bled your mother had become a mad women. Your mornings were spent with her now, training and learning to be the next great wife. Your dressed changed, you wore whatever was popular amongst the females at court (a lot of cleavage) and your older maid Agna would start styling your hair every morning. 

But you still spent time out in the training yards with Aemond, this time you just drew more attention. Which seemed to bug him more .

You were in the training yard  when you got into your first actual fight with Aemond. 

You hadn’t seen him all morning, having been stuck in lessons with a corset far too tight, and by the time you made it to the training yards you were already in a bit of a grumpy mood. But you still made it for your best friend, sitting on the bench with a book as he practiced, just as you always did. 

But today wasn’t as chaotic as usual, which was odd considering you’d gotten used to the noises of fighting and yelling. So when you looked up to see what was wrong you saw most of the men staring at you already, your best friend glowering at you angrily. 

He stormed over, his gait perfected now, smooth hair blowing around him. “Leave.”

“Aem?” You ask, standing up to his level as he glares. “What’s wrong?”

“Women shouldn’t be in the training yards. If you are that desperate to catch the attention of a suitor you should go to a brothel.” With that he walks away, leaving you there with tears welling into your eyes before you stormed off into the gardens. 

You were caught there by a group of girls from the court, all giggling until they saw you crying softly under a tree. 

“Aw, Lady Y/n.” Lady Tyrell gasps, all of them rushing to hug you and ask what the matter was. You told them of your fight with Aemond and it’s the Lannister girl that snaps. 

“He is a downright monster.” She sneers. “No manners, how atrocious he would ever mutter such words to you.”

“He didn’t mean them, he’s my best friend.” You defend, wiping the tears from your cheek. “He never says those sorts of things.”

You hadn’t seen the look they all exchanged that day, but they dropped the subject, instead choosing to invite you to tea the next afternoon. 

“I remember this, I helped you pick out the dress. Your first tea.” Agna smiles, “First time I had ever seen you be nervous about the girls of the court.”

“I had never cared, but suddenly they all seemed to be my friend and it felt good. Aemond was mad at me, so I tried my best to give him space. I didn’t understand what I had done, but I felt guilty.” You admit, pulling your legs into your chest as she works out the last knot in your hair, brushing it out a few more times before reaching for the oil to rub in your hair. 

“Keep going dearest.” 

So you did.  You told her about your first afternoon with the girls, and what soon followed. 

Afternoon tea became a ritual after your lessons with your mother and your tutor, and soon enough you were excited for them each time. It had been 2 months since Aemond told you to leave the training yards and you hadn’t seen him since. So you spent your time with the girls and found yourself fitting in. 

This was how you got an invite to Lord Borlis’ name day celebration, your friend Lady Baratheon telling you that all the young bachelors would be attending. For the first time you grew excited at the thought, asking her what dress you should wear and allowing yourself to melt into their excitement on the potential suitors as well. 

This is what is expected of you, why not? What’s so bad about it?

So you got ready for the name day ball two days later, braiding your hair with pearls and wearing a gorgeous blue dress just as the others would since Borlis’ house colors were blue. You walked with the girls, arm in arm, to the ball and giggled mercilessly when you saw the great hall decked out for the celebration. 

Lady Tully kissed your cheek before she made her way over to the feast laid out upon the tables, and just as Lady Baratheon leaned in to whisper about Lady Tullys weight you caught eyes with Aemond across the great hall, his eye already set in a glare. 

“- And I already know what you are to say Lady L/N, she is our friend and blah blah about how her weight is perfect for child bearing so we shouldn’t target such matters because she is beautiful-”

“And yet you make your comments anyway.” You tease, forcing yourself to turn away from the prince as she grips your elbows. 

“Are you alright? You look flushed.” She wonders, pulling you to the side. 

“Oh I am fine. You should go dance Lady Bela. Find a handsome suitor.” You giggled, and so she listened. Kissing your cheek once before moving to find a partner for the dance floor. Just as Bela Baratheon disappeared from sight your old friend Aemond appeared. 

“So you are one of them now?” He asks, disgust written in his voice.

“One of them?” You try to keep your voice neutral, the blush climbing your skin in a heat as your arms cross behind your back while he glares down at you. 

“The ghastly fools of the court? You’ve joined their ranks?” 

“You don’t have to be such a brat, Aemond. I have friends within the court, they don’t speak about you in that manner.” 

“Oh I am sure they wait until your back is turned to speak their insults on me. Do not forget you used to be a part of that, Lady Y/n.” He snaps, leaning in.  “Though it seems you were just wearing sheep skin until you could go back to the wolves.”

“You were the one that chased me off. Telling me to go to a brothel.” You snap back, turning to walk away.  He follows closely, bumping shoulders with a knight. 

“You were parading around the training yards, How is anyone supposed to train if they are all staring at the beauty seated in the sides.”

Your skin grows hot as he calls you a beauty, and you stop fast enough that his chest runs into your shoulder as you whip around. “All you had to say was that I was causing an issue. I would have left.”

He stares at you for a moment before nodding his head and stepping back, his shoulders relaxing as he clears his throat. “I am deeply sorry.”

“I accept your apology, Aem.” It felt nice using his nickname again, watching as he looks around the room. 

“Would you like to come watch me train some days? Ser Criston and I have moved to a private courtyard as we learn a new method of sword and I know how much you love-”

“I spend the afternoons with the ladies of the court now, Aem.” You are apologetic and he seems to understand this, nodding his head in defeat.  He is just about to open his mouth when another figure appears, Lord Bernak Baratheon, Bela’s older brother. 

“Lady L/N, would you care to dance?” Aemonds jaw clenches as the man steps in front of him, watching as you nod your head shyly and grab the hand in front of you. The lord begins making his way through the crowd and Aemond snatches your elbow before you disappear from sight. 

“How about the evenings? Rides on Vhagar?” His voice leaks desperate as his eye looks at you intently, a blush feeding into his cheeks as Lord Baratheon turns to snicker at him. 

“Sounds wonderful, Aem.” You agree, watching a smile break out on his face before being led off to the floor. 

“A kind lady like yourself should probably stay away from the court freak.” Lord Baratheon laughs, setting you both up to dance. 

“Prince Aemond is not a freak.” You snap, turning to dance with someone else. 

“It seemed like Prince Aemond wanted to court you.” Agna whispers, now braiding your hair. 

“I-I thought that too……”

Your nightly rides became a necessity to your life. Whether or not you realized it. 

You met him in the courtyard every night, a large smile on his face each night as he was dressed in riding leathers. He always holds his arm out to you and leads you to Vhagar. 

The old dragon always huffed out steam when she saw you, warming you up with a giggle that had her opening her eyes and doing it again to make you laugh. Aemond helps you up and straps in behind you. 

It was always silent for the first hour as Aemond took off, wrapping his arms around you as you relaxed into him. 

But the silence would finally be broken, by him usually. He would ask about your day, but something would end up pissing him off, pick your battle. 

Tonight he broke the silence with the same question he always did. “How was your day today?” 

“Oh it was wonderful.” You smile, turning to look at him, blushing a bit when he is already staring down at you.  “Bela found this old diary written by this woman who had affairs with tons of people in court. She wrote about it all-”

“Please tell me you did not spend all day reading th-”

“Not all day! Just the afternoon.” You laugh, watching as a smile cracks out on his face while he tries not to laugh himself. 

“As much as I would love to hear more about this-” He struggles to find the word for it, and ends up giving up, continuing his sentence. “Book, I’m curious to know what else you have been reading.” 

“Oh not much.” You smile, waiting for him to order Vhagar to land on a small island, watching as he climbs down before you follow. 

Once he is sure both your feet are safely on the ground he leads you to go sit on one of the cliffs looking out to the sea. “Don’t be shy, tell me all about the books you have stolen lately.”

“Well I haven’t been.” You admit, not thinking about it. “I’ve been kinda focused on my lessons as of late.”

He looks excited at this, head snapping up to meet your eyes as he smiles. “What lessons?”

“.......Wifely lessons.” 

He stares at you for a moment, blinking and staring, before finally cracking out in a harsh laughter. “Oh Y/n, come on. That was too funny.” 

“I wasn't joking…..”

“I’m sorry?”

“I wasn’t joking, Aem.” You repeat, shrugging as he glares. 

“You have been taking….wife lessons? Be serious.”

“Every woman in the court takes them.” You defend, laughing. 

“That's absolute shit.” He laughs so hard he slips off the rock and hits the grass below him. He curses under his breath as his feet fly in air, boots nearly hitting your head. 

“Hey, watch it!” You laugh, shoving his boot away with a laugh.

“You dare push the Prince?!” He gasps, snatching your hand and dragging you down to the grass with him, both of you laying with your sides in the grass, staring at each other. The moonlight hits his cheekbone perfectly and for a second you feel your heart climb up your throat and you have to clear your throat. 

“I have fun in my…wife lessons, whether you approve or not.” You whisper, reaching a hand to snap his eyepatch off. He rolls his eye at this but lets it fall anyways, laying back to look up at the sky. 

“Well I think you’re wasting your time.”

“Why is that?” 

“Because you would be the perfect wife.” He says, shrugging a bit but not looking at you. 

“And why is that?” Excitement fills you as you sit up to look at him, smiling from ear to ear. “

“Because all you must do is provide an heir.” He laughs and just like that your heart sinks and tears well up. 

“That’s not all you do.” You snap, desperate to gain a small compliment from him. 

“Oh? What else does a wife do?” He smiles, leaning up on his elbows. “You spend all day with the other females of the court, what else do you talk about then?”

“We talk about many thin-”

“Let me guess. How stunning Lord Baratheon looked-” He is cut off by a harsh shove to his shoulder as you stand up and storm off. “Y/n! No!”

“Fuck off Aemond!” You snap, hearing him jump up to chase after you. 

“You used to think the same-” He defends, stopping short when you whirl around to glare at him. 

“Things change Aemond. You changed. I changed.”

“I changed?! How the fuck did I change?!” “After your eye you changed-”

“OH? I apologize Y/n, did a knife being plunged into my eye change me?”

“It did! You became….Became…”

“Say it. Go on pretty girl-”

“YOU BECAME AN ASS! You stopped talking and started training all the time, you stopped asking about me and started talking about your cousins non stop. You’re obesse-”

“I ask you about your life all the time!”

“Yeah! After I became friends with the people in the court! Just because you want to mock them!”

“Because they are absolutely ridiculous.”

“They are my friends.” You snap. “Which makes me-”

“Enough.” He stops you, reaching a hand out to grab your arm. “This is getting us nowhere-”

“I am a part of the court now.” You defend, standing straighter. 

“We used to be best friends.”

“Then you-”

“Changed. I know Y/n. I know.” He mumbles. 

“I want to be your friend Aemond.” You admonish, pushing his arm away. “But I do have responsibilities now, which includes getting married. Please don’t be against me on this.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m confused.” Agna confesses, moving to grab a cloth for you to dry in. 

“I was too, so I discussed it with my two closest friends.”

Claris Tully and Miriam Tyrell had been more than willing to listen to you complain about Aemond, skin heated in a blush as you recall all the information. 

“It sounds like our prince has something for you.” Claris smiles, chewing on a pastry before setting it on the table before her with a deep blush. Miriam scoffs, picking it back up and handing it to her before grabbing some of her own. 

“It sounds like the prince loves you.” She agrees.

“I can assure you he does not.” 

“We should find out.” Miriam giggles.  

“How do we do that?” You snap, reaching to grab some pastries for yourself. 

“On your name day! It’s coming up and everyone knows Aemond hates court gatherings. If he shows up he loves you.” 

“He showed up at Lord Baratheons name day-”

“He was there to find you.” Claris argues, shaking her head. 

“So you made plans for last night?”

“We planned it for weeks Agna-” You snap, stepping out of the bath and storming into your room. “If he showed up I would confess my love-”

“But he did show up, dearest.” She sighs, following you into your chambers. 

“Oh he did.”

You had been so excited when you saw Aemond, had practically bounced into his arms once he arrived. “Aem!!”

“Too much wine.” He mumbles the second his arms wrap around you, lifting you slightly before setting you back down. 

“None actually.” You snap, swatting his shoulder before stepping back to twirl in your dress. “What does the princeling think of the dress?”

“I think it’s exactly like everything else people wear at this court.” He sighs and you feel a rush of embarrassment. 

“I-... I was hoping to speak to you about something tonight.” You smile, but he looks right past you to where the males of the court were all standing. 

“I’m sorry Y/n. But I was going to speak with Lord Baratheon.” He sighs, moving past you. 

You watch him go for a second before moving to dance with someone who had wanted to. 

It took you an hour until you saw him again, this time you were too deep into the wine, stumbling through the halls until you find a private balcony, sitting down and sighing as you took off the slippers. 

Then you heard his voice, or well, his laugh. Which instantly peaked your interest, leaning your head over slightly to see his white hair and two of the males from court with him, passing around a bottle of wine. 

“I thought you had always been a….. I cannot find the word-” Lord Baratheon laughs, taking a swig from the bottle before passing it. Aemond gladly grabs it, pulling it to his chest. 

“Freak?” He supplies, Lord Baratheon laughing even harder.

“YES!” The man cracks up, slapping Aemonds shoulder harshly. “You have surprised me, who knew the wasted prince would be so-”

“I thought the same for both of you.” Aemond admits, laughing slightly. “I always thought the people of the court here were just a bunch of brainless fuckers who drink wine and fuck whores while running around spilling their seed in wives you are so stupid they don’t recognize a bastard their husband brings home.”

It gets silent after he says this, both men staring at him while he chugs from the bottle. 

“And what do you think now?” Lord Borlis asks, trying to smile. 

“I still think that. But Y/n is a part of this world now so I thought I’d try.” He admits, and though your heart was beating through your chest a wave of warmth blooms in your chest. 

“So the rumors are true? You are in love with Lady L/N? Plan on marrying anytime soon?” This was it, the moment of truth. 

“Lady L/N?  No. I’d choose a donkey over her. It took me years to get her to leave me alone.” He laughs. 

“He said that?”

“And then laughed.” You nod, laying against the pillows with a sigh. “He made a mockery of me.”

“What did he say after?”

“I didn’t stay to hear it.” You laugh dryly, slapping the pillow near you. 

“Well what do you plan on doing?”

“Ignoring him. Forgetting his entire existence.” You snap, laying down. “I will get married. And I will be a formal part of this court.”

“And then?”

“I leave this life behind. His included.”

(IM SORRY IF THIS SUCKED. IM JUST GETTING BACK GUYS! IM SORRY)

[firebloodanddragons]

The Midnight Relief - Part 2 (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) NSFW

Summary: As a storm is raging outside, Aemond and you learn to discover each other around a game of Wolf and Sheep. But the game of confessions soon turns into a whole different experience, something you can almost call a lesson. But to learn you have to get naked first.

Tags: SMUT, Porn with Plot (sort of), Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex (Reader Receiving), Handjob and Fingering, Aemond’s First Kiss, Prostitution, Targcest (Reader is Daemon Targaryen’s bastard), Light Angst, Insecurity and Vulnerability.

Author’s Notes: First I wanted to thank everyone for the positive response to the first chapter. It was definitely encouraging to read your enthusiasm and see all the likes (almost 500 atm 0_0). For the readers who are expecting drama, sorry but you will have to wait a little longer. I want to strengthen the chemistry and the relationship between Aemond and Reader before allowing troubles to settle between them. I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter and sorry for making you read between the lines (but I love symbols and metaphors hehe). Can't wait to read your opinions.

(PART 1)

           There was a violent storm outside, a diluvian rain like no other flooding King’s Landing as if the city was a sinking boat. Even with the windows and the curtains closed, you could hear the huge drops crash on the glass and hit the roofs like arrow heads. You could have found this terrifying if you still lived in the Street of Silk for the brothel you used to work (and sleep) in was located down a sloping alley. But right now, this deluge was the least of your concern. Sure, you would most likely find a few more rats in your dorm when you would be back in the middle of the night but you still had a couple hours to spend before meeting the dirty rodents and you intended to use and abuse all the comfort they had to offer you.

Sitting facing each other, a cross shaped board between the two of you, Prince Aemond and you were studying the game of Wolf and Sheep in silence. It was a strategy game from the North with a purpose different for each player. The wolf had to capture the lambs to eat them and the lambs had to hem the wolf to trap him. Simple rules but it was one hell of a brain-teasing game.           It was the Targaryen prince’s favourite game and perhaps the only one he knew. He had ordered you to learn the rules back in the days when he used to call you his distraction, saying he needed an ‘adversary’ to play with him but the word had weirdly rolled off his tongue, almost with hesitation.       You remembered your first game. He had won of course but certainly because you had spent the entire time trying to understand why the pawns were green and black and not blue and yellow as they were supposed to be. You got your answers months after.

As usual, Aemond was playing the wolf but tonight he wasn’t showing any interest for the competition despite his natural inclination towards victory. Pouting, his body stiff on his chair and his arms resting on the armrest, his mind seemed elsewhere.   You doubted he wanted to talk about his troubles – he was the kind to constantly keep his thoughts to himself after all. But since you were certain it would do him good to speak his mind, you decided to sneakily lure him into a confession despite your mother’s proud voice in your head claiming you had inherited your father’s cunning.     “Life is like a game, isn’t it?”             The One-Eyed Prince immediately looked up at your face with an interrogative frown and you wondered if he heard you.     “There are sheep and there are wolves. Most of the times the wolves win and sometimes the sheep do.”     “Sheep never win.” Aemond said as he watched you take a black cube-shaped pawn from the board. “It looks like I’m winning.”     “You never win.” He sounded nonchalant but his lilac eye was studying your hesitating moves with a growing interest, the menace of the defeat perhaps.         ‘Only because I let you win.’ You wanted to say but as you chose to finally move your pawn to the left, you asked instead “And you always do?”   Aemond snickered a bit and with a lazy hand slid his green wolf to the right side of the board to avoid to be trapped by your black sheep.   You were a cautious player, analysing the situation for a long time before acting while Aemond was a quick strategist, constantly and unsurprisingly making fast and almost reckless decisions. But you couldn’t deny how perceptive he was. The Targaryen prince was always ahead of the game. Quick-witted, he could see all the possible moves (even your own) before you, the same way he could foresee his future.     He was no seer -only a few Targaryen had been dreamers - but he had an obvious talent to rapidly analyse things and a tendency to always be ready for a fight, fearless of the risks. Some people would call his gift longsightedness while other would say it is paranoia (inherited from the Hightowers) but all agreed on one thing; whatever it was it had been born from the victimized boy Prince Aemond used to be.         “We’re pawns you and I…” You continued. “…used by players who make us think we are free to choose our path.” “Hmm… And who might those players be?”           “The Gods?” You wondered and your adversary sneered before he eventually moved his pawn up to jump over one of yours and remove it from the game.       “The Gods didn’t choose my destiny or if they did then they’re blinder than I am.”       You scrutinized his contempt on his young face, knowing exactly what he was thinking. You had known Aemond for six years. You had seen him living the life of ambitious men day after day, witnessed his mornings training with the sword, his afternoons studying history and philosophy and his evening riding Vhagar until the night would sometimes bring him back to your company. You had an idea of what the prince secretly yearned and why he had been inflicting such a hard schedule on himself for years. He craved a life in which he would not be seen as the useless second son. And you could relate for you also wished for a different life. Being a serving girl was better than being a whore but you still wanted more.   “Are you saying the Gods can’t see the bigger picture?”   “I’m just saying that if they’re indeed responsible for my path then they see the wrong picture.”       “I thought you were a believer.” You had seen him pray enough times to be sure of that. “I thought you were a whore.” He retorted and your face fell instantly to keep the pain and the anger the name made you feel to yourself. It was one thing to hear the word in the intimacy of Aemond’s bed but to hear it in the middle of a serious conversation … It was more than insulting. But then, Aemond added “…not a sudden expert at Wolf and Sheep.” Did he realise he had hurt you? Did he just show concern for your feelings? You would not ask and even if he did that would not make you forget the insult.

“Let’s change the rules.” You suddenly declared as you swept all the pawns off the board with the back of your hand. Then you rested your chin on your crossed hands and frowned with a hint of defiance that left the Targaryen prince perplexed for a short moment. “Each time you win a game I remove one piece of clothes.”       The one-eyed man squinted. He didn’t like depravity but a part of him -the one who loved challenge (and your naked body) – seemed interested in this new game and was definitely wondering what the trick could be. Surely there was one, otherwise you would not look so confident. “And if you happen to win a game, what then, my bold flower?”             “You tell me something you believe in… Let’s rename the game ‘Believer and Whores’. You play the believer. I play the whores. Deal?” You offered him the green pawn and he took it almost immediately to place it at the centre of the cross-shaped board, accepting the proposition with no real hesitation, the certitude of victory louder than the apprehension to confess.           “You will end up naked anyway.”     “We’ll see.”    

And so, you played. During the first game, you let Aemond capture all your sheep without much difficulty to encourage him to keep on playing. You then started the second game by putting your hose on the table because so was the deal. This time, Prince Aemond didn’t succeed in removing all your pawns from the board and therefore he reluctantly admitted something “I believe you’d look better without your dress.” His words were so silly and disappointing you called him a cheater. “My confession fits the clothes you took off, fairest. Ridiculous.”           Therefore, you initiated a new game that ended when the prince reduced all your sheep to two pieces. So, you took off your dress, folded it neatly and placed it on the table right next to your stockings. Then you sat down again and raise your eyebrows at Aemond to challenge him once more. He was feeling so over-confident he accepted without an ounce of hesitation but the pride didn’t last for your quickly trapped his wolf on the board. “I’m all ears, my prince.” You declared with a mocking smile that made him grumble. What a sore loser.         “I believe you’re the best distraction.”       “No, no, no. Be honourable and follow the rules, please.” He glared at you and you contained your laugh to not vex him even more. You did not wish for this game to end for there was still so many things you wished to know about the prince. “Look! I’ve removed my dress.” You slouched on the chair and gestured at your body with a bright teasing smile as you watched Aemond’s look follow your hands go down. His lilac eye lingered on your breasts for a moment to gaze at their beautiful round shape and at the rosy nipples your sheer linen chemise couldn’t hide.           “Hmm” He smirked, liking the sight and then focused his eye back on your beautiful face. “You’re a brilliant manipulator, aren’t you?”       “You’ve just figured that out? After so many years in my company?” You giggled and Aemond allowed himself to chuckle briefly.

However, his smile died as soon as realized the secret that his tongue itched to reveal. He had never said it to anyone, keeping his opinion to himself only even though he had many times wanted to spill it.     But who would care about it? His mother? He was certain she’d eventually just give him another sermon on duty just like his grandsire. His siblings? They weren’t close and knowing Aegon, he would probably laugh and complain that his burden’s heavier than Aemond’s while Helaena – who would undoubtedly be a good listener - would merely give him a gentle and companionate smile. Criston Cole? What would he do about it except compare himself to Aemond and tell him how life is hard and unfair. But you… Somehow, he wanted to tell you. Somehow, he thought you might care. You were his midnight relief after all and for years you had never shown anything but loyalty to him. His secrets were safe with you. You had proved that many times. Therefore, he finally admitted it.             “I believe I’m a pawn in my family’s game of thrones and that I deserve better.”           You frowned, confused by the prince’s words and when you saw him avoiding your look, his eye staring at the black sheep pawn rolling between his fingers, your heart broke for him. You knew that Aemond was a lonely soul, that he craved for recognition and attention and wasn’t afraid to use his rogue attitude to get them. He was a middle child with a proneness to neglect and ignorance after all and as any second son in House Targaryen he had grown up in the shadow of his siblings and their glorious destinies. You knew that he despised his position - he had often disrespected his siblings and his father in your presence- but since he rarely looked insecure you thought he wasn’t so bothered. Clearly you were wrong. The young man was apparently a downcast man with an enormous chip on his shoulder and that was a facet of his intriguing personality he had remarkably kept to himself for years. You wondered what triggered him to reveal it tonight.       “And why do you believe that?”       “One win. One confession.” He said, faking a self-confident smirk as he threw the pawn on the table. “Those were your rules, starlight.”   “Now who’s the brilliant manipulator, my prince? You know if you just want to see me bare you can just tell me.”             He had a sad silent chuckle but at least it was sincere. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to erase his sudden gloom.

You stood up in silence and walked to him. Instinctively, he turned his chair towards you to face you and look up to you. With a soft smile you approached your hand to his face and asked for the permission to touch him. He replied by pressing his cheek and then the corner of his heart-shaped lips against your palm almost as if to kiss it. Your caressed him, trying not to linger your thumb on his scar because he hated being reminded of its existence, and admired him relax more and more under your comforting touch until his eye closed and you smiled at how peaceful he seemed.             “Do you want me to get naked for you?” You asked with a voice as soft as cotton knowing how much he liked the comfort of your bare body against his. Aemond’s eye opened in a flash and he gazed at you, needy but mostly begging.     “Are we still playing?”           “Only if you want to, my dragon.”   “If you take off your chemise right now that would be a very easy victory for me … it would almost be boring even.”         “Boring, really?”         You brought your hands to the sleeves of your sheer garment to slide them down your shoulders and slowly reveal your perky breasts. The thin linen instantly hardened your nipples when it brushed them and you observed Aemond’s fascinated stare devouring the two little buds. He craved to feel them. You could tell it. But he was resisting, his hands tightened around the armrests of his wooden chair so hard his knuckles were white. It was almost amusing to see him pointlessly forbid himself a thing he would eventually claim for himself in a moment. “I believe they want me to wed a Baratheon to secure Lord Borros’ support.”   So that’s why he was still keeping his hands to himself. He still wanted to play.   “How do you know?” “I heard my grandsire the Hand mention it a few times even before my brother’s coronation. Now, I’m sure it is just a matter of time before they send me to Storm’s End.” “Is that a bad thing?”             He gestured at the rest of your chemise, ordering you silently to show him what the ivory garment was still hiding, meaning your legs and your womanhood. You obeyed, having a feeling that Aemond only pretended to keep on playing your game and that he actually didn’t care about the rule that said to remove a piece of fabric to gain a confession. He just wanted to talk, to offload his thoughts, but he was too proud to show it. He had to feel like you were taking his words from him. A twisted kind of power play perhaps or a fear to betray his family.       The prince watched the chemise pool down at your feet and then he slouched on his chair to look up and down your body with a darkened eye.   “I believe I don’t like being considered a good you can trade. But I know my duty to my family and to the crown. I’ll wed the Storm girl, bed her if needed but I will not put an heir in her belly. One half-dragon half-stag creature is enough to know that Targaryen blood don’t mix well with the blood of lesser houses. In fact, I’d rather have a child with you than with a plain-featured Baratheon and you’re my uncle’s bastard and a serving girl.”   Even if it probably wasn’t the prince’s goal, his words sounded cruel and insulting again but at least he had had the presence of mind to not to call you a whore this time. So perhaps there was a hint of sympathy somewhere in his heart. “Thank you I guess … my prince.” You insisted (not so discreetly) on his title since positions were so important. He noticed and suddenly he grabbed you by your hips to bring you between his legs and press his forehead against your belly. You wondered if it was his clumsy way to apologize or to comfort you.     “All I’m saying is that Targaryen blood must remain pure. Mayhaps after the war I will be allowed to sire children with someone worthy of my bloodline.” He confessed before weirdly nudging his nose in your navel while you frowned at him.       “You would get rid of your lady wife?”       “I would not kill her, do not look at me like that.” He retorted although he didn’t even glance at you and simply guessed your frown, his face still nestled against you. You couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised. You would have never thought he knew you enough to divine your reactions. “But when the Baratheons won’t be needed anymore, I’ll ask my brother for his benediction to put an end to the marriage. That’s why I hope I won’t have to go through the wedding or the bedding ceremony. The preservation of my future wife’s maidenhead will make the annulment easier.” His wish for an annulment reassured you. “After all I’ve said, I believe you should take more clothes off.”   “I have no clothes left to take off, my prince.” “But I do.”

You smiled lightly, amused by his sudden boldness and gently put your hands on his chest to unbuckle his leather tunic. You could sense the Prince’s lilac stare on you and even though you wanted to gaze, certain you could remove his clothes without looking since you had done it countless times before, your eyes still remained on the task at hand. One buckle, two buckles, three buckles and the tunic opened enough to slightly reveal his hairless pale chest. You drew an invisible line along Aemond’s torso with your index, giving him discreet goosebumps, and when you reached his belt, you finally looked up at him.     He tensed when you pulled the strap but he never glanced away from your face even when you put the belt on the table. His look was impatient and lustful, as usual, but it was also fascinated and almost enamoured of your beauty… The beauty of a bastard whore? Come on girl, don’t be silly.             “I’ve heard Lord Borros has four daughters and that they are quite beautiful. Mayhaps, you will find one to your taste, one you’ll like.” “Hmm … I doubt it.”   You tried to hide your satisfied smile and focused your attention back on Aemond’s tunic. But then, as you freed him from the uncomfortable leather, a question or rather an image popped in your head. Other hands … hands belonging to another woman, to his future wife getting your prince naked. It left you with a heavy heart that you tried to ignore.         “I can see a question is burning your tongue. What is it?” When you caught Aemond’s eye again, he was studying your face, definitely intrigued but you shook your head and smiled. It’s nothing. But the Targaryen prince like any dragon was persistent.     “You play the believer now.” He declared and you chuckled. Fine.          

“What will happen to …” You started but then changed your confession completely. That was not cheating right? “What will happen to me once you’re wed? I know how dutiful you are, my prince. I know you’re a decent man who does not betray his vows. Will you …” You hesitated again. You couldn’t possibly ask him ‘Will you still fuck me?’ “Will you send me back … to the brothel?”         “Is that what you are afraid of?”       Yes and not really.       “Oh my starlight. Do you really think there’s a woman out there able to compete with you? You’re the accomplice who keeps my secrets, the distraction who makes me forget my troubles, the lady of my nights who burns my loins but most of all you’re my midnight relief. For my own sanity I can’t let you go. I thought you knew that by now.”           “I was a whore in a brothel, my prince. I’m used to being used and abandoned especially by people who said they would never leave me. I’m always the girl one abandons. This the curse the gods cast on me even before I was born.”     You could have witnessed the hint of compassion clouding Prince Aemond’s face if only you had not looked away to hide your pain.           “When I was thirteen, I fell in love with the son of a smith. I thought he loved me back. Turns out he only wanted to fuck me for free. Once he got what he expected from me, he left me. Two years later, it was a gorgeous Tyrell lord who tricked me. He used to be a client, constantly promising me to take me away from the brothel and marry me but he never did and eventually he wedded a noble lady.” You sneered, hating your younger self for the fool she used to be, a reaction that the Targaryen knew all too well. “But the worst happened when my mother died of syphilis… ‘Daemon’ she whispered on her death bed as she held my hand… Until her dying breath, my mother had only love for the man who never cared for us. She never loved the daughter who took care of her, stood by her and loved her unconditionally despite all the horrible things she had put me through. My life before you was just a succession ofdisappointments and heartbreaks, my prince, endless pains that broke me only to make me tougher and break me again. And when your brother brought me here, I made a promise to myself; that I would not let anyone shatter me ever again.” You last words could have sounded like a threat if Aemond hadn’t known what they truly meant. He too had experienced of the pain born from ignorance, the impression that love was something you had to earn and the neglect of a parent. He knew what it was to be treated like dirt or like a ghost, to crave for a place to fit in and for another life. He knew how you felt for your feelings weren’t so different from what he was keeping in his heart.                 “Sit down here.” Aemond’s voice brought you back from your miserable past and he placed his hand on the table to repeat his command he thought you had not heard. “Obey your prince.” You arched an eyebrow, wondering why he wished for you to sit down on the table. He was the kind of man that would rather take you in a bed so this couldn’t be to claim your body. And yet as soon as your arse touched the wood, the prince spread your legs and turned his chair towards you to admire your humid rosy flesh.           Aemond didn’t know much about the act of the flesh. This statement was one of the only truths he would ever admit to himself because he saw his ignorance as the proof of his decency. He didn’t want to be a depraved wastrel like Aegon, believing that every little thing that made him different from his brother was a strength.   The little (and everything) he knew about sex he had learnt by listening to Aegon or thanks to the obscene things he had witnessed in the brothel he had visited when he was thirteen, the brothel where he had found you. But there were things he had never dared try or even think about trying. And yet he was contemplating one of them right now because he had the feeling it would make you feel better. After all, he had experienced the bliss of your mouth around his cock enough times to believe that giving you a similar treatment could make you forget your tourment.

He was pouting, studying your womanhood with a frown for the first time in six years, not caring about you discomfort if you even felt some. He had shoved his cock in that hole many times before. He had even grinded it along you slit and covered your little bush with his seed. But all this had come quite spontaneously, naturally even, because a man’s cock belongs in a woman’s cunt. But a man’s mouth … was it made to eat the delicious-looking fruit between a woman’s thighs? Aemond’s mouth was watery, eager to taste the pomegranate before him. It looked juicy and tender. Appetising. But despite the hungry call, the young prince could still hear his modesty telling him to reconsider his desire. It was strong enough to stop his mouth, but it wasn’t to stop his hand.             You gasped when you felt Aemond’s fingertips touch and slowly slide down between your warm lips. His stroke was unexpected and more than unusual. And yet you didn’t dare comment on it, allowing the prince to discover your womanhood.     “Is it the thing you touch before you scream and clench around me?” He asked as he brushed the little opening above your entrance. “No, no it’s not that.”             “Then what is it?”       You could hear the curiosity in his voice, making him sound almost adorable. Quietly you led his finger slightly higher, up to your clitoris. “It’s that thing.” “Hmm” He sounded genuinely intrigued so you explained. “Men who believe a woman’s pleasure only lies inside of her are fools. You can make a woman feel good without shoving your cock in her cunt. Her neck, her breasts, her lower back, her stomach, her inner thighs, even her ears. Those are the parts that can make a woman scream if touched properly of course… But her ultimate weakness lies there.” Guided by his inquisitiveness, Aemond allowed his finger to briefly rub your little bud, wondering if he could make you squeak a little. As soon as he saw you squirm on the table and heard a little gasp, a smirk tugged at his lips. He seemed amused, proud even as if your little reaction was a victory.             Meanwhile the same question still burned your lips. Why was he doing that?     You thought about asking but then Aemond’s lips suddenly closed around your clit and you mewled in pleasure and surprise as your hands grasped the edge of the table to keep you still. “Oh my … aaaah”  

Aemond’s hungry grunts were muffled, his heart-shaped lips busy pulling and sucking on your little bud, his strong hands on your thighs to keep your legs opened. He did not regret having yielded to temptation for the taste of your tender warm flesh was the best taste of defeat ever. It was like a delicious honey sweet slowly melting between his lips and offering him the most exquisite nectar and it was so addictive the prince could imagine his mouth eating you for hours.       When your clit started hardening between his lips, the prince’s mouth opened wider to let his tongue come out to greet it. The tip touched it first, with curiosity but no caution at all for he was too famished to be gentle. As a consequence, you moaned loudly and clenched your legs around his head. Aemond’s instinctive reaction was to stare up at you and reopen your legs. “I’m sorry, my prince.” You apologized when you noticed he wasn’t looking away from your reddened face. But he didn’t not want your apologies, too seduced by the sound of your voice his tongue managed to get from you.     Wishing to hear you again and even louder, he lapped at your lips this time, following your slit from your entrance up to your bud. You cursed and brought a hand to your mouth to keep you silent. A mistake. Aemond pulled your little button between his lips, sucking on the tiny piece of flesh hard to make you scream in pleasure.           “Please my prince, it’s too good. I can’t … I can’t…” You begged, your cheeks burning hot. “Starlight, with that storm raging outside, I am quite certain you can scream as loud as you want. No one in this castle will hear you.” He declared, his lips glistening with his saliva and your juices. “Besides, I want you to tell me how good I am.”         “You’re amazing, my dragon.” You complimented. “But why—”   Aemond buried his face back between your thighs to tease your entrance with his tongue. It was clearly an attempt at shutting you up and it worked very well. “I didn’t say I wanted you to ask questions. I said I wanted you to tell me how good I am. Understood?”           You nodded.   “Sȳz.”(Good.) “Sȳz riña iksan?” (Am I a good girl?) You asked in his mother tongue, to let him know you understood the word. Aemond’s eye widened in pleasant surprise and he made a mental note to ask you later how you knew High Valyrian. Because right now he had to slap your thigh hard to punish you for your disobedience.           “I said no questions, my insolent flower.” You contained a cheeky smile and slowly placed your palm on the hand that had smacked you to cautiously lead it back to your fold. It was a bold initiative. Making the prince do something? You had only dreamt of that. You expected him to brush you off and slap your hand away. But he didn’t. Instead, he let you to bring his fingers to your soft and soaked lips with an inquisitive look. “Since I can’t ask question and can only tell you how good you are, allow me tell you this. You’d be more than amazing if you put a finger in there.” Aemond hesitated for an instant, wondering if what you were suggesting wasn’t too obscene even if a part of him craved for this lustful touch. But when your eyes called to him with a lewd gleam, he couldn’t continue denying you or himself.             One of his fingertips teased your humid entrance, spreading your wetness along it. It was sticky and warm, making his skin beautifully glisten. Nothing disgusting, merely arousing.  So Aemond slid his finger inside of you. Your plaintive long moan made his cock – that he had managed to ignore for so long - throb in his trousers and he discreetly squirmed on his chair. He never thought pleasing a woman could be so delightful.           You undulated your hips to feel his digit go in and out of you but also to show Aemond what he was supposed to do. Fortunately, he was not so clueless and he got the message. He pushed his finger in and out, alternatively glancing at your juices coating his skin and at your flushed lovely face with a smirk.       “Another, please.” You begged in a sensual whisper and he plunged a second finger in your hole. Your walls stretched around them and your back arched to take all his phalanxes. “Seven hells, you’re incredible.” You moaned, remembering he wanted to be complimented. “What if I add my tongue?” He asked with mischief and you furrowed your brow. Seriously? “How would I be?”       “Mayhaps, you should find out yourself.” You encouraged and he instantly buried his face back between your thighs to unceremoniously lick your cunt almost like a starving cat drinking a bowl of milk.        

Aemond’s excitement made his mouth hand coordination clumsy but it was still enjoyable enough to hit you with by a powerful wave of pleasure. You moaned loudly and instinctively knotted your fingers in his long silver hair to beg for more and offer your sex like a needy whore. Your hunger for his mouth and fingers was met with a new slap on your thigh and you grunted. “Aren’t you forgetting something, starlight?” He smirked and you whimpered, frustrated by the absence of his tongue along your slit.       “Please, my prince.”   “Such a whining needy flower. Is the pleasure I give you so heady you can no longer understand what I want? Tell me how I am.” He ordered with a harsh voice before he abruptly pushed his fingers deeper inside of you to purposely make you cry out.             “You’re prodigious.” The compliment satisfied him and after a new proud smirk he went back to tickle your throbbing clit with his amazing tongue.                       You begged him not to stop. You begged him for more. Even if you knew you should not beg or ask anything from him. You were supposed to be the giver, the pleaser. But nevertheless, Aemond responded to each one of your pleadings with guttural growls that vibrated against your swollen reddened lips and that ultimately sent you over the edge. You ended up crying out ‘my prince’ over and over again, loudly, not caring if the storm outside was powerful enough to cover your voice until your body became limp and all that was left of you was a panting breath and a pool between your thighs.       “Drējī sȳz riña iksa.” (You’re truly a good girl) Aemond purred and then he got up from his chair and took your chin between his fingers. You could smell yourself on them but you were too dizzy to make a comment.         “Teach me more.” He demanded with a dark voice and a perversity that you never thought existed. You wanted to catch your breath first but your prince was impatient, his lilac eye burning with excitement and the bulge in his leather trousers illustrating his eagerness perfectly.  

“As you might agree, the act doesn’t start when a man enters a woman.” You began breathless and he listened with an attentive ear. “It starts when their skins touch...” You brushed Aemond’s hot chest, slowly tracing soft lines with your fingers from his pectorals down to his abs. “…when their eyes meet.” You looked back at his young face, deep in his eyes and you carefully unstrapped his eyepatch to reveal his sapphire.       You had seen the fancy blue jewel many times, enough times to no longer notice its presence in the socket, enough time to treat the gem like another eye, enough times to make you believe you were the only one in the Red Keep capable to touch that eyepatch and look at Aemond’s sapphire without making him uncomfortable or angry.       “So much pleasure can be given with one look. Teasing is exiting. Showing your partner that you lust after them is arousing. But don’t just make them feel beautiful. Make them feel like they’re the most beautiful, the most desirable. Say it, show it.”     You pressed your forehead against the prince’s and rubbed your nose against his as you cupped his face in your hands to silently caress his cheeks with a tenderness and an adoration that made him forget his scar and his missing eye.   “My handsome dragon.” You whispered close to lips and you felt him shiver against your palms.         “I hope you’re not lying.” He admitted with a broken murmur.     “I would never lie to you. Ever.” You comforted him, forcing him to look at you in the eye to make your words a promise. “You’re beautiful, Aemond.”

Aemond felt your sincerity pierce his heart and in a moment of joy and gratitude, he unexpectedly caught your lips with his own. He had never kissed a girl before and he would be a liar if he said the thought of kissing you had never crossed his mind, because it had, countless times when he was buried inside of you to the hilt or even when you just smiled at him. Your lips had called his for years and tonight was the perfect night to claim them. His mouth brushed yours slowly, gently, quietly to discovered its texture, its taste, delicately as if it was sacred. Your lips were soft and full, accepting his caresses and giving them back without condition or without the reluctance a lady might have felt kissing a man as maimed as him.         You were kissing him with adoration and generosity and all he could feel apart from thankfulness was an amazing wellness that gave him the impression he was resting on a cloud. You were the one to end that kiss with a tiny peck on Aemond’s mouth, an affectionate gesture that made him smile softly. You beamed at his sweet expression and touched his lips as if to capture it on your fingertip.          

Neither of you knew what to say and you quickly came to the conclusion that perhaps there was no words to say, only things to do. Your bodies would do the talking. Your face still close to Aemond’s, you unlaced his leather trousers and pulled them down along his legs with your hands first and then with your feet until they reached his calves. He didn’t glance at your fingers when they blindly wrapped around his hard and erected cock, his purple iris devouring your eyes, but he winced in pleasure and brought his hips closer to your body to unconsciously fuck your hand. You watched him, his lips partially parted breathing hot puffs into your mouth until they decided to claim your mouth in a new kiss.         This one was more passionate than the first one. It wasn’t only lips. It was lips, hands and arms. Hungrier, it was eating you, suffocating you and sucking the air out of your lungs. But that kind of ravenousness was pleasant. It made you feel extremely desirable.

Aemond’s cock was throbbing in your hand, thrusting in your grip, aching, frustrating, craving for a sensation other than the one your palm around it was giving him, something warmer, wetter. You could feel it and you would not torture your prince any longer. He had given you so much tonight, he deserved the hole he desperately wanted.         You guided his shaft at your entrance and pushed the tip in. “A man doesn’t have to take a woman like a hound takes a bitch. There are so many ways two bodies can interlock, so many positions… like this one” And then you wrapped your legs around his waist and lead him inside you.       He slid into your cunt with an easiness that made you both moan and that encouraged Aemond to sheathe his cock to the hilt. His hands on the small of your back, he started taking a fast and frantic pace. You dug your nails in his back to let him hammer you the way he wanted, moaning and whimpering in his ear. “When you fuck a woman, listen to her.” You declared; your words occasionally interrupted by your cries of pleasure. “Her moans, her breath. Feel her body, study it. Her shivers, her undulations, the way she holds onto you and tense in your hands. Let her tell you what she likes, what she wants but not just with words.”           “What about what I want?” He asked, pounding you as he usually would.           “Speak, guide her. But if it’s that girl is me, trust me. I know what you want… what you can love.”     You let go of Aemond’s back to place his hands on your hips, making him stop his intense thrusting. Eye-to-eye, you began undulating on the table, your movements sensual and gracious as if you were dancing. Aemond watched your curves move and your pussy slide around his cock with awe but what he loved most was your eyes who had not looked away from his face even once since you started fucking him slow.           Aemond was a dominant and a rough lover but he had to admit that your languorous pace was more than pleasant. It allowed him to feel you on every inch of his long cock, a delicious sensation that his frenzy had never given him. But despite his pleasure, he still missed your screams and his cock was throbbing so much in your hole, begging him to just fuck you hard again and finish it. Even though Prince Aemond wasn’t the easiest man to read, your previous work had taught you to decipher the whims of the most mysterious men. And so, when you noticed his frustration growing and burning dark in his eye, you lied down on the table and placed your ankles on his shoulder.         “Go ahead.” You wanted him to feel amazing, to cum like he had made you cum.

Delight made him smirk and he grabbed your hips to bury his cock deep into you. Your warm wetness was enticing, encouraging Aemond to accentuate his moves after each thrusting until his balls began to slap against your drenched entrance and he became unstoppable. Watching your beautiful breasts bounce, he kept pounding you hard until your toes finally curled on his shoulder and your body arched on the table. “I’m almost there.” You mewled and he chuckled, proud to see you so close to coming undone without being forced to touch your clit. Your growing pleasure was his doing and it was the most satisfying thing to witness.         “Do you have one final lesson for me?” He teased as he continued his hammering, refusing to change the pace to help you talk.     “No.” You cried out and your walls clenched hard around his cock as you screamed his name and various onomatopoeias and curses, not caring about how loud or vulgar you could possibly sound.                       Aemond grunted when he felt you tightened but he delayed his orgasm to let you finish your own. However, as soon as you were done, your body exhausted and limp on the table, he pulled his cock out to cover your stomach with his white seed. It splashed without the help of his hand and made him growl intensely like a beast, his knuckles on each side of your face, his body bent over yours.           The prince hissed and winced as the last drops felt on your skin and you lay a kiss on his tightened lips that opened like a flower when they felt your mouth. The kiss was tired and sweet this time, lovely.           “Damn you, woman.” He joked, overwhelmed by the intensity he had just experienced. “What have you done to me?” 

(PART 3)

[kckt88]

Gēlenka Zaldrīzes III.

Summary:

Events of Dynasty through Aemond's POV.

Warning(s): Grief, Worry, Anger, Threats of Violence, Mention of Child Loss, Mentions of Sex, Child Birth, Blood.

Word Count: 3100.

Author Note: A companion piece to Courtship/Wedding & Consummation/Bath Time/Arrival(s)/Mother & Father/Petitions & Final Tributes/The Hand, The King & The Dragon/Dragonstone/Blood & Cheese/A Time for Grief/ Rooks Rest & the Silver King/The Gullet/Taking of a City/Harrenhal and the Rivers/The Gods Eye/The Fallen Queen/New Beginnings/Ravenous/Don't Leave Me/Another Plane of Existence/Gēlenka Zaldrīzes I & Gēlenka Zaldrīzes II.

But can be read as a one-shot.

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Aemond was staring at Vaera like she had three heads.

His sweet wife, who was heavy with their child, had just decided to inform him that she had beseeched the King for clemency on behalf of her bastard brother Jacaerys.

“He doesn’t deserve one single ounce of your kindness”.

“Nothing will ever change my love, not unless we are the ones who are willing to make those changes” whispered Vaera as she pressed her face against his chest.

“But he-“

“-Please Valzȳrys. My term is almost upon us, and I want to rejoice in the birth of our child, not spend it inciting another war” replied Vaera (Husband).

“Like the bastard could muster up anyone to support his cause” muttered Aemond rolling his eye.

“Cregan Stark would and with him the rest of the North would follow” whispered Vaera.

“Pfft, the Lord of Winterfell is of little concern to me”.

“He swore an oath to my mother, the Stark’s are honourable men” said Vaera quietly as she fiddled with a buckle on his tunic.

“I’ll introduce him to Vhagar, let’s see how honourable the northern dog is then”.

“Cregan Stark is of no concern, now that Jace has bent the knee” muttered Vaera.

“He what?” exclaimed Aemond.

“Aegon the younger and Viserys were offered in exchange”.

“Has my brother lost his wits” gasped Aemond.

“What other fate could have befallen the boys? They are but children, innocent of their parents crimes”.

“Children who will grown into men” whispered Aemond.

“Aegon also granted Jace possession of Dragonstone”.

“The ancestral seat of house Targaryen has the wine finally addled his brain?” asked Aemond.

“Jace needs somewhere to live, or would you rather have him here in the Red Keep?”

“I’d rather chew glass” quipped Aemond.

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal, but we must accept it” breathed Vaera.

“Why do I feel like there’s something else you need to tell me?”

“Jace has asked that the King legitimize Cregan Stark’s younger sister Sara-” said Vaera.

“-And the point of that is?” asked Aemond.

“Surely, you’ve heard the rumours my love. Sara Snow is currently with child”.

“Bastards producing more bastards. Not exactly the sort of palace gossip I keep up to date with. I couldn’t give one single shit about where your brother sticks his cock” said Aemond.

“Aegon wanted Jace to bend the knee and he has. He’s been made aware of the consequences if he dares to entertain even the briefest of notions about reclaiming the Iron Throne. Aegon and Viserys will be executed in front of him” replied Vaera.

“I still don’t like it. My brother should just execute the lot of them and be done with it”.

“I’m tired of all the death Aemond, I just want to be at peace with our children” said Vaera.

Aemond knew he was fighting a losing battle.

Deep down he wanted exactly what his wife wanted. The war had taken so much from them, and he just wanted to look to the future.

But before that could happen there was still much to be done.

Reconstituting the council had been an arduous task, but somehow Aegon had managed it. Of course, having two of the largest dragons in the world in his corner helped to move things along.

But Aegon ruffled a few feathers, when he named Aemond as Hand of the King, Vaera his Mistress of Laws and offered Jeyne Arryn a place on the council.

Of course his generosity with Jacaerys didn't go down to well either, there were those that believed Rhaenyra's last strong bastard should be cast to the winds and exiled across the narrow sea with his bastard wife and offspring. But Aegon was unmoved and many on the council chastised the King being too soft hearted.

Clearly Aegon wasn’t finished with his little revelations as he had refused point blank to take another wife and sire anymore children and he also casually announced to his entire council that he was naming Rhaegar as heir to the Iron Throne and betrothing him to his daughter Jaehaera.

He had planned on having an official ceremony, but that would have to wait as Vaera had begun her labours.

Aemond hated seeing his wife in pain.

It made his heartbreak to know there wasn’t anything he could do.

“I-I can’t do this,” cried Vaera.

“Yes, you can” exclaimed Aemond as he climbed onto the bed at sat behind Vaera.

“W-What are you doing?” muttered Vaera.

“Lean against me and take my hands” urged Aemond as he pulled Vaera between his open legs.

“A-Aemond” gasped Vaera.

“Now, you squeeze my hands as hard as you like” said Aemond.

Vaera was sweaty and exhausted, but she took a deep breath and as the next contraction ripped across her stomach, she pushed.

“FUCK!”

"Keep going my sweet you’re doing great" said Aemond.

"I'M GOING TO CUT YOUR COCK OFF!" screamed Vaera.

"Oh, my love, surely you don't mean that".

"I do. This is ALL your fault,” cried Vaera.

"Another push Princess" 

“I swear if you say push one more time. I'll feed you too my Cannibal” snarled Vaera.

“The head is out Princess, but I need you to stop pushing. The cord is wrapped around the babe’s neck” exclaimed Maester Munkun.

“W-What” cried Vaera in alarm.

“It’s ok. Issa dōna ābrazȳrys. Just breathe” said Aemond (My sweet wife).

After a few moments, the Maester had managed to cut the cord from the babe’s neck and with a wet squelch the babe arrived.

But the room was silent.

“M-My babe?” asked Vaera her hands raised in expectation of receiving her babe.

“Just a moment” replied Maester Munkun as the babe was lifted off the bed.

“What’s happening?” yelled Vaera, her hands still grasping endlessly for her babe.

“Why is the babe not crying? What’s happening?” exclaimed Aemond.

“Aemond” sobbed Vaera, her entire body shaking.

But Aemond could only sit in silence as he watched the Maester try to save his newly born babe.

Vaera began wailing loudly in anguish, as the seconds passed.

Aemond’s heart was in his throat as the Maester did everything he could to stimulate the silent babe.

“No. Please. Don’t take my babe. Not again. I can’t lose another babe” sobbed Vaera.

Aemond buried his face in Vaera’s shoulder as he tried to stop the tears from flowing down his cheeks.

The wait was agony. His babe unmoving and lifeless in the arms of the Maester.

But then the sweetest sound in the world echoed around the room.

A loud shrieking cry.

“A daughter” declared the Maester.

Vaera all but snatched the crying babe away from Maester Munkun and sobbed.

“T-Thank you Maester” breathed Vaera, the tears streaming down her face.

“Your welcome Princess” replied Maester Munkun.

“S-She’s ok. Aemond, look” gasped Vaera.

Aemond let out a sob of relief as he gazed at his squalling daughter.

“My daughter. She’s ok. She’s alive. Thank the gods” gasped Aemond.

“She’s beautiful” cried Vaera as she stroked her daughter’s head.

“What shall we call her?” asked Aemond.

“Vharla” whispered Vaera.

“A-After my dragon?”

“I know how much Vhagar means too you and I wish to honour your old girl” replied Vaera.

Aemond’s heart burst with pride.

“So perfect” whispered Vaera.

“I’m so proud of you Issa prūmia” (my heart).

“I love you” muttered Vaera.

“-And I love you. My sweet perfect wife.” praised Aemond as he nuzzled Vaera’s neck.

“Would you like you hold your daughter?”

“Please” whispered Aemond as he manoeuvred himself away from Vaera and climbed off the bed.

Their daughter. They’d almost lost her. But she’s here. She’s safe.

Nestled in her father’s arms, Vharla had opened her eyes and Aemond’s heart stopped.

Those eyes. The colour of dark amethyst.

Exactly like her big brother’s.

She had Aemon’s eyes.

Their next babe, a boy named Caelan in honour of the Cannibal arrived in the world with relative ease, according to Aemond anyway.

As soon as he was delivered, the boy cried so loud that Aemond was sure the entire population of Kings Landing could hear him.

Caelan was such an easy babe, he slept and remained content as long as he was fed, warm and kept entertained.

He seemed to have developed a fascination with Rhaegar and would only sleep if his older brother was close by.

Which of course made Rhaegar feel special.

Vharla of course was indifferent and didn’t care for the drooling stinker she had to call brother.

Given they were so close in age, you’d think that they would get along, but sadly they didn’t as Vharla preferred to spend time with her grandmother most days.

Aegar’s birth however now that was eventful.

Vaera had gone beyond her term and there were some concerns expressed by the Maester’s over the health of both mother and babe, but Vaera remained steadfast in her view that the boy would simply come when he was ready.

Of course, doing things to help him along wasn’t an issue either as Aemond regularly found himself pressed against the bed as his wife rode him like a dragon.

Not that he minded at all, any excuse to stick his cock inside his wife was good enough for him.

On the day of Aegar’s birth, Vaera had been attending a council meeting with Aegon over some new tax laws that he wanted to implement. The other council members were not required to attend which in hindsight was probably a good thing.

Vaera had been experiencing pain on and off for most of the morning, but nothing seemed to progress, until of course she heard the splash of her water’s breaking and not even an hour later, Vaera was perched on the council table as she gave birth.

With no time to summon the Maester’s or midwives, Aegon had to be the one to support Vaera through the pain and ultimately help deliver the babe.

Upon his return from flying with Vhagar, Aemond was racing to the council chambers, to be greeted by the sounds of a crying babe.

Aemond would never forget the look on his older brother’s face as he leant against the wall, his hands shaking and his face much paler than usual.

Aegon admittedly saw more of Vaera that day than he ever wanted too.

But in the spirit of names, Vaera decided to honour her good brother, and named the babe Aegar.

Aegon was so unbelievably happy that he threw a celebration so grand that he was still recovering from the effects of the wine that he’d consumed almost a week later.

Maella was the next babe to be born, she didn’t cry at all. Not even when she was born, she was such a quite little thing, that Aemond often had to put his hand on her to make sure she was breathing.

Even though she was almost six name days older, Vharla had more of a positive opinion of her little sister, she didn't refer to her as drooling stinker which was quite positive.

Now she wasn’t the only girl, and it pleased her immensely.

Rhaegar as the oldest took it in his stride, another member of the family to love and cherish.

As much as he would join his father in his training sessions, he would also spend time with his mother and help take care of the newest babe.

He would spend hours sitting by Maella’s cradle, reading to her, and telling her about Aemon.

When Aemon had died, Rhaegar had only been two name days old, but he remembered his brother so vividly, that it was almost like he was still here.

Caelan of course followed Rhaegar everywhere, idolising his older brother and Aegar just liked to dig around in the gardens looking for bugs.

Which kept both Aemond and Vaera on their toes as more than once he tried to eat them.

Jaerys was the next babe too arrive, born in the middle of one of the worst storms that Kings Landing had ever seen.

Which of course Vaera attributed to his fearsome nature. Even on the day he was born, it always seemed like he had this perpetual scowl on his face that never seemed to go way unless he was with his grandmother.

He definitely had a soft spot for her, and he would often be found sitting beside her as she told him stories and taught him how to braid hair.

Alicent loved all her grandchildren, but she definitely had a soft spot for Jaerys.

Aemond and Vaera had believed Jaerys was their last babe, but after a nightly dragon flight, a ravenous husband and a lapse in memory over taking moontea, Vaera was with child again.

Aegon of course made sure his brother knew that the people of Kings Landing were raising their cups, in celebration of his virility and his wife’s fertility.

Aemond of course had to resist the urge to punch his brother in the face, after he told him.

As with the other births, Aemond naturally assumed this one would go just as well.

How wrong he was.

After Vaera had surprised him and birth another set of twins, she began to bleed heavily.

It began flowing out of her like a river, spilling in every direction.

The Maester’s worked frantically, trying to save her and whilst they were successful, Vaera had slipped into a coma.

For almost thirteen name days, Vaera had been a constant presence in his life, and to suddenly not have her there anymore, he felt lost.

As each day passed and Vaera still didn’t wake up, Aemond could feel himself slowly dying inside.

He was nothing without her. He needed her like he needed the air to breathe.

Aemond knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. He shut himself off and spent hours at Vaera’s bedside praying to any god that was listening.

“Please come back to me my love”.

Yet she remained unmoved, her chest rising up and down slowly. Her eyes firmly shut.

He was afraid that they would never open.

What would he tell their children?

How could he go on living if she didn’t make it?

A world without her didn’t make sense.

For three weeks, Vaera remained unresponsive.

The Maester’s had said that the longer she remained in such a state, she wasn’t likely to wake up.

Aemond despaired at the news.

He was going to lose her. His sweet wife. The love of his life. His twin flame.

At some point in the night, he’d laid on the bed next to her and pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

He begged her to come back. But still she slept, at some point he’d fallen asleep, his hand clasping hers.

Every night it was the same dream, and every morning it was the same nightmare.

But this night, something moved against his hand, and he jerked awake.

Aemond stared in shock as Vaera’s fingers were moving.

At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then Vaera’s eyes began to flutter.

“V-Vaera” exclaimed Aemond.

Is she waking up? That’s it my sweet. Come back to me. You can do it.

“Vaera. Issa dōna ābrazȳrys” gasped Aemond (My sweet wife).

“A-A-Ae-m-mond” stuttered Vaera as she finally opened her eyes.

“I’m here my love. I’m here” whispered Aemond.

After being in a coma for three weeks, it took Vaera some time to fully recover.

She told Aemond about her experience whilst she was in the coma, and it fascinated him to no end.

Especially when she told him that Rhaegar would become King just after his eighteenth name day.

The gods had certainly given Vaera a gift, and she had thanked them for it every day since.

It was a phenomenon that Aemond couldn’t even begin to understand or explain, but they had both decided to keep it between the two of them.

Especially when she told him of Aemon and Helaena.

Despite the circumstances, she had briefly held their precious first born in her arms once more and Aemond knew in his heart that it was his son and sweet sister that had sent Vaera back to him.

Even though Aemond protested wholeheartedly, Vaera resumed her place on the council as Mistress of Laws three moons after she’d woke from her coma.

Saeryna and Daenys were growing fast, and soon they would be reaching their first name day.

It took a little while for Vaera to fully bond with her twin daughters, but they eventually got the hang of it, and now they would crawl after their mother as fast as they could, giggling sweetly.

Aemond watched with a smile as his wife was surrounded by their children, this was everything she’d ever wanted.

During her childhood, she’d been so lonely and Vaera never wanted that for any of their children.

This was a family they’d created and none of their children would suffer as they did.

“Marry me” whispered Aemond.

“We’re already married” replied Vaera.

“In the tradition of our house. Let us bind our blood as our ancestors once did” said Aemond.

“Who’s going to marry us?” asked Vaera.

“I’ve asked Aegon, as anyone who can speak high Valyrian can wed us” said Aemond.

“Ser Criston and my mother will serve as witnesses” said Aemond.

“Where will the ceremony take place?”

“In front of Balerion’s skull. The children will also be in attendance” said Aemond.

“You seem to have given this some thought”.

“I’ve been thinking of it for a while” replied Aemond.

“In that case. I will marry you. Again” said Vaera softly.

“Hen lanoti ānogar, Va sȳndroti vaedroma, Mēro perzot gīhoti, Elēdroma āirza sīr, Izulī amapā perzi, Prumī lanti sēteksi, Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, Qēlossa ozundesi, Syndroro ono jēdo, Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi”

(Blood of two, Joined as one, Ghostly flame and song of shadows, Two hearts as embers, Forged in fourteen fires, A future promised in glass, The stars stand witness, The vow spoken through time, Of darkness and light)

Aemond and Vaera each took turns in cutting the other’s lip with a dragon glass blade and marking each other’s forehead with the symbols of fire and blood.

Aemond cuts his hand and then offers the blade to Vaera who did the same.

As they face each other once more, both husband and wife join hands allowing their blood to flow into one another.

Once the vows are complete, they allowed their blood to mix with a kiss.

A loud booming roar echoed across the sky as Vhagar and Cannibal flew over the Red Keep, the other dragons soon join in and Kings Landing is alight with sounds of a dragons song, unlike anybody has ever heard before.

As they part, Vaera and Aemond gaze upon one another. All their children surrounding them.

“Will you love me Aemond, until the day I die?” asked Vaera.

“No. Much longer than that Vaera. Much longer” replied Aemond as he took his wife’s face in his hands and kissed her once more.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (43/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 18,112 (OOPS, but not really)

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Aemond return to King's Landing. Arianwyn tells the Vale the truth.

Warnings: self-harm

Author's Note:

So sorry for the delay! After seeing some new BTS from episode 10, my brain sprang to life with some new things I could incorporate here. And my beta is on vacation, so if you saw any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes, please let me know so I can fix it!

We are now officially leaving show canon behind...

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Three Days, Part III

On the 25th day in the ninth month, 136 years after Aegon’s Conquest…

The moon was tauntingly full and bright, and the clouds had long since dispersed. There was nowhere to hide. Anyone who looked toward the sky could clearly see the monster flying above them.

The monster, and the dragon he rode.

“Skoros emagon ao gaomagon?” Aemond whispered, far too quietly for Vhagar to hear over the roaring wind lashing at them as they raced back to King’s Landing with a speed he had never seen. What have you done?

He did not know if he was asking her or himself.

He was not sure if he had actually said anything at all, or so much as moved his lips. His throat was painfully raw from shouting through the storm – he may not have been able to produce a sound even if he wanted to.

But he must have said something, for Vhagar responded with a proud twist of her head and a victorious roar.

Gods save him. There was still blood on her teeth.

The blood of that poor young dragon whose name Aemond did not know. And…

Luke’s blood.

The pain that had been steadily growing within Aemond’s skull suddenly burst forth like a mighty wave crashing through a dam.

Even the sapphire – Aria’s sapphire – felt like it had come alive and was trying to claw its way out of his skin.

The vision in his good eye went blurry, and it was only thanks to the dozens of straps and chains tying him to the saddle that Aemond did not fall off Vhagar’s back and plummet to his death on the peaks of the mountains below.

He wanted to cut the straps away, break the iron chains with his bare hands. Anything to get away from the beast he was shackled to in body and soul, even if it meant his death.

Would it be anything less than he deserved?

But the pain was too great for him to wrap his hand around the hilt of his dagger.

Each beat of his heart brought on a new pulse of pure agony. With each surge, his muscles tensed until he was sure they would snap.

The only thing he could manage was to cradle the burning scar.

His eyepatch was not there, though he did not remember removing it himself, nor it falling off in the wind.

It was just… gone.

When another wave washed over him – the pain more intense than when he was first given the wound – he pressed into his hands, desperately seeking relief.

But it did not come.

The sapphire was as cold as ice – colder than anything he had ever felt. So cold that it burned the skin of his palm.

Aemond shrieked at the pain.

Vhagar echoed the noise, nearly coming to a halt over a mountain peak. But she recovered faster than her rider and began to fly faster still – so fast Aemond could not believe it – towards King’s Landing.

Towards home – to Aria.

Aemond collapsed against the saddle, not caring when the leather and chains bit into his skin as he strained against them.

His next cry came not from pain, but realization.

It wasn’t his scar that was hurting him so deeply.

It was the sapphire.

The jewel – the purest expression of Aria’s love he ever possessed – was fighting against him.

Burning him.

Hurting him.

Rejecting him.

He was unworthy of such a gift. Unworthy of Aria’s love and the protection her Runes offered.

She was so good, so pure, so perfect.

He was a monster.

Worse, a kinslayer.

Wearing her gift was an affront to her, the old gods, and indeed all gods and men. He could not be allowed to possess it any longer. His very touch marred its goodness irreparably.

He pulled his hands away from his face just enough to curl his fingers into claws – the same claws Vhagar bore.

Skin broke on the first strike.

Then again.

And again.

Over and over until his hands, and the sapphire that now sat within them, were coated in hot red blood.

Aemond squeezed his eye shut, unable to bring himself to look as he opened his hands and let the sapphire fall.

Then he screamed anew.

And he did not stop.

-

Sleep, restful sleep, had eluded Arianwyn, leaving her bleary-eyed as she watched Emrys bristle in the garden below. Her poor dragon was quite upset that his first-ever adventure had been ruined by the arrival of Vermax – almost as upset as his rider was by the arrival of Jacaerys.

Had it not been for the arrival of her stepbrother, they would currently be preparing to leave, if they had not left already.

Instead, Arianwyn was tugging half-heartedly on the satin belt of her dressing gown, wishing it was the leather lacings of her cuirass – freshly replaced after Aemond ripped them only days ago.

Emrys –just as averse to early mornings as his beloved rider – was not stretching his wings in anticipation of their long flight, but folding them tightly over his head to block out Vermax’s unceasing chirrups.

As she loosed her robe and sat at the end of her bed, Arianwyn bowed her head in prayer. “May the Crone guide me this day, that I may speak with wisdom and grace. If it is the will of the gods, allow my petition to be successful. And if it is not…”

She opened her eyes and gazed out into the gardens, where Vermax was excitedly sniffing at a large rose bush. If she ignored who the little green creature was bonded to, she could almost let herself be amused by the sight.

But she couldn’t ignore it, nor how Emrys was slinking closer and closer to her window, examining its stone walls as if trying to figure out a way to slip inside. It would never work, of course. He was so large that he couldn’t even fit his whole snout through.

When he finally figured it out himself, he dejectedly rested the tip of his chin against the windowsill and whined softly.

Arianwyn rose from the bed with a sympathetic smile and stroked his nose. “Nyke gīmigon, byka ossȳngnon,” she cooed as he leaned into her touch. “Lo jaelā naejot jiōragon qrīdrughagon hen zirȳla, kostā jikagon sōvegon ondoso aōla. Vermax iksis byka, se daor olvie adere, kessa daor gaomagon bē.” I know, little dread. If you want to get away from him, you can go fly by yourself. Vermax is small, and not very fast, he will not keep up.

Emrys snorted solemnly in reply, sending a small burst of smoke into the bedroom. No, he would not leave her now. Never when she was so upset.

“Kirimvose, dōna mēre,” she said with a kiss to his warm scales. “Avy jorrāelan.” Thank you, sweet one. I love you.

She could almost swear that as Emrys grumbled, there was a voice speaking in the back of her head that sounded eerily like that grumbling. It told her it loved her too.

“Kostagon jān arlī naejot ñuha jorepnon sir?” she asked playfully. Can I go back to my prayer now?

Emrys blinked and, with some difficulty, removed his snout from the window. Vermax immediately noticed the movement and began to approach the older dragon.

Arianwyn laughed as Emrys slumped against the wall, wrapped his wings around his face again, and pretended to fall asleep.

“Sȳz biarves,” she called. Good luck.

She did not return to her prayer immediately, for she did not know what to say next. So instead, she took off her nightgown and began to dress for the day. Jeyne had offered to send a maid, but Arianwyn found she enjoyed managing alone for a few days. Besides, she did not want to have to explain to someone new how to deal with her mass of curls.

When Brynna told her she had packed five dresses for the journey, even though it was supposed to take only three days, she had thought her maid foolish and unreasonably over-prepared.

But now, she was grateful to have options to choose from. It made her feel like a knight selecting which weapon to carry into battle.

She had already worn two of the gowns, leaving her with three options:

First, there was a heavily structured dress of deep blue silk – Arryn blue. The shoulders bore embroidery reminiscent of wings, a nod to the sigil of her godsmother’s house. But to wear something so obvious would feel dishonest. Too much like begging.

Arianwyn was not an Arryn. She was a Royce – and a Targaryen. She would not pretend to be anything else.

She would not rely on her connections to the Vale or the throne to make her argument. If she was to win Jeyne’s allegiance, it would be her logic and the brutal honesty of her story that won it.

So, the black and bronze gown – the one she had worn her first day back to King’s Landing – was also rejected.

There was only one option left.

A surcoat and linen underdress, like the one she had worn during the little game she and Aemond played the day before they left.

But this was far simpler than that one. The coat was made of soft, undyed wool, with voluminous sleeves to protect her from the cold mountain wind.

Its only decoration was the embroidery along the edges – intricate depictions of the beautiful flowers that graced the fields of Runestone. Campion and marsh. Cornflower and primrose. Foxglove and snowdrops. And Arianwyn’s favorite – meadowsweet.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt perfect. Soft, but regal. Stately, yet not too imposing. She was every bit the Princess and Lady she now was, but she was still herself.

All that was missing was a ring on her finger and her husband on her arm.

Suddenly, she knew how to end her prayer.

“I know that I am on the right path, and my cause is just,” she whispered aloud, feeling that the words were too important to keep inside. “But the path you lay out for us is not always so clear. If I am to fail today, I ask only that I be allowed to return safely into my husband’s arms, that we may face whatever is to come together.”

-

The very earth trembled as Vhagar landed just outside the King’s Gate. She had flown so far and fast that, by the time she started her descent, she was too exhausted to land well.

The talons at the tips of her wings and her claws had caught the stones of the city wall as she tried to slow herself, sending broken shards of brick raining down on the gold cloaks standing guard at the gate. She had landed with such force that her back legs dug deep rivets into the ground below her.

It hadn’t helped that as soon as the city was in sight, Aemond took up the reins for the first time in hours to try and steer her directly toward the Red Keep.

“Skoriot issi ao jāre?” he had rasped when she pulled against his commands. His voice was practically nonexistent after hours of ceaseless screaming. “Gūrogon nyke lenton.” Where are you going? Take me home.

Vhagar ignored his commands. She knew there was nowhere she could land in the city itself that would not result in the injury or death of some innocent. After how he reacted to the righteous death of that little dragon and its rider – the same hateful boy who had maimed her Aemond on the night they claimed each other – who dared to threaten him, she would not put him in place to be hurt again.

In the years she had spent making him fierce, she had never thought him soft. None of her other riders had been so.

Thankfully, he was far too weak from the flight, his self-inflicted wounds, and whatever demons were roiling within his mind to fight against her in any meaningful way. Not that she would obey, even if he could. She would follow no order which might put him in danger.

“Kostilus,” he begged hoarsely as she turned toward the tourney grounds. “Nyke jorrāelagon naejot jikagon lenton. Nyke jorrāelagon naejot jikagon naejot zirȳla. Nyke jorrāelagon zirȳla.” Please. I need to go home. I need to go to her. I need her.

She let out a sympathetic growl but continued to descend on the great stretch of grassy fields outside the city, frightening the smallfolk for how close they came to their roofs.

Aemond was not surprised by her disobedience. He had begged her to stop when she began to pursue Luke on her own after that dragon – barely more than a hatchling – had loosed a weak burst of dragonfire on her. And she had disobeyed.

Of course, she had. Who was he to command the Queen of All Dragons?

Compared to the paragons of his house who had ridden her before him, Aemond was nothing.

He was not an almighty conqueror like Visenya.

He was not a brave and beloved Prince like his grandsire, Baelon.

He was certainly not like Laena, adored and admired by all.

No, he was only a wretched, monstrous, broken excuse for a prince – for a Targaryen.

He had never been worthy of any dragon, much less Vhagar.

Allowing him to claim her had been some cruel, cosmic joke. A way for the gods to amuse themselves by watching him fail so miserably. Or a punishment, perhaps. For the darkness that had always lived inside his damned soul.

Oh gods.

He was damned. As a murderer, a monster, a kinslayer.

All because of the dragon – the abomination created by his Valyrian ancestors with their infernal blood magics – that he had bound himself to.

He had to get away from her.

The moment she came to rest in the middle of the road leading out of the city, Aemond began frantically removing each of the restraints keeping him in the saddle. It took him longer than it should have, as his bloodstained hands still trembled. His chest was heaving painfully with each panicked breath, and without the chill of the wind to numb it, his empty clawed-open eye was starting to burn again.

When he was finally free, he scrambled down the rope ladder on Vhagar’s side quicker than ever before, despite the pain circling his legs. Somehow, on the flight back, he had pulled so hard against the leather straps and chains that they had dug into his skin. He had no doubt there were bruises, and knew it was more than likely that blood had been drawn.

But he didn’t care. He just wanted to get away, to run back to his rooms and into the awaiting arms of his wife.

He didn’t want to acknowledge Vhagar at all. But when he began toward the guards at the King’s Gate, each of whom was staring with wide eyes as the fact of who was limping toward them and covered in his own blood sunk in, she let out a low, pleading whine.

His exhaustion and devastation faded instantly, replaced with an enormous, unquenchable rage.

“Gaomā daor jiōragon naejot sagon zūgagon syt nyke!” Aemond shouted as he whirled on her, causing his left leg to buckle. He only just caught himself before falling into the upturned dirt. “Emā ojūdan bona paktot.” You do not get to be worried for me! You have lost that right.

Vhagar shied away from his anger, her orange eyes wide with bewilderment. How could her dear rider treat her like this after all she had done to protect him?

“Gaomagon ao sesīr gīmigon skoros emā sepār gaomagon?” he asked, ignoring the calls from the guards offering him aid. Do you know what you have just done?

The dragon only whined again – a feeble, wounded noise.

“Ao ossēntan zirȳla! Nyke mērī jeldan naejot sȳngagon zirȳla – hae ziry istin gōntan naejot nyke.  Yn ao ossēntan zirȳla!” His voice cracked like a raging fire as he roared, his throat raw and aching. You killed him! I only wanted to frighten him – as he once did to me. But you killed him!

“Īles iā riña! Īles ñuha lentor, se ao ossēntan zirȳla!” he shrieked as pain began to well once more in his empty eye – the result of the salty tears pooling within and stinging the open wounds he had inflicted himself. He was a child! He was my family, and you killed him!

He almost collapsed as each one of his wounds began to throb as one. “Emā vēttan nyke iā letnor sēntys! Se syt bona iksan qrimbrōstan! Ñuha gīs kessa zālagon isse se trūmāje hen Sīkudi Nopāzmi ēva se mōris hen jēda… se kesan gūrogon ziry.” You have made me a kinslayer! And for that I am cursed! My soul will burn in the deepest of the Seven Hells until the end of time... and I will deserve it.

Vhagar dropped her chin to the ground and moaned, her best attempt at appearing innocent and coy. But Aemond could still smell the sharp tang of blood on her breath and see the faint traces of rusty brown embedded between the scales of her snout.

Another pang had Aemond stumbling into the dirt, the impact sending licks of fire up his injured legs. Several guards at the gate began to run for him, but reeled back when Vhagar, too, surged toward her rider.

“Daor!” Aemond ordered with the last of his remaining strength as he fought to try and stand. “Umbagon qrīdrughagon!” No! Stay away!

The massive dragon winced at the sheer fury contained in the command and began to slink away like a scolded pup. As she retreated, the guards once again began to cautiously approach the Prince.

“Eminna daorun tolī naejot gaomagon lēda ao,” Aemond spat with a fading voice between shaky breaths. “Jaelan ao naejot henujagon.  Skoriot jā daoriot jemagon.  Hēzīr, iksā daorun naejot nyke. I will have nothing more to do with you. I want you to leave. Where you go does not matter. From now on, you are nothing to me. 

He did not look at Vhagar as he finally stood, turning to the three gold cloaks now surrounding him. They looked at him like they had happened upon an injured shadowcat – something at once pitiful and deadly.

“My Prince…” the eldest among them said sheepishly. “Are you alright?”

Aemond did not so much as glance at the man as he began stumbling toward the gate. He could feel his mind, which he had only just regained as he came back to solid ground, begin to slip away again. If he looked at the man’s simpering face, no doubt full of pity, he might very well lose it again.

“I need a horse,” he growled.

“Of course,” the guard said, running ahead of him to the guardpost. The other two fell into an awkward formation behind the Prince.

It took a humiliatingly long time for Aemond to actually arrive at the gate, by which time a horse was saddled and waiting. Mounting the damned thing when every muscle he had screamed in protest was one of the most challenging things he had ever done.

As he gripped the horse’s reins, Vhagar made another woeful noise – a last attempt to try and ply him.

With the sound, he felt the last remaining dregs of his consciousness begin to melt away. He had to return to the Keep quickly, before losing himself entirely. Indeed, it was already becoming hard to focus his vision on anything beyond his horse’s ears.

But he still held to his anger at his damned dragon.

“Lo nyke mirre ilagon laesi va ao aril…” he hissed, his lone violet eye bloodshot and filled with disdain. “Nyke dōrī jaelagon naejot ūndegon ao arlī.  Mirre.” If I ever lay eyes on you again... I never want to see you again. Ever.

He did not wait for her reply before driving his heels into the horse and setting it galloping through the King’s Gate and into the bustling streets of King’s Landing.

Vhagar’s doleful wails were heard by all within the city’s walls, save for her rider. His mind had already begun to pull him away from reality. All he could hear was the pouring of rain, the cracking of thunder, and the horrible crunch of bones between Vhagar’s teeth.

-

If Arianwyn had thought hours of listening to the old men of the Vale debate over dams and crops and visitation schedules was miserable, having to stay still and silent and keep her face neutral as she listened to Jace speak on behalf of Rhaenyra was surely a punishment from the gods themselves.

It certainly didn’t help that he looked at her with that stupid smug smile whenever he thought he made a good point.

Perhaps she should have prayed more for the strength to endure her stepbrother rather than just for the success of her own petition.

Jace had begun with a rather monotonous history lesson detailing the Targaryen family line from Aenar to himself. But, of course, he had incorrectly listed the late Ser Laenor Velaryon as his father.

Arianwyn had let her impassive façade slip for a moment when a few disbelieving chuckles and jeers echoed through the hall at the assertion. But the ever-watchful Gerold had spotted her slight smile and quickly corrected her with a gentle pinch on her elbow.

To his credit, Jace had not let it deter him. Instead, he smoothly transitioned into detailing how and why Viserys had named Rhaenyra his heir. Then to a fumbling and faulty explanation of the Widow’s Law and how he thought it supported his mother’s claim.

Arianwyn listened closely, making a note of each inconsistency, vaguery, or inaccuracy – whether it be intentional or not. While the bulk of her argument would rely on the revelation of Daemon’s character and past crimes, she had to first counter whatever Jace said.

There was ever the possibility that some, perhaps many, would not believe what she had to say about her father. If they did, she would still need to say whatever she could to convince them.

“There is little more to say, my Lords,” Jace proclaimed. The self-righteous lilt in his voice grated on Arianwyn endlessly. “It is clear that by both law and my grandsire’s wishes, my mother Rhaenyra was always the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, whatever the would-be usurper may say.

“I never had the good fortune to meet my mother’s mother, Queen Aemma, but I have been raised on stories of her goodness. I am proud to bear her blood, her Arryn blood. Though I have been here not yet a day, I can feel the land here call to me, as I am sure it does to my mother as well.”

Arianwyn considered her restraint in not rolling her eyes at that to be nothing short of miraculous. She would have to commission a bard to write a song commemorating the feat.

Jace turned to Jeyne and gave a short, almost solemn nod. “Rhaenyra is not only your cousin and your Queen, my Lady, but your peer. Those who would try to usurp her throne do so for no reason other than that she is a woman, and for that, they consider her unworthy of her birthright.

“I ask only that you honor the oath you took some twenty years ago by acknowledging my mother as your Queen and pledging your support to her cause. With good fortune, this farce will not come to bloodshed. However, I cannot deny that having you declare your support for the Queen, with the might of your armies behind you, would do much to dissuade my usurper uncle from pursuing this any further.

“But I am willing to wait to receive your answer,” he said, turning once more to look at Arianwyn with a smile almost too genuine. “For my sweet sister has come to speak on my uncle’s behalf. I find myself quite curious as to why she has done so, seeing as she is, herself, a ruling Lady. Nevertheless, my affection for her is nearly as great as my respect for her intellect, so I will humbly stand aside and allow her to speak.”

Another subtle pinch from Gerold signaled Arianwyn to bow her head in thanks to her stepbrother and give him a grateful smile. Though she would never admit it, she was surprisingly touched by his praise, underhanded though it was.

“I commend you for your eloquent speech, Prince Jacaerys,” Jeyne said from the throne as the light smattering of applause, led by Lords Sunderland and Corbray, finally quieted. “It is true that I have found myself in a similar predicament to your mother. Thrice have mine own kin sought to replace me, and thrice they have failed. My cousin Ser Arnold is wont to say that women are too soft to rule. I have him in one of my sky cells, if you would like to ask him yourself, or simply meet another long-estranged cousin.”

The gathered crowd laughed with her at that – including Arianwyn, despite her nerves.

Jeyne’s held up a hand to quiet the room once more. “As Jacaerys says, there is another here to speak to us on this matter. While she is not my blood as Rhaenyra is, she is my family in both the eyes of the gods and in the affections of my own heart. For this, and for her place as the Lady of Runestone, I now invite her now to make her petition on behalf of her good brother, Aegon.”

The silence in the room was so heavy that as Arianwyn walked to the center of the hall to stand before the Weirwood thrones, she felt as though she was moving through sand. But she swallowed her fear and willed her racing heart to calm.

Otto Hightower would not have sent her here if he did not believe her capable of succeeding – nor would any member of the Small Council, even Aegon. She reassured herself that she had not only their support, distant as it was, but that of the law, the gods, and her husband. With all that behind her, how could she fail?

“Lords and Ladies of the Vale, it is an honor to speak to you today,” she began, pleasantly surprised at the strength of her voice. “I ask that you please be forgiving should I not be particularly eloquent. I have never addressed a court before nor had any real oratory experience, and I find myself quite nervous to do so now.”

She laughed slightly, expecting others to laugh with her, at least out of pity, but none did. So, she took a deep breath and continued. “I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting most of you personally, so I will begin by introducing myself. I am Lady Arianwyn Targaryen.”

“Princess, my dear,” Gerold reminded her with a grimace from where he stood by the base of the throne.

Arianwyn winced. This was precisely why she had prayed this morning. She did not possess a silver tongue. Indeed, at the moment, hers felt much more like lead.

“Yes, forgive me,” she stuttered. “I am still not used to that title yet. It was granted to me only seven days past – or eight, maybe? I actually do not know what day we were wed. It was around midnight. But I am not quite sure whether it was before or after.”

“Aria?” Gerold’s call was unsubtly covered with an obviously false cough. When she looked at him, he widened his eyes to let her know she had already begun to ramble.

She swallowed, taking a moment to straighten her skirts and gather her thoughts. “My apologies, again. I, um… I became a Princess only days ago when I was wed to Prince Aemond Targaryen. Naturally, as it comes from my husband, the title is quite dear to me. However, dearer to me is that which I inherited from my mother, who was well known and, I hope, well-loved by all of you: Rhea Royce, Lady of Runestone.

“That title was given to me on the day of my birth, as it was also the day my mother died,” she fell silent then as all those gathered in the Throne Room bowed their heads in remembrance. Much to her surprise, Jace joined them.

“I am here to speak on behalf of my good brother, King Aegon, Second of His Name,” she looked to Jace then, copying the smug smile he had already given her several times that day. Perhaps it was cruel of her, after he had just offered respects to her mother, but she could not help herself.

“Five days ago, Aegon was crowned by Lord Commander Criston Cole of the Kingsguard in accordance with the laws of the realm and his father’s dying wish. Of course, there are those who would point to the Queen being the only audience to the proclamation as proof that it is untrue. But I have heard the tale from the Queen herself, and I believe with absolutely no hesitation.” She could sense, more than see, the sour expression on Jace’s face at her words.

“It is no secret that King Viserys was long ill,” she continued. “As such, he was often confined to his bed and unable to govern the realm himself. In his absences, it was Queen Alicent who most often sat the Iron Throne in his place, where she proved herself to be wise, kind, and above all else, honorable.

“It would have been well within her right to dispute Rhaenyra’s position as heir from the moment Aegon was born, but she did not.” At least, not publicly, Arianwyn thought. She had overheard more than one conversation suggesting Alicent had brought it up to the King privately. “For years, she steadfastly supported the King’s attestation that Rhaenyra was his heir, despite its dubious legality. I can offer no better proof to the veracity of the King’s change of heart than that.”

A slight nod and a half-smile from Gerold indicated that she had made her point well.

“However, it must be understood that despite the King’s insistence in Rhaenyra’s place as heir for many years, despite whatever oaths he had the Lords of the Realm make, she did lose that position when Aegon was born.”

This was the part she was most nervous about.

“The ruling of the Great Council was clear: a male heir is preferable to a female. Even before the Council was called, this was well understood by law and men. It is why Princess Rhaenys was passed over in favor of my grandsire, Prince Baelon, following her father’s death. And it is why the Great Council voted so overwhelmingly in favor of Viserys’ claim.

“According to the very precedent that gave Viserys his throne, Rhaenyra stopped being the heir from the instant Aegon took his first breath,” she declared.

A murmur made its way through the crowd, and Arianwyn was gratified that most of them seemed to agree with her. However, seeing the dejected expressions on several Ladies’ faces pained her, knowing she had likely just affirmed their deepest insecurities and fears.

She avoided meeting their eyes and instead looked to Jace. “My stepbrother has brought up an interesting point in his interpretation of the Widow’s Law. He is correct that it prevents a man from disinheriting his children from a first wife in favor of the children born to a second wife, but I am afraid it is not actually applicable to the current dispute.

“The purpose of the Widow’s Law is to prevent rightful heirs from being cast aside in favor of their younger half-siblings. But a man’s eldest son, regardless of whether his mother was a first, second, or any other later wife, is the lawful heir before any daughters. Nothing can pass to the daughter so long as there is a son. Therefore, a younger son from a second wife inheriting instead of an elder daughter from a first wife is not a dispossession.”

Arianwyn paused to see Jace’s reaction. He stayed silent and watched her carefully and with more than a little contempt.

According to the plan she had made with Jeyne the day before, she should now tell the court of the dangerous precedent that would be set should Rhaenyra insist that Jace – a bastard – was her heir.

She shouldn’t feel bad about it. It was true, and everyone knew it – even him.

So, why was she now hesitating?

Perhaps it was because many of the Lords in the room were already nodding along as she spoke. If they already agreed with her, she would not have to bring it up. She would not have to hurt him, Luke, or sweet little Joffrey to win the day.

For a heartbeat, she thought she might not even have to speak of Daemon.

But as she examined the crowd to assess how many were already with her, she found there were still more than a few who looked doubtful. It was to win them over that she swallowed her fear and continued.

No, she had to this for more than just winning the Vale. She had to do this because it was, and always was, the right thing to do.

“Of course,” she said with a sweet, placid smile, “you are all wise and intelligent men, with far more political experience than my stepbrother or me. Everything I have said thus far is only a repetition of what I am confident you already know.”

Arianwyn bowed her head and took a deep, steadying breath. “There is one thing more I must tell you before I end my appeal. Something that you do not know. Something that, until now, you could not know. Something concerning my mother and my father.”

Anyone whose interest in the proceedings had waned was suddenly brought back to attention.

“I imagine you all know the story of my mother’s injuries that led to her unfortunate death,” Arianwyn said as she looked around, but none met her eyes. Of course, they did not want to be reminded of something so terrible. “Perhaps some of you even saw them. I must admit, I do not envy you if you did. The descriptions I have been given are enough to curdle my blood, so I will not repeat them here. But I will tell you the story of how she was wounded. For the truth of it is far different from what you have been told, I am afraid.

“That day, my mother set out by herself to hunt, as was her habit. Ser Gerold tells me that she savored the time she spent alone. How she was never happier than when she was in the hills and moorlands of Runestone. Words cannot describe how much it pains me that what happened to her – no, what was done to her – was done in the place she loved so well.”

Arianwyn took another pause to calm herself as a flurry of whisperers flew through the crowd at what she was suggesting with that one little word.

“You were told that her horse startled and fell upon her, leaving her paralyzed and injured. And that it was a miracle that my father happened to be flying nearby when he spotted her, rescued her, and brought her home. That she was so charmed by his heroism that she finally consummated the marriage and fell pregnant with me. I do admit, it is a good story. Like something that I would read in my books.” She laughed slightly – a light, blithe chuckle entirely out of place amongst her solemn words – though she did not know why.

“But that was a lie. My father did not save my mother. He killed her.”

Arianwyn tried to continue but stopped when the clamor rising amongst the crowd grew so loud that she could hardly hear her own voice. She looked frantically to Lady Arryn and Gerold for help, but neither seemed as concerned as she did – they did not seem concerned at all. Rather, they seemed more than happy to let the Lords and Ladies have their moment of panic.

It wasn’t until Arianwyn again looked to Jace that she understood why.

His face was twisted with shock and rage, all directed at Arianwyn. She had just accused the man he so admired of the vilest of crimes – kinslaying. The gravity of such an accusation was not lost on him.

Nor was it lost on the Lords and Ladies of the Vale. Those standing near Jace were now shuffling away, as if the crimes of his stepfather had tainted him as well.

Arianwyn did not pity him.

Why should she? For years, he had ignored Arianwyn’s fear of Daemon, even when it was abundantly obvious.

It was clear in how she blanched whenever her father would look at her. How she would avert her gaze and stand to the side when she encountered him within the castle. How she flinched every time he raised his voice or slammed a hand on the table at dinners.

What did Jace think happened when Daemon dismissed them all from dinner only days ago to speak to his daughter alone? Was he truly so blind he did not see her fear the next day? Had Daemon so thoroughly deluded him that he actually thought her bruises were the work of Aemond’s hands?

Even Jace could not be so stupid.

“Silence!” Jeyne called from her throne. But even she could not wholly calm the chaos that had erupted. “You will all be silent and let the Princess speak!”

Eventually, the room was silent again, as all assembled decided their desire to hear more outweighed their instinct to rage at the accusations.

“I confess I do not know his motivation,” Arianwyn said when she finally began again, “but my father came to the Vale that day to kill my mother. In his cruelty, he apparently decided he would rather her die slowly and in agony than kill her quickly. Raping her was just another insult. He never intended for his seed to find purchase or for me to be born. Indeed, he has made it quite clear to me that his only regret is that I did not die alongside my mother in the birthing bed.”

She went on until she had told them everything.

How Daemon never acknowledged her until Lady Laena’s funeral. The cruel words he had said to her then. How he had taken her to Dragonstone not out of fatherly duty but to punish her for fighting with his other daughters. The neglect she endured on the island and the threats he made against her there.

The details of how Jace and Baela had treated her, she left out. It would serve no purpose to share them. And besides, he knew as little of this story as the rest of them – that much was clear from the abject horror growing on his face with every passing moment.

But she did speak of Rhaenyra. How she ignored Arianwyn for years, even after she became her stepmother. What she had said in the garden at Dragonstone, revealing that she knew what Daemon had done while belittling it and calling it merely “regrettable.”

How the would-be Queen had only stood there when Daemon wrapped his hands around Arianwyn’s throat. How she said nothing when he called her a ‘whore’ and a ‘virgin cunt’ to be sold for his own advantage. How she had stared blankly when Daemon threatened to kill Arianwyn.

Just as she had in the Throne Room while Daemon spun his horrible little story about Aemond, trying to pass the blame for his own attempt on Arianwyn’s life to her new husband.

Rhaenyra had only stepped in when it became clear Daemon was coming dangerously close to exposing himself – and her.

Arianwyn fell silent then. She could have continued, released all her anger in one fiery burst, and shouted so loud the gods could hear that Rhaenyra was unfit to be Queen and that Daemon was an even worse choice for King.

But she did not.

Revealing the story to the world, at last, had exhausted her body and soul. Besides, there was nothing she could say that could possibly make her case more convincingly than the simple truth.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jeyne broke the silence. And with it, the spell of horrified shock that had enveloped the High Hall – perhaps the entire Eyrie.

“I will offer only one correction,” Jeyne said, her voice as raw as though she had been crying. Perhaps she had, and Arianwyn just had not noticed. “There was a miracle, dear Arianwyn. It was a miracle that Rhea survived long enough to deliver you.”

-

“Where’s Aria?” Aemond grunted as he slid off his borrowed horse once he was in the courtyard of the Red Keep.

Faintly, he could hear servants working, people chattering, and even the low bleats of sheep. But his ears were still echoing with the sounds of the storm.

He stumbled as he stepped away from the horse, cursing his mind for abandoning his body like this. Thankfully, someone was there to catch him.

“Aria?” he sighed in relief. That was Rune-etched bronze armor before his eyes, perhaps the most comforting sight in the world.

But the voice that came from his rescuer was deep and gruff.

Not Aria, then.

Aemond couldn’t make out what the voice was saying. It sounded as though it was coming from behind a thick wall of stone.

“Take me to Aria,” he commanded, pushing away from whichever of his wife’s guards had caught him.

He stumbled again as he climbed the steps into the Keep but caught himself before he fell. It would not do to let the servants and courtiers see him in such a state, to see him weak.

He was Prince Aemond Targaryen, son of King Viserys and brother to King Aegon II. He was a warrior. A scholar. The rider of the largest dragon –

Dammit.

The thought of Vhagar brought another bout of pain and nausea coursing through him. He dove into the first alcove he saw and doubled over, emptying what little was left in his stomach onto the stone floor.

An armor-clad hand came to rest hesitantly on his shoulder. “My Prince?”

Aemond shook it off, growling. This time, he caught a glimpse of brownish hair – the guard had removed his helmet. Still, he couldn’t tell who it was. His vision was too blurry.

“Do not touch me,” he moaned half-heartedly. Then, summoning all his strength, he stood once more.

Every step towards his apartments took the whole of his concentration – every remaining drop of his strength to hold whatever was left of his mind in place.

He likely would have failed had each beat of his heart not whispered to him: “Aria. Aria. Aria.”

All he needed was to reach her, collapse into her arms, and all would be well. She would make everything alright again. She could wake him from this nightmare and banish the darkness from his heart.

He just needed to get to her.

After what seemed like hours, he finally reached the dark wood door to their chambers.

The Runes he and Aria had carved into them years and years ago seemed to be lit from within, as worn as they had become over the years. Aemond ran a hand over them, and with each line, his resolve seemed to strengthen.

He was so close. She was right behind the door.

The metal of the door handle was cool, just like her touch – the touch that would soon soothe him.

But as the door creaked open, his heart sank, and his stomach roiled.

The hearth was empty. The fire unlit. The curtains drawn. The room dark.

Aria was not there.

“Where is she?” Aemond hissed as his weak, traitorous, broken body began to tremble and shake. “Where is my wife?”

He turned slightly to the guard that had followed him here – or guards? There appeared to be three of them now. Or perhaps his vision was multiplying.

“The Princess has not yet returned, my Prince.”

Aemond’s body went unnaturally still at those words, as his mind returned to him for only as long as it took for his world to shatter.

-

A small but not insignificant number of Lords had immediately made an impassioned plea – or, more accurately, demand – for Jeyne to declare war upon Rhaenyra and Daemon, not for their false claim to the Iron Throne, but for the rape and murder of Rhea Royce, and for the mistreatment of her daughter.

They had flocked to the base of the Weirwood throne shouting their demand the moment Jeyne finished speaking, forcing Arianwyn to retreat back to her place by Gerold’s side.

“Is this… good?” she whispered, staring wide-eyed at the display before her.

Gerold wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. “I think this is perhaps the best outcome we could have hoped for, my dear.”

“So, you aren’t upset with me for telling them?”

He laughed as they watched one of the Lords surrounding Jeyne, a man who looked as old as time itself, start brandishing his cane like it was either a sword, a magic staff, or both.

“No, Aria,” he assured her. “I was quite nervous about what it would prompt Daemon to do, but I cannot deny its effectiveness. And if he does seek reprisals against you, I think all we must do is send Lord Upcliff to defend you. Gods, I thought he could hardly walk any more – just look at him!”

Indeed, the once doddering old man looked as though he was ready to lead the Knights of the Vale into battle himself.

As amused as Arianwyn and Gerold were, Jeyne’s smile at the reaction from her men had long since faded.

“My Lords!” she shouted again as her guards tried to pull the men away from the throne. “There will be no war today! So please – calm down!”

While the guards continued dispersing the irate Lords of the Vale, Arianwyn let her eyes drift across the High Hall to Jace.

He had said nothing since she revealed the truth. He had not even moved. His eyes were wide with shock and horror, his mouth hanging slightly open, and his brow furrowed. When he met her gaze, his expression hardened into one of anger.

Not at Arianwyn, as it had always been, but for her.

She could not bear the weight of that look, yet she could not turn away from it.

“Prince Jacaerys,” Jeyne called, breaking him away from his ceaseless staring. “You are the only representative present from Dragonstone. In the interest of justice, I here offer you the opportunity to defend your stepfather against the accusations levied against him. Have you anything to say to the court?”

Jace’s mouth opened and closed, words forming and then dying on his lips. Finally, after a moment of fruitless scrambling for something to say, he glanced back to Arianwyn, and his face crumpled.

“Nothing, my Lady,” he whispered as he looked down to his feet, weakly shaking his head.  

“Then I think we can forgo any further debate or discussion,” Jeyne declared. “As well as the lengthy process of a formal vote on this matter. I feel that we have heard more than sufficient evidence to know what we must now do without a doubt.”

Jeyne pursed her lips before looking back to the Lords suspiciously. “But, of course, I have the utmost respect for our laws and traditions. So, I will tell you what I propose we do. And should any of you wish to disagree with me, I will allow you to explain why before I ignore you and do what I believe is right anyway.”

Arianwyn almost laughed aloud while Jessamyn sighed and rolled her eyes. But no one else acknowledged the humor, so they both remained silent.

“It is my intention to declare my support for Aegon Targaryen as King,” Jeyne proclaimed, her voice once more that of the Lady of the Vale. “While I have always believed that in this world of men, women must band together, I cannot reconcile myself with Princess Rhaenyra’s abysmally poor choice of consort.

“Even if the law were on her side, and the Iron Throne was hers by right, it is my belief that her willful association with Daemon Targaryen renders her unfit to rule. It is most unseemly for a woman to stand by a man who has mistreated women – women I love – as severely as Daemon Targaryen has. I cannot forgive her complicity in his crimes. That is in the hands of the gods, though I have my doubts that even the Father himself would pardon such sins.”

With a deep, steadying breath, Jeyne braced her hands on the arms of her throne and looked imperiously over the men she ruled. “Is there any who would oppose this decision?”

Lord Sunderland began to speak but swiftly changed his mind. Then, though it obviously pained him, he bowed his head in acquiescence.

“Then it is decided,” Jeyne proclaimed with a wide grin. “The Vale and all its people hereby recognize Aegon, Second of His Name, as the rightful heir to his father, King Viserys, and as the one true Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.”

She paused to allow applause – louder than it had been for Jace’s petition – to again sweep through the room as her steward led chants of ‘Aegon the King.’

But she did not move to dismiss the court. Instead, she turned to her godsdaughter. “Princess Arianwyn?” she called, only continuing when the girl was again standing before her. “You have presented yourself well today. You should be proud.”

Indeed, Arianwyn was filled with such pride and relief that she felt her chest would burst for it. But she tried to remain humble as she bowed her head. “Thank you, godsmother.”

“You are very welcome, my dear,” Jeyne cooed fondly before slipping back into her more regal demeanor. “But your mission is only half-accomplished, is it not?”

“Yes, my Lady,” Arianwyn said quickly. “The King has asked that I negotiate for the support of your troops, should they be needed to defend his crown.”

“I do not think ‘negotiation’ is necessary,” Jeyne laughed. “I have only two requests of our new King, and I do not imagine he will object much to either. Will you hear them?”

“Of course, my Lady.”

“First, I ask that he use every tool at the Crown’s disposal to bring Daemon Targaryen to justice and ensure that he is punished in accordance with the severity of his crimes.”

Arianwyn nodded eagerly, too overwhelmed by the ferocity with which Jeyne spoke – a ferocity which suggested she would tear Daemon apart herself if given the chance – to say anything.

“My second request may be somewhat more difficult, I am afraid. Should war break out, it will be fought with dragons. Now, I have no fear of armies. Many and more have broken themselves against my Bloody Gate, and the Eyrie is known to be impregnable. But you,” she nodded to Jacaerys as well, “the both of you, have descended on us from the sky, as Queen Visenya once did during the Conquest, and I was powerless to halt you.

“The decisions I have made today, and truths that were revealed in my keep, will no doubt reach Daemon’s ears. Should he come seeking retribution, I must not be powerless to defend myself and my people. Send me dragonriders.” There was a flicker of genuine fear in Jeyne’s dark eyes as she spoke. Fear that her people would suffer the consequences of her actions – however righteous they were.

Arianwyn understood that fear. It was the same that had kept her and Emrys from escaping Dragonstone for all those years.

“I will do what I can, my Lady,” she said, hoping it would be enough. “I have little involvement in matters of war, but should it be necessary, Emrys and I shall come and defend the Eyrie ourselves.”

“Nothing would make me feel safer,” Jeyne agreed. Then, with a dramatic sweeping of her skirts as she stood, she descended her throne to take Arianwyn’s arm and begin leading her from the High Hall. “Speaking of your delightful dragon, I believe you are past due to fly home to your equally delightful husband...”

-

“Where is she?” Aemond demanded. His body had begun to shake again, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Only one thing mattered.

Arianwyn.

He felt the uncomfortable sensation of hot, salty tears pooling in his empty eye.

Oh gods. The sapphire was gone, as was the patch.

How many people had seen his true, monstrous self?

Aemond’s feet began carrying him to the bedchamber before he heard the guards reply – if they had replied at all. He pushed open the door so hard the wood cracked, but he did not stop.

Not until he reached the mirror.

The one he had set into the eastern wall. So that he could see his sapphire every morning and think of Aria. So he could see himself as she would – as she did – as the man, not the monster.

There was nothing left of the man in his reflection now.

His skin and hair were stained with his own blood, only interrupted by the clean tracks left by his tears.

His one eye was wide, wet, and bloodshot – the eye of a cornered, feral beast, not a civilized man or Prince.

His lips were so dry they had begun to crack and bleed, and the remnants of his sick were still at the corners of his mouth.

The wounds he had inflicted on himself were savage and deep. They would likely scar, but he did not care.

Aemond recognized the monster reflected back at him.

It was him, as he truly was, behind all his masks and lies.

“Where is she?” he asked, though he did not know whether the guards had followed him. “Why isn’t she here? I need her.”

He needed her so badly.

He would die if he did not find her.

He would die and go to the deepest hell, where he belonged.

He would never see her again.

She was good. Her soul was pure – she would not be sent to the hells.

While he suffered for eternity, she would live in bliss alongside the gods.

She would forget him, the broken man she had felt enough pity for to shackle herself to him in life.

Aemond hoped she would forget him quickly. He did not want her to suffer on his behalf.

He did not want to shadow her beautiful soul with the darkness that lived in him.

He screamed, the harrowing sound coming from the very depths of his broken soul, as he threw his fist into the mirror with all his might.

It shattered into a million tiny shards of pure silver, exploding throughout the room.

Each new cut on his face and each sliver of glass embedded into his hand at once anchored Aemond to reality and pulled him further into his distant, dark soul.

Suddenly, a hand brushed his shoulder.

He was so entirely consumed by the monster staring back at him that, even through the mirror, he had not noticed anyone approaching.

His training kicked in, and he moved on instinct.

He shoved the hand on his shoulder away as he turned, reaching for his assailant. Finding another arm, thin and fragile, he seized it with all his strength and twisted, twisted, twisted. Until he heard them scream in pain.

But he knew that scream.

Kirin.

At once, Aemond’s mind came racing back, and he was what was before him – what he was doing.

His hand was wrapped around Kirin’s arm – his bad arm – bending and pulling it past its natural limits. His manservant’s face was distorted in pain as he screamed, but his blue eyes were filled only with concern for his master.

Aemond pulled away the moment the guards burst into the room. Ser Conin and Ser Christor grabbed Kirin as he fell, immediately rushing him out of the apartments. To the Maesters, no doubt.

Ser Warren remained behind, his dark gaze fixed on the Prince, assessing him as a threat. But then, the old man saw the wounds on his face, the tear tracks through the blood, and the fear in his eye.

“My Prince,” Warren said, his voice soft and careful, as though he were trying to soothe a rabid dog. “Princess Arianwyn has not returned. She is expected tonight. Is there someone else I can summon to… help you?”

Aemond took a step back into the broken shards of the mirror, wishing that one of them would break through the leather of the boot and cut him. He needed more pain, worse pain, anything to anchor him to reality until Arianwyn was back.

“Get out,” Aemond whispered, his voice too broken to shout again, as he wanted to. “Get out. Leave me alone. If anyone other than Aria comes in here … I will kill them.”

Not a threat, exactly, but the expression of genuine fear. If he could hurt Kirin – his trusted servant and friend – he was capable of hurting anyone.

Except Arianwyn. Never her.

Ser Warren nodded and left quickly, muttering something about stationing guards at the door.

Aemond staggered through the rooms to the door, falling against it and ensuring the lock was turned. Only Arianwyn held the key to unlock it – only she could free him from this cage.

Or perhaps she would leave him in here. It would be safer to keep the monster contained, where it could hurt no one.

But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t even see him as a monster.

For once, the thought brought him more pain than comfort.

He didn’t want to be anchored to reality, he wanted to escape it.

He stumbled across the room once more. Not to the bedchamber, but to the cabinet he knew had been recently stocked with Arianwyn’s favorite wines. Flavored with fruit and flowers, their taste was as delicate as the woman who loved them.

His body was so out of his control that he ripped the door off the cabinet rather than opening it. It didn’t matter. He had what he needed.

He had always hated that loss of self and control. It was why he had always avoided wine for so long. And it was precisely why he needed it now – to hasten his mind’s retreat and keep him far away from reality until Arianwyn was here again.

Aemond grabbed the first bottle he could reach, ripped out the cork, and began to drink.

-

Jeyne, Gerold, and Jessamyn were the only ones to accompany Arianwyn to the gardens to say goodbye. Emrys, who had fallen asleep too quickly the night of their arrival to greet anyone, was thrilled to see Gerold again, and even more so to meet his rider’s godmother and her companion.

While Gerold was already acquainted with the dragon and knew how to approach him, Jeyne and Jessamyn wore twin expressions of equal delight and terror as they strode toward the great beast. Thankfully, Emrys was one of the friendlier dragons in Westeros, especially when the new people he met approached hand-in-hand with his rider.

Still, Jessamyn’s knees buckled when she first touched his smooth black scales, requiring Jeyne to catch her before she fell. Emrys immediately swiveled his head to check on her, prompting an outpouring of laughter from everyone.

Laughter that ended the moment Arianwyn spotted Jacaerys enter the gardens, lock eyes with her, and begin to walk her way.

“I’m leaving,” she hissed to Gerold as she started to climb into the saddle. “Right now.”

“Arianwyn,” Gerold scolded, grabbing the back of her armor to halt her. Even when he had not been training for many months, he was still much stronger than her, allowing him to hold her still despite her protestations and wriggling. “If he wants to say goodbye, you should let him. He is your cousin and stepbrother. And you all but humiliated him today. You owe him this.”

Looking to Jeyne and Jessamyn for support was useless, as they both muttered their agreement with Gerold.

“Please?” she begged pathetically as Gerold hoisted her from the stirrups and set her gently but firmly back on the ground, making her feel like she was no more than a ragdoll.

Again, it was to no avail. Jeyne stepped forward to tuck away a few strands of hair that had already come loose from Arianwyn’s braid as she whispered, “You have proved yourself a skilled diplomat today. Consider this but one final test, yes?”

“Will you stay with me?” Arianwyn asked, leaning into her godsmother’s touch.

Jeyne sighed and kissed her godsdaughter’s forehead. “No, my dear. I think you need to do this alone. There is more between the two of you than what happened today. If war is coming, you should make peace while you can.”

Arianwyn could not quite see the logic of making peace in preparation for war, but reluctantly agreed. Not wanting to show weakness, she held back her tears while she said goodbye to her cousin, godsmother, and whatever one calls their godsmother’s secret lover.

Then they left, passing Jace on their way back into the Eyrie. Jeyne and Jessamyn only politely dipped their heads to the Prince as they walked by, while Gerold stopped and grabbed his arm to whisper something to him before moving on.

Emrys growled as he approached, angling his head and wings to hide Arianwyn as best he could. At least he supported her.

“I want to talk to you,” Jace pled after several minutes of trying and failing to outmaneuver the dragon.

“And why should you ever want that?” she hissed, her voice muffled through the membrane of Emrys’ wing.

“I think after what you just said in there,” he huffed, “I deserve some answers.”

“Mmm,” Arianwyn hummed, fastening her bag to Emrys’ saddle a little too tightly. The dragon grunted, though he directed his frustration not at his rider but at the bastard Prince that was upsetting her. “I didn’t think I left any room for questions.”

Jace groaned in frustration. “Aria…”

“Do not call me that!” she shouted, abandoning her preparations for departure and bursting from beneath Emrys’ wing to round on her stepbrother. When she reached him, she shoved him as hard as he could. “You do not get to call me that!”

He stumbled back but did not move to retaliate. Instead, he held out his arms to try and dissuade her from attacking again. And to placate Emrys, who was viciously baring his teeth.

Arianwyn was disappointed. For a moment, she thought she might get to use the dagger Aemond gave her, now strapped to the belt of her riding leathers. She did have a better record with live targets, after all. But whatever her desires, she would not attack unprovoked.

She rolled her eyes as she stepped back to Emrys. “You may speak until I am ready to depart. I would be quick about it if I were you – I am anxious to return home.”

Jace scoffed as he took a cautious step forward, “To your one-eyed beast of a husband?”

That was provocation enough for Arianwyn.

She drew her dagger and whirled around. Rather than try and bring the blade to his throat, she grabbed his collar and pulled him to the blade. It worked much better than the lunging attacks Aemond had forced her to practice. She did not press hard enough to cut, only to apply enough pressure for him to think twice before talking again.

“My ‘one-eyed beast of a husband’ taught me how to use this,” she spat. Only partly true – he had taught her how to hold it. They had not had much success past that. But she understood the concept of the dagger well enough. She did not need much training to know which end would cut. “Would you like me to show you, bastard?”

At the pain that went through his dark eyes at the word, she almost regretted the insult. She had never used it before – she always thought she was in no place to judge someone on their parentage.

But she would not endure insults to Aemond. Especially not from Jace.

He and his brother were the cause of so much of Aemond’s pain. What was a single cruel and undeniably true word against what they had done to him? To what he had said to her on Driftmark over the past six years?

She could not decipher the expression on his face as he pulled as far away from her blade as he could. His eyes were sorrowful, but his mouth was curled in a sneer. “Do you really hate me that much?”

Arianwyn was taken aback, so much so that she released his collar and let him stumble away from her dagger. “What?”

He looked to be almost on the verge of tears as he looked at her beseechingly. “Do you hate me, Arianwyn?”

She expected him to accuse her of lying about her father and his mother. To demand she recant all that she had said. Or even to try and stop her from leaving.

But, true to form, he had asked her another stupid question.

“You spent our entire childhood making Aemond miserable,” she said, her voice thick with anger and confusion. He moved to refute or argue with her, but she raised her blade again to stop him. “He never did anything to you, yet you took every opportunity to torment him – whether Aegon was there or not. It was you who brought the knife to that fight!”

Jace looked away from her, lips thin with anger. But he said nothing as she continued her tirade.

“You had to know it was him.” she dropped the hand holding the dagger to her side as tears welled in her eyes. “When you came to the tunnel. Rhaena was with you, so who else could it have been?”

She began to laugh as her tears fell, and she waved her hand, in which the dagger was now only loosely gripped, as she spoke. “You saw Vhagar and knew it was Aemond. And you were not as desperate or ill-educated as Rhaena. You knew that he had not ‘stolen’ her,” she spat, the word that had long caused her animosity with her youngest half-sister disgusting her still. “You knew it was his birthright to claim a dragon.”

Arianwyn had never intended to say so much to him, having responded to his taunts with as few words as possible for so long. But he had somehow unearthed a rage buried deep within her, feelings toward him that she had not known were there.

“It had been his birthright to have an egg to warm his cradle – as you and I both did – but he was denied that, as he was denied so much by his father,” she laughed again. “But what would you know about that? Viserys always loved you and your brothers so well. And you have been blessed with an excess of fathers: Laenor Velaryon, Harwin Strong, and now Daemon.”

Her laughter faded, and her bitter smile fell. “It’s disgusting, you know. How you follow Daemon around like a dog, begging for his attention and praise. What is it you expect from him? You don’t really think he’ll let you inherit anything, do you? He has two trueborn sons with Rhaenyra. Not even you can be so foolish as to think he’d let a bastard take the throne before them.”

She took a heaving breath, fully intending to continue her tirade, but then Jace moved. He snatched the dagger out of her hand, sending it clattering across the flagstones and into the bushes. When her silver gaze finally left him to stare at it in disbelief, he grabbed her but the shoulders.

“Arianwyn,” he gritted through clenched teeth, “I just want to know – ”

“Why did you bring that knife?” she screamed with all the breath in her lungs, then fell silent.

She had not known it, but that question had burned in her mind for more than six years. It had fueled every frustration she ever held for him. It was the reason his every word grated on her – why she had always bristled under his gaze.

Luke’s hand had stolen Aemond’s eye, but Jace’s knife made the cut.

Jace did not answer, though he did let go of her. As she glared at him, he could not meet her eye.

“What did you plan to do to him?” She asked, as still as the stone of the mountains surrounding them. “If I hadn’t been there, what would you have done?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, his lip curled in a scowl. “I just… I wanted to scare him.”

“Why?”

“Because I did not like him.”

“He had never done anything to you, or anyone,” Arianwyn said, still not understanding. “He is your uncle – he wanted to be your friend. At Laena’s funeral, he tried to tell you he was sorry about Ser Harwin’s death. Why did you dislike him so?”

Jace released his grip and turned his back on her, so all she could see was his dark hair blowing in the breeze as he looked at the statue of Alyssa Arryn, only steps away.

“He had you.”

Arianwyn had never felt so lost. Her mouth hung open as she stared at him, desperate for him to say just one thing that made sense. “He ‘had’ me? What does that even mean?”

“You were always with him!” he shouted as he whirled around to her again, though he never met her eyes. “At meals and parties, in your lessons, in the library. Seven hells, you even came to watch him train even though you hate fighting!”

“He was – and is – my best friend. I was always with him because I liked being with him,” she countered, brow furrowing tighter. “Just like you were always with Luke and Aegon.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Jace said, laughing darkly and shaking his head.

Arianwyn scoffed, “I don’t even know what the ‘thing’ is!”

“It – ” the muscles in his jaw were so tight they seemed about to snap. “It was… frustrating to me. That I could never talk to you without him being there.”

“Still, it never seemed to stop you,” she said, crossing her arms. “Or Aegon.”

He had the courtesy to look mildly regretful. “That wasn’t talking.”

“No, it was ridicule.”

“And it wasn’t you that we were – ”

“It might as well have been.”

“Can you please just – ”

“What do you want from me, Jace?”

“I’m trying to tell you that I love you, dammit!” he roared.

Arianwyn felt as though she had woken suddenly from a nightmare. She stumbled back until she hit Emrys’ scales, then slid down until she was slumped against him with her head in her hands. “Tell me this is just another of your stupid jokes, or I am going to vomit.”

Jace grimaced and kicked the tip of his boot against the side of a loose flagstone. “I’m sorry.”

While she didn’t vomit, Arianwyn let out a miserable, guttural groan that sounded quite close to vomiting. “How can you love me if you don’t even like me?”

“I do like you,” he answered, still not daring to approach her or her angry dragon. “I’ve always liked you.”

Arianwyn finally raised her head, leaning against Emrys’ hot scales as she looked up at her stepbrother. “You don’t treat people you like the way you’ve treated me. You’re cruel to me.”

“No,” he sighed, stepping toward her just enough to earn a warning growl from Emrys. “It’s not cruelty, I promise. It’s jokes, teasing – that’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“But we aren’t friends, Jace,” she countered, hating herself for feeling badly when he looked hurt by her words. “We never have been.”

“Why not?”

“Because you aren’t nice to me!”

“You wouldn’t talk to me if I was nice to you!”

“How do you know? Did you ever try?”

Jace opened his mouth, but what came out was more of a quiet squawk than an actual word. Arianwyn could do nothing but look at him in bewilderment as he recalled their every interaction. His face scrunched like he was trying to solve some great mystery.

“You didn’t,” she answered for him, lacking the patience to let him figure it out for himself. “Even once I was on Dragonstone, where Aemond couldn’t ‘have’ me, you were never nice to me. None of you were, except Rhaena. She’s the only one who ever apologized to me for what you did on Driftmark.”

He stared blankly at where Emrys had wrapped the tip of his tail around Arianwyn. A gentle touch of comfort, protection, and possessiveness from a beast capable of such awesome death and destruction.

She closed her eyes and let herself imagine that the touch was not Emrys but Aemond. That it was his warmth she was feeling. But if Aemond were here, if he heard what Jace was saying to her…

Perhaps it was a good thing her husband was so far away.

“So, you do hate me,” Jace whispered as the revelation finally came to him, “and… I deserve it.”

Arianwyn rolled her eyes, prepared to say something cutting, but then she saw the devastation and self-loathing on his face. She swallowed the retort, along with the slight pang of guilt in her chest. “Well, maybe not ‘hate,’ exactly. Just… very, very strong dislike.”

“That is the definition of hate,” he replied with a sad laugh.

“I’m sorry,” Arianwyn said, and despite herself, she meant it.

He shook his head, shoulders drooping. “No, don’t do that. I should be the one to apologize to you. For how I’ve treated you, for the things I’ve said, and for… everything with Aemond.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. It was not forgiveness, for that would require more than a simple apology. All she would – could – give him was acknowledgment. That she had heard his words, that she understood him. That, perhaps, forgiveness was possible.

Sensing the tension disappear, Emrys rose from his protective crouch and flexed his wings. He stretched a bit, testing the weight of all the saddlebags – and the sword, Lamentation, carefully attached to the side of Arianwyn’s seat. There had been a place for a weapon built into his saddle, but it had never been used until now.

“I think he’s ready to leave,” Jace sighed.

Arianwyn stood and looked back to her mount. He certainly was. She could tell by how he leaned down on one side – his way of asking her to climb on. She smiled, stroking his side before gripping the first handhold of the saddle.

“Can I…” Jace started, making her stop her ascent for a moment. “Can I ask you one more question before you go?”

Emrys bristled at the further delay but did not make any other attempts to intimidate the boy. Arianwyn didn’t respond until she was settled in the saddle with the leather straps around her thighs fastened. “You may.”

Jace looked up at her, brown eyes pleading and shoulders squared. Arianwyn knew that whatever he was about to ask, the answer was monumentally important to him.

“If things had been different,” he began, never breaking his gaze from hers for more than a blink, “if I had been different – been better… could you ever have loved me? Chosen me, instead of him?”

Arianwyn froze. He had just given her the power to break his heart.

She knew she should think about her answer, should try and imagine a world where Jace had been kind and sweet. One where it may have been him to spend those long days in the library with her. Or one where, once they were on Dragonstone, he changed to her and became the Prince to rescue her from her tower.

But none of those imaginings could even begin to form in her mind.

For each time, her mind instead conjured an image of a story she’d so often been told. Two white-haired babes – one swaddled in green, one in bronze – meeting for the first time. Smiles breaking across their still-pink, chubby cheeks as they reached toward each other with clumsy arms.

They had never stopped reaching for each other. And they never would.

“No,” she said. She knew it was the answer he was dreading, but no matter what he had done, he deserved the truth. And this was a truth etched into her heart, her soul. “It was always Aemond.”

Though his eyes began to water, Jace smiled tightly as he nodded. “I am very happy for you, that you are so happy. And… I will try to be happy for him as well.”

Arianwyn knew that ‘try’ was the most important word in that sentiment, but she smiled back anyway as she grasped Emrys’ reins. “Thank you, Jace. I will pray that you and Baela can find the same happiness in your own union.”

She meant it. When the betrothal was announced, she saw how excited Baela was. How her half-sister had looked so deeply in love the night of the dinner. If Jace would allow himself to, they could find genuine love together.

He pursed his lips in a way that usually meant he was about to make some snide comment, but he bit it back with a twitch of his head. Then, he stepped away from Arianwyn and Emrys, giving the dragon ample space to take flight.

“The next time we see each other,” Jace called, his voice sodden with regret. “We may very well be true enemies. It will be my duty to hurt you. Or kidnap you. Or...”

“I think it is more than likely, I’m afraid,” she agreed.

Jace was silent for a moment, looking down at his shuffling feet. “Aria?”

Though she still bristled at hearing him call her that, she did not comment on it. “Yes, Jace?”

He took a deep breath and looked directly into her eyes. “Promise me that whatever happens, you will stay far, far away from Daemon.”

So, he did believe her story.

To her surprise, she felt no instinct to gloat. On the contrary, she was touched by how worried he was about her.

“Don’t worry,” she said in consolation, allowing herself a slight grin. After all, she was most comfortable around Jace when she was teasing him. But now, her tone was far more playful than spiteful. “I was planning on doing that anyway.”

Then Emrys took to the sky, hollering in delight that he was finally going home –where Arianwyn knew her husband would be waiting for her.

-

Aemond waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Still, Arianwyn did not come.

How long had he been sitting on their bedroom floor amongst the shards of shattered glass, just waiting?

Minutes?

Hours?

Days?

Years?

An eternity?

He blinked slowly, his eye dry and heavy. And far too blurry to see where he had put his bottle.

So, he reached out blindly, discarding the empty bottles he found and savoring the clattering sound they made as they rolled across the floor. The pain it caused his aching head reminded him that he was alive and served as the beginning of the punishment he deserved.

Finally, he found a half-full bottle and brought it to his lips. Then, after another long gulp, he rested it against his heaving chest.

Night had fallen – or fallen again, if he had indeed been here more than a day. Moonlight shone through the window, reflecting off the pieces of mirror sprawled on the floor as it had once reflected off his sapphire.

But Aemond did not look at the moonlight. He could not appreciate its strange beauty.

He could only stare at the impenetrable darkness in the corner of the room.

It seemed to have emerged from within his broken soul.

And from within, staring at him like a wolf in the night, was the horrible, simple truth that he felt infinitely more guilt for hurting Kirin than he did for killing Luke.

It was that truth that made him a monster.

“Aria…” he whispered, his voice hardly more than a breath. Even as he drank, he did not dare look away from the darkness as he called out for his wife.

And he did not stop.

Next Chapter

[kirantech]

Optimize author experience and author performance in AEM

Optimize author experience and author performance in AEM

Problem statement: How to improve the authoring experience in AEM using SDI? Can I optimize page load time? Can I cache all experience fragments on the pages in AEM? Introduction: The purpose of the module presented here is to replace dynamically generated components (eg. current time or foreign exchange rates) with server-side include tags (eg. SSI or ESI). Therefore, the dispatcher is able…

[magicalworldweb]

Fairy Up, Girl

Ya’ll, the icky sickies are going around. I know, not newsworthy since that’s all that’s been going around the last couple of years, but I caught the seemingly everlasting respiratory virus (not Covid this time) that’s plaguing so many. And if that wasn’t enough, I caught a stomach bug -right smack dab in the middle- of the virus. It was horrible. Like crawling to the bathroom horrible. Throwing…

[witchmoon]

by our red string of fate.

Part 4

Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x fem! Reader

Summary: Y/N and Aemond finally reunite on a stormy night in King's Landing. Angst, vague mentions of abuse, then fluff AF.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Multi-part wip - slow burn, language. NSFW is coming! Hope you stick around and enjoy. Comments always welcomed. LMK if you want to be tagged <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

i didn't dream of you, i thought of you! the yearning, the hoping and the wishing was all intentional.

The days had been impossible and the nights were harder still as every thought consuming her continued to revolve around Aemond. If only he would respond.

Her concentration wanes in even the most banal of daily tasks, accompanied by her relatives as the days drag and conversations remain dull. It's disengaging - exhausting, and sleep eludes her at night as she lies awake wondering how his day has been, what he's doing now, and if his minor injury is healing well.

Even reminiscing taking the prince's bruised hand to press her lips against his knuckles compels an ache, recalling that hitch in his breath and the look of surprise he couldn't mask.

Though she can't guess where his mind is at or what he's possibly thinking, feeling, it doesn't deter her from imagining what they could truly mean to each other. And the ambivalence from his end doesn't override the high value she's already placed on him in her life either, for he already means a great deal to her.

Yet, the issue of his silence continues to nag and it brings with it both worry and frustration. It jabs at her ego as well, but more than that, his lack of response works to deteriorate her tortured heart - silently dismantling it piece by piece, hour by hour.

She can't help but wonder why she isn't with him now, why he doesn't want her. These unanswered questions carry her through another sleepless night and on cue, the sun rises once more for her to face another day alone in a city she's begun to despise.

We belong together.

It had been bold, but she had laid that claim and sent the correspondence to Aemond. Simple words, the most honest she'd ever been - full of zeal and impulsive, to the point. Aware that the risk was great, she'd proceeded before rationality got the better of her - spurred by a need to be vulnerable for him.

However, the waiting becomes a slow death. The silence since then all but reducing her to a shell of a person.

She's plagued with anxiety and a significant amount of doubt as her hope drastically depletes waiting for him, for a sign - anything while waiting for a love that may never come.

And so soon, the cynicism begins to set in, a slew of malcontent nerves clawing ceaselessly at her from within to leave her sick. It all conspires to fuck her up and it does, stealing her appetite, her rest, her absolute sanity.

She curses Aemond for doing this to her, though she wants him no less than before.

Am I so easily forgettable to him… so disposable? Fuck him.

Was it wrong to be disappointed, angry? In a way, she is mad at him for putting her in this situation to begin with, for challenging her.

She's never been good at these types of things - of pursuing men romantically, nor being really upfront with her demands. Of course, she knows what she desires, but vocalizing such matters, sharing them in any medium is altogether new, terrifying.

To be forward, unapologetically candid, almost selfishly, especially to someone like him had always seemed unfathomable. But again, she had gone out on that limb, willing to admit that Aems was different, better, captivating - worthy of surrendering her pride for.

He still is, and she can only hope that her brief message has been received well, with enough conveyance regarding the depth of her devotion - how willing she is to be so open with him, ready for love and ready for the fall.

At the time of writing it, the concept hadn't seemed that far-fetched, for she knew people who had love between them. And she just couldn't believe herself truly so defective as to not be given an opportunity to experience the same.

It must exist for me as well, surely.

On a deeper level, she knows obtaining this magic means more for her now. It's important because she's wanted love for so long, and she's patiently waited these many years for the right person to come into her life and capture her heart.

That's what's different this time, she recognizes the way her soul has been bounded to another's. The sensation is new, unripened. She knows it is because there had been others who had tried to come close to her in the past, always coming up short.

And this is why - they had never been the one, they had never been him. Aemond. Nobody had ever made her feel this way, and the feelings seemed vast, electrifying - affecting her in a way she couldn't have been ready for.

Yet, she always thought that when that time and person came, she would know because she would feel it.

This is what's agitating her the most. She does feel it. And what should one do, how does one react when they find themselves to finally be within reach of receiving everything they've always dreamt of?

It leaves her moody and wanting, stressed as fuck, because at a distance, the unlikelihood of such an occurrence had almost been as consoling as the hope for such things to happen. And now that it felt like it was happening for her, she didn't know how to proceed.

It's a fight or flight mentality she grapples with, feeling it imperative to stay and see this through. If anything, get closure in order to move on. But she's also vying to leave, thinking it best to put a time limit on how long she's willing to remain in King's Landing - an unspoken ultimatum.

How long is long enough before she decides to give up on Aemond and all their potential, only to return home - skeptical, with empty arms and a fractured heart?

She wonders and she loathes the doubt that's taken hold, though she can't help to consider that she's been completely off-base this entire time with what she perceived as being created between them that night. A splendidly deep connection, an understanding.

I thought he wanted me.

It's the overthinking that kills, and she could use some advice - anything to help talk her off the metaphorical ledge she's been stuck on. Anything to make her see reason, find logic in the positives of their interaction in order to reinstate some faith.

But nothing comes to interject, and she remains within herself to safeguard the sweet memory of him and their short time together. She knows she will hold onto them forever, come what may.

Those moments are ours and ours, alone.

this could be the beginning of everything for you.

As time slips away, she gains more order over her chaotic thoughts and the insecurities eventually subside, replaced by something more resolute.

Suddenly there's confidence in her once more - an unyielding adamance to remain true to herself, and it overtakes the final vestiges of her uncertainty, all that's lingered and bothered for too many days.

There's a new awareness in the obtainment of something real, worthwhile with Aemond and she knows it must develop from a place of vulnerability. Just as much as she'd been given the choice to pursue, it was now time for him to make his move.

And in doing so, she needed to know that he could want her even at the most basic level, even at her worst, even as no one of societal importance. From where she stood, she had to be enough just as she was, no more and no less.

Really, it had already become this way when she'd confided in him how alone she felt, how grateful she was for the kindness he'd shown towards her. It wasn’t a commodity.

She reflects further on how he had seen her on edge too, merely seconds away from crying or just going off, which surely had demonstrated the breadth of her sensitivities.

It had been clear enough to see with everything so openly displayed at the time. And still, he had approached her - offering himself and his patience, graciously coming to her aid to provide a gentle stability unlike any she'd ever previously known.

He had actually cared.

Their encounter has been replayed several times over in her head, but so many of the small details begin to blur, instilling a new sort of panic.

With the distraction of being so close whilst listening to him speak, she's convinced there are things she's probably missed, undoubtedly so. At times, it had just been so hard to focus, even follow their conversation despite wanting to know everything about Aemond.

But simply looking at him had taken a wealth of her attention, robbing her focus with his undeniable beauty. He had been charming in manner, but also enticingly wry, even borderline cavalier in regards to his royal station, which only made him more attractive to her. Anything but ordinary.

Everything about him still makes her weak, though it's alarming the way the recollection of that night feels both stark and fleeting. And at a certain point, she even considers the idea that she's simply recreating details rather than actual events in order to find validation and feel important, wanted.

Non-sense. The thought is quickly rejected upon reflection of the signs, so many indications that continue to support her theory that his attraction was mutual. That he was investing himself, and had wanted more.

He's the one that kissed me! And yeah, she had wanted it, but he had made that move - executing it with such finesse. That subtle demand that she participate in the physical connection, but not progress it beyond the boundaries he had laid for them.

The restraint had been both maddening and intoxicating with his soft lips against hers, the smoky taste of his tongue new and lingering, so drugging. Everything about that night was pretty fucking real, meaningful.

So real in the way he'd looked at shithead's party - disconnected, disenchanted, a menacing beauty coming for her own soul. And how he'd taken her with him for their escape, even avenging her stained dress and perhaps even her pride by really laying one into Aegon once they'd reached his bedchamber.

Although it hadn't been necessary, she was moved by his physical reaction, even aroused by an obvious inclination towards the wrath he kept. Something about it had betrayed his cool exterior, providing her with a glimpse of the fire within him, the rage.

But then Aemond had also shown extreme compassion, reverting to sweetness as he handled her with amazing care. He had made her feel better, made her laugh, miraculously lightening the mood to an otherwise tumultuous evening - and all without victimizing her.

He had acknowledged that she was tenacious, but had interjected and offered her a hand just when she'd needed it the most. And she really had needed someone - so close at the time to just collapsing in anger and bursting into tears out of sheer frustration.

It would have been a disaster. You cry, and they will know they have won. Just as punching the king probably would not have boded well for her either. She can't even begin to consider the consequences of that action.

Then Aemond had been there, taking her somewhere dark and secluded for some privacy, relief. Even attempting to clean her clothing, to no avail, but no less gallant.

He had relaxed her, moving her with his thoughtfulness and returning a smile to her face with his sarcastic ire. He had been perfect, a natural balm to her frayed emotions.

It had also been so real when he had touched her face, his roughened fingertips light and tender on her skin, though he looked at her with a fiery desire that kept kick-starting her heart. He had stared for too long and she had loved it, even more so when clearly against his better judgment, he had reached out to run his fingers through her hair.

She longs for that again, for even more, falling to pieces over all her thoughts of them together. The immediate ease and comfort from that interaction had meant everything, it still does, and she knows they could have it again - have more.

She knows how wonderful he can be and how perfect they could be too. The compatibility is there and they are both so fucking capable, so she has to remain steadfast in their potential - maintaining the hope that he will call for her or come to her.

He must. He will. In her mind, there is no other outcome and she will not force the issue further.

We were meant for each other, it is our destiny.

and now i wait for love - impatient, terrified, but hopeful.

He is different, she thinks dreamily, in a league all his own. The thought of that truly terrifies her though, it pressures her in an unfathomable way as she mulls silently over tea the following morning.

Even as much as she wants him, wants something with him, she's still so fucking scared. And she's less confident now than she was yesterday, though admittedly there is more assurance since she's ceased arguing with herself over the validity of their encounter.

Aems is an enigma. She doesn't know if that makes it easier or harder, finding it simply intimidating to imagine what he must know, what he is accustomed to and capable of... what he has done.

And what of his needs, his own desires?

The thoughts swirl and with them also the evidence of his sophistication, which had been apparent to her. Thankfully, it was in a way that was neither boorish or patronizing, but rather gave the impression of a deep wisdom beyond his years. It had been unmistakable.

It comforts her to consider him in this way, knowing she could benefit from that type of energy, but with more sleep lost, her annoyance rises once more. There's a lot of feelings at play, particularly her stubborn fear of still not being enough for him.

It's currently at the forefront of her mind, enhanced by mental exhaustion and she wishes she could get a reprieve - wanting so desperately to be laid next to Aemond, wrapped up in his love.

My dear, I cannot stop thinking of you.

Her mind wanders along the lines of what he wears to sleep, if anything, and which side of the bed he favors - all the things she'd love to know.

Such as - does he slumber still, at this late hour? And what about his eyepatch, when does he remove it and for who? What is the extent of the injury that it conceals and how did it occur? She wants to be at a point of trust with him where he is willing to share these parts of himself openly.

I accept all of you, just as you are. I adore you!

In her eyes, he is already so perfect and the musings continue to progress with intimacy as she imagines his hair loosened, disheveled either from sleep or sex, both. She thinks of how his voice is probably deep, raspy at the start of each new day as he comes out of sleep slowly.

Then she's putting herself in the scenario, vivid enough to capture in her mind as she decides he would be the first to wake. He's definitely nude, hair untied, eyepatch nowhere to be found.

And she imagines him snuggling into her, close enough to begin kissing beautiful foreign words onto her lips - persistent and adoring to rouse her from sleep before pulling her fully into his arms.

She's reminded of the actual sensation of being held by him, that heavenly moment when she'd pressed herself against his body and he'd reciprocated the touch in the godswood. She must have that again, her body begs for it.

That moment was so beautiful and I was so vulnerable, but he made me feel so safe, and I -

A solid knock at the door sounds then to disrupt further thoughts. It's loud enough to startle her, causing her to spill some tea as she rises from the table with some urgency.

As she walks to the entry, the pounding of her heart is unmistakable - there's a conflicting sense of dread and wavering expectation when she goes to undo the locks with unsteady fingers. But an alleviation to her emotions takes root from what she finds on the other side of the door when she finally manages to open it.

Ser. Cole at her doorstep. Stately, but personable, he announces himself before placing a small note in her hand with a knowing look.

"A personal message from Prince Aemond, my lady."

Then he takes his leave, gone just as soon as he'd arrived to leave her standing in the open doorway - her hands violently shaking once more, her heart in her throat.

Slowly she unfolds the note, eventually revealing words she feared she might never read, words she knows within her heart that Aemond has written straight from him own. Even his penmanship is beautiful - refined, and it's these words he’s put down in ink that she now presses to her lips as silent tears of joy begin to fall.

'Beloved - join me at the Red Keep tonight. I will send for you at dusk.'

maybe i've always been destined to end up in this place. i don't mean to come off selfish, but i want it all.

Though she can't stop smiling, there's a growing nervousness to her anticipation as the hours pass. She bathes, then struggles with indecision as she tries on several different dresses, eventually deciding on the dark green - her favorite.

There is also a substantial amount of time dedicated to her hair as she works to perfect it in long cascading soft curls, less formal than the night they met but just as elegant.

She conducts these physical preparations while trying not to panic, but a part of her remains in disbelief that very soon they'll finally be together again.

And it's this lovely concept that overrides most other thoughts in her mind, even her trepidations, past the moment when the sun begins to set and the carriage arrives with Ser. Cole as her personal escort.

Then she's en route to the Red Keep, finally returning to Aemond and ready to claim his heart.

This is really happening...

As they pass through the bronze gates and arrive in the middle bailey at time later, raindrops have just begun to descend slow and sparingly from the darkening sky.

She's been told the weather is unusual for the season, though she can't find any complaint in it as the dreariness tends to console her. It's a great comfort and she feels substantially eased by the current elements.

At least until Criston opens the carriage door and she peers out to find Aemond running towards them from one of the covered archways in the yard. It gets her heart racing, for she’s arrived, at last.

My prince, my love.

The reality that she's back at the castle sets in. It hangs in her mind with the concept of intimacy - how she's come for Aemond, called upon by him, alone. It feels significant for them to reunite here, and she knows that it is, because this time, it's not for a celebratory event, it's not for court, it's for love.

And seeing him now just reinstates her belief in this idea as every part of her goes warm. He's a gorgeous sight and he looks...hopeful, energized. After all her worry and incessant reflecting over the past few days, steeped in so much uncertainty, being with him feels like the greatest gift she could ever be given.

There's a moment of clarity as he draws near too - of how he actually exists. He's real! And when he locks his eye on her, his mouth hinting at a subtle smile, every remaining doubt she'd been harboring fades.

The notion that she had dreamt all of this and him is quickly diminished simply by the way he looks at her. There is heat in his stare, a matched longing that he bears and it tells her many things.

She's entranced, re-acquainting herself with how handsome he is dressed in all black once again, but it's more casual than before. There's no leather, no dagger. Even still, the overall aesthetic is dark, completely him and it's so fucking sexy - a stark contrast against the ethereal coloring of his skin and silver-white hair.

His hair. It's a feature she's already obsessed with and her hands get jumpy in their ache to tangle in it, disrupt the silken perfection. She wants it wild by her hand, leaving him a mess in the wake of her unbridled lust.

I want you so much!

He is so fucking hot, assured and confident when he nods towards Cole with thanks, silently commanding his leave. Then it’s just the two of them and it’s even better as he turns to greet her once he’s in front of her - the way his eye appears to sparkle with intentional desire when he looks up, extending his arm out.

She notices that he seems really happy too, taking his hand immediately, as he guides her down the carriage steps attentively. The touch is innocent enough, but a hot current is felt coursing between them at that first contact, nonetheless.

And Aemond is unable to quell his attraction, how satisfying it is to look upon her beloved face again - the very same one that's so exquisitely been haunting his every waking moment.

It's madness the way simply the heat from her stare back onto him stirs his blood - doing so in a way that leaves him ravenous for more pointed attentions. It makes him feel alive.

Heavens, l've missed you!

A simple hello is exchanged and it's natural, the easiest thing in the world to tuck her under his arm once she's got both feet on the ground. They fit perfectly and his heart justifiably flips when she leans further into him, wrapping her own arm around his waist to hold him close.

As they begin their walk towards the holdfast, the urge to kiss her is strong, but Aemond resists for the time being - wanting to ultimately be somewhere more private for such indulgences.

It’s just the way he is - clandestine in nature when it comes to affairs of the heart. Instead, he opts for something more chaste - a sweet nothing to pacify them both when he lowers his face to gently press his lips to her temple.

He tells her she's beautiful, noting the expectant look in her eyes when she gazes at him again, stunning and smiling as rain droplets begin to collect on their skin, her long lashes.

They quicken the pace, reaching the door of the building - their shelter, just as the sky opens up and starts to pour. Both of them blissful, having dodged the rainfall and so ready to begin the night.

the way you move is like a full on rainstorm, and i'm a house of cards.

Once inside, she doesn't know what to expect, but she takes Aemond's hand as they move through the space in an inconspicuous manner.

It's not questionable - they're both hoping to avoid unwanted encounters and she couldn't be more grateful for this approach, though she says nothing.

Her relief is palpable enough. It transfers when she readjusts her hand to lace her fingers between his, another new intimacy that leaves him marveling. He thinks he could get used to this...

She silently follows his lead, recalling the expanse of the Keep - of momentarily being here when she'd accompanied him during his confrontation with his brother that fated night.

The memory of Aegon and his lewdness leaves her bristling as they continue on, and somehow the idea of introductions with Aemond's family begins to infiltrate her mind in a nauseating way. It just isn't something she's given much thought to as a possible occurrence, nor does she feel mentally prepared to take on such an endeavor now… maybe ever.

Luckily, it's clear to her with the way they advance further into the castle, as if exploring through an unknown maze together with hidden traps, that Aemond has no intention of subjecting either one of them to such formalities.

At least not tonight, and this theory is further proven when echoing footsteps begin to sound, growing louder and louder towards them. Her eyes widen and the panic rises - she recognizes that voice.

Seven hells, please NOT him!

She's frozen in place, shell-shocked for just a moment before Aemond unexpectedly tugs on her arm, pulling her sideways just as Aegon and his Kingsguard round the corner, heading in their direction.

The motion is swift and then he's silently giving her a 'keep quiet' signal once he's settled with his back against the wall, holding her to him. It's strategic, probably in more ways than one, but their presence is effectively concealed as they stand together within a convenient alcove off the main corridor.

Although the space is small, it's unassuming and they're hidden enough. But just as a precaution, Aemond capitalizes on the situation, bringing her flush against his body when he reaches around to press at the small of her back.

He loves the closeness, how her ample chest gets crushed against his, threatening to get him hard. Its torturous in their current predicament, but he doesn't care. He needs this.

His hold on her body stays constant to linger along her back, daring to travel over the curve of her ass even as Aegon and the Cargyll twins get closer. She feels so good and he's sparked further when her hands settle low on his hips, just where his belt lies.

Her fingers begin to toy with the leather and he gets wrapped up in the sensations - how his lonely hands ache to feel every part of her, all that's hidden under the fine dress she wears.

Speaking of - the color is rich, the green suits her so well and he wonders if she's wearing it intentionally - for him, for her, for their future. Surely she’s aware these are Hightower colors.

He's musing all of this when she suddenly lets out a small snort at what Aegon's just voiced to his small party of knights, setting Aemond on high alert.

He immediately covers her mouth with his hand in an attempt to stifle her laughter and prevent any further sounds from escaping her lips at this unfortunate moment. And he just goes on silently cursing his idiotic sibling in the meantime, praying for them to hurry the fuck up and move on.

“...and I almost drank my own piss because I mistook it for ale when I woke up."

He rolls his eye at the admission, in no way surprised to be hearing this although the beauty before him appears to find it quite comical. He studies her in close proximity - her eyes are smiling, but there's also mischief in them.

All at once, she becomes the cause of his exasperation and his lust when he feels her dart her tongue out to lick against his palm.

Then she does it again - a teasing plea for him to release her and it's proving effective because Aemond looks like he's about to fold. But before he releases her, he mouths a very stern warning - b e h a v e .

When he does, she complies and reinstates her hold on him by wrapping her arms around his waist with the same fervor that he holds her. She breathes better and the moment becomes sweet for them as they pass the time, more patient now as they wait for Aegon's ramblings to subside.

She rests her head against his chest, just above his heart, momentarily closing her eyes to commit this moment to memory. And she’s smiling like never before when he whispers lovingly against her, placing so many kisses on her forehead as his arms wrap around her shoulders to keep her near.

"You fucking brat.”

in my dream, you're mine and in reality, you're my dream.

They remain as they are, allowing additional time for Aegon to put more distance between them and whatever his intended destination is. It's really just a prevision, but the moment extends long enough for Aemond to draw her gaze back to his once the room goes quiet again.

She adjusts and suddenly he's holding her face in his hands. It's lovely - his palms warm against her skin with his thumbs caressing delicately along her cheekbones.

It melts her to feel the way his fingertips begin to edge slowly along her neck in time, eventually landing just below her ears. They are so long, capable, and the effect of this specific hold leaves her entrapped - lost in a touch that could easily turn violent. She’s been strangled before…

But she trusts Aemond to do these things without hurting her, and he doesn’t. He holds her like nobody ever has, touching her and looking at her in such a way that could bring her to her knees - so reverent, adoring. It’s breaking something within her.

She stops thinking, and they're able to bask in the moment of their silent study of each other's beauty.

It goes on for a while, with her watching his eye - seeing how it focuses on her mouth, darkening to a deeper shade of blue. But being regarded with such intensity has never been comfortable, and it eventually gets the best of her.

She doesn't end the moment though, she enhances it, taking him by surprise when she leans in and kisses him softly. Thinking it's the perfect opportunity to convey how elated she is to simply be in his arms, in his life, of how dearly he's been missed.

Surely this is translating...

It's a preliminary kiss, but it's sweet enough to upturn his beautiful mouth when she pulls back. His pout dares her to do it again, so she does. This time, she kisses deeper, trailing her hands up his chest to cup his jaw as she continues on.

Touching his face is so intimate and he seems pleased by her initiative, effectively kissing her back with equal ardor. He allows her to take lead, willingly following her every move as they lean closer into each other with ease and growing familiarity.

When it ends, her eyes open before his and she waits, captivated by the dreamy look on his face as he brings her back into his sight.

She dares to hope he's been just as restless without her - left incomplete by her absence and how together, they can now remedy their combined yearning. Fulfill every desire, grant every wish, make all the dreams between them come true.

He's fucking mesmerizing and when he focuses on her again with a look of pure contentment, unveiled happiness, her heart skips a beat. She wonders if he will look at her this way while making love to her... and she yearns to know, to get to that level with him.

Just being around Aemond makes her want so many things, all the experiences with him and her heart gets heavy with the knowledge that it all finally feels possible for her, for them.

She knows she should speak now, realizing they haven't actually had the chance for many words since she'd arrived - thinking that opportunity is now. And he appears to be waiting, patient as his fingers thread into her hair with soft feels threatening to overtake her again at how doting he's become

Fuck. Her eyes begin to sting and her chest tightens considerably as she mulls over how to start, where to begin. It makes her self-conscious as the heat rushes to her face, her tendency of being an emotional mess annoying her evermore.

"What's this, sweetheart?"

He indicates the mood shift, clear as day on her face - how it draws his concern as he catches the flickering melancholy in her expression.

But then she rises to press her lips to his again, exalting him from a burgeoning worry. The words that follow are too sweet when she whispers them against his mouth, unwilling to move away, to give him any space.

"This is relief, this is happiness, this is me with a full heart. I've missed you so much, darling."

It pulls a moan from him before he returns his mouth hers, solemnly whispering his reciprocation upon her lips. Even a minor confession follows, though he does not elaborate.

"I've been an absolute devil without you, my love."

Then he begins to place affectionate kisses along her cheek, into her hair. Over and over he presses his lips everywhere he can reach in a silent apology for all the lapsed days, the great misunderstanding, and the way certain parties had attempted to keep them apart for their own agendas.

There is such relief in sharing this with her, and it flows through Aemond now as he holds her tighter, trying to make up for all their lost time.

He reassures her of their reality, his commitment, when she admits her own worrisome thoughts - that maybe he hadn't wanted her, maybe she had been too forward in her note and it had ultimately pushed him away.

But no, it had been Aegon… and politics.

Now she knows.

"For a moment, I hated you for rejecting me. I am so sorry."

She's incriminating herself, though it's misguided, he understands. Not that he's sharing, but he can admit to himself that his behavior had been far from exemplary before he'd also learned the truth behind her perceived silence.

During that time, his impatience and neediness had been unreal too, completely out of character. It had also been sobering to understand the power she held over him. Although it still leaves him somewhat uneasy, they appear to be aligned once more, ready to move forward.

He knows they can and he wants to. We have something. He's so sure of this, how it's all conveyed in the things she doesn't say, but has allowed. How it's like she's already collecting these small, but meaningful moments with him, and he's wanting to do the same.

In fact, he's already missing her light touch on his face and the way he'd just been kissed by her with such longing. It had been enough to get him dreamy and he holds onto that in the aftermath of these newly shared confessions.

He's hopeful in their capability to advance with intimacy as the night progresses. After all, it really means something to him that she's here and how special it can be, how it already is. She wants to be here.

"We're together now and that's all that matters."

He doesn't expect a response, hoping his words will be enough to offer her peace of mind. And he thinks they do when she nods in agreement at his statement, allowing him to quietly draw her back into his arms for another heartfelt embrace before they abandon their hiding spot.

She is warm and perfect, though it still feels like a phenomenon to Aemond that she could even be real, much less existing with him here at this moment, on this rainy night in King's Landing.

But it's true, and he's very much looking forward to how much more real this can get, how much more real they can be.

He kisses her hair one last time, unable to refrain from doing this - loving the decadent fragrance, how sweet and addicting it is. He’s already hooked on this feature and the way it feels against his skin, on his lips.

Then he takes her hand to resume their journey, and as they head towards the space he's arranged for them to get reacquainted, he can't help but anticipate the moment when he will bury his face in her hair, just get so fucking lost there.

And also when he will bury all of himself... in her.