#Aegon II Fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aestheticpebbles · 2 days

Text

Servus Dei

Pairing: Priest!AU Aegon II Targaryen x reader

Warnings: NSFW/18+ ONLY! MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED, MDNI!, swearing, violence, murder, smut, religious/catholicism imagery/mentions/themes, priest+nun power dynamic abuse, dirty talking, light dubcon if you squint, fluff if you squint harder, use of alcohol, porn with plot, fingering, overstimulation, choking, oral (f receiving), p in v intercourse.

Summary: Father Aegon arrived at your convent, but things become alarming once you realize he isn’t the priest he appears to be.

Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: fic below the cut! not religious at all so please correct me if I messed anything up! also, not proofread… but enjoy! inspo from his cunty hair serving from s1.ep.8.

1548. Somewhere outside of Florence, Italy.

“Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.“

The rosary beads clenched tightly laced around your slender fingers nearly gave way to a pinching sensation between your knuckles as you prayed under your breath, reciting ‘Our Father’ as you do every morning upon dressing into your white habits and joining the nuns and sisters at the first morning service of your convent.

However, you weren’t sent here upon your own bidding, rather than fulfilling the wish of your parents after they sought to nip your rebellious streak of your late teenage years in the bud after you expressed during a drunken fit that you instead wished to dance and drink until you dropped before marrying off to some Lord.

You knew your parents did this to reduce any scandalous likelihood of you, an unwed daughter of a newer-money noble family, boring a bastard, but you still did not forgive them for your new life of chastity and divine mercy worship. Yawn.

You were still considered to be relatively new to the convent as you were just beginning your second year of working towards your devotion to God and being tested on your postulancy, so you still wore white robes and veils rather than black. You felt as though you had done well in your studies of the faith thus far considering the circumstances in which you were brought here upon.

“Good morning sister,” Sister Hilda, another white-robed sister about a year older than you, smiled once the first service ended and you found a place next to her side while making your way to the dining hall for breakfast.

The sun’s morning rays that began to peek over the horizon illuminated the dining hall with a dim, blue hue as the world awakened. You both made yourselves plates of bread and cheeses before sitting down together. Talk was kept small and hushed between the two of you while discussing various scriptures and chores needed to be done.

“I heard the new priest is arriving this morning,” Sister Hilda suddenly whispered under her breath, my eyes flickering up to meet her gaze upon the sudden topic of a conversation that could be considered borderline gossip and would serve much to the dismay of any superiors if anyone would overhear the two white-robed and veiled young women conversing over such a topic.

Instead of scolding Sister Hilda once your gazes met, you proved your nature of still wearing the white fabrics rather than blacks by leaning in as well about an inch or so, quickly looking around to see if anyone was lingering nearby to eavesdrop before responding to her.

“Is that so?” Your eyebrow cocked up in surprise. There had been talks of a new priest that had recently left from an abbey outside of London, and was continuing his preach of faith now here with us at our nunnery as our current priest was, well, he was old, “have you…?”

“Within the hour, I heard,” Sister Hilda’s eyes lit up with excitement, proving her own nature as she still struggled with her own inner turmoil with such activities. You found the vow of celibacy at first to be something that you wouldn’t have to think twice about while you devoted yourself, but as time went on, you found yourself seeking repentance and trying to pray away the gnawing feeling you felt bubbling within sometimes that made you doubt your own worth in the eyes of the faith.

You nodded once, acknowledging her words carefully with a playful side smirk. Though gossip was highly discouraged, word still had many opportunities to be carried by the wind throughout the dormitories of your convent.

“Il suo nome?” Your voice dropped down low once more after a few moments, switching from English to Italian just to be safe when you asked Hilda ‘his name?’, but she only shrugged in response, unsure of the answer either.

After breakfast, like usual, you found yourself in the library as you were one of the few sisters who, thanks to your upbringing in a decently noble family, had been taught Latin. You often found means of completing your daily chores by aiding in the translation of Holy passages and texts.

Today, you had been handed a scripture to be translated by an older nun who always wore a signature grouch, so there wasn’t much to be said when you were given the dusty book made of animal skin and thick, waxy lacing that secured the spine.

A relic of the sort lost to at least 300 years, resurfaced once more only to become your problem to deal with when you immediately find yourself scowling under your veil at the faded ink on the ancient pages. God help me. You stood up and found yourself a dictionary in Latin just in case whoever wrote that damn pitiful book didn’t know what they were saying, much to the older nun’s dismay but you didn’t care as you sat back down.

Dipping your feather quill into a jar of black ink, you began your day’s work of translating the pages that were practically wanting to fall apart as you delicately turned over each one.

It possibly would have felt odd for another white-veiled sister like yourself to have been tasked with translating such an eerie text of those who wore multiple, yet all beautiful faces and how to ward them off, but like it was just another day, it was just another book of Latin words that you were tasked to translate into fresh ink of English literature between your obligatory meetings for daily prayers and masses with the others, and you’ve read worse.

Your legs were itching to stand after sitting down for an extended period of time, nearly a static-like burn radiating deep as you leaned back in your chair from your upright posture, slouching your shoulder forward for a grace moment with an exhale before standing upright once more properly in case the Abbess, Mother Esther, walked by.

Afternoon sunlight beams shone through a nearby window that you now stood in front of trying to warm yourself up from the cooler temperature of the library, your muscles easing against the windowsill as your wrists and fingers had ached for a little while as well.

Being on the 2nd floor of the building meant having a lovely view of the convent’s architectural layout and the courtyard within the open holdfast of about an acre or so. A few young black locust trees littered the acre, creating enjoyable spots for shaded rest you occasionally found yourself under, almost smiling to yourself when thinking about better times than translating 300+ year old scriptures from Latin to English about an ill-satiable apparition—it’s biblical name, Agneo, one who shapeshifts and requires to feeds from the sins of its prey. A book of complete lunacy that was a blessing in disguise as it gave you something to do.

However, the momentary bliss of recounting suddenly soured once you realized you were about to miss the 4th prayer service mass of the day when you looked down from the window and saw a huddle of those remaining outside waiting to file along inside in orderly fashion across the courtyard of your convent.

It was no use to try to rush out and attempt to make it, so you hesitantly let out a tense sigh and leaned against the window still, your eyes moving to ground below until you saw mainly atop skulls of Mother Esther dressed in her finest– and in tow, a man that nearly made your lips part upon the sight of his features after the involuntary oath of celibacy you took on.

Broad shouldered, his face even from above was sharp-featured, and hair blond as could be neatly combed across his hair. He is the most beautiful man you have ever laid your wretched eyes on, and the sight made your legs press together as you watched the two of them below you.

Once seeing him, you were desperate to see Sister Hilda to willingly break your vows of what your new lifestyle meant to share the gossip of sin, to gossip silly words that meant plenty well beneath the surface that meant for yourself at least to have plenty of reason to seek confession and repentance from His mercy in the foreseeable future.

During your brief moment of pure sin, or what sin at least means to you at the time, you let out a small gasp and moved away from the glass realizing the neat head of hair was slowly tilting upwards in an almost premeditated manner, and from the 2nd floor, his ice blue eyes burned hot dagger like the gates of hell straight into your soul for the second that you held his sudden eye contact.

As if he knew you were standing there above him and Mother Esther, as if he knew you had been leaning against the edge of the windowsill with your legs crossed and your thighs pressed together at the perfect angle while you watched them when you were supposed to be in the 4th prayer service.

Your heart was pounding in a mixture of adrenaline, anticipation, and … excitement. A certain feeling you haven’t felt since before being sent here. Desire.

Despite shifting away from your original stance next to the window, your vision couldn’t move away any further out of sight from him as the two of you kept your eyes locked.

Within that brief moment that felt like eternity and despite the temptation that threatened to fester within your neglected core now reigniting, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up as your instincts inside your mind began screaming ‘flight’ but your feet were cemented in place while looking down into his cold, dead eyes.

Behind the decrepit Mother Esther’s back, the new priest held his eye contact with you with a stone-like expression of almost disgust until the corners of his lips tugged and curled upright into a smirk. One side of his lips tugged higher than the other side and it made your blood run cold despite the heat pooling between your legs.

You exhaled once his head turned to meet Mother Esther’s as she turned back around to him to point out the library, and the two of them continued on and you were finally able to move from the frozen stance you held.

You had managed to avoid the new priest, his name quickly learned by you through Sister Hilda to be Father Aegon—until you found yourself kneeling before him at the altar rails while he wore the same disgustedly amused expression while placing the communion bread into your cupped palms sitting upright.

“Amen,” you murmured softly, placing the wafer into your mouth as he extended his other hand and brought the cup of wine in front of you as you swallowed thickly.

“The blood of Christ, shed for you,” Father Aegon nearly purred, the sound of his voice speaking directly to you for the first time was intimidating enough, let alone the manner in which it rolled off of his tongue was enough to catch you off guard and leave you stunned at such a vocal display during a Holy service.

Your lips had parted a few centimeters due to your shock and your bottom lip quivered as you barely choked out another ‘amen’ in response while he pressed the rim of the chalice against the pillowed flesh.

Maybe it was the way he spoke, or the way he wears delivish smirks like he knows he's fluffing up another chicken house with unpreened, unruffled hens who live among cobwebs, or maybe it’s the way you can feel him staring straight down into your soul as you took a sip of the wine while holding eye contact with him up through your eyelashes.

After drinking the same wine since the day you first arrived and you had returned to your seat, you realized on your tongue that the aftertaste of the once bitter representation of the Blood of Christ was now sweet. Too sweet.

The type of sweet that makes the feeling of temptation to yearn for more not sound half bad even though you still found shame while you prayed in your seat until the end of the communion.

You actually managed well to avoid Father Aegon as he settled in and slowly took over hosting more and more masses and prayers over the next fortnight.

No matter the distance between the two of you, an unnerving fear always found you when in his presence and even more so if it was without your knowledge on a passing occasion or he could see you but you couldn’t see him. Since the day he arrived, you felt like you were no longer alone at any moment, always holding your breath to turn a corner like an accidental dance of cat and mouse for no real reason.

You’d be shunned if you dared speak the reason of your maintained distance being temptation, even if you were going such lengths avoiding him to resist such.

Father Aegon’s piercing gaze alone sent chills down your spine, enough to rattle the assembled vertebrae within the confines of your habits just like the one that coursed through you while you browsed the shelves of the library looking for works regarding astronomy to keep you company in the late hours after the Midnight Mass.

You didn’t need to see him to know he was likely stalking nearby, whispering with that strangely enticing demeanor he holds himself up with, and the way his perfectly plump lips were always cocked in some purse of amusement to offset the dark purple, sunken look to his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days, weeks.

Your own eyes had begun to mirror Father Aegon’s sullen look as well during your descent into the madness occurring within your mind when you started to lose sleep because of him sinking his claws into you even in your dreams filled with imagery of sin beyond your comprehension. The more time you spent trying to avoid him, the more he encroached upon every aspect of your life and you hadn’t so much but exchange momentary glances and proper greetings spoken hushed on your part.

After all, anyone would find holding eye contact difficult with one whom they have carnal, perverse dreams about, waking up panting in the middle of the night covered in sweat and an agonizing pool between your legs.

“What could possibly interest you at such an hour, sister?” The voice of the dreaded priest you desperately sought to avoid drew out from behind you, causing your shoulders to roll back into a stiffened posture to play off the chill that threatened to visibly shake you. You closed your eyes for a moment while goosebumps broke out across your skin hidden beneath the white fabrics before quickly reaching up to grasp the book you intended to grab and pulled it close to your chest before turning around to face him.

“Astronomy, Father,” you answered without nearly half a spine, mentally cursing yourself at your inability to hold yourself with dignity when subject to his commanding gaze.

Father Aegon never failed to not wear his smug smirk that seemed to compliment the sullen orbs that were half-lidded in what could only be described as a seductive manner. When you finished answering him and his smirk grew, you didn’t miss his tongue swiping across his pillowy bottom lip— both stained red… and the smell that belonged to that of alcohol.

You swallowed thickly once putting the puzzle pieces in place and your fingers gripped the corners of the book tighter and the edges dug into the creases of your fingers creating a pleasant stinging sensation to help stay grounded.

Father Aegon’s smug half-smirk was still etched on his mouth that sent another chill down your spine when his irises unmistakably fell from holding your gaze down to your own lips with those lazily-hooded blue eyes swirling with emotions beyond your comprehension.

Father Aegon was absolutely terrifying to be around, but although your fear didn’t directly come from him, your own body produces enough cortisol and epinephrine for an entire herd of corralled sheep by just being around him. Afraid of the fact that if he touched you right now, you know you wouldn’t be able to stop. Afraid of the fact that you know he may know how you truly feel deep down by just looking at you with those eyes that appear to be hiding an inferno from within himself.

“Copernicus…” Father Aegon suddenly murmured with a cock of his eyebrow as if he had posed the single word as a question rather than the affirmative tone he used when referencing a Polish astronomer whose works had caught your interest when accessible, “you like him, Sister?”

“He’s an accomplished astronomer and a fine mathematician,” you responded carefully, unsure of the waters of the moment and feeling the bile threatening to rise and expel which prompted you to kindly dismiss yourself wishing to depart to rest for the evening until he suddenly reached out as you turned to walk. His taut grip around your dainty wrist in comparison to his large hand was daunting and was an unexpected rush of surprise-horror when you were practically yanked back where you stood before him.

“Hm,” Father Aegon hummed in amusement, a flash of something eerie glazing over his lazily hooded eyes while his strong grip on your wrist loosened slightly, but not without his calloused thumbpad grazing gently across the delicate skin of the underside of your wrist, “why don’t you come by my office tomorrow evening? I have a piece that would interest you… brought it with me from when I met him briefly at Oxford.”

Your own eyebrow cocked at his words, nearly-half bewildered that a man like him went from such a prestigious place like the Oxford society to… priesthood in Florence where he, in the middle of the night, now was intoxicated and having you cornered like a rat subject to his mercy.

Your eyes flickered down to the tight grip he held on your arm and you dared to pull once more, and much to your surprise he let go. Looking back up at him, he was smirking with a strange sense of triumph as if he could already foresee the internal turmoil you would be rolling in all day tomorrow until you would eventually cave in within yourself to give in and seek him out for the sake of knowledge.

Wasn’t that the sin of Eve? Coaxed by the snake, the devil, to taste the forbidden apple of knowledge?

Father Aegon wouldn’t taste half as sweet as an apple, but a part of you knew deep down that dealing with a man like him comes with knowing the venom from his fanged canines would likely sting twice as bad in the days to come if you did not seek him out.

So like the loyal hound you were, there weren’t many inhibitions that stopped your fingers from clasping the golden ring hanging from a matching golden lion’s head mounted on the wooden door and knocking twice. You knew you had no business being here at this hour. You had stopped by this very office twice today, once before dinner, and again afterwards but left both times with only pursed lips and heightened anxiety. Evening. Evening. Evening.

“Sister…” Father Aegon grinned upon seeing the sweet lamb standing there outside of his door waiting so patiently for him like the good girl that he knew she is even if she couldn’t muster any words to properly greet him. He stepped out of your way with an outstretched palm directed towards an empty chair sitting on the other side of his desk, the open hand gesturing to you to sit, “please, come in.”

Shame and humility fueled the pace that drove your footsteps from the corridor and into his working office in a scurry, the fuel most delectable for sin to fester within and grow necrotic while Father Aegon shut the door behind you. You couldn’t miss the sound of the lock turning over as you focused on your breathing pattern and your fumbling fingertips toying with one another as you sat down and silently pulled your chair in under yourself.

It wasn’t the locking of the door that made your eyes widen, but watching him pick up a golden, jeweled chalice that sat on the edge of his desk with matching rings adorning his thick digits, taking a hearty swig while sauntering behind you and over to a large bookshelf on the left wall that likely carried prized works both owned by the convent and his finest pieces.

You kept your head straight for the most part, only tilting it slightly to be able to keep an eye on him in the corner of your peripheral through the thin white veil head covering, watching his ringed finger reach up to one of the shelves while the other hand held the chalice. The way he moved so freely was almost sensual in a way, his fingertip grazing the spines of the prized collection of knowledge as he searched using the dim orange glow emanating from the roaring hearth that danced as the flames waved.

“Tell me, sweet girl, what is it about the stars that calls to you… draws your attention so?” Father Aegon suddenly broke the silence that only hosted the soft crackling of the embers causing your head to angle slightly more in his direction. You swallowed thickly again, inhaling through your nose while watching his index finger curl around a medium-sized book and gently tug it free from the confines of the neat shelf.

“One can’t help but wonder who they are,” you answered shakily, referring to the stars themselves, the subconscious anxious habit of your fingertips toying with one another going full blast in your lap that had sparked back to life hearing the previous words of endearment he must addressed you with as if he was toying with you too, “what are they… what are they made of?”

Father Aegon nodded slowly with another hum of acknowledgment as he turned on his heel with his chin cockily angled, walking back over to where you sat on the other side of his desk and stepped next to your chair. He held out the book for you to take and you did after a moment of hesitation, taking the book delicately from him as your eyes danced over the intricate stitching and adhesives carefully applied that held the valuable text together.

He stood over you for a moment with one hand on the back of your chair, the other bringing the rim to his lips for another swig before he let go, much to your approval as you let out an exhale you didn’t realize you were holding, and stepped away to sit down in his own chair on the other side of the desk while you admired and he purred out, “the book… Copernicus’ heliocentric theories. One of the first copies given to me from Nicolaus himself. I’ll let you borrow it for the evening...”

You couldn’t hide the spark of interest that illuminated behind your eyes at the topic that you had been wishing to learn more about as the theories were still considered recent developments. A small smile crept onto your face but you quickly pursed your lips together to swallow your pride and triumph– something that didn’t pass by Aegon, but the suggestive tone towards the end of his final words didn’t pass by you either.

“Thank you Father,” you murmured softly, your thumbs grazing over the pressed letters of the title embossed and sealed by gold leaflets, “you are very gracious.”

Father Aegon only chuckled darkly, something you hadn’t heard yet until now and it was scarier to experience first hand than his empty, soul-piercing glare.

He took another sip of his wine before setting the chalice down on the desktop and leaning forward on his forearms with intertwined fingers and an unmistakable gleam in his wicked eyes, “I’ll tell you what Sister. I have heard nothing but good remarks regarding your performance… I’ll let you have it if you promise to take good care of it.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and your forehead scrunched in confusion, lips parting in shock but quickly stammering out a response to his words while gently placing the book down on the desk with a forced smile. A part of joining sisterhood was an oath of poverty despite your aversion to the lifestyle but your conditioning was taking over your frazzled mindset, and a book of that value had no business being in your possession good marks or not.

“Father I-I apologize, I can’t accept such a gift, you honor me but-I,” your tongue and lips failed to coordinate without an exasperated stutter while your brain misfired, only making Father Aegon’s lips curl further upwards in a devious smile.

“Call it a favor then,” Father Aegon replied with a low purr, his half-lidded eyes missing any trace of the blue pigment against the orange hue of the fire and the darkness of the world as he stood up, slowly stalking back around to where he stood behind your chair again.

“A…favor?” Your eyebrows dropped from the cocked expression of shock into one of weary alert as you tried to read him as best as you could, holding eye contact with him until he eventually always won with the inferno that reflected in his black holes for dilated irises while he walked to your most vulnerable side.

“A favor,” Father Aegon sluggishly murmured in response, his teeth baring in his amused grin when you flinched feeling the topside of his knuckle reach up from behind you and brush against your cheek.

Your eyelids fluttered under his delicate brushing touch against your cheek, unable to comprehend a single thought in regard to how to react to such inappropriate behavior and gestures being exchanged, but after involuntary celibacy and conditioned shame, it only drove you further mad for the touch of a skilled lover.

It wasn’t until his index finger pressed against the underside of your chin to lift your head up and his thumb curling up to press against your bottom lip that you were violently dragged back to reality. Looking up at him while clutching the book against your chest, he smiled deviously as if he was a child with free reign in a candy shop.

He stepped in front of you to enter the small space available between you sitting in the chair and his desk, leaning against the edge as he twisted and reached back to grab the chalice he’d left behind, turning back to you. Your heart pounded in your chest watching him extend his hand, guiding the rim to your lips and raising the cup for gravity to let the rich, deep red juice funnel into your mouth.

Eyes widening, you realized he wasn’t relenting until you finished off the remnants of the chalice and having to swallow in faster lapses than expected to keep up with his antics causing you to choke softly.

You pursed your lips shut tightly with a bemused expression on your face between his actions and the sweet red wine, unable to save the small bead that gathered and trickled down from your lip to your chin, but Aegon was there to spare your white habits from any stains with a brush of his thumb collecting the alcoholic nectar and bringing it to his own lips to suck clean off.

“Tell me… why are you really here?” Father Aegon slurred out between tipsy snickers after releasing his thumb with a sickly sweet suckle like he knew exactly the effect he had on you and the reactions you were willing to give back with a little shove.

“My parents wished not for scandal,” you blurted out, almost like not caring how sloppy you spoke for the sake of your own honorable presentation.

“So, you liked to get around. You liked to have fun… you were a whore?” Father Aegon’s grin was wicked and curled up with a sense of malice as he gently caressed your cheek while you shared details about yourself to him. You knew he found some sort of satisfaction with your words by the way his teeth clenched like he was thinking hard through the intoxicated haze of his own mind.

“Um-,” your eyebrows furrowed again, a streak of anger shooting through you causing you to flinch again away from his hand, pulling out of his grasp on your chin as you stood up, holding out the book for him to take back, “I apologize Father this is highly inappropriate. I should go.”

Your abrupt reaction to his words seemed to replace the playful gleam in his eyes with one that teetered on the edge of malice and danger, one that made your blood run cold and panic flare through you when he dropped the golden chalice, grabbing the book with one hand and your wrist with the other, yanking you back down to sit again.

“We are not done talking, Sister,” Father Aegon snarled out, a sinister gleam in his eyes while he stood up straight and took the book fully from you to place down on the desk, turning back to you and letting go of your wrist only to take a hold of your chin once more, “I haven’t given you permission to dismiss yourself.”

“I-I am sorry, Father,” you sputtered out, unsure of how to respond to him and his firm, calculated grip that always reminded you he was one step ahead at any given point. Aegon only hummed in amusement, his moist tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip as he turned your head in his grip from side to side, studying the details of your face against the orange glow from the inferno of the fireplace.

“Let me see you show it…Prove it,” Father Aegon’s eyes lit up in deranged excitement while yours glossed over in confused horror, sitting frozen in shock while he kept his grip on your chin with one hand, the other reaching up seemly to lovingly caress your cheek only to fist a palm full of your white veil, forcefully undressing your dreadful headdress and revealing one of your secrets you hid from your other Sisters. Instead of cutting your hair short like the rest, you kept yours braided and secured beneath your headdress, the same one Aegon pulled off without hesitation that made your jaw drop in disbelief.

“I don’t understa-,” you cried out in a sudden frustration, angered that he was abusing the power dynamic he knew he held, then still having enough fuel inside him when daring to lay a hand on you in such an inappropriate manner and revealing your hair.

If your Sisters found out you hid your hair, you could suffer greatly socially, and Aegon just paved his way straight over without any second thoughts. Your words though were cut off when his fingers clutched your braids and yanked you back to your feet.

“Understand this, doll. I see the way you look at me, how you scurry away from me like a mouse, there’s nowhere you can hide from me,” Father Aegon taunted, his dilated pupils laced with delirium and sin as he maniacally giggled, “I know everything.”

Any protests or shrill shrieks that could have escaped your mouth would be forced to be made straight into Father Aegon’s mouth that nearly swallowed your face whole when his lips came colliding down on yours in a pre-established sloppy, yet demanding kiss.

You wished to want the will to release a frightful scream against his lips, to cry out in disgust, to thrash around violently in his concrete hold on you while he forced his tongue into your mouth after letting go of your chin and dropping down to your hip.

His grip quickly moved from squeezing your hip around to your backside, grabbing a fistful of your buttock and his other hand still holding and tugging on your hair to elicit a gasp while your palms were outstretched when pressing back against his firm chest, but you did none of those things as your mind began buzzing softly, signaling the beginning the swirling descent into a tipsy haze from the amount of alcohol he had you consume in one sitting.

In fact, you did the opposite once the taste of him resonated with you when you found yourself sucking back on his tongue instead of screaming and crying about your dignity, your outstretched palms bundling up the fabric of his neat, black collar between your fingers like a deserted whore needy for more. Because that’s exactly what you felt like, and the realization made you sick when you suddenly were spun around in his groping embrace to be lifted onto the desktop.

Father Aegon wasted no time shoving his knee between your legs and parting them to situate himself between your legs without breaking the heated exchange between your lips that caused soft groans to escape from the both of you.

His hand that held your buttock again wasted no time reaching under your skirts, hiking the fabric up while he held your whimpering skull in place by your hair as he kissed down your jawline, panting heavily in your ear when he traced up your inner thigh.

He smiled wickedly against the shell of your ear while you managed to let out a stifled moan feeling his fingertips slither their way past your small clothes dampened by your arousal, massaging agonizingly slow circles against your clothed clit, sending ripples of electricity through your body.

“For someone who took a vow of chastity, your cunt weeps like a virgin,” Father Aegon nibbled softly on your earlobe while your face contorted in pent-up pleasure and your mind swirled. In truth, you hadn’t truly consumed that much alcohol, but the effect he had on your mind caused the effect to feel 10-fold from the scent of his musk and the wine on his lips and tongue assaulting all of your senses out of nowhere.

Your fingers clutching onto his black button up gripped on for dear life feeling his fingers begin to variate their course from rubbing circles to teasing your slit before dropping down, his middle finger breaching fully past your entrance coaxing a shrill gasp from your throat that his lips were licking and placing open-mouthed kissing down. One of your hands jumped from his shirt to his bicep, wincing from the sudden scissoring penetration as he got to work establishing a pace.

“Fuck, your pussy is so tight,” Aegon murmured quietly through a groan against your skin, your entrance clamping down almost painfully around the 2nd digit he teased your tight hole with for a moment before adding it in, his middle and ring finger moving in and out of you in overwhelming patterns that made you look at the back of your skull doubled with the feeling of his free hand suddenly groping your breast through your robes, pinching and rolling your clothed nipple between his fingertips, “this pussy ever been fucked?”

Your eyes rolled back straight and snapped wide open at the vulgarity of his words, your lips parted nearly in sheer shock that those words could all even be used together in a sentence, but your body was still betraying you as you ground your hips against his hand that was fucking you mercilessly. How this man became a priest was beyond you at this point, barely choking out a ‘yes’, his gaze darkening as if that wasn’t what he wanted to hear and he let go of your breast, reaching up behind the nape of your neck again.

Aegon’s hand found a hold your braided hair and twisted once more, a pained cry leaving your lips and your eyes screwing shut in another wince while his own lips were curled upwards and his eyes bright with a sinister intent, his other hand still pumping his two fingers in and out and you panted with a heaving chest.

“My name, sweet girl, say it right,” Aegon purred with an underlying, dangerous tone of voice that hid the true intentions that he was only giving you one chance to say it right despite multiple answers being applicable to stroke his ego while his fingers repetitively curling a ‘come hither’ motion within you.

“Yes sir,” you finally cried out, your spine arching as the coil deep within you threatened to build up. As if Aegon could read you like the back of his hand, he let go of your hair and reached around you as he swiped everything, including the prized book, clear from off of his desk.

He withdrew his fingers from your weeping cunt much to your dismay, only to be rendered speechless when he used both of his hands to grab and move you by your hips to the side of the desk, using one to shove your back down to lay on the surface and the other to hastily hiked up the skirt of your habits as his head dipped down, his lips kissing and his teeth nipping up your inner thighs.

You prayed that nobody was walking by Father Aegon’s office as they’d receive earfuls of lewd cries that fumbled from your throat in wails after he practically dove headfirst, your legs on his shoulders and his hands holding you in place by your thighs as his lips and tongue got to work swirling and sucking on your clit.

His platinum silver curls that were neatly parted down the middle, combed and slicked back behind his ears was disheveled within seconds as you reached down and carded through his hair, crying out in pleasure and awe at his ability to seem like he already knew every inch of you by heart.

“O-Oh my,” you squeaked out, your jaw agape as you tried to grind your hips against his face as he groaned delicious vibrations against your core, his tongue in place of his fingers greedily drawing your essence from your walls in filthy slurps that had you sobbing praises in a pleading mantra as you writhed in place.

“That’s it, good girl,” Aegon praised between quiet growls, kitten-licking your tented and overstimulated bud leaving you whining and yearning for more. The coil had begun to wind up tightly in your lower belly creating a burning sensation that threatened to snap like a taut rubber band.

“I’m gonna’ come,” you cried out softly and he chuckled darkly, nipping your sensitive flesh before suckling harshly that elicited a sharp yelp from your throat that quickly morphed into a wail of surprise as you flew headfirst into your first orgasm in almost a year. Aegon feasted and slurped every drop that expelled from your contracting cunt like a starved man, groaning in delight when your evidence of ecstasy from his touch spilled from your aching core and into his greedy mouth that caused your toes to curl painfully.

Father Aegon quickly stood up, not bothering to wipe his fingers and chin that were still glistening with the residue of your orgasm causing a deep blush to form on your flushed cheeks as you slowly came back to reality from the sound of his belt unbuckling.

Aegon hastily reached into his pants and pulled his throbbing cock free from the confines of his black dress trousers, watching his beautifully plump lips parting when he slapped the angrily flushed head against your weeping cunt a few times. His vile actions were so bewildering you were rendered speechless once more, unable to formulate words when looking up at him with bleary eyes as he fondled your cunt for a few seconds, gathering your slick and smearing it across his tip and down his thick shaft waiting impatiently to fuck you in half.

“This is wrong. I-We shouldn’t do this. I don’t want this. God for-,” you managed to blurt out in soft whimpers, lying to yourself to try to hold onto the last shred of dignity you had while shaking your head only earning a sadistic smile in response from Father Aegon as he cut you off.

“You don’t want this? You weren’t the same girl watching me, pressing her thighs together as she hid in the library? Stupid girl, you’re so desperate and touch-starved, I could smell your cunt from outside. Your False God isn’t here. He can’t save you,” Aegon cooed softly, shutting you up immediately. Despite his cruel words, his tone of voice was almost sweet if his hand wasn’t guiding the head of his cock back to your entrance and you braced yourself with a shrill gasp while he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours while he giggled maniacally under his breath sending chills of fear down your spine.

Father Aegon whispered in a taunting sneer as he continued to threaten you in a gravelly voice under his breath, the stench of wine still lingering on his tongue mixed with your release, “oh, pretty girl, the only God here is me,” and with that, he pistoned his hips forward.

A sharp hissing cry fell from your lips feeling the tip of his cock parting your neglected walls, splitting you from the inside out as your jaw hung agape and his eyes were wide– almost deliriously so as his own jaw hung agape too as if he was breathing out the energy of the cries carried out by your exhales. Like his hand, his hips made work establishing a steady pace as he fucked you open for him, drawing raw shrieks from your diaphram that forced him to clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon snarled against the back of his hand as your eyes rolled back, his lips kissing the corner of your parted lips when he finally let go of your mouth after the initial burn within your core dissolved and your sobs died down. His plump lips continued to kiss down your jaw, suckling and nibbling up and down your neck as you moaned and cried out shamelessly.

His words were absolutely vile and defiling and he knew it only spurred your innocent heart further, his hand that was pressed against your mouth dropping back down to grope your breast as he fucked you deeply, “God your cunt was made for my cock. Fuck it’s so fuckin’ tight– you like it when I talk to you like that? You like being fucked like some needy slut? ‘Course you do. What would your Sisters think if they found out what their whore pupil was doing in here?”

“I can’t, I can’t,” you suddenly started blabbering out in response despite your own legs hiking up around his hips to draw him in closer, your hands reaching up and gripping onto whatever you could while you rocked back and forth to his merciless motions.

“Yes you can,” Aegon panted breathlessly against your skin, his tongue swiping across your collarbone as he grunted over and over in his own world of desire, the lewd sound of skin slapping and your cunt squelching was foul in harmony with the considerably romantic blazing of the fireplace while he kissed his way back up your neck and caught your lips in another fiery, sloppy kiss between grunts and moans and cries of pleasure.

He murmured against your lips and his free hand not holding you down against the desktop in place by your breast being kneaded between his fingers, reaching between the two of you with his other hand and rubbing furious circles on your overstimulated clit, “say my fuckin’ name. give it all to me.”

“Aeg- I’m,” you cried out against his lips trying to obey his command to use his name while feeling the coil quickly wind tight once more as he effortlessly fucked you apart. As you came, stars littered your blacked out vision as you trembled and writhed, your spine arching pathetically trying to gather as much friction as possible while you shook in pleasure. Aegon moaned lowly feeling your walls contract and squeeze his cock as he continued without stopping, fucking you straight through the waves of ecstasy that left you feeling as though you had to piss everywhere.

You could not have cared any less about any repercussions of your undoing with this man tonight— until he pulled out, flipped you around and bent you over the desk, plunging back inside of your cunt from a new angle causing a mewl to rip through you.

But as Aegon was turning you around, you suddenly looked behind Father Aegon for the first time and took in the image that could have fueled your nightmares for the rest of eternity. His shadow against the flames of the hearth’s inferno illuminated the two of you with shadows, except two massive wings stood above Aegon shadow as you mewled out incomprehensible words of confusion through the haze of pleasure that wracked your mind.

“Aegon,” your voice cracked, your eyes flickering to a mirror hanging on the wall dead ahead of the two of you, finally seeing Father Aegon for who he was finally through another lense and the sight alone made a scream of fear tear through you, but once more his hand came clasping down on your mouth and another sharp cursed reprimand dripping in poison was hurled at you from behind. The reflection of the man that had you bent over like a plaything, pistoning his thick cock roughly in and out of your aching cunt in the reflection of the mirror was unlike any creature you’d ever laid eyes on before.

In the reflection, while your face was streaked with tears and flushed in terror, his face looked nothing like what you saw with your own eyes, his reflection having beady black eyes, almost paper white skin, teeth long and sharp like fanged razors and his hands with long, clawed digits. You couldn’t miss the tall, pointed and curly black horns and the almost impressive black feathered wings that slowly rose and outstretched in the air after you said his name.

You couldn’t pull your eyes from the mirror even after he said your name, his hand eventually let go of your mouth and roughly grabbed your jaw, holding your head steady. Tears flowed hot from your eyes as you tried to thrash in his hold but it was no use as he chuckled wickedly above you, his pupils blown wide but it was no comparison to the dark, gaping holes you saw in the reflection of the mirror.

Father Aegon was no Father, no priest at all, learning within seconds that life was in fact cruel like that. Was there truly a God now realizing you had the entire situation practically spelt out for you when you translated that ancient scripture in the library, but you were too naive to realize the foreshadowing. The name of the shapeshifting apparatus isnt Agneo. It’s fucking Aegon.

This revelation truly meant only one thing: Aegon was a demon, and you, by saying his name, sealed off the deal and selling him your soul, his hand angling your chin up and to the side to press his lips down on yours, his tongue working your mouth apart once more, grunting against your lips when his pace faltered.

You felt your womb grow heavy while he panted and mewled, his wretched seed spurting from the head of his cock as his hips twitched between stilled moments, painting your walls as he moaned into the crook of your neck. You thought it’d be the end of the night, your mind too frazzled to even comprehend what to do next as your blurry eyes cracked open from being scrunched shut.

But Aegon’s nightmarish reflection remained the same, his smile sinister and evil as his snakelike sharp, black tongue trailed up the side of your cheek as his hand kept its tight grip on your chin to hold you steady while he collected your salty tears.

“Aegon…Please don’t hurt me,” you whispered pathetically, trying to claw at his taloned grip on your face and it almost struck a chord within his despicable body as he chuckled darkly, placing a soft kiss on your trembling cheek.

“I think it’s too late for that, sweet girl,” Aegon purred softly, your doe eyes wide with horror watching in the reflection of his other hand reaching up, his clawed talon delicately moving a stray lock of hair from your face. He actually admired you, pleading through tears and drool and all, but the moment had to end at some point as his clawed hand caressed your temple and he murmured softly against the apple of your cheek.

“Just know this though, so far, I think you were my favorite,” Aegon kissed your pillowed flesh for the last time after vocalizing his odd apology that almost felt genuinely sentimental before his talons dug into your chin and your temple to hold you steady as you cried out in protest, then silenced for eternity after his wrists rolled and snapped your neck.

His deflating cock was still buried to the hilt within you as you dropped lifelessly against the desk, and the demon removed himself from his latest victim with a triumphant smile. He hastily readjusted himself and your skirt to cover your modesty, not that you were alive anyway to care, as he sat back down in his seat.

Father Aegon kicked up and crossed his legs on the desk while pouring himself another chalice of wine, continuing to admire your lifeless expression of shock while your pupils slowly dilated, and the blood that slowly dribbled out of your nostrils and out from your lips onto the desk, dripping down onto the floor while your lost soul descended to the pits of Hell with that same sinister smirk he wore the first time he laid his eyes on you.

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x reader #tom glynn carney #aegon targaryen ii #tomglynncarney #aegon targaryen smut #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii targaryen x reader #tom glynn carney x reader #tom glynn carney smut #hotd #targtowers #hotd smut #alternate universe

163 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 days

Text

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 1: Amethyst]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can't seem to get away from...

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don't like Titanic you won't like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @camsdaae @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

A note goes sharp, and you swim up through colorless currents—indistinct conversation, an iron-grey draft each time the front door opens, cigar smoke like fog over the ocean—and turn to the viola player. His eyes have caught on the place where your left hand rests on the table by a glass of pear cider, still cold from the icebox, misty with condensation. Rain pours outside. Logs fracture and hiss in the fireplace. Your gown is thick velvet, indigo like the night sky, and the ruffles of your sleeve have slipped back to reveal the evidence roped around your wrist: shadows of trapped blood, rubies that sicken and turn to sapphires and amethysts.

You hurriedly adjust your sleeve. Now the viola player’s eyes are on yours, an overcast blue and improperly direct, and something flies between you: his shock, your shame. You look away and pretend to ignore him. His horsehair bow finds its rhythm again, a tempo like a racing pulse. The quartet is playing The Wild Rover.

Daemon hasn’t noticed. He has ensnared the reporter entirely, here in O’Connell’s Bar in the heart of Galway, just across the street from Eyre Square and only a few blocks west of the Docks and the North Atlantic Ocean. The young man writes for The Irish Times and has traveled from Dublin to interview your husband, once a celebrated newcomer but soon departing and taking you with him. Five years ago a storm blew him in; now the gleam of distant treasure catches his eye and beckons him like the moon calls the tides. He has been this way all his life. You were mad to believe he’d change.

“Lord Targaryen,” the reporter says with his felt-tip pen hovering over his notebook, gazing at Daemon worshipfully, firelight dancing on both of their faces. You glance at the viola player again. He’s still watching you, and this is bad. “You’ve been described as a cowboy by numerous publications and business associates. Do you consider that a compliment?”

Daemon chuckles, smirking and imperious. He puffs on his pipe, elbows propped on the table. His eyes are a deep-set reptilian green, emeralds glinting from the mouth of a mine. Strands of dark blonde hair fall roguishly down over his forehead. “Oh, it’s a massive compliment, isn’t it? A cowboy eschews the safe and the predictable. A cowboy makes his own way in the world. My father was a duke, and now my brother is a duke, and one day my nephew will be a duke, God help us all. And so I always knew that if I wanted anything for myself, I’d have to go out and find it.”

The reporter is smiling, enraptured. He asks, already knowing the answer: “And what was it you found?”

“In the Wah Wah Mountains of Utah, we discovered red beryl.” Daemon talks with his hands, magnetic fields, incantations, spells that once worked on you. “It’s exceptionally rare and a gorgeous stone, high color saturation, not as hard as a diamond but durable enough for jewelry, essentially a blood-colored emerald. I was twenty-five years old and had just put together my first small mining expedition, and here we were sitting on the only known supply of red beryl on the planet. And it was then that I realized that there are these sorts of…natural monopolies that exist scattered across the globe, gemstones that can be found in only one location, and thus if you are the man who owns the mine…every single stone must pass through your hands before it ends up in retail establishments in London or Paris or Milan or wherever.”

“And so you took the lesson you learned from red beryl and applied it to other minerals,” the reporter says as he scribbles in his notebook.

Daemon grins, puffing on his pipe, exhaling smoke like a dragon. And how remarkable he is to have agreed to meet here in this pub like a common man, so unpretentious, so unafraid of the world’s dirt, effortless and yet untouchable, and this is why his miners love Daemon, why they will break their spines and poison their lungs for him. “We kept the Utah mine, of course, and bought up rights to thousands of acres of land surrounding it. I hired more workers. And then I investigated reports of mysterious, unnamed, brand new stones that had been stumbled upon in far-flung places, untamed by civilized men, the earth just waiting to be slit open and butchered like a fat hog. In Madagascar, we found Grandidierite, a bewitching blue-green, the Indian Ocean in miniature, crystalized form. In Tanzania, we discovered Tanzanite, halfway between an amethyst and a sapphire.”

The reporter nods to you as he says: “I believe Lady Targaryen is wearing some this evening, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Daemon replies without much interest. You touch your fingertips to your teardrop-shaped earrings and give the reporter a polite smile. You steal a glimpse of the viola player; he isn’t staring at you anymore—a blessing, a relief—but he frowns distractedly as his bow glides over the strings. “In Australia there was black opal, and in the Dominican Republic we were the first mining operation to encounter Larimar, and then…well, then I heard of Connemara marble.”

“Native to Ireland,” the reporter says proudly. “The lone quarry that’s still producing is right here in Galway.”

“So of course that intrigued me.” Daemon taps on the tabletop with his right hand, and now he is watching you, curling lips, taunting eyes. “And when I crossed the Atlantic to acquaint myself with this quarry and inquire into purchasing it, I was intrigued by the quarry owner’s daughter as well.”

His pen scratching against parchment; black rivers of ink filling up the page. “How would you describe the courtship?”

“Brief,” Daemon says, then laughs. He points to you with his smoldering pipe. “How about you, dear? How would you describe it?”

“Flattering,” you answer honestly, and the reporter makes his notes. “Daemon already had a reputation by then. A captain of industry, a staggering success story, a man who refused to rest idly on his family’s titles, which he could have easily done.” And a man who also refused to marry, rejecting Rockefellers and Morgans and Astors, duchesses and countesses, but asked your father for your hand in marriage after only a few weeks of tours of the quarry and dinners set alight with charismatic retellings of his travels. You knew the Connemara marble was part of the allure, but you took this as a common interest rather than the only thing Daemon wanted from you. Well…one of two things.

“You’ve resided in Galway ever since,” the reporter is saying to Daemon. “Barring a few trips for business. But that is about to change.”

Daemon sucks on his pipe. “I’ve received a very generous offer from Tiffany & Co. in Manhattan. They’ve been around for almost a century, did you know they supplied the Union Army with swords and surgical tools during the Civil War? Real patriots. Not afraid to get bloody. They want to expand into the sale of colored gemstones, not just diamonds and pearls and gold, the same unimaginative pieces peddled by their competitors. And after some long and arduous negotiations, Tiffany has agreed to pay a fair price for the exclusive rights to specimens originating from my mines, and I have agreed relocate to New York City for the foreseeable future to consult with them as a gemstone expert.”

“It’s my understanding that you have family in New York too, Lord Targaryen. Perhaps a reunion is part of the appeal of a move across the pond.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t assume that,” Daemon says impishly. “I haven’t seen Alicent Hightower or her children in years and years. I wouldn’t even know them if I passed them on the street.”

“Is that right?” The reporter’s pen hovers uncertainly over his notebook; he doesn’t think this is the sort of familial disharmony that should be printed in a newspaper.

“But my wife and I will have some company for the voyage,” Daemon continues. “My niece Rhaenyra and her charming husband Laenor will be joining us on Titanic. They’ve been on holiday in the Mediterranean and have several social engagements on the East Coast before they return to summer in England with my brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen, the 9th Duke of Beaufort.”

Daemon grins, not kindly at all. “One man earns a title, eight others wear it.”

The reporter shifts awkwardly in his chair. It’s not the sort of joke he’s allowed to laugh at. Changing the topic, he looks to the string quartet, which is now playing Danny Boy. The viola player’s eyes flick to you; you drink you pear cider and pretend you are unaware. “You’ll be sorely missed in Galway. But what a proper Irish sendoff you’re receiving here at O’Connell’s tonight!”

“Yes,” Daemon muses, the bit of the pipe in his mouth. “A week from now, tugboats will be hauling us out of Cork Harbor and into the Atlantic Ocean, perhaps never to return.”

You shudder as a man enters the pub and a cold draft blows through you. You are terrified of ships, tiny metal buckets at the mercy of bottomless blue, unnatural incursions into inhuman spaces. You have sailed twice before with your parents—once to Le Havre to visit Paris and again on a cruise of the Aegean—and both times you were consumed by visions of water rising up over your feet, bodies thrashing in the waves, bones turning to silt. You don’t want to cross the Atlantic. You don’t want to leave home.

“You look a bit familiar, boy,” Daemon says, and you realize he’s talking to the viola player. You startle, then are relieved to see that your husband has only a dim curiosity in the musician. The reporter has bored him, and Daemon’s eyes are wandering. He is a man of short and restless attention. You have learned this the hard way. “Have we met before?”

The viola player—early twenties, around your age, sandy blond hair and a beard trimmed close to the skin—pauses his fiddling as his three companions carry on. His accent is English, not Irish. “Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact.”

“Were you by chance at the McPherson wedding back in February?”

You don’t believe he was, you think you’d remember him; but the viola player nods eagerly. “Yes sir, that was me.”

“Ah! That was a fine night. Excellent duck. Wasn’t the duck good, dear?” But Daemon only half-listens for your response. He has turned back to the reporter and is recounting how he and his expedition hacked through the jungles of Tanzania to reach the location of suspected gemstone deposits, how they endured attacks from crocodiles and chimpanzees and burned up from fevers.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say as you rise from the table. The reporter scrambles to his feet to stand as decorum demands.

“Yes yes,” Daemon replies abruptly, not looking at you, then continues his stories.

You escape from the pub through the front door and stand beneath the awning just out of the rain, watching the reflections of streetlights glow in puddles like stars. Across the street in Eyre Square, a public park established in 1710, shadows of ash trees rock in the wind. With trembling fingers, you fumble a Kerry Blue and your cigarette holder out of your black handbag, then realize you don’t have a lighter. Someone else always does that part for you. You sigh and stare out into the rain, taking deep breaths of Irish night, early April, cold and wet and green, the only air you know how to take painlessly into your lungs, blood, bones, the dark damp earth that built you. You cannot imagine living amongst metal skyscrapers and rumbling automobiles instead of verdant rolling hills dotted with sheep.

You hear the pub door open, and you assume it is one of the waiters or perhaps Rush—Edward Rushton, Daemon’s valet and bodyguard, ever-watchful and unwaveringly stern—bringing you the black mink coat you left inside. But to your horror, it is the viola player, carrying his instrument by its neck. You gape at him as rain continues to fall.

“Hi,” he says.

You are clutching your handbag, a cigarette and holder still tucked between your fingers. “What are you doing?”

“I just…I was…uh…” He spots the cigarette. “Oh, do you need a lighter? I have one, hold on…” He begins rooting around in the pockets of his olive green tweed jacket.

“No, I don’t need a lighter,” you snap, glancing anxiously at the door. “I need you to go back inside.”

“Wait a minute, I wanted to—”

“Why are you speaking to me?” Your eyes are wide and petrified, your voice is a sharp whisper. No musician has ever addressed you beyond pleasantries: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, thank you ma’am, my pleasure ma’am. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Look, I came out here because…I just wanted to ask…” He struggles to find the words. His eyes fall to your left wrist, now fully obscured by the ruffles of your sleeve, then return to your face. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Do you…you know…do you need some kind of help or something?”

It’s improper, it’s unthinkable, it’s dangerous. “You’re deranged,” you say as you breeze past him towards the door. “You’ve clearly escaped from an asylum somewhere. I wish you all the best in your recovery.”

He does not grab you—that would be absurd—but he does get between you and the front door of the pub. “Wait, please, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or to overstep or anything, I’m trying to see if there’s anything I can do—”

“You will make it worse for me,” you hiss, and only then does the viola player go quiet and let you pass. You shove by him into O’Connell’s Bar.

Back at the table, Daemon and the reporter are engrossed in conversation. When you rejoin them, neither of the men take any notice of you beyond the reporter’s momentary rise to his feet. After a minute or two, the viola player returns to the quartet and slips seamlessly into the song they’re playing, Star of the County Down. You gaze into your pear cider, determined not to glance at him even once.

Daemon is saying as the reporter jots franticly: “I am reminded of something I read once in a French fashion critic’s guide from the 1870s. In the gloomy depths of the mineral world, stars are concealed that rival in their beauty those of the firmament. The fresh splendors of dawn, the sun’s incandescent rays, the magnificent sunsets, the brilliant colors of the rainbow, all are found enclosed in a morsel of pure carbon or in the center of a stone. Not everyone can see the potential, not everyone has the skill or the willpower to move the earth and free the treasures trapped beneath. But I found stars no one else knew existed. And my work isn’t finished yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At home in Lough Cutra Castle, your family’s estate since 1817, your parents are asleep and Fern is waiting up for you and Daemon, yawning into the back of her hand to try to hide it. She is your maid but she was hired by Daemon, and she scurries around the property like a mouse, eternally picking up toys and articles of clothing and papers that have slid off of tables, head bowed, footsteps so light you often don’t realize she’s walked into a room until she’s spoken.

“Care for some tea, my lady?” Fern asks as she takes your mink coat. Daemon goes directly to his study; you watch him leave with some feeling you couldn’t name, loss, relief, loneliness, resignation.

“No, thank you, Fern. I’m exhausted. Is Draco upstairs?”

“He is,” she says, but with hesitation, as if she is sending you into the lion’s den. You know what that means. You climb the staircase and find him in his bedroom sound asleep, four years old, surrounded by an army of teddy bears. Bears are his favorite animal; he likes the way they roar and brandish their teeth. He is named after the crest of Daemon’s family; Draco is the Latin word for dragon. His hair is white-blonde, a Targaryen trait. As they age it fades to an ordinary sand-like color, and by the time they are middle-aged—Daemon is forty, nearly two decades older than you are—their hair is a blonde so dark it’s almost brunette.

You stand in the doorway watching Draco for a long time. When you think of him, this is the image that comes to mind: your son across a room, or a lawn, or a garden, and you lurking on the periphery, longing to be a part of his existence, feeling so palpably unneeded. Already, he is becoming a stranger. He thinks it’s funny when Daemon insults people and breaks things. He stomps his little feet when he doesn’t get his way and rips flowers from the garden, tosses rocks through the windows of the greenhouse, hurls sticks at hissing geese.

“He’s asleep,” Dagmar says as if she’s scolding you. You whirl to see her behind you in the hall, glowering with those icy Nordic eyes, her hair grey and twisted into a tight bun, her face angular and cold-blooded. Legend has it that Saint Patrick expelled all the snakes from Ireland; you think he must have missed one.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You’ll wake him.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“A boy that age needs his rest.” And this is how Dagmar has been since Draco was born: You can’t hold a baby like that, you can’t feed a baby like that, you can’t play with a baby like that, never showing you how to do things but only alienating you further and further until you looped around on some hopelessly remote orbit like Neptune circles the sun.

“Yes. Like I said, I won’t disturb him.”

But she does not leave; she only scowls at you with her bony arms crossed over her chest. She is ancient; she was Viserys and Daemon’s governess when they were boys, and your husband wrote to her immediately after Draco was born. She idolizes Daemon. The three of them are a family unto themselves, sardonic and spiteful and fiercely loyal, an oath you can’t figure out how to break. She wins this battle, as she’s won them all. It is not a war but an insurgency, a perpetual struggle for independence, sabotages and hunger strikes that amount to nothing. You retreat from Draco’s doorway and go to find Daemon in his study, bent low over his desk and sketching designs for jewelry men will buy for their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, mistresses.

He glances over at you impatiently. “What is it?”

“You promised I’d never have to leave Ireland.”

Daemon shrugs, smiling wryly. “And yet…”

“Draco and I could stay here,” you say, as if this has not already occurred to him.

“And people would say my house is not in order. How am I to command the respect of American businessmen when my own wife does not obey me?”

You are desperate. “Half the year,” you plead. “I’ll spend winters in Manhattan and summers here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I won’t go?”

“I don’t see how you’d accomplish that,” Daemon says, as if he’s already bored of this conversation. “You could throw yourself over the ship’s railing and into the Atlantic Ocean, I suppose. But that’s the only way you’re not ending up in New York.”

“You don’t even really want me there,” you reply, your voice quivering. “You don’t care where I am or what I do. Lots of men live separately from their wives, you can as well.” And even now—horribly, humiliatingly—you want him to contradict you, to swear that he does care, that he wants you, that he loves you in the sick brutal way he knows how.

Daemon picks up the dagger he keeps on his desk and uses it as a letter opener to unseal a piece of correspondence from one of his many mines, left in the care of managers just as your father’s Connemara marble quarry soon will be. The hilt is made of gold and has seven small gemstones imbedded in it, one on top of the other: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. “You know,” Daemon says offhandedly as he skims the letter. “Draco is getting old enough for boarding school.”

“What?” You are shellshocked; it takes a moment for you to sputter a reply. “He’s…he’s four, Daemon. He can’t read more than a handful of words. He just learned how to write his own name.”

“I was only five when my father sent me away.”

“And you turned out to be so normal.”

“No,” Daemon says, a blade-sharp warning, his eyes burning into yours, ruthless green fire. He aims the point of his dagger at you. “I turned out to be extraordinary.”

Draco. Draco sent away. If I lose him now, I’ll lose him forever. He’ll never know me. He’ll never love me. “Please let me have a few more years with him.”

“Sure. In New York.”

“I’ll go,” you surrender. “Fine, fine, I understand. I’ll go. No more complaints.”

“Good.” He sets down his dagger and the letter and resumes his sketching. You’ve been dismissed, but you can’t look away from him: cunning hands that won’t touch you, blood that runs hot enough to scald.

What is this feeling, this hunger, this hatred, all gnarled up together, dark earth glimmering with flecks of jewel-tone light, constellations of subterranean stars? He has hurt you, but he has given you pleasure too, this man who is so impossible to know, to predict, the only man who has ever been inside you. It’s not that you want him, not exactly; you want what he can give you, and the cold truth is that if it’s not him it’s not anyone, never again for as long as he lives. You’ve never craved another body, another soul. If you ever took a lover, you believe Daemon would kill you.

He grins, mocking and cruel. And you are transported back to your wedding night, still euphoric and flushed and panting on the bed as Daemon sighed and got up to go to the washroom, the satisfaction and the shame, the inescapable sense that you have disappointed him. “Did you only come here to be vexing and disobedient, or did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” you say softly, turning away, leaving him with his drawings of rocks stolen from distant corners of the world.

At breakfast the next morning—Fern cracking Draco’s soft-boiled egg and feeding him careful spoonfuls, Dagmar reading aloud to him from The Three Billy Goats Gruff, giving him smiles radiant with warmth you’ve never received from her—you sip tea and spread butter over your soda bread, gazing listlessly at the mist that hangs cool and heavy beyond the windows. Daemon is at the quarry already. You are suddenly acutely aware of the absence of music.

“Hey, lassie?” your father says as your mother tries to coax him into eating his full Irish breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, white pudding.

You look to him, clearing the fog from your skull. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I saw the luggage. Where are you going?”

You keep telling him, but he doesn’t remember; he was becoming forgetful five years ago but now he can’t work at all, can barely even carry conversations. You had a brother who died in infancy and a sister who was taken at eight years old by convulsions. You are the only child left, and there are no other evident heirs to the quarry. This must have been something that occurred to Daemon when he met you, seventeen and overwhelmed by the black magic of him. He had seemed like the right choice: dashing, capable, from an illustrious family, a man who could take charge of the quarry as your father’s health continued to fail.

“Daddy, I told you. We’re going to Manhattan.”

He is stunned, grief-stricken. “What? That far?”

“Yes, on Titanic. It’s the largest ship ever built.”

“Who the hell cares about the ship?” your father says. “When will you be back?”

Never. You and your mother exchange a heartsick glance. She tries to be strong for him; she tries not to show you that her world is ending as you and Draco are taken across the ocean like gemstones mined and smuggled away for cutting. “Soon, Daddy,” you lie. He won’t remember anyway. “We’ll be back really soon.”

And then again ten minutes later, and then again after a half hour, and then again at lunchtime:

Where are you going?

When will you be back?

~~~~~~~~~~

Titanic is not a ship but a wonder of the world, unbreakable like the pyramids, towering like the Colossus of Rhodes, beckoning seafaring travelers like the Lighthouse of Alexandria. It is too large to dock in Cork Harbor, and so two tenders—named, quite appropriately, Ireland and America—are used to shuttle the passengers to the anchored goliath waiting to carry you across the ocean. Aboard, a five-piece string ensemble greets the first-class passengers with The Sunny South, and beaming stewards distribute flutes of champagne, liquid gold freckled with bubbles of trapped air. The men are chucking and shaking Captain Smith’s hand and the women are sighing with soft, feminine awe at the soaring funnels and the sprawling Promenade Deck, steel overlaid with yellow pine and teak, and you stare vacuously back at the shadow of the shore, speaking to no one, noticed by no one, alone in a wonderstruck crowd on a cloud-covered, warm afternoon, April 11th, 1912.

Rush is giving bellboys instructions for the luggage to be taken to your rooms. Daemon disappears with Rhaenyra to inspect the accommodations, their steps swift and careless, laughing like children, Rhaenyra’s blonde hair—yellow jasper, yellow jade—streaming out behind her, her gown a shallow-water bluish-green like the Grandidierite Daemon found in Madagascar. Fern skitters after them to unpack the bags when they arrive in the staterooms and offer to make tea. Laenor, wearing a deep and dignified shade of blue, immediately makes the acquaintance of several Parisian passengers and sets about to stroll the deck with them, smoking their pipes and remarking on the ingenuity of the ship’s design, planning to enjoy the Turkish Baths together this evening. Draco is getting tired and ill-tempered; Dagmar merrily whisks him off to see the Grand Staircase and distract him until the rooms are ready.

Meandering, rudderless, you walk to the deck railing and look down into the water as the ship weighs anchor, unmooring itself from Ireland, stealing you away forever. Trying to distract yourself from weeping—tears burn in your eyes like a stoked furnace—you pretend to adjust your earrings. You wear amethysts to match your gown, dark mauve, a color not long ago only owned by royalty. One of the musicians has appeared to soothe your maladies, desperate terror and melancholy he perhaps mistakes for seasickness. But no, it’s not one of the men from the ensemble that welcomed you aboard; he is not wearing a pristine black suit but a pale green tweed waistcoat and unceremonious plaid trousers. He isn’t a crewmember of Titanic at all. He’s the viola player from Galway.

You jolt away from him, spinning around to ensure no one from Daemon’s party has reappeared to witness this. Then you whisper furiously: “What are you doing here?!”

The viola player stops fiddling and holds his instrument by its neck. His answer is amiable and innocent. “Playing viola.”

“No, why are you on this ship?!”

He shrugs, smiling, his hair blowing in the wind as the tugboats pull Titanic out to sea. “Heard it was the biggest one ever built, unsinkable, extravagant beyond compare. Seemed like something I’d like to experience given the opportunity.”

“You followed me,” you say flatly.

He winks, resting an elbow on the railing. His teeth are small and white; there are lines from the sun around his eyes.

“You overheard our arrangements at O’Connell’s Bar and bought a ticket for yourself? Crossed Ireland, travelled south to Cork, all to stalk me like some lunatic? A nautical Jack the Ripper?”

“Well…I wouldn’t say I bought a ticket.” He is playful, teasing you. “I found one.”

“How did you manage to by pure happenstance find a ticket for Titanic’s maiden voyage?”

“I ran into an aspiring passenger at a pub in Cork,” the viola player explains. “A very nice man, his name was Fergal. Unfortunately for poor Fergal, when the time came to board the tenders, he was…indisposed, and I found myself in possession of his third-class ticket. A strange coincidence!”

“Indisposed?” you say, squinting suspiciously.

“Perhaps he had a few too many pints in celebration and passed out somewhere. Perhaps he got lost on his way to the harbor. Or perhaps he was locked in the pub’s storage room and therefore unable to make it to the tenders in time to sail blissfully away on his trans-Atlantic journey. Who could say for sure?”

“So you stole a ticket.”

“I think that’s a cynical way to put it.”

You are incredulous. “How would you put it?”

“Fortune brought me a ticket. The stars aligned, the saints were looking out for me.”

“If you hold a third-class ticket, you are on the wrong deck of the ship.”

“Shh!” He holds a finger to his lips. “No one knows that, I just wander around playing songs for the rich people and they assume I’m supposed to be here.”

“You have to stay away from me,” you plead, staring out over the ocean. “Daemon can’t see us talking, he can’t know you followed me from Galway, he can’t find out that you saw…” The bruise, the evidence, the betrayal of you not keeping his secrets.

“Relax, I’m not here for you,” the viola player says, and of course he is lying. “I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

He grins, slow and mischievous, and you are alarmed to realize some part of you wants to smile too. “You know what?”

“What,” you offer resentfully.

“I think you want me to be here for you.”

You turn away from the railing to make your escape. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll think about it,” the viola player quips. And when you glance back at him from the end of the Promenade Deck, ocean wind tearing your hair out of its pins and salt stinging on your skin, he’s still watching you.

#aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen

150 notes · View notes

br0kenangel · 15 hours

Text

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐃♡𝐠𝐬 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Plagued Aegon x Plagued Reader

Summary: you were no longer a human. You were a rat. Something for them to experiment on for their own sick pleasure. You hate everything. God why it's always happening to you? What did you do to deserve this? But just beside you is a man. A man who don't even know his name and yet he's so hopeful. As if he believes you gonna be save...

Warning: torture, unknown virus, abuse, amnesia.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. And yes I'm inspired by The Plague Dogs. Original gif by @kieraknightley. Hope you enjoy!

The door to her cell clanged open, and she was yanked from the remnants of sleep. Her eyes shot open, the same as every other day, staring at the blank, cold walls around her, the air thick with the smell of rot. The guards entered with heavy, careless footsteps, their faces hidden beneath gas masks, those black eyes like hollow pits staring back. Always covered, always distant.

She hated them. Every last one of them.

The guard threw a metal tray onto the ground by the door, the slop on it sloshing onto the filthy floor. He didn’t even bother looking at her. None of them did. She glared up at him, her hands clenched into fists by her side. It took everything in her not to spit on the tray, not to lash out. The heavy door of Egg’s cell creaked next to hers, and she could hear him scrambling up, his voice weak, hopeful.

“Thank you!” Egg’s voice was filled with too much sincerity for this hellhole. She could hear him thanking them every day, like a child grateful for scraps.

The guards only laughed. One of them stepped forward and kicked Egg’s tray, sending it flying into the dirt and filth. She heard Egg's soft gasp, the shuffle as he hurried to clean up the food. "Pathetic," one of the guards spat, his voice muffled by the mask. "Still pretending to be grateful. Like we give a shit."

She glared at them, her heart pounding in her chest. Bastards. All of them. Their mocking words, the way they looked down at her and Egg like they weren’t even human anymore, burned inside her. She pulled her knees to her chest, locking her jaw, refusing to touch the slop they'd left her. The smell alone made her stomach churn.

“You should be grateful,” another guard sneered, crouching just far enough from her reach, “for the food, for us keeping you alive. Without us, you'd be rotting by now.” His gaze flickered to Egg’s cell. “Or worse, like that freak over there.”

He stepped closer to the bars, his breath coming in harsh, shallow bursts behind the mask. She could feel his gaze on her, even if she couldn’t see his eyes. “What’s wrong? You don’t want it? Worthless slut.” His voice was thick with contempt, the words dripping with that familiar venom.

Her jaw tightened. She could feel her pulse pounding in her head, the fury rising up through her like a storm. She wanted to lunge at him, rip the mask from his face, spit every hateful thing she’d ever thought right into his eyes. She wanted him to feel the same helpless rage she felt every single day.

But then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Egg.

He was watching her, his food forgotten for a moment, his wide, innocent eyes filled with worry. He shook his head, just the slightest movement, like a silent plea for her to stay calm. To let it go.

Her breath hitched. The anger in her chest twisted, turned into something else. Something that left her feeling hollow.

She bit her tongue hard, tasted the iron of her own blood, and looked away.

The guard laughed, his voice harsh and brittle. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said, and then he was gone, his boots pounding away down the corridor.

They left eventually, their laughter echoing down the hallway. The door slammed shut behind them with a final, metallic thud. Her gaze lingered on the untouched tray in front of her. For a moment, she didn’t move. Just sat there, legs pulled tight against her chest, staring at the cold stone floor. Her heart was still beating too fast, the remnants of that anger still coursing through her veins like a poison.

Egg’s voice broke the silence. “It’s good today. Really good.” He was already eating again, his fingers picking at the slop, oblivious to the fact that it was barely fit for a stray dog. She could see him through the bars, see the way his face lit up at the smallest bite, the way he savored it like it was something real, something substantial.

Slowly, she dragged her own tray closer, wrinkling her nose at the smell. She poked at it with one finger, barely able to stomach the thought of even tasting it. The mush was cold, congealed. Bits of unidentifiable meat and vegetables floating in a grayish slop. It looked rancid. The smell alone was enough to make her sick. “You like this?” she muttered, glancing over at Egg, who paused with a piece of it halfway to his mouth.

He nodded eagerly, his pale eyes wide with that same, childlike innocence she never understood. “Yes,” he said, his voice soft, “it’s not so bad. Better than nothing.”

She stared at him, at the way he seemed almost happy, even with the bruises on his arms, even with his bald head and the rot creeping up his foot. He was breaking down, piece by piece, and still, he was grateful.

She sighed, pushing the tray toward the bars between them. “You want mine?”

His head snapped up, surprise lighting his face. “Really?” he asked, his voice full of that strange, childlike gratitude. “You’re sure?”

She pushed the tray toward him, not bothering to answer. What was the point? He’d take it anyway, with or without her permission. He always did. And part of her—despite herself—was glad for it. Glad that at least one of them could still find joy in something, no matter how small or disgusting.

She watching as he pulled it into his cell with a quiet, “Thank you.” He dug in, as if it were a feast, as if it were something worth eating.

She pulled her knees back to her chest, glaring at the wall across from her, feeling nothing but anger clawing at her insides.

She leaned her head back against the cold, rough wall of her cell, eyes half-lidded as she watched Egg devour the food like it was a feast. His thin fingers scraped at the last bits, collecting every crumb from the tray. She wondered, not for the first time, how he could still find joy in this place. This pit of cruelty, where people were thrown away like garbage, left to rot from the inside out. The scientists didn’t care. The guards didn’t care. No one cared. Yet here he was, thanking them for scraps like it meant something.

It didn’t make sense to her, but then again, nothing about him made sense.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in. The air in the cell was thick and sour with the scent of decay—her own body betraying her, just like his. Every day, the virus crept a little further into her, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she would end up like the others. Bald. Rotted. Forgotten.

“Sir, I’ve been hearing things,” she had said, standing stiffly in front of her commanding officer’s desk, the cold metal of her dog tags brushing against her chest as she shifted her weight. Her voice had been careful, measured, though she could feel the unease creeping under her skin.

“Things?” he’d drawled, not even looking up from the reports in front of him. He was a big man, intimidating, with cold, flat eyes that never softened for anyone. The room had smelled of cigar smoke and sweat, suffocating in its familiarity.

“About the virus. The researchers—they’re talking about using humans now. They said they needed criminals for the tests. But these people—” she hesitated, trying to find the words, “they aren’t volunteers. They’re just taking them.”

He hadn’t flinched. Not even a flicker of emotion crossed his face. Instead, his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk as he finally looked up at her. “And? They’re criminals. Who gives a damn what happens to them?”

She had stared at him, a knot of anger forming in her chest. “They’re still people, sir. They deserve—”

“They deserve nothing.” He had cut her off sharply, his eyes narrowing, his voice growing harder, more dangerous. “They’re trash. Nothing more. And if they die, then they die.” He laughed then, a hollow, humorless sound that made her stomach turn. “Good riddance.”

Her hands had curled into fists at her sides. “We should tell people, warn them. They could protect themselves, take precautions. It’s not right to keep this from them.” The words had left her mouth before she could stop them.

He had stood up so quickly the chair behind him scraped against the floor, his towering presence looming over her. The air had shifted, heavy with tension, with that familiar threat. And then—before she had even registered what was happening—his hand cracked across her face, the sting of it snapping her head to the side. Her skin burned where he hit her, but it was the coldness in his eyes that hurt more.

“You’re getting too comfortable, soldier,” he growled, stepping closer, so close she could smell the whiskey on his breath, feel the heat of his body pressing into hers. She had swallowed hard, trying to push down the panic rising in her throat. “You speak when spoken to. Nothing more. Do you understand?”

Her jaw clenched, but she had nodded, the sting of his slap pulsing on her cheek. He gripped her chin then, forcing her to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing the reddened skin he’d just struck. She had wanted to jerk away, to spit in his face, but she knew better. She’d learned better.

“There’s a good girl,” he cooed, his tone sickeningly soft as his hand moved down to caress her cheek, his thumb pressing too hard against her skin. Her stomach turned in disgust, but she stood rigid, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise. His face had been so close to hers, the distance between them shrinking until she could feel his breath on her lips. “You should know your place by now. I don’t need you thinking for yourself.”

Her skin had crawled at his touch, her heart hammering in her chest as she forced herself to stay still, to not flinch. His fingers were rough, calloused, every brush against her face a reminder of how powerless she was in that moment.

She had hated him. Hated every second of it, hated the way he looked at her, like she was nothing but a tool to be used, a piece of meat. And she had hated herself more for not pulling away, for not fighting harder.

God, I should have killed him there.

A scrape of metal on concrete pulled her back. Egg had pushed the empty trays toward the bars, wiping his hands on his tattered pants. He sat back against the wall of his cell, his legs folded beneath him, a small smile tugging at his lips. His feet, one of them wrapped in old bandages, were still raw and rotting, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Thank you for the food,” he said again softly, more to himself than to her. His voice always held that strange, gentle tone. It was like he lived in a different world from her—a world where hope still existed.

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The bile rose in her throat just thinking about it. There was no hope here. Only survival. And even that was slipping away.

The silence hung between them, broken only by the faint dripping of water somewhere deep within the prison. She could feel Egg’s eyes on her, could sense his need to say something, but she wasn’t in the mood to hear it. Not today.

She opened her eyes again, staring through the bars at Egg. His pale face was turned toward her, his wide eyes still full of that same, infuriating innocence.

“Do you think…” he began, his voice soft and hesitant, “do you think today could be the day?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What day?”

“The day they let us out,” he said, almost hopefully. “Maybe… maybe they’ll find my family. Maybe they’ll come for me.”

She stared at him, her lips pressed into a hard line. He’d said it before—many times. It was always the same fantasy. That somehow, someone would find him. That his wife and children would come through those doors and save him from this nightmare. It made her sick to hear it.

“They’re not coming,” she said flatly, her voice sharp enough to cut through his delusion.

Egg blinked, his smile faltering for a moment, but only for a moment. He recovered quickly, nodding as if he hadn’t heard her. “I know,” he whispered, but there was a distant look in his eyes, like he didn’t believe it. “But maybe…”

Maybe.

She hated that word.

It was late, well past midnight, the lights in the barracks casting long shadows over the cold concrete floors. She had stayed back to finish some paperwork, her shoulders stiff from hours of tension, her eyes burning from the fluorescent lights overhead. The others had left hours ago, their laughter and chatter fading as the door clicked shut behind them. She had been alone for what felt like hours.

Then came the sound of footsteps behind her, slow and deliberate. She knew those footsteps—sharp, heavy boots that echoed down the hall.

Her fingers froze on the papers as she stiffened, already dreading the encounter. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was. His presence was always a weight, always something that pressed down on her.

“You’re still here?” His voice slithered out, the tone too casual, too familiar.

She forced herself to keep writing, focusing on the feel of the pen in her hand. “Finishing the report, sir.”

He moved closer, and she could feel his eyes on her back, like a predator watching its prey. “You work too hard,” he said, a mock concern dripping from his words.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled, but she didn’t turn. “Just doing my job.”

“You��re a good soldier, Y/N.” His voice was closer now, just behind her, and then she felt it—his hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “But you should know when to relax.”

She went stiff, her breath catching in her throat as his fingers dug into her skin, the pressure uncomfortably tight. She wanted to shrug him off, to pull away, but she stayed still, forcing herself to breathe evenly.

“Sir, I’d appreciate it if you—”

The slap came without warning, sharp and brutal, the sting of it blooming across her cheek as her head snapped to the side. The chair wobbled beneath her, and she barely caught herself before falling.

“Shut the fuck up, Y/N,” he snarled, the warmth draining from his voice in an instant, replaced with cold anger.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse loud in her ears as she brought a hand to her face, feeling the heat of the slap still radiating from her cheek. She tried to push away from the desk, but he was on her in seconds, his fingers gripping her jaw with bruising force.

“Look at me,” he hissed, pulling her face up so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. The cruelty there made her stomach turn. “You think you’re special? You think you’re above this?”

“Sir, don’t—”

His grip tightened, and her words died in her throat as he leaned in closer, so close she could smell the whiskey on his breath, feel the heat of it against her skin. “You’re just a tool, Lieutenant. Just another fucking soldier. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Her stomach twisted as he dragged his fingers down from her face, trailing them along her neck, his breath hot and sour as he pressed closer. She pushed at him, but his body was a wall, unyielding.

“No one’s going to save you,” he whispered, his voice sickeningly soft. “Not out here.”

His hand moved lower, fingers slipping beneath the edge of her uniform, and panic surged through her chest. She shoved harder, desperate, but his hand wrapped around her wrist, pinning it to the desk with a force that made her cry out.

“You’re my bitch,” he whispered.

The pressure, the smell, the hands that wouldn’t stop moving—it was suffocating. Her world shrunk to the feel of him against her, the cruel grip on her wrist, and the terror that choked her.

And then—

She woke up with a sharp intake of breath, her body drenched in sweat, heart pounding like she’d just run miles. Her chest heaved as she blinked rapidly, trying to push the nightmare away, but the phantom touch of his hands lingered, the sound of his voice still echoing in her ears.

For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the filthy ceiling of her cell, trying to pull herself back to reality. It was just a dream. Just a dream. But it had never felt like a dream—it was a memory, twisted, haunting her over and over again.

She turned her head, and through the dim light, she saw Egg sitting up, his legs crossed as he watched her with that same innocent concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his wide eyes blinking at her in the dark.

She clenched her jaw, pushing herself up to sit, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her fingers still trembled as she raked them through her hair, her breath shaky.

“Shut the fuck up, Egg,” she snapped, not bothering to look at him. The last thing she needed was him asking questions.

But Egg, as always, just laughed softly, the sound too light, too out of place. “You’re so mean,” he said, his tone teasing but without any malice. He seemed oblivious to her anger, to the frustration simmering beneath her skin.

She didn’t respond, just kept rubbing her face, trying to shake off the nightmare.

“I miss my wife,” Egg said suddenly, his voice wistful, like he was sharing a precious secret. “She’s so beautiful, you know? And my three kids—they’re waiting for me. We live in a small house, but it’s cozy. We’ve got a dog too. You’d like him. He's real sweet.”

She blinked, slowly lowering her hands to her lap as she stared at him. He was smiling again, that same soft, distant look in his eyes as he raised three fingers toward her. “Three kids,” he repeated, like he was proud of it.

She frowned, unsure how to react. Part of her believed him—he spoke with such conviction, like he really did have a family waiting for him on the outside. A wife. Kids. A dog. A cozy little house.

But how could someone like him have all that? How could someone in this rotting hellhole dream of such things?

“What about you?” he asked, looking at her expectantly. “Do you have anyone waiting for you?”

She clenched her jaw, her body tensing again. Her life outside? What fucking life? She didn’t owe him that. She didn’t owe anyone anything.

When she didn’t respond, Egg’s brows furrowed slightly, his confusion evident. “You don’t have anyone?” he asked, as if that idea was impossible to him.

“Keep your head up your own ass, Egg,” she spat, turning away from him and lying back down, staring at the wall. She didn’t need this shit. Not from him.

Egg just chuckled, unbothered. “You’re so mean,” he whispered again, the fondness in his voice unsettling in its innocence.

She closed her eyes, trying to shut out his words, trying to pull herself back into sleep. But the memory of the dream clung to her, as did his quiet, persistent voice.

When she woke, it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Her eyes fluttered open, but the world around her was hazy, distorted, as if she were underwater, drowning in a nightmare that refused to end. The light above her flickered一too bright, then too dim-casting eerie shadows across the room, dancing over figures she couldn't quite make out.

She tried to move, but nothing happened. Her arms were pinned, her legs too. A sudden wave of terror washed over her as the realization sank in-she was tied down. Strapped to a bed. Panic surged in her chest, her heart thudding painfully in her ribs. Her muscles strained, burning with effort, but it was useless. She couldn't move.

Her throat felt tight, like something was pressing down on it, and when she tried to scream, her mouth wouldn't cooperate. No sound came out. Not even a whimper. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't scream.

Her vision was blurry, but she could see the outlines of figures moving around her. They wore masks, their faces obscured, just shadows of men and women- scientists. She could hear their voices, muffled and distant, like she was underwater, the words coming and going in waves.

"Increase the dosage."

"Prep the subject."

"It vitals are spiking–"

A hand brushed over her arm, cold and clinical, and she shuddered inwardly, her skin crawling beneath the touch. She could feel the sharp pinch of something digging into her, like metal, slicing into her skin. Pain flared through her body, white-hot and unbearable. Her nerves Screamed, but her voice refused to come. She was trapped in her own body, her own skin, a prisoner in this nightmare.

What are they doing to me?

The thought was frantic, wild, desperate, but there was no escape. Every inch of her burned-her arms, her legs, her chest, her head. It was like her flesh was on fire, melting, tearing apart from the inside out. The sensation was unbearable. She wanted to thrash, to rip herself free, to claw at her skin until she could feel something else, anything else-but she couldn't.

They were talking, their words drifting in and out, but they might as well have been speaking another language. She couldn't focus on anything except the pain, the overwhelming, unrelenting pain.

A needle slid into her skin, and for a moment, everything went white. Her mind screamed, her body convulsing, and the world blurred around her, warping into something unreal, like a fever dream. She wanted to rip herself apart, wanted t scream, to beg them to stop, but her mouth wouldn't move.

She was suffocating. Her body was betraying her. The straps holding her down dug into her flesh, the pain mixing with the agony coursing through her veins. It felt like her skin was being torn off, layer by layer, exposed and raw, the air itself an assault on her senses. She could feel the sharp edges of instruments scraping against her bones, prying her open.

God, please stop! she screamed in her mind, her thoughts a frantic, wild plea. Please stop, someone, make it stop!

Her eyes darted frantically, trying to find anything to focus on, something that wasn't the excruciating agony tearing her apart. But all she saw were the masked faces, the glint of metal tools, the flashing lights above her. The lights flickered, fading in and out, casting long shadows that twisted into grotesque shapes on the walls.

Time lost all meaning. Minutes bled into hours, hours into an eternity of pain. She couldn't remember a time before the burning, before the tearing, before the relentless torture. The world outside of her agony didn't exist anymore.

They were cutting her apart, but nothing was bleeding. She could feel it-feel them pulling at her skin, at her bones, but she was still whole. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. Her mind was unraveling, and she wanted to scream, wanted to claw at her own head to make it stop, make it all stop.

She could see their eyes through the masks一cold, dispassionate, like she was nothing more than a lab rat, just another experiment. They didn't care. They didn't care that she was in agony, that every part of her was screaming, begging for mercy.

And then-

The needle.

It swept over her, like a wave crashing down, pulling her under. Everything went silent. The pain was still there, but it was distant now, far away, like it belonged to Someone else. Her eyelids fluttered shut, the world around her fading into darkness.

And then there was nothing.

No sound. No light. No pain.

Just oblivion.

Should I make a part 2?

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

84 notes · View notes

adragonprinceswhore · 3 months

Text

One Whore Is As Good As Another

Aemond x Brothel worker x (drunk) Aegon

Summary: Desperate to prove he's no mere boy, Prince Aemond leaves his taunting brother and seeks out another conquest. Momentarily, he feels back in control, until his brother reappears.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, reader is a brothel worker and has Valyrian features, targcest, rough sex, oral (m. receiving), face fuccin', P in V, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, titty slapping, humiliation, degradation, dysfunctional brothers

Word Count: 2000

A/N: I had this idea when I read the leaks for episode 3, and let's just say Aegon's awfulness worked great as inspiration. Filthy drabble ahead!

You've seen Prince Aemond's long, silver hair flash by in the corner of your eye countless times in the past weeks.

You never get the chance to observe the prince up close. He only appears fleetingly, confidently striding through the Blue Pearl towards the room where Madame Sylvie awaits him.

She seems to be his favourite; the only one allowed to touch the imposing young man. Sometimes he spends hours with her, though you are not privy to the details. All you know is that most men entering your place of employment conduct much shorter visits.

You do not envy your madame. Entertaining a Targaryen prince is no easy feat, from what you've heard.

Still, you do wonder what it would be like to catch his eye. For him to choose you, like he had chosen the madame.

Had he ever caught sight of you, like you did him? Had he ever seen the shimmer of your silver hair reflect in the corner of his eye?

Does you Valyrian heritage look as alluring as that of the statuesque prince, despite being born a bastard?

These thoughts had merely been fugitive, indulgent fantasies.

Until tonight.

Prince Aemond stands naked in the middle of the vast space in the heart of the Blue Pearl, seeing eye gazing out over the intertwined bodies moving in differing rhythms.

No one had asked for your services as of yet, and you'd therefore been tasked with refilling chalices and plates for the patrons.

The prince's gaze settles on you as you pour wine into a few cups scattered around, ensuring no one chases pleasure parched.

He walks towards you in slow, confident steps, seemingly uncaring that he is fully nude.

'Tis a brothel after all.

Placing the decanter back on the table, you curtsey as he draws near; trembling fingers fumbling with the thin material of your gown,

"Wine, your grace?"

"Do you work here?"

'Tis not the wine that caught his attention.

"Yes. How may I be of service?"

His eye scans the place, searching for a more secluded spot. He gestures towards a plush settee tucked away in a corner with a nod, prompting you to follow him there.

Walking next to the prince, you can truly admire the sharp features of his face. His hair is as fetching up close, and his skin resembles milk; so clear and smooth.

Clean.

Not fit for the filthy surroundings you'd been brought up in.

"Are you my uncle's bastard?"

His query catches you off guard,

"I-, I do not know, your grace. Mayhaps"

You could be his cousin.

Or his sister.

It matters little here; the gods had decided both of your fates when they ruled it fair he be born a prince and you a bastard to a whore in Flea Bottom.

Despite the evident uncertainty, your answer seems to please him.

Prince Aemond's hums, seeing eye narrowing and the right corner of his mouth twitching briefly, perhaps nearly breaking into a smile.

The possibility of you being his uncle's daughter excites him.

"Lay down"

You do as told, reclining on the settee. The corner the two of you occupy is fairly out of sight, yet there is no curtain hindering wandering eyes from seeing your act. It surprises you that the otherwise secretive prince would chose such an exposed place for your coupling, yet you say nothing.

The choice is his.

He inspects your form as you lie down; gaze traveling from the round softness of your breasts to the smooth skin of your inner thighs. The gown you wear leaves little hidden, and the prince's searing stare causes your heart to drum quicker in your chest.

The unpredictability of what he'll do next; of what he wants from you, causes as much unease within you as the determined look in his eye elicits.

He hums, head nodding faintly to himself, before he moves towards you, lifting one long, lean leg so he may straddle your chest.

His cock is right by your mouth, already growing larger as he gazes down at your face underneath him.

Perhaps 'tis the gaining of control that arouses the prince so; seeing you laid out for him with nothing but obedience to offer.

He feeds you his half-hard cock; not too brutish to force it all in your mouth at once. A prince still keeps his manners, you suppose.

Taking him in, you feel the skin of his member; hot and with a taste like salt. It's heavy in your mouth, and the awkward position the prince has you in does not allow you much movement.

He looks down at you; one eye stoney and unmoving, with shadows and light dancing in it. The other expressive and fierce.

Hungry.

Both his hands grab the back of the seat as he leans forward, forcing more of his cock down your throat. It prevents you from breathing, yet you do your best to appease him, sucking and swallowing him to the best of your ability.

You feel his balls slap your chin as he rocks into your mouth, pleased grunts escaping his lips.

A few more thrusts and you start to feel dizzy, not receiving enough air with the prince's manhood in your mouth and his lower belly pressed up against your nose.

You gently tap his leg and he abruptly pulls away from you, hurriedly moving off of you to stand next to the settee.

You cough as you inhale air once again, looking up at him with glassy eyes and wet lips, shining with spit.

His face is still harsh and demanding, and your gaze flickers down to his cock.

Decorated in your spit, it has grown double in size and is now red; like vexed skin after a beating.

You lay still, breathing rapidly to regain your senses. After giving you a moment to calm, Prince Aemond gestures for you to stand, and sits down on the settee.

He grabs your hips, dragging you towards his lap, and so 'tis your time to straddle him, take his cock in hand and sink down on it.

You know how to play these games. You know how to appease the men seeking your touch. Still, the moan you emit as you take in the prince is not solely performative; the stretch of his member fills you to the point of pain.

You bite your lip in a vain effort to concentrate, set on pleasing and serving your prince. Moving up and down in a slow pace, you grow wetter and more accustomed to his intrusion, and soon, your own pleasure follows.

"A-, ah, Prince Aemond", you call out, hoping the flattery will make him favour you even more. Mayhaps as much as he favours your madame.

He grunts and places his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him so he may rest his face against your scarcely clad bosom. He's enjoying you; reveling in your cunt, and it feels like the highest of praise.

You continue to call his title, his name, moving faster and harsher up and down his length, until,

"Brother!"

You catch the flash of a figure stumbling towards you in the corner of your eye, certain you know who it is before looking up;

King Aegon.

His lips are curved into a lazy smile, eyes half-lidded and hair tousled,

"I knew you had it in ya!"

The king ends his exclamation with a slur, clearly far too drunk to be staggering around Flea Bottom unattended.

You'd never been eye to eye with the king before; word around the street was that he found the Blue Pearl far too dull. He requires more to quench his thirst for depravity.

And yet, seeing you ride his brother's cock seems to be to his liking,

"Come on, girl, ride the dragon!", King Aegon shouts before falling into a fit of laughter. His hand smacks your arse as if you were a mare, urging you to go faster.

You search the prince's face for approval, but he's not looking at you anymore. His dark gaze is trained on his brother; still harsh and determined. You take his silence for compliance and move faster; quick breaths of exhaustion and moans of pleasure slipping out from your still wet lips.

"Making her do all the work-",

Aegon's still laughing between the words he slurs out. Standing behind you, one of his hands move to cup your left breast, and he squeezes it roughly; too drunk to appreciate tenderness,

"-I can see why"

Prince Aemond is still silent; still staring at his amused brother.

"No, no, no, this won't do", the king mumbles as he releases the harsh grip he'd had on your breast,

"Remove your gown, bastard"

Again, you seek Prince Aemond's eye for instruction, but he does not grant it. So, you grab the hem of your thin attire and pull it off over your head, exposing yourself to the Targaryen brothers.

'Tis not like you've never been naked before; you entertain most guests nude. Still, there's something about the royals' presence, their ongoing, silent battle, that leaves you feeling more exposed than ever before.

King Aegon hums in appreciation at the sight of your bare teats, the same rough hand coming up to slap the side of one of them, chuckling as they knock together.

You pick up the pace to ride your prince again, yet the king does not leave you be. His voice is still amused, though tinted with something darker, as he commands his brother,

"I want to see you fuck her like a hound, Aemond"

The prince does not reply, and your pace does not falter. You were tasked with pleasuring the prince, and if he did not reply to his brother's orders, neither would you.

Though he is your king.

"Fuck her like a hound! Come on!"

King Aegon sounds more agitated now; impatient. He does not like that his brother does not obey him instantaneously; that he would refuse an order.

The prince is as stubborn as his elder, and in between the brothers, is you;

Caught between two dragons waging a war of wills.

"Get up", Prince Aemond grits through clenched teeth.

You comply, standing swiftly only to be turned and roughly placed back on the settee on your knees.

The prince places a hand on your lower back, pushing you to arch, and enters you in one stroke, reaching far deeper than your previous position had allowed.

He quickly sets a brutal pace; fucking your squelching cunt harsh and quick.

You desperately hold on to the back of the seat, vainly searching for some control as the prince takes his pleasure from you.

Behind you, you hear his laboured breaths and grunts, and the entertained cackle of the king,

"That's more like it!"

He walks around the settee to face you; watching your body as it sways back and forward with the prince's rough thrusts.

Leaning in closely, so closely that his wine-soaked breath is right by your cheek, King Aegon inquires, "How does royal cock feel?"

You know how to play these games.

"Heavenly, your grace"

He hums and touches a strand of your hair, twirling it around his finger, "Is that what your mother thought as well?"

He does not bother with waiting for an answer from you; truly, he's not interested in knowing. Instead, he circles the settee yet again to stand next to his brother, mesmerised by the sight of his cock driving in and out of you,

"Where on her will you spill?"

Prince Aemond stays silent, pace never faltering.

“Face, teats or arse?”, his brother asks, but before his stoic sibling answers, he decides for him,

"Spill on her face. You got to appreciate those, uh, familiar features"

A few more rough strokes and the prince pulls out, grabs your waist, and turns you around so that you face them both. He pushes on your shoulder in a silent order for you to get on the floor, once again with his member in your face.

With a quick hand he strokes his slick cock, seed shooting out like arrows, landing on your cheeks, in your hair, on your lips.

He's breathing heavily, yet does not say anything, nor does he moan or grunt. He simply decorates your face in pearly luminescence, matching your silver hair and lilac eyes.

When he's done, he turns, and you see his older brother lay a comradery hand on his shoulder, commending him for "a good fuck".

As the brothers walk away together, you see the tension in Prince Aemond's shoulders ease ever so slightly.

The burdens of being a royal.

A/N: If the HotD writers want Aemond to be obsessed with his uncle, I'll comply! I like to write these little drabbles as a fun way to practice writing without much pressure, so please be kind, it's all just for fun!

#aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fanfic #my fics

3K notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 6 months

Text

Losing Dogs

Neither you or Aegon wanted to get married. Neither you or Aegon wanted to marry each other. But at some point, you figured you should make the most of what you had, and so you offer your husband a deal he cannot refuse.

Aegon Targaryen x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, arranged marriage/loveless marriage, smut (piv, virginity loss, rough/loveless sex) DD:DNE, alcoholism, violence, suicide/suicidal thoughts & ideation, mentions of domestic/child abuse, death, pregnancy/miscarriage, aegon's mommy issues, insecurities, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ... i had something to say about this fic but i forgot... maybe ill remember later???? edit: i did not remember. i thought of mitski while entitling this so go play i bet on losing dogs ig?

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @azperja @sloanexx @risefallrise

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

Aegon only truly understood what this meant the day he was married and he was forbidden to drink a drop of alcohol.

As if it wasn't painful enough that he was going to be married to a complete stranger from some house he's never fucking heard of, he was erratic and uneasy the whole day because of the withdrawal. He loathes the preparation, the ceremony, the fucking pageantry of it all.

He thinks it was worse that you seemed to be so chipper the entire time. You smiled with a halo, skin shining with the light. You also seemingly did no wrong, judging by the praises you received from his mother and grandfather. But, who was he kidding, of course they fucking loved you, they chose you to be his prison keeper.

You did not press him once, not when you were preparing for the ceremony, not when you were at the feast, not even after the Queen encouraged you to dance.

Anyone with eyes could see from how he slumped on his chair during dinner that Aegon would rather die than circle around the room to this grating noise echoing in the chamber.

The band begins to play another song and another round of dancing ensues.

He stares at the food on the table. Oh, to be a suckling pig.

The relief that coursed through him when he could finally leave was enough to knock him out. Except, he really wanted, no, needed a drink.

He crashes on his bed, belly down, and reaches for the cabinet door on his bedside table. He feels for his bottle, hand knocking into the corners of the compartment, but he sits up when he finds nothing.

He growls in frustration upon realizing this was definitely his mother's doing. Thief!

"I managed a cup."

Aegon struggles to look over his shoulder from his position. He rolls on his back as you walk to the side of the bed.

He stares at you. You offer a glass holding burgundy liquid. Your voice is soft and kind as you explain, "your mother would suspect me if I took a whole bottle."

Aegon pushes himself up and sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. He gulps at the wine you were offering.

Sure, he may not be the brightest, but anyone could tell this scene was the epitome of ulterior motives. Aegon leans on his thighs, "why are you doing this?"

You stare a moment. You clutch the cup in both hands and examine it. Again, your voice is gentle, "you are clearly in torment. It hurts my heart."

His eye twitches.

I see. It seems you were a fucking saint.

Aegon rips the glass out of your hands, some of the wine spills over. He downs the contents in one go, then chucks the glass across the room once he finished.

He looks back at you, glaring with watery eyes. He was exhausted, he was angry, and he wanted you to know it. But you don't flinch at the sound of the glass breaking. You didn't flinch at all when he showed aggression. Why didn't you flinch?

You press your lips and sigh. You step towards him and reach out.

He nervously straightens up and tilts his head back as you approach. His breath hitches when your warm hand touches his cheek. He blinks rapidly.

"It's been a long day. Would you like me to help you change?"

Again, his eye twitches.

And then he realizes what you mean.

Ah. So, this is what you wanted?

He releases a breath, eyes lowering. Your face falls into a slight frown.

He thinks about it for a moment. I mean, sex was sex and he was game. It didn't matter how he performed, his completion was all that mattered, really. And you were pretty enough, albeit irritatingly good.

When you stroke his hair, Aegon pulls at your skirts, causing you to squeak and topple, hands flying to his shoulders for support. Your faces are inches apart. He pulls you down until you have no other choice than to sit on his lap.

You can smell the remnants of the wine he just drank on his breath. Aegon brings his face closer to yours, and you let out a soft 'hmp'. You mutter, "I gather you don't want to change, but want to get out of your clothes."

He narrows his eyes as you shift on his lap and undo the buttons by his chest. He mutters dumbly, "this is what you wanted."

With knit brows, you retort, "I've not yet told you what I wanted." You shift on his lap again as you peel his top off. Amidst it, he asks, "what do you want?"

You grunt after ridding him of his top. You fold it in your arms then set it aside on the bed. You turn back to him. Aegon's breath hitches when you fondle with strings of his undershirt. He watches your lips as you mumble, "I want you to give me a ride on your dragon."

He furrows his brows. But that's what he just said.

You stand, only to lift your skirt and take your place back on his lap. This time, you straddle him.

Aegon gulps, hands coming to your hips like a magnet. He feels you grind on him; shaky breaths leave his lips in response. His hands scratch up your back and a moan escapes him when your nails trace his collarbones.

"Allow me one trip on Sunfyre, and in return, I'll be your magic lamp," you whisper, taking one of his hands, bringing it to the side of your ribs, "you may rub me where you like-"

His heart skips when you kiss his cheek.

"-and I will grant you all your wishes."

Aegon ticks.

The next moment, he pushes you down on the bed. He doesn't bother getting either of you naked, nor does he prepare you at all in fact. Thankfully, you were already wet.

You don't have the opportunity to ask him to be gentle, to explain you were a bride after all, and it was your wedding night.

Aegon grips your skirts as he fucks you like he means to prove a point. He snaps his hips roughly into you to assert dominance, to exemplify control. Sure, you offered yourself to him, but he was the one doing the work, and you were the one beneath him.

In truth, the pace he set gave you more pain rather than pleasure. And with how pent up he was, the rough tempo he set burnt him out way too quickly before it could make any of you feel good. And when he begins to lag, you start to feel good.

You notice this change and rub your nose against his. He recoils, unused to affection when fucking. It snaps him back into an aggressive trance.

You yelp. Aegon convinced himself it was a sound of bliss.

You kiss his jaw and work your way to his ear, hoping to calm him down. He tenses at the feel of your tongue on his lobe. It stokes flames in his belly and makes him involuntarily roll his hips slower to focus on the attention you're giving. In return, his pace is just enough for him to hit that spot that makes you throw your head back.

Aegon is startled by the scratchy groan that leaves your throat. He finds himself lifting his head to spectate, but you pull him into you by the nape and groan, "like that. Please- gods - that feels good."

His brows tense and he rolls his hips again, finding the same reaction.

You wrap your arms and legs around him, uncaring of how hot and sweaty you were getting. In the heat of the moment, you reach for his lips, needing them, needing something to wrap your own on.

Aegon kisses you. He kisses you with a strange twinge in his chest. He kisses you until he has to pull away and reposition himself to catch his building climax.

In a second, he's back to his fuck-loving self, only self-serving and lustful. As he gazes upon your writhing body, catching the beads of sweat on your skin, the concentration on your face, and the way you chant his name as you part your legs for him, he's overcome by another spirit. To watch you break, to watch you coil and collapse around him felt just as urgent as his need to come.

And so Aegon rubs your clit and forces you to peak first; you do it so well he curses loudly and comes after.

He lays on top of you for a moment, the overwhelming need to be held ripples through his body. He recalls how his whores shoo him away after he's done fucking them though. Before you can cradle him in your arms, he rolls off you.

You close your legs and and watch him strip himself and sequentially change. You watch him get back in bed and bring himself underneath the covers. He goes to sleep.

He fucking goes to sleep.

You feel hollow after this, but tell yourself it's nothing personal. You repeat this as you, yourself, get up and change, sequentially sleeping too. Or at least you try. You have fight the urge to cry for hours before you do.

The next morning, you bring up dragon riding to Aegon, and disappointed as you are, you are unsurprised to find that he was unwilling to give you such a thing.

It was a plain thing you were asking for, you explain. And it's exactly why he doesn't want to do it. It's clearly some trick, something to trap him, something he's going to regret. It was probably some ploy orchestrated by his mother.

Oh gods, he thinks, it's worse. It's a bonding experience so you can make him into your puppet. Fuck. No.

So, he does what he does best, and makes an excuse, "I don't feel like riding today. I'm still exhausted from the festivities."

You purse your lips and nod, "that's understandable. Would you like for me to get you something?"

Wait. You weren't going to argue about him not keeping his end of the deal?

You seem to catch this, considering your response and the way you take his hand. You place his palm on your chest. He can feel your pulse quicken as you mutter, "I am your magic lamp, husband. I wish to please you. I will prove this until you trust me enough to grant me a ride on dragonback."

He narrows his eyes, "you would grant me wishes, all in return for a ride on Sunfyre?"

You smile softly at him, "in return for respite, yes."

He doesn't trust your smile.

"I want to visit the Grey Cliffs. I have for a years now. I went there once as a child and long to go again."

"Why?" he knits his brows at your explanation, "what's there?"

You lower his hand and rub his skin, "respite, my prince."

Aegon pulls his hand away.

Very well. If that is what you want, then he will wear your wishes dry until you find it no longer worth the trouble.

Aegon wishes on his lamp everyday, and his wife sequentially plays entertainer, jester, servant, and slave.

He makes you bring a bottle of wine with you everywhere, and pour him a cup when he wishes. He loathes how you seem unbothered by it. He loathes how you don't even correct a visiting Lord who mistakes you for a cupbearer and simply serve him some wine. The Lord is mortified when he realizes you are his wife, a fucking princess. Aegon hates how you tell the man you were unbothered because you spent your whole life being a cupbearer to your father anyway.

He makes you do trivial tasks as well, sometimes tasks meant for more than one person at a time, and yet you still manage to do them, annoyingly better than the maids. When he demanded you cook him a full course meal, you did so all by yourself, and had the servants looking at you like you were some goddess.

He ripped a hole in his clothes then made you mend it. You covered the hole so seamlessly that he poked a bigger one right in front of you. And even then you don't give him the satisfaction of getting angry. You tell him you will embroider something on top of the hole and he storms off. He overhears you telling the servants, who applaud your level-headedness, that you were used to angry men, because your father was just the same.

You use each of these moments to somehow tell him you were the perfect wife and he had to oblige your stupid request at some point.

But then he found your flaw.

Aegon asked you to play the harpsichord for him, and you told him you did not know how. The woman who knew all did not know something? He would then proceed to hang this over your head. When he asked you for food, he'd tell you how much better it'd taste if he had entertainment. If he asked you to do something physically taxing for him, he's say that he wouldn't have asked you to do it, had you known how to play his 'favorite' instrument. He would use this as the reason why he could never bring you to Grey Cliffs.

It was all fun and games, but then you had to snitch, hadn't you?

"What are you doing to that poor girl!" Queen Alicent barked, making his ears ring.

Aegon groans from where he lies in bed. His mother rips the blankets off him, making him wake in a sour mood.

"She is your wife!" Alicent yells, "not your slave! Fine, you wish her to do tasks for you, tasks for your betterment. But to insult her standing by treating her like a maid is beneath a prince, Aegon!"

Aegon feels his throat tighten at the sight of his angry mother's face, "she is my wife," he growls, "I do with her as I please."

She strikes his cheek.

Aegon's head whips to the side. He doesn't have the energy to look back at her.

"You will no longer parade her as a cupbearer. I will have it decreed you are not ever served a drop of wine if you don't."

Alicent leaves after this. Aegon's anger explodes when the door closes.

He screams and rips at his hair. He kicks furniture around and eventually drops to the floor, exhausted, furious, and hurt. This was all your fault.

He screams again and claws the tears on his face. He slowly exhales through tight lips. His cheek is hot with saltwater. Who was he joking, this was all him.

This was all Aegon's doing.

His breathing is impeded by snot. He walks over to his window and stares at the ground below. If he jumps head first, not even the best maester in Westeros could fix him.

Before he can lean on the ledge, he is paralyzed in his spot by the sound of the door opening.

"I did not know she would be angry with you," you say.

Aegon looks back.

You see his red eyes and wet skin. He is a mirror to your younger self. You feel sick to your stomach. You try to explain, "I only asked if she could find a harpsichord teacher. I did not realize she would take offense in wanting to learn to play for you."

Aegon's heart aches at your naïve response. You were a stupid, perfect wife, and he, a stupid, petulant husband.

"I'm better off dead," he mumbles, looking back out the window. The call of the fall felt inviting, "want to push me, wife?"

You don't respond.

Aegon looks back at you, and suddenly you're only inches away. He tries to evade you, but you manage to catch his hand.

"We could jump together."

"What?"

Your face is blank. You part your lips, and for a moment, your eyes seem desperate, but then it's gone. You sigh, "dying is quite lonely," looking down, "I could keep you company."

Aegon stares at you. Tears stream down his face. "You're mad," he sniffles, yanking his hand away.

He walks over to his bed and collapses on it. He wraps himself in a blanket and feels sorry for himself, and angry at you for suggesting such a thing. Even now you want to be perfect by dying with him?

"I am," you mutter.

Aegon watches as you walk over to him. You sit on the floor beside his bed and look at your hands as you rub them.

"I cannot play the harpsichord, because my father does not like noise," you explain, "I was not allowed to make a sound or else I would be punished."

Aegon covers his head with a blanket but keeps his face visible, "he beat you, didn't he?"

You look at him, eyes melancholy, but still, he is the only one crying, "he beat everyone."

Aegon does not respond.

"I can sing though."

His brow raises, "how can you sing?"

"I would practice whenever he was gone, and sing for my mother in secret. It made her happy... happy enough."

He knew there was more to this confession, but he was too tired to ask about it, too tired to shed more tears.

"Would you like me to sing for you?"

"No."

"..."

"Would you like me to hold you?"

"..."

You stand from where you sat and get on the edge of the bed. Aegon watches as you slowly lie beside him. You bring an arm over him and pull him close. Aegon closes his eyes as you bring him into your chest.

You hold him until he falls asleep. Later that night, he asks you to hold him again. He also asks you to sing to him.

Aegon nestles his face in the crook of your neck. He wraps his arms around your torso, digging his fingers between your flesh and the bed. Your hushed voice reverberates in the bedroom, the song you sing is haunting and soothing. The vibrations from your chest lull him to sleep. You feel wetness pool by your clavicle but you make no note of it.

Aegon asks you to hold him the next morning after breaking fast. He asks you to stay with him in bed and to sing to him some more. When you have to leave his side, he asks to join you and waits until he can have you in his arms again.

Aegon becomes your shadow, and follows you around, under the promise of getting to share in your embrace. As you read and review letters or ledgers, your seat becomes Aegon's lap. He sleeps against you while you work without a fuss, cheek pressed against your back, arms fastened around your waist.

Sometimes, he notices the line that forms between your brows while you read and at some point, asks about it. You explain what causes it, and he is unmoved, as he is uninterested in politics that stress you. But when you read out to him, he finds comfort in your voice and asks you to read some. He falls asleep to your calm droning of circumstances he could not care less about. He groans and groggily awakens when you stop. He mumbles against your skin that you continue, pleadingly so.

When you had to leave the Keep for business, Aegon insisted that he joined you. When you brushed his cheek and explained to him why he could not go and that you would not be long, Aegon pushed you away and stormed off. You left without him anyway, and the treachery he felt was so great, he realized then how he could no longer go day to day without you. What was there to do, if you were not there?

And so Aegon desperately rubs his magic lamp and wishes upon you.

He wishes that you never leave without him again once you return.

He wishes that you promise to no longer make plans without him.

He traps you beneath him on your shared bed and wishes to be inside you. He kisses you and wishes to see you completely bared to him.

Aegon's mind is dizzy as he gazes upon the glory of your skin. He kisses your thighs, your hips, your breast, your lips.

Aegon wishes to surrender to you. He wishes that you undress him. He wishes to pull you on his body like a blanket. He wishes to see you take control. He wishes to see you cast your eyes upon him and lay your weight on his body.

He wishes to see you use him, to take what you need from him, to pleasure yourself, and to make him yours. He squeezes your thighs desperately when you moan out his name. This was much more maddening that what he imagined it would be.

He wishes to feel you come undone around him. He wishes he could forever feel the pleasure he did when he comes right after you do.

He wishes to hold you after. And when he holds you, when you lay on his chest and kiss him there, he wishes to never leave this moment ever again. He wishes to sing to you like you've sung to him.

"What are your plans tomorrow," Aegon asks as he draws nothings on your back.

You lift your head from his chest. He looks at you. You smile, "whatever you wish them to be."

He rubs your back and smiles, "I wish to take you to the Grey Cliffs."

Your expression drops, "what?"

He raises a brow at your reaction. You shift on your place. You straddle him again.

He looks up at you, noticing the line between your brows. He rubs your thighs, "you've granted me all my wishes. It's time I grant you yours." He shifts on his elbows and sits himself up, "it's time you meet my mount and-"

"We don't have to," you cut him off, placing your hands on his shoulders.

Aegon examines your expression. He listens to you sigh.

"I'd like to keep you-- wish to keep you..." you correct yourself, pushing him back down.

He looks up at you, feeling your hands rake up his body.

"...just like this," you finish, eyes solemn, lips curving into a soft smile, "I've not felt a thing like this in my entire life."

Aegon takes one of your hands and places it on his cheek. He whispers it like a secret, "neither have I."

You lean down to kiss him, "I wish to keep like this."

He kisses you back.

He is blindsided by how his wishes came to bite him in the arse. It's all crashing down on him. Suddenly, he wishes he didn't actually do any of those things with you.

He most of all wishes he heard you wrong. He wishes you didn't repeat yourself when he stupidly said, "what?"

"I'm with child," you speak slower, less excited yet excited still.

Aegon wishes you didn't look so excited. He wishes he fucking pulled out, but gods, you felt so good-- you feel so good around him, he felt so good inside you.

He realized the next moment, it couldn't be helped. You were going to have to bear his spawn at one point or another. He wishes you didn't have to. He wishes his seed wouldn't take completely. He wishes you don't take it to term. He wishes he won't have to be a father. Fuck.

He realizes he's been too quiet and you were waiting for a response from him. Your face began to twist. Your smile fades.

"Congratulations," Aegon musters. He feels like he swallowed a metal ball. His eyes wander to your belly. He mumbles mindlessly, "I suppose."

Your face falls.

Aegon looks back at you. Your face is devoid of any semblance of the glow it normally holds. You look sick. You feel sick.

"I see," you say, unintentionally allowing him to hear your voice break. Aegon's brows furrow at it.

He shakes his head, "you will be a great mother," he chuckles dryly, "you mother me so well."

You offer him a smile, but Aegon can see how disconnected it was from your eyes. You say, "thank you."

When you leave him after this, he wishes he hadn't said a word. He wishes he just left it at congratulations. He wishes he just pretended like the idea of having a child didn't mortify him and make him sick to his stomach. He wishes he wasn't so ill-suited to be a father.

Ageon no longer wishes for anything after this.

He no longer wishes to hold you, though he so badly wanted to. He no longer wishes to hear you sing, nor does he wish to hear you read to him. He no longer wishes to be around you, though his body urged him to follow you around like the lost soul he was.

He wishes he didn't wonder what you were doing at every moment of the day. He so desperately wishes to rid you from his mind completely that he drowns himself in his first and only true love, alcohol.

Fuck. He wishes he hadn't taken this route to his room. He wishes you hadn't taken this route to wherever it was you were going. He wishes he just turned around and fled like the coward he was, because then, you wouldn't have spoken to him.

"Husband," you curtsey.

Aegon stiffens and uncomfortably avoids your eyes.

You catch it, feeling your chest tighten painfully. You clear your throat and take a deep breath to steel yourself, "I thought you should know that I will be travelling."

Aegon looks at you.

"I have a ship ready and I'll be visiting the Grey Cliffs. Do not wait up for me."

His face falls. He opens his mouth, but doesn't have an opportunity to speak.

"I thought you should also know that I am no longer carrying."

His eyes widen.

"It's not an uncommon occurrence the first few months," you say simply, "I suppose the gods do not wish me to be a mother."

Aegon feels like a murderer. He wants to say something, to apologize, to comfort you, but he can't. He's too taken aback to do a single thing.

He turns into stone when you take his hand. You step forward and place his palm on your chest. Your heart is slow as you speak, "you won't have to worry about anything anymore, Aegon. Today is the end of our shared torment."

Aegon's stomach drops when you kiss him.

His eyes are glassy. You pull away before he can kiss you back. He wants to hold you, but the sadness in your eyes reminds him he is undeserving. You kiss his wrist, "goodbye, my love. I love you."

His heart thumps as you walk away.

Aegon is manic. He basks in the mess he's made and feels crushed by it all.

He finally acts after wasting so much time feeling sorry for himself. You were long out of his sight by the time he started running. This is why he headed to the dragonpit and got on Sunfyre.

"WAIT!" he screams, just as your boat leaves the dock.

Aegon watches as you run to the edge of the boat. He lands Sunfyre and runs as far to the edge of the docks as he could.

"Aegon-"

"Take me with you!" he pleads, "let me be the one to take you to where you must go!"

You look back. The ship stops. The crew brings down a boat and on it, you are rowed back to the dock.

He crushes you in his arms once he reaches you.

"Aegon," you mutter.

"Forgive me," he shudders, "I... I wish you let me do this for you."

"Aegon," your voice croaks. You push him away, "go home."

His heart drops. He breaks away to look at you. Your words feel like a stab at his thorax. It was presumptuous of him to assume you'd want him back, but it doesn't kill him inside any less.

"I've come to realize this is a trip I must go on myself," you mutter.

He shakes his head, "no. Please." He motions an arm out to his mount, "one wish. That I grant you one wish before you throw me away forever is... is--"

Your throat constricts at his words. Tears rush down your eyes, "I'm not throwing you away--"

"Please," he squeezes both your hands in his, "please, let me do this for you."

The flight to the Grey Cliffs is quiet, save for the whoosh of winds and the roars of the golden dragon you both rode. You always imagined it would be freeing, but only now did you know how it freeing it truly felt to fly. You knew now you'd forever chase the euphoric crush of air against your skin.

Aegon, who sat behind you, looks at your form as you outstretch your arms and close your eyes. Your body presses against him, and in this moment, he is unable to hold back from wrapping an arm around you and sparing a kiss on your shoulder. You are snapped out of your trance because of this.

The Grey Cliffs are dark and gloomy when you get there. Aegon realizes when you land that it got its name from the weather conditions.

He helps you down and surveys the area, trying to make out which part of this drear land was so special to you that you wished to go here.

You catch his expression and squeeze his hand.

Aegon turns to you.

You give a solemn look, "the view is better on the edge."

Aegon strokes Sunfyre's cheek, commanding him to stay before you lead him by the hand to the edge of the cliff. Once you get there, he feels queasy looking down at the crashing waves far beneath him. In contrast, you seem comforted by the view. His brows furrow at the deep breath you give out.

When you look at him, his stomach feels it, the comfort you felt upon witnessing the violent waves. Whatever it was that compelled you to this place was the same force that compelled him to kiss you.

He reaches out for your cheek, his other hand coming to you back. He pulls you close. His heart twinges when you stop him from kissing you.

"Aegon-"

"Forgive me," he cuts, "I beg."

You gawk at him. He brushes your hair which was wildly flinging with the breeze.

"You must know by now that I am craven. I lack the spine and the wit to be of any use to you."

Your eyes water. Your lips quiver.

"I would be a hopeless father, worse than my own, no doubt."

"Aegon," you babble as sobs overtake you.

Aegon, himself, succumbs to tears. He wipes the ones streaming down your face before taking a breath, "but you made me feel a love I do not deserve."

You swallow a heavy lump in your throat.

"I love you," he confesses.

"No," you pierce his heart. You shake your head in disagreement, "Aegon, this is a mistake. Bringing you here was a mistake."

"No!" he blurts louder than needed, "this was a choice," he looks down, "I choose to rip my insides out for you to devour. I am miserable, much more in the heat of your hate, but most of all without you."

His downturned eyes land on your face when you grab his wrists. You croak, "I do not hate you."

Aegon is not relieved by the admission, but he chooses to believe you mean it. He smiles softly, "good."

"But I do hate this life I live."

He clenches his jaw. Of course you do.

"You saved me," you press a hand on his cheek, taking your turn to wipe his tears, "even if for a moment."

"I made you miserable."

You chuckle. The sound makes his heart skip.

"You filled my life with purpose," you smile softly, "even when you did not mean to."

Aegon knits his brows deeply and takes your hands. He brings them to his lips and kisses them.

"But accidents happen. You must remember that accidents happen all the time."

Aegon shakes his head, "this is not an accident. Believe me when I say I chose to do this, I- ... I choose to love you."

You sob and turn to your feet.

"Please... believe me."

You sniffle and nod, slowly looking up at him, "I believe you."

You lunge into his arms and seal him into a tight hug. He hugs you back like it's his only way of surviving.

A crack of thunder startles Sunfyre. He becomes restless and steals away Aegon's attention, panicked that he might flee and leave them here.

He pulls away and takes a step towards her. He holds your hand, urging you to follow, "we should go before it rains."

You hug him from behind and press your face into his back, "thank you for taking me on Sunfyre."

"It was a long time coming."

"I've always wondered what it would be like to fly. And now that I know how peaceful it is, I'm ready to fly one last time."

He turns to you as you slowly come to his side. You hold his hand. He looks at you as you turn to Sunfyre. He promises, "I will take you on dragonback as many times as you wish."

You smile, but your eyes are fixed on his dragon. You release his hand and wrap your arms around yourself, "he is beautiful. You must never tire looking at him."

Aegon gazes upon Sunfyre. He takes in his golden scales and has newfound appreciation.

You take a step back.

"He is. To be honest, it's been long since I, myself, took him out of the pit. He must enjoy this day as much as you do."

"Aegon, you must understand that what I have to say has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me."

Aegon turns to you. He watches you tighten your arms around yourself. You must be cold. He rubs your shoulders.

You shake your head and turn him back to his dragon, "look at Sunfyre."

He knits his brows, "I'm looking."

"For so long," you release him, "I've wanted to fly free, to find my peace here in the cliffs. This was before I even met you." You point at the golden dragon, "I choose to love you too, but accidents happen, like if Sunfyre were to fly away, and you were to be left here alone."

Aegon stares at his ride for a moment as you lower your hand. He tries to makes sense of your words, but he cannot for the life of him understand.

He sighs, "what accident? Why do you keep-"

Aegon is flooded by confusion when he turns and finds you nowhere behind him. A split second later, he lets a horrified scream and the fear that claws into him makes his knees buckle. He crumbles to the ground and crawls to the edge of the cliff. He screams so loud that Sunfyre roars back and comes towards him.

Aegon watches as the red seafoam bubbles at the foot of the cliff. He watches as the crimson waves slowly slosh back into its original tint.

Rain begins to pour, and his tears taste no longer salty.

Was this the flying you ached for? Was this the relief you sought?

When he returns to King's Landing, dripping wet, he breaks down in front of his mother, weeping as he clutched his skirts.

Queen Alicent is obviously disturbed. She instructs her servants to get his son a change of clothes and some towels. She looks down at him, "what's happened? What's wrong, Aegon?"

"An accident-" he barely manages to say, "there's been an accident."

"An accident?!"

Aegon's mind goes blank. A bitter taste

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

#aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon smut #aegon angst #aegon targaryen angst #house of the dragon angst #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii fanfic

3K notes · View notes

controld3vil · 3 months

Text

the one

pairing: aegon ii targaryen x targ!reader

synopsis: thrown into madness, not one person can comfort the king of his thoughts. his sister wife left to deal with her grief. his mother for chooses not to heed his needs. his brother, gone in silver of the night. yet you, left forgotten stand in front of him, teary eyed.

notes: i gasped loud this episode!!

content warning: spoilers obvi for s2ep2, themes of grief and inferiority, targcest; if you are uncomfortable, please do not interact.

The death of Jaehearys exhausted you.

Nothing prepared you for the shock and emotional consequences. It felt as though a giant sea storm had swept away your emotions and feelings of sense. Because in a way, you felt numb and unable to comprehend what you were feeling. It was either too strong or your denial in it that made you feel out of it. In the confidence of your home, the grand kingdom of your father and his grandsire before, suddenly you feel apprehensive about where you resided and the castle itself. Who to trust and not as a moment noticed in your head as your mind spirals down a rabbit hole.

Your nephew, a kin of your own, was dead.

He was murdered in cold blood. In the sanctum of your home, in the privacy of the royal rooms. It was your fault you were not by Helaena’s side. Oh, your poor sister, the turmoil she must’ve endured in the small moments last with her son. A small piece of purity and semblance he brought into your little life and a beacon of what you strived for every day. Yet now, it has all turned to blood and dust. Used and tossed away like the sacs of bodies they would throw off dead soldiers in the aftermath of a tiring battle.

There you sat with a half cup of wine, undrank. You dared not step out of the chambers of your comfort. Not for long, your presence would be reminded of the council. You insist on every meeting that your presence would bestow better acquisition. In most eyes, the men divert their gaze from you.

In contrast, your wretched mother opens her mouth agape with hardly any words being supported. Your grandsire contrasts, always with an excuse that you should be needed elsewhere other than the higher discussion. How benign of you, dear granddaughter. But you are unfit for a position at court.

Otto Hightower would never speak those words directly. But you know in your heart and his intuition, the words are nearly there. You don’t need an interpreter to translate what is said by the councilmen. Even if they are unaware, you understand all that is said. A tragic incident, Your Grace. The Kingsguard are doing their best to inspect all the members in the castle as we speak.

“I will have it! They will pay for this!”

The dried tears that swept down your cheeks felt sticky and annoyingly guilt-ridden of the events that had happened. You would not allow them to witness them. They were not worthy of your sadness. In grace, you hiked your dress over your feet to climb up to the doors. From where you were, you could discern the murmurs of Aegon and his hysterical yelling, absolutely mad with anger and rage. Respectfully so, the loss of his child was an unexpected and stressful one.

When the chambers open, the rest of the councilmen stop for a moment. Before you begrudgingly make your way to the center. “Gentlemen,” You are at fault in giving away your tearful expression, the candlelight's of the chandeliers do your angelic features justice. And no noble would dare to speak upon its beauty and sorrow. All while, your lady in waiting, trails timidly behind you, head pointed down in respect. “Your Grace,” You address, and finally for a blind second, a glint of relief flashes on Aegon’s face. Finally, he must think, someone he trusts abides in the room.

“Princess,” The Hand levels his chin, leaving a steady foot of your unforeseen appearance. Beside him, your mother lays agape in both deary and fortification.

The Queen stumbles on the syllables of your name, quietly. As if she was citing a wrongful plea of desperation. “Is- Is Helaena?” Of course, the last she saw you was in her bed chambers, coming in to console your sweet sister and her child. Alicent was running amuck, pulling on the fabric of her dress to prevent you from witnessing her privacies before. Luckily you didn't have to witness that.

“She is with Ser Arryk and Jaeheara.” You breathed out, soft and mellow. You can tell by the exhale of your mother and grandsire's shoulders that deflating meant that their worries were at least accomplished. And a slight corner of your eye, your brother too relaxes in caution, aware of his wife and daughter’s whereabouts.

“Good good,” Alicent frantically nods as if trying to reassure herself that her child and granddaughter were safe. Ser Arryk was a noble knight, one who betrayed his twin to stay beside the king’s side. That alone was enough to prove his loyalty and servitude. “Thank you, my daughter.” You swallow with a gaping hole in your throat. The whole room felt the compacting of the many eyes directed at you and the Queen Mother.

“And what might be the reason for your intrusion on this council meeting, princess?” Otto’s voice somewhat triggers a fight or flight response in you. You’ve dealt with similar situations before, wanting to be included in the war business. However this was different, the council was discussing matters of potential betrayal and the killing of your kin. You suddenly felt targeted for the offense of interrupting something crucial and overriding.

However, you know you should have a say in this matter. “Shouldn’t I be present when the death of my nephew has been informed to me merely hours ago?” There was a snap in your voice that many of them knew. Though some such as your mother and brother were accustomed to that sound more often.

“Perhaps it is best if the princess were with the Queen to rest away comfort and grief,” Maester Orwyle suggests only to infuse your temper.

In a quick turn, your lilac orbs strike an alarming resemblance to vexation and hostility. “Why?” Your tone was sharp and accusing just as it was. The Queen Regent could only watch and stare mutely at your grueling pettiness. Lord Tyland and Ser Criston Cole dare not to look at you but at the maester. While Aegon, all the more slightly frustrated at Maester Orwyle’s comments, stops and waits for your dreadful retaliation like a venomous viper. Otto couldn’t look more disappointed in you.

“The death of your nephew is a tearful one, princess. And maybe you should stay within the quarters with the Queen for safety.” The maester does not falter in his reasoning, knowing how quick and ill-tempered you are similar to your brother was to retaliation. But his expression flickers in doubt shortly after you are seen to lay your palms on the edge of the end of the table. It’s hard wooden material, clenched tightly around your hands as you glance up at the councilman with fury in your eyes.

“I am more capable than you think of me, Maester Orwyle. And I would be damned to sit in silence and pity for this horrendous murder!” You snarl, a frown forming at the edges of your lips. You were livid beyond this. Only when you want to be present in the decisions regarding your kin, did the council decline your way. It’s insulting. “My nephew should be avenged! To whoever ordered the murder!”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” The Hand’s inclusion is an attempt to bring a truce between the others who felt your presence as much of a disturbance. “But we should not be hasty and leave every opportunity out in the open.”

“This is my son we are talking about,” Aegon’s hand came down with a thump on the table. He’s since calmed down but you know there is still rage in his heart. The fuel of it burning and churning for the desire to find and kill whoever brought out the murder. “We must search the grounds for traitors, find anyone who leaves the Red Keep, and capture them immediately!”

“Of course, Your Grace but we should consider what this would be for Rhaenyra,” Alicent reminds the room when she scans everyone’s thoughts and faces. On the other hand, you stand uncomfortably, with the sense of your legs growing numb.

“That bitch queen of bastards will pay!” The King screams, pointing with an accusative finger. “She is on her throne, laughing at me for this! For the death of my son, I want her dead!” It’s like a fire has been lit in your brother’s mind. It flashes and flickers rapidly as he manages to strike and spit out outrage of his growing vengeance on the Black Queen. However quick his temper simmers and rises.

The coming morning of Jaehaerys funeral drags his body to the Sept to be burnt in Targaryen tradition. More importantly, it is to sway the people’s opinion of Aegon’s claim and blame Rhaenyra for the tragic death. Spurs of propaganda flourish in the crowds as the chariot drags the casket of the fresh body, followed by the Queen and her Regent. What felt like discomfort and suffocation for Helaena only her no semblance through the entire morning. She is grieving and mourning in her own way. No one can understand the loss of a mother of her children. It is the tragedy she has felt for the first time and it stings her to her stomach. For most of the ride, Helaena could not breathe or look at the folk people, afraid of what they might do. She’d never left the Keep like this before, presented all fragile and glorious as the new Queen officially.

Even so, she knows you are more suited for the role. Helaena has thought of it many times where you should’ve been wife to Aegon instead of her. She knows why her mother and grandsire chose her. It was because she was compliant and willing to do her duty as a lady wife. While you had no sense of duty. More or less, so did Aegon but at least she would elevate his image as King with her kind personality.

“Helaena,” You spoke, interrupting her thoughts amid her sewing. Your sister pauses and then looks at the piece she has been working on. It was a picture of purple lily flowers, something you had mentioned wanting to see from the grounds of the Highgarden. She thinks of you and subconsciously starts to sew a new patch of thread. She’s sweet to you like that, and you forever cherished that side of her. And it's a shame her softened voice always now came with a stutter and droop of a sob.

Helaena wakes up from her daze and greets you with a warm yet sombreros smile. “You are well?” The question itself leaves bitterness off of your tongue because you should be asking her that. You know Helaena isn’t one to openly express her emotions and thoughts proudly. As her sister, you honor that but also can become the maternal figure she needs within seconds.

“I should be asking you the same,” You smile, looking smug and all. And your sister’s droopy eyes slowly lighten with glee. Her small frown turns upside down and suddenly you feel your heart fill with warmth and joy. “What has the Queen been sewing all this time?”

“Purple lilies,” She gently shows you her work and focuses on your excitement. What she appreciates is your fascination with her skill with a thread and needle. You had no talent in it, much to your mother’s display. But you would gladly watch your sister sew for hours for the fun of it. “I remember you mentioning them a while ago. And I thought it would be pretty to make for you,”

“How thoughtful of you,” You plead with your gentle eyes, resting a hand on her thigh. You looked like you were going to burst into tears out of happiness for her nonsensical act. You act differently around her and the children, sometimes Helaena thinks you have two personalities. One with her family minus Aegon and another with everyone else. You were mushy and caring, nothing like yourself hours earlier in the morrow in the councilroom. She had heard you burst into a meeting, enraged by them claiming you as a disturbance to their discussion. Like the stubborn person you were, she knew you would rather stay and argue with them for hours. And that you, for her boy.

The Queen hums, delighted by your soothing presence in her slightly dimmed room. The room had been cleared of children's beds and toys. Now it lies barren with little to no furniture. The curtains did not change, they were arranged simply to allow some light into the chambers to let the children wake. But now, there would be none and it is left abandoned.

“How is Jaeheara?” The whisper of your voice is the only thing she’s heard after minutes of silence. Helaena does not reply immediately, knowing her thoughts are too invasive and terrifying to think about. The black gown she still has on feels tight and makes her uncomfortable. She doesn't want to remember the funeral. It was too much for her to reminisce about despite being hours earlier.

She makes another loop with bright purple stringing onto her needle. “She is well and is accompanied by a Kingsguard during her lessons,” She makes sure to include the Kingsguard, knowing you have been adamant about the protection and security around King’s Landing. As of late, it felt as though the castle did not feel like home anymore. It became somewhat of a hollow skeleton of a dungeon. With many escape routes and corridors, people would walk in and out without notice. It terrifies her and knowing you, you would rather be killed than have another child murdered.

Her response pleases you however Helaena is aware of something else on your mind. She can feel it without looking at your face to know. It’s your inseparable bond as a sister that you sometimes were astounded by. Helaena calls it a bond and maybe she is right. Your eyes are focussed on somewhere else and it gives her a moment to look at you. Your brows furrowed with a subtle curve of a scowl makes her believe you were having negative thoughts. Were you feeling guilty about Jaehearys death?

“What’s wrong sister?” Despite her knowing the reason, Helaena wants you to admit your remorseful thoughts. The veil that covered her face was no longer present and she could face you without barriers. Her lilac eyes look at you, softening at you.

“I can’t help but think I am guilty of Jaehearys death,” You sound vulnerable, no other person would witness this side of you. Because you shielded this side of you. Your display of weakness was only meant for people like Helaena, close to you, unjudging and caring in your coping. Yet sometimes you think of your sinful thoughts of guilt to be an act of punishment. You sometimes felt you were meant to feel this way for not being present with the Queen and her children when it happened. Why couldn’t you be a good sister and protect the ones you loved?

“You should not be,” Her small palm cradles the side of your jaw, making your stare connect with her. Helaena is quiet and gentle in her expression of words. What she says always has an impact. She is a woman of few words and it makes her speech inspirational. “I- For anything, it was my part as a mother, for letting my child be murdered in cold blood-”

“No of course not!” You were quick to retaliate to her pleas. She could not be responsible for such a horrific act taken against the crown. “Helaena, you did your best to protect your children.”

“Yet I was asked to choose,” The bottom of her lips quivered, and eventually hot tears filled her waterline. “And I had no other choice!”

“You were held at knifepoint,” You grasped the hand that held your jaw. Gently and slowly to make sure and emphasize her attention to you. “I would’ve bursted into the room and offered myself if I could’ve. But you did the best you did as a mother to protect your children.” You gave her another tight squeeze.

“I had no other choice,” Her sobs slowly brewing. And the tears flowed and there was nothing you wanted to do other than comfort your dear sister. She was grieving like any mother. You would be present for her and give Helaena all of the world, to give away her sorrow. However, it is inevitable and you best offer her your condolences and feelings of heartbreak. Because you did love her children, Jaehearys and Jaeheara. The light and beacon of Helaena and Aegon's marriage.

Helaena’s figure dwindled as she scrunched herself forward into a curling ball. The weight of her thoughts was too much. As a parent, she believed she failed the role she was meant to play. Her cries did not stop or steady in a rapid heartbeat. Any further, Helaena believes she would’ve acted impulsively if not for you, holding onto her shoulders. You were gentle against her tragic and frail body when you allowed her head and shoulders to rest against your chest. You’re silent in the comfort you gave. Because no words could pursue more than your actions. Being the more responsible and maternal figure, you became a weeping shoulder for Helaena to spout the rest of her worries and anguish.

You wonder what Aegon and his sorrows are.

Criston Cole was in a predicament. He failed as a Kingsguard to protect the royal family. And because of his absence, a dead prince was left at the doorstep of the king. He’s ashamed in silence because he could not make any reason for where he was during the intrusion of the castle. His affair with Alicent was more than a passionate one. It consoled him and eased for the upcoming days of Aegon’s coronation and Rhaenyra’s horrific deeds. The knight was stuck in a situation he wished would not bring to the public eye. No one can know of his relations with the Queen Regent. Not when times were suspenseful and dire as to who to trust in the castle.

And so, after he challenges Ser Arryk to do the impossible and slay the Black Queen within her quarters of Dragonstone, he desires to focus on his plans with the king. The afternoon following the prince’s funeral, Ser Criston smoothes out the ends of his locks, recomposing his hysterical manner against the twin knight. Of, the accusations of treason against the king and the knight’s code. He should be honoring the Kingsguard words at the back of his sleeves by now. For all that has occurred to him, Criston wants to prove to the king he is capable of being essential.

The summer breeze is faint and noticeable to those in the Red Keep. It’s open corridors and windows, it is the perfect spot for sunlight. The Kingsguard makes his way to Aegon’s chambers, where he plans to inform his schemes of sending Ser Arryk away to Dragonstone. In hopes, it would please His Majesty of the constant restless nights he has experienced.

But he nearly misses you. It takes a second for Ser Criston to take a step back and look back at what you have been doing. You, the princess, looking out of place in the training area of the stables. Where knights and stable boys fight and practice their combat. It was a place you’re likely forbidden to be, however, it has never stopped you. The knight knows of your ambitions to fight like your brothers. You’re eager, more confident than your siblings to practice. He had suggested once to the Queen that she should allow you use of the sword. For self-defense and hobbies.

You practically begged Alicent to hold a sword in your hands. Your cute chubby cheeks as a small child were something he remembered sometimes. You were so eager then. He could still see it occasionally when you ventured to the training area, staring at the knights practicing their moves and defenses.

“Are you alright, princess?” Ser Criston appears behind you and you’re suddenly aware he must’ve been standing behind you for some time. He knows you come here to think and be reminded of the past. “The morrow has been rather bleak has it not?”

“Rather too bleak,” You groan, crossing your arms and rubbing your forehead in weariness. You’re aware the Kingsguard is not allowed to probe your troubles further but you rather indulge. “The day grows weary for the wavering support of the other Houses.” A quiet nod of endearment is seen from the knight as he reminisces about why they had exhibited the funeral exactly. To spread rumors and weaken the queen bastards' claim.

“It will help us in the long run, princess,” He steps forward as you turn to stare at his gentle Dornish features. Maybe in another lifetime, you would’ve fallen for him if he wasn’t a knight.

“Is that what the Queen Regent said?” A switch and it was like your tone turned to bitterness the moment you mentioned your mother. Ser Criston feels his heartache at your sentiments to the Queen. She was your mother and loved you very much. Something you can’t seem to appreciate whenever you open your mouth in front of the council. While she has complained and spouted worries of your deterring interactions, you’ve taken glory in the distance between you and your mother. Ser Criston hopes one day you will reprimand that relationship.

“No,”

“Tell me, why do you value her opinion so much?” He eyes at you shaking your head with a heavy scowl of disgust. Your hatred towards your mother ran cold and poisonous, under the depths of your hard-spoken shell of a heart. Maybe some part of you did care about the Queen. If there was, Criston had never been able to witness it, you’re too stubborn. And you know Alicent cherishes him deeply.

“She has a kind heart,” The Dornish man cannot more than understand why you probe his opinion of your mother. Were you suspicious? He’s served your mother for nearly a decade and gained her trust as her right-hand protector. Yet where was he when an intruder entered the castle grounds and left Helaena traumatized and crying?

You snarl a mocking laugh, “A kind heart?” You’re staring at the Queen’s protector with discontent and failure. “She plots and schemes to gain the people's trust over my brother’s claim. What more is she than the Hand’s right-hand puppet.” This is an alarming accusation because Ser Criston knows Alicent does not trust her father with her boys and daughters. You were an example of that. Whoever she plots with, he knows she takes into consideration who is affected the most. She was the Queen of course. Dainty and considerate of her subjects.

“Another advantage we have over Rhaenyra, princess,” He reminds you of the whole reason why the council decided such a thing. It’s grueling yet would sway the people in their favor towards the crown than that false liar of a ruler across the land. “Understand that everything she and the council decide is to gain more allies,”

“By simply lying to the public and creating more web of lies for us to be stuck in,” You probe and your lilac orbs glow in a dark tone. You could not stand the ploy they had used for Jaehaerys funeral. You think it was anything but honorable, to use your nephew as a cause and leeway to denounce your half-sister. Ser Criston gives you a look, only a parent would hold when their child does something to disappoint them. And even though he was not your father, he still felt utterly responsible and devoted to you as one. He has seen you grow from a child to a woman. He’s aware of your struggle in your place at court. He was there when you desperately wanted to hold a bow and arrow, practically crying to your mother on your knees. He was also there to comfort you when you accidentally drove your dragon into a terrible accident. Criston Cole felt some kind of platonic love over you, despite you never feeling the same way. ‘

Yet he couldn’t help but agree with you. “You’re right, princess. But it is the only way to convince the townsfolk of our cause. We need their support to win this coming war.” He sees your shoulders slumped, most likely growing tired of talking back and forth of their intention to false news. You hated how everyone agreed to it wholeheartedly.

“We need more than the support of the townsfolk to win a war,” Your lips turn to a thin line, contemplating all the reasons why you had to be on the wrong side of justice. “We have dragons, that is how we win a war.”

Nightfall was as unanticipated as it was wanted. The funeral and rumors from the council made it unbearable to walk past servants and nobles without being reminded of it. There were many times you wished to stop in front of the people and shout in their faces. There would be no denying it all. However, you were done with it. You were tired of receiving the same piece of news and rumors. It made you hereditarily furious and petty like a child. But no violence has been spilled. Instead, you could only clench your palms, aggressively and move on with a faint scowl. A puff or two would break your cover.

Moreover, the servant girls and maids knew what made you tick. The type of gossip you hate to talk and listen about. Since you’ve lived in the castle for the entirety of your life span. So regardless of whether they spoke of today’s events or not, people knew you were not in a great mood. More or less you were agitated, imitating, and not to be consoled.

You made it your routine to visit Helaena before going to bed. When you were younger, you and your sister often paid visits to your mother and sometimes your father if present. Queen Alicent would soothe your worries and nightmares while Viserys sat in silence, unable to speak due to the pain. Yet now, that was before you and Helaena slept in the same room. She was Queen now and had a separate room with her children. It was you who made it customary to ease her worries at night and say goodnight to her children. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, her beautiful children. Even now, after everything had happened, you wanted to honor your promise to visit the new Queen.

The granite tiles were cold. You could feel it despite wearing soft padded shoes. Your garments were loose and free from the restraints and pains you’d worn for the day. But somehow it made you feel anxious and oddly vulnerable out in the open. Of course, it was natural to feel this way after what happened. But everything, even the times you felt the most safe was now invaded by thoughts of fear and concern. You swallowed whatever security you had and moved along the balcony inside King’s Landing. The royal rooms were all the same, but you knew which belonged to whose. You knew which rooms were your mother’s, your sister’s, which had the best hiding spots, and which had the quickest way out of the city.

Although whose room brought you the most curiosity was the one in front of you. In the distance, where you stood, a figure of green exits out of the room and disappears into the darkness. Your mother. Alicent did not seem to be in a rush to have exited Aegon’s chambers nor did she look content coming out of it. It looked as though she had mistaken his room for another.

Hastily your paused movements began to quicken. As you tip-toed towards the doors of your king, you twist the knob and a soft creak makes you curse out of anonymity. The bed chamber was dimly lit and the fireplace illuminated a gorgeous orange dew that covered half the room in warmth. The drapes of the windows were slightly closed, making the silhouette of Aegon, hunched over more evident. He leans in a cushioned chair by the fire and you can see his unsecured locks, shape the sides of his face.

You quickly realize your brother’s sobbing, saddening and heartbreaking. For all the things he was, Aegon did not deserve to lose a child. You understood very much as him that Alicent had planned his coronation for a long time. Yet now that it has happened, tragedies come down like dominoes in a panic. Lucerys has died on dragonback. And now Jaehearys was murdered in cold blood. Both are innocents from the result of this pretentious battle for power between Rhaenyra. It is when you shut the door behind you with a faint click, you make yourself known to the king.

“Aegon,” It’s a whisper with no silence. Covering his face to shield his tears, Aegon does not dare to look at you. He looks ashamed and can only stare down, lost and in failure. You understand his dismissal of your presence. No one should see their king as weak like this. Not even his closest kin and mother. Only that his mother has witnessed this scene a multitude of times over the years of watching over her son. Still, you were not the type to witness Aegon at such a low point like this.

Nothing. You wanted nothing from him, seconds ago only curious about his profound discussion with your mother, who did not seem to speak to him at all. Something about that makes your heart churn at the Queen Regent. You walk slowly and only when you finally face him, his gaze is still on the floor, unable to lift his head to say anything. Go away! You’re making a fool out of yourself.

Instead, you closed the gap that separated the two of you. You clasped his neck and held it firmly in a consoling manner. His weeping only grew louder the moment he felt your touch, so comforting and soft. His hands eventually wrap themselves around your waist and he rests the side of his head against your stomach.

Only you can soothe him like this. It’s discovered to be the most effective way for Aegon to calm down, your touch perhaps was the solution to it. It was never touched upon, this consolation you had with him, there were rare occasions when the prince had become too drunk to return to his quarters to have gone to yours instead. There were times when your brother wanted to hide and be away from your conniving mother and her insults. Sometimes he’d cry, drink, or rant about her inconsolable expectations of him. Because truly you are the closest to understanding that feeling. The feeling of being unwanted and as though you were not doing enough of your duty to care. Of course, you cared, you did everything for your family. Still, it could never be enough to put a smile on your mother’s face. And more evidently that of your grandsire.

“I’m sorry,” You let out a dreary breath, rubbing Aegon’s hair. He sniffles, allowing his forehead against your stomach. He closes his eyes and lets out a sad laugh that turns into a cry. He’s lost so much in a matter of days. No one to comfort him, and his wife silently grieving in her own time. His mother forever abandoned her efforts. And his brother disappears with no explanation. Now here you were, the one he found relying on.

“I tried so hard,” He cries out, snot and tears making his speech muffled and disproportionate. “Yet everything has backhanded and slapped me in my face!” You feel a quiver on your lips when he speaks those words. Your heart burns and aches and maybe finally, you can put away your pride and be gentle. You reach behind where his hands are secured by your waist. Sliding them down to allow you to kneel to his level. With his red-shot eyes and puffy cheeks, Aegon looks like he wants to give up everything now and then. He’s never looked so weak and tiresome.

“I know,” You shaped his face with your palms, sliding your thumbs over his cheeks. They are dried of momentary tears when he looks so desperate to cling onto anything to save him. “And as king, it is a heavy toll. Jaehearys will know you did everything you could to avenge his death.”

“It has gone to madness,” His lilac orbs staring at you with such intensity and possibly love. Torn and twisted, you know this is a wife’s duty to be her husband. Though under Helaena and Aegon’s relationship, they have never loved each other. They were husband and wife, yes but only under law. Helaena held no love but did genuinely care for his well-being. And you had shown more devotion towards his feelings than anyone had done within days. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“You can start by figuring who and who not to trust at court,” You exhale, heart beating like a bass drum when you feel his hands circle yours. “Know who your trusted allies are and destroy Rhaenyra’s support.”

“Then I need you,” He leans forward, his silver locks tangled in between yours. His gaze was wild and desperate for any kind of refusal you might have. “I need you at court. By my side, you are as essential as any of us there.” It felt as though nothing in the world mattered next only the two of you at this moment. At this important moment, you felt a surge of adrenaline and an urge to comply with his heeds. Your eyes momentarily trail to his lips before discerning back to his eyes.

“Because I have a dragon,”

“Because you are my blood, you are a strategist and the smartest woman I know in the Seven Kingdoms,” His dried tears make him even more angelic. Perhaps in another lifetime, you two would’ve married instead and dealt with it more easily. Your mother knew it. Your gransdire did too. Despite it all, they all disapproved of you for your lack of devotion to duty. What more can you offer than your service directly to the crown? To the council? It makes you grin in pride for his acknowledgment of you.

“Of course, my king,” And with those words, he closes the gap between your lips. Sorrowful no way but profound in a new kind of serge to overcome the tragic delay. You were right in front of his eyes all along. You, the second-born princess of Alicent and Viserys' marriage. Quip with a sharp tongue and tactics for how long you’ve studied the art of it. You were no ordinary princess. You were a fighter, a warrior who well enough wanted blooadshed as much as him.

2K notes · View notes

sourcherryandsprinkles · 2 months

Note

Aegon x niece! reader (Rhaenyra’s daughter) smut please! Aegon has always been in love with her and manages to convince Alicent and Viserys to let him marry her. The reader is just as in love and when they get married, thwir wedding night is full of love and passion and 🫦. Aegon hugging her tight while fucking her and reader whimpering and moaning in his ear 🤌🏽

I received so many requests these past days and got inspiration for a lot of them (14!!), so expect more very soon <3 I'm trying to include everything (smut, angst, action)

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, p + v, loss of virginity

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Standing in the Great Sept of Baelor, your eyes couldn’t stray from Aegon. Blood was dripping slowly from his bottom lip after being cut after being cut and smeared on his forehead. His frizzy hair had been tamed and the cold of his clothes made the blue of his eyes stand out.

A dagger was handed to you to cut your palm with. You hissed slightly, watching as blood seeped out. You held your hand away from your pretty dress, not wishing to dirty it with blood, then passed the dagger to Aegon who did the same. He clasped his hand with yours, your blood mingled together as a blood silk was wrapped over your joined hands.

Queen Alicent wanted Aegon to marry following the Faith of the Seven, but he insisted on Valyrian tradition as the bond by blood was unbreakable.

‘’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 or darkness and light,’’ the officiant said, reading from an old book.

Aegon could feel his heart racing. He couldn’t wait to call you his wife, to walk around court with your arm looped around his. And to no longer have a chaperon following you everywhere. It was so annoying. The only times you were able to be alone together was when you would elope on your dragons.

If your parents thought a chaperon would stop you from sharing kisses and letting your hands wander to places they should not be, they were mistaken.

The officiant finally allowed you to kiss, and every part of Aegon ached to shove his tongue into your mouth and kiss the life out of you in front of everyone. But he restrained himself, settling for a kiss that would be just enough to make your cheeks flush.

When the ceremony came to an end, everyone was bright back to the Keep. You rode a carriage with Aegon and your little brother, Joffrey, which you suspected was a scheme by your parents to make sure no sexual activities would happen in the carriage.

Aegon's hand was resting on your thigh, and he leaned in to whisper in your ear. ‘’This is so frustrating. They really did this on purpose, didn't they?’’

‘’It’s not entirely a bad thing. I wouldn’t want you to crease or stain my dress before the feast,’’ you said, smoothing the shimmery white fabric of your dress as you fawned over the gold embroideries. You had never seen a more beautiful gown.

Aegon smiled smugly, thinking back to your last dragon ride together and the kisses you shared in the clearing…and his hand that slipped into your riding pants. ‘’Little does these fools know, we’ve played them before.’’ Smirking, he leaned in again. ‘’You know what kind of effect you have on me, wearing that dress. Especially knowing what's underneath.’’ He gave your thigh a little squeeze, his hand starting to move upwards just for a moment.

You quickly covered his hand with your own, stopping him. ‘’Stop it. Not here.’’

You looked over and saw Joffrey sitting on the opposite seat. Luckily, the boy was too preoccupied staring out the window to notice anything.

A sigh left your husband’s lips. ‘’I don’t want to wait until tonight. I won’t be able to.’’

Thankfully, the journey to the Red Keep was short. The doors to the carriage were opened and Aegon stepped out first, then offered his hand to help you out. He took a moment to let his eyes roam over your body, his gaze hungry. Before he could say anything, you pulled him towards the castle and to the throne room where the festivities would be held. Inside, the room was decked out with gold drapes and beautiful flowers — nothing less for a royal wedding.

The music began as you and Aegon made your first entrance together, your arm linked to his. He had promised to not let you fall in front of the lord and ladies. The guests cheered as you both made your way down the grand aisle, to the large table where your families stood, waiting for you to begin the feast.

As the night went on, you danced and ate cake and indulged in more wine that you would allow yourself to help with the nerves later. You were dancing with Helaena and laughing when you felt an arm snake around your waist and wet lips on your neck.

You leaned into Aegon’s chest and Helaena took this as her cue to find another dance partner.

‘’Do you think they will notice if we leave the festivities early?’’ he whispered in your ear, having enough of this feast and wanting to be alone with you.

You glanced around, searching for your parents. They seemed all involved in conversations with other lords and ladies, but one last pair of eyes was on you: Otto Hightower. Since he caught you kissing in an alcove when you were five and ten, he had been following you and Aegon like a hawk, disproving of your courtship.

‘’If you can find a way to escape your grandsire, I’ll follow you,’’ you replied.

Aegon’s laughter mixed with yours as you were running to Megor’s Holdfast where the royal chambers were. It felt like all the times you slipped away from court together to avoid being caught.

As soon as the door of Aegon’s chambers closed, his lips were on yours and his hands were all over you, grabbing and pulling with a hunger that made your pulse race. The urgency in his movements left you breathless, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

Clothes were taken off in haste, allowing your lips to kiss more skin. You threw your head back and moaned softly, nails sinking into Aegon's milky skin as he kissed down your neck and to your bared breasts, giving them the attention he's dreamed of.

‘’Aegon, please,’’ you whimpered, feeling his erect cock prod at your lower stomach.

He pressed a last kiss to your nipple and nodded, walking you back to his bed. You crawled up to the pillows, making yourself comfortable. Aegon joined you, hovering over you, and studying your flushed face for a moment, before he bent down to kiss your lips again.

You were thankful that your mother had opposed the humiliation of a bedding ceremony. You would never have been able to relax under the eyes of men standing around the bed, waiting for blood to mark the sheets.

While you were distracted by his kiss, Aegon moved a hand between your bodies to play with your cunt a little, helping you relax and prepare you for his cock. His girth was larger than the fingers he’s inserted before and he didn’t want to hurt you.

It would be a lie to say you didn't feel anything when he slid into you. The pain was unlike anything you felt before. Seeing the tears prick in your eyes and your pained face, Aegon was quick to sooth you with sweet words until the pain subsided.

His first thrusts were slow and overwhelming. It was a kind of pleasure you never experienced before.

‘’I love you, Aegon,’’ you said, seeing stars when he reached a particular spot.

He kissed you sweetly. ‘’I love you.’’

You hugged him tight while he moved his hips, his ears blessed by your whimpers and moans.

A chill blew from the windows, refreshing the warm air after your entercourse. You shivered, clinging to Aegon under the sheets. He closed his eyes, ready for a night of sleep, when your voice stirred him.

‘’Can we do it again?’’ you asked in a whisper, your head resting on his chest while bathing in the afterglow.

Aegon grinned at the ceiling, thanking the gods for giving him a wife that was just as horny as him.

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard@domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios@lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden @memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit @blublock404 @Icefyre19 @paulilvsremus @mfedits @aemondwhoresworld @angrybirdxx @YarianyIrizarry @frutiloopslupin @minedofmoria @aleemendoza2425-blog @quinquinquincy @Rosey1981 @maria-reads-everything @eddieslut69 @barnes70stark @baybaybear @prettyduckling22 @Briefwinnerpersonaturtle @darlingcharling-blog @deliaseastar @Wolfgirl-205 @visenyareads @Nanaldy @Lovelywiseprincess @not-neverland06 @newtmyhusb @mikimimic

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity @Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago @nhlfs

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon the second #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd

2K notes · View notes

gtgbabie0 · 3 months

Text

-Aegon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

{Aegon takes pleasure in his cups… and in between your thighs although it’s all the same to him}

!!-18//MDNI-!! I was listening to Amy Whinehouse whilst writing this, enjoy my lovelies💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺

The hour of the bat was well and truly upon Kings Landing, the crescent moon resting against the abyss of the night sky as it casts down a silvery hue that bleeds throughout the Red Keep. With the absence of the sun, you found peace, resting on the velvety divan with a book in hand.

You were lost within the chapters as Aegon paces the length of your bedchambers before collapsing next to you on the divan, leaning up against cushions with a heavy sigh.

“They all belittle me… they all take me for a fool.” He huffs, pointing over to the door of your chambers, still complaining about today’s council meeting with a deep frown. You had already said your piece yet it seems Aegon was not done venting to you.

He looks up to you, opening his mouth to complain about how you ‘need to pay attention to him and not the book’ however the words fall short, dissolving on the tip of his tongue as he stares at you completely star-stuck.

His lips curl into a lopsided grin, the sight of you and the slightly sheer fabric of your nightslip that veils your body, how the fireplace bathes you in a warm orangey light, you had a beauty that captivated him wholly.

“Fuck them… fuck, all of them.” He declares suddenly, although deep down he doesn’t mean the words, not really, you can tell by the way his amethyst eyes flicker with hesitation, glancing down at his fidgeting hands.

“Aegon—” you start, but your words are quickly cut off by him, his rough palm resting against your cheek.

His gaze meets your own, shuffling closer to you, his lips curling downwards in a nonchalant manner. “No, I don’t need any of them, just you.” His words are hushed, only meant for your ears.

With a sigh your eyes soften in an understanding, for you know his only desire is to be admired or at the very least just simply liked. You close your book, leaning over him to place it on the wooden table.

“And you have me, no matter what the future holds.” You reaffirm his words, watching him closely as he lets out a shaky sigh which he tries his best to conceal.

There was an instability in Aegon’s life, save for you, his only constant in a world of ever-changing conditions. Perhaps that is why he clings to you the way he does, arms wrapped tightly around your soft waist with his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“I am not as malleable as they think… I will win, I will burn down anyone who goes against me.” He whispers against the curve of your jaw, confidence weighing against his tone. His hand slips in between the gap of your nightslip to caress your bare waist down to your hip, the cool metal of his wedding band sends a chill down your spine.

He needed a distraction, the pressure from the heavy crown he never asked for was too much for him to endure alone. He needed to not feel like such a disappointment for even just a small moment.

He kisses the small spot behind your ear, an invitation, to which your head instinctively tilts to the side, enticing him to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His lips linger against your pulse point with a small grin, the sound of your pleasured sigh hitting his ears.

“Of course, I do not doubt you, you know that.” You whisper through a shaky voice, steeped in desire. Your body jolts, a soft gasp, at the feeling of his teeth nipping the sensitive skin on your throat before kissing the spot once then twice.

He hums in acknowledgement, pulling back to admire you. His palm still cupping your cheek with a certain hint of possessiveness, it shows in the way he thumbs at your bottom lip. “Hmm, you might be the only one who does, my pretty wife.” He whispers, all of his worries and troubles slowly ebbing away.

The atmosphere around the pair of you suddenly changes, the air becoming so thick that you’re sure it could snuff out the candles around you.

“Yours… all yours Aegon.” The words come out in one breath, tumbling past your parted lips as his fingertips graze along your lower abdomen, slipping through the coarse hair on your mound before dipping past your slick folds.

The rough pads of his finger slides along your slit to collect your wetness before finding your clit, rubbing slow circles against the sensitive bud, testing the waters, as you melt into the divan. Aegon chuckles against your shoulder, enjoying the way your thighs spread and your hips writhe with desperation for more.

He sinks down onto the floor, kneeling between your thighs, ready to pray at the altar of your body. He immediately pushes the silk fabric of your nightdress up past your thighs, letting it pool around your hips.

“I’ve been deprived of you for weeks…” he mutters, leaving marks against your hip-bones, sucking at the sensitive skin, before soothing them with a gentle kiss or two.

You watch his lilac eyes go dark with a carnal craving, the way his hands greedily feel up your thighs, squeezing the supple fat harshly, it all only elicits more gasps and moans from you.

He coos against the inside of your thigh, nudging one leg over his shoulder and propping the other up on the divan to spread out in front of him, the sight of your soaked cunt going straight to his hardening cock. “I’ll be gentle… so gentle.” He smirks, a lie, lips trailing over your inner thighs with all tongue and teeth as your hips buck upwards in anticipation.

He tuts, fingers digging into your hips to keep you still. All too suddenly he’s tugging you closer to him roughly, making you slouch against the cushions of the divan with a shocked gasp.

Your fingers bury within his white choppy hair, pulling him closer to your aching heat as his tongue trails along your cunt, flicking against your clit with a groan. He smirks into your soaked folds, the sound of your whiny moans, the way his name falls from your parted lips in a hunger only he could satisfy, it all makes his skin burn.

“Keep moaning… let me hear you.” He encourages, words muffled against your slickness, lips pressed to your clit, leaving open-mouthed kisses against your sensitive bud trying to elicit more sweet noises from your lips as he hums in delight.

A broken moan escapes you, your hips grinding upwards in tandem with his lips and tongue. “Oh, Aegon… more please.” You cry out, a woman possessed by pleasure.

It is the same possession that causes you to arch your back up from the divan to try and get closer to him. His fingers squeezing into your hips, a warning, his tongue lapping up your desire before teasing your entrance, practically drinking from you as if you were a chalice of Arbor Red.

Aegon flattens his tongue against your cunt, licking up to your clit once more with a muffled moan, sucking on it with delight. “Tastes so sweet…” The vibrations from his words only serve to add to the searing heat that begins to pool deep within your lower abdomen, leaving you a panting mess.

“Aegon, don’t stop… I’m so close.” your hands pull helplessly at his hair, drawing him impossibly closer. He chuckles at your wanton need, how you shamelessly grind yourself against his mouth without a care in the world.

He pushes his fingers inside of you with ease, humming in pleasure at the way your heat sucks in his digits. Aegon fucks you with them you at a tantalising pace whilst licking at your sensitive bud. You look down at him, your mouth agape, watching his head move against you so eagerly as you teeter along the line of release.

“Gods— Aegon!” You cry out his name with a broken moan, your slick walls clamping around his fingers as he continues to curl them deep inside you, still kissing greedily at your clit. He mumbles sweet, loving words of encouragement as he drinks up your orgasm. The wet sounds fill the silence of your bedchambers as you come down from your high with shaky breaths that come out in puffs.

He looks up at you with a cocky smirk, pride blooming through his chest, his lips and chin slick with your release. He pushes himself back onto the divan, leaning over you. “You are truly all I need, all I want.” He whispers feverishly, his fingers wrapping around your jaw to bring your lips to his own.

The taste of you against his lips is all you need to deepen the messy kiss, both of you melting into each other's warmth in a mixture of lust and love. He would take this as long as he could, until you were completely satiated. And even then, he would push for more. He was addicted to you.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊

2K notes · View notes

nalyniavadelletargaryen · 2 months

Text

Aegon II: Fuck…! I cut my finger

Y/N: I can kiss it so it'll get better

Aegon II: That works?

Y/N: Yes, my mother used to do it when I was little

*later*

Aegon II: I need you to punch me in the mouth

Aemond: Gladly, brother.

2K notes · View notes

idksmtms · 2 months

Text

To Love, What A Curse (Aegon II x Little Sister!reader, Unrequited!Aemond x Little Sister!reader)

A/N: It’s taken me a week to get over Aemond’s betrayal but this was written at the height of my pain.

Summary: (S2 episode 4 spoilers) You watch from a distance as Aemond and Vhagar send your husband and his dragon tumbling to the Earth. You land in the newly created clearing to find Aemond intent on murdering your beloved.

Word count: 3,880

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, canon typical incest, INCEST, age gap between reader and siblings because I needed it for a part of the plotline but I didn’t specify it, slightly obsessive reader, ig toxic codependency between reader and Aegon, unrequited love, angst, like a lot of angst, like ANGSTTTT, believing that a main character has died, Aemond Targaryen slander, (isn’t Aemond himself a warning??), SPOILERS: S2 Ep4, kinda smut? Like I describe the female body from a sexual male gaze, probs typos (please let me know if I missed any)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so.

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

Even as a child, Aemond sometimes believed himself incapable of love. Not in a bad way, he did not feel he lost much without it, simply that he was incapable of it. Alicent, in the rare moment she chose to spend her time with her children, would read a story all about love, and he would find he could not understand it. He simply couldn’t relate. He had warm feelings for Alicent, a certain care for Helaena to be sure, but it was always belied by a certain numbness in his heart.

And then suddenly… there you were. In his mind you appeared out of the fire. Like a dragon rising out of the ashes it created. In reality, you had been born just as he was reaching maturity, the age when you finally started remembering things for the rest of your lifetime. He had stood outside of Alicent’s birthing chambers, anxiously waiting for her to come out and tell him everything was fine. He could hear her screams, guttural and animalistic. He had only ever heard the dragons make such sounds. And then there was silence, a long moment of silence he would never forget because he knew not whether Alicent was dead, the child dead, everyone dead but him. Then the cry of a child, loud and shrill and rather annoying.

He had pressed his ear to the door to try and listen, but all he got was cooing and hushing and the clatter of tools and the sloshing of water. It was but ten minutes later he almost fell forward into the room when someone opened the door. Alicent lay on the bed, shining with sweat, her beautiful red hair spread out all over the pillows and her eyes closed as she took deep breaths. A nursemaid on the side beckoned him inside as she gently swayed with a bundle of cloth wrapped in her arms. He wasn’t sure who to go to at first, Alicent or the short chubby woman with red cheeks who smiled warmer than Alicent ever had. He chose the latter, his intense curiosity to see the child surely contained in the bundle of cloth in her arms far outweighing the concern he had once held for Alicent.

The nurse maid simply handed a young Aemond a little bundle of blankets with your little baby face peeking out of it. He stared at the pinched little face, this wriggling creature that was red all over. He believed that that was the first time in his life he had felt real love. Oh, and when you grasped onto his finger with your little hand, he felt he had been placed in a hot pan to gently heat up from the inside-out. From that moment on he had loved you. He had loved you so dearly that sometimes he snuck into the nursery just to watch you sleep.

You were small, innocent, like a fresh snowflake fallen into the palm of his hand. You were to be protected at all costs, for the rest of his life. He willingly took up the challenge. Your entire childhood seemed a collection of memories of Aemond. Aemond cheering you on as you called ‘dracarys!’ for the first time. Aemond chasing you around the halls of the red keep when you wanted to play. Aemond distracting you when Alicent couldn’t be bothered to be your mother…

Though it began as something innocent, something brotherly and sweet, it seemed the Targaryen curse for it to grow out of control. Suddenly a few years passed and you had become a woman. And suddenly he could not keep his eyes off of you no matter how hard he tried. One night, some moons after your eighteenth nameday, he had come to your quarters to return a book he had stolen at some point during the day. Not realising that you had had a rather difficult day, that you had wished to bathe in peace, you had sent all your maids away. He had walked in on you rising from your bath. No one had been there to stop him or usher him out, and he had stood there, frozen, watching you jump and try to cover yourself with your hands before grabbing the robe left on one of the tables beside the bathtub. He had dropped his head, his remaining eye shuttering open and closed like the wings of a butterfly. A short and quick ‘my apologies’ left his mouth and he walked back out. But the image came with him.

You, shiny and wet, glistening in the light of the fire. The sound of the water dripping off of you and back into the bathtub, little plink plink plink sounds as they hit the edges. Your hair, darkened at the edges and sticking haphazardly to the skin of your shoulders. Your breasts, your stomach, your thighs. The space between them that was just shadowed enough that he could only see the top where your lips began to separate… He could not sleep for days for fear of encountering the image again behind closed eyes, in the free land of his dreams.

You were sweet, and kind, a bit of a miracle considering the situation you had been raised in, and it suddenly seemed an unfair expectation for him not to fall in love with you. Had you not been made for him? Crafted by the same womb to be his for eternity? You defied everyone with your kindness devoted to him. You made him smile with your smile, made him dance as you danced. You sang little songs you made up in your head and cuddled into his side so he could read to you in High Valyrian. You seemed just as attached to him as he was to you. You were perfect… except for one thing. What he considered your fatal flaw. Your unending, almost obsessive devotion to Aegon.

Mayhaps you had had the same effect on Aegon as you had had with him. Maybe it was simply that you had slowly made Aegon partial to you by being that sweet creature that you were. Though he believed anything possible when it came to you, he was never quite sure how you had changed Aegon. If not for everyone, but at least for you. It was obvious to the eyes of those who could view into House Targaryen that Aegon, described by his closest family as a hedonistic wastrel, cared for you, took care of you, hid from you all the deficiencies of his character. No one could make head or tail of it. How did you differ from Helaena or Aemond or even distant Daeron? You, conceived exactly the same way as the others, related to him exactly the same way as the others, were no different to the siblings he already had. But he thought Helaena weird, thought Aemond a rather pathetic and easy target, didn’t think of Daeron at all, and viewed the rest of his life as an excuse to get drunk. Aemond believed it to be your kindness that, if capable of piercing his own stony disposition, could easily curl up around Aegon’s fragile heart and devote him to you.

In truth, out of all of his siblings, you had simply been the one to truly love Aegon, whether he wanted it or not. You seemed to make up for all the love he lacked from every other person in his life. You saw him as the eldest, the one to look up to, the one to lavish with love and devotion in your position as the youngest. He would be the one to protect you, the one to treat you as his littlest and most loved one. Wishful or not, all the stories told you that this was his position. Though Aemond spent most of his time looking after you, being the protector, you did not seem to hold him in esteem for it. He was simply there.

At first, Aegon had failed in these expectations of yours. He had not bothered to spend time with you, not bothered to indulge in the love you so freely offered him. He believed you were just another creature created by Alicent to look down upon him. Another person to disappoint with his shortcomings. He later considered those his lowest moments. But then he had seen the way your face fell when he had shooed you away, saw the way tears collected at the corners of your eyes when you offered him a flower and he had barely turned. Slowly, he began to humour you, smiling widely when you offered him the flower once more. Not shooing you away anymore, but simply telling you that he would come find you when he was available to do it. He pressed kisses to your little cheeks and tickled your stomach. And with this care returned, your devotion grew.

He remembered vividly the first time he had truly noticed not only how much he cared for you, but how much you seemed to care for him in return. He had taken the blame for you once, when Alicent had walked into her living quarters and found a jug of wine spilled all over the floor. You had dropped it in your bid to reach up and grab it, hoping to sip from the jug though you weren’t allowed wine yet. Aegon had claimed it was him, that he was too drunk to see properly (when in fact he had been sober for the first time in a long time). He had been sent to bed without being allowed any dinner, and Alicent had raged at him for twenty minutes about his lack of duty, respect, propriety. But then you had snuck to his room after everyone had gone to bed with two plates filled to the brim with food. He felt he had never eaten better in his entire life. You had sat with him, giggling then shushing yourself as you looked up at him starry eyed. You seemed to give him all the kindness and love you possessed in your body, and he was ready to take. Frankly, he had nowhere else to get it from anyway.

Maybe some part of you had always believed that you and Aegon were meant for each other, but you truly seemed to realise it the night Aemond read you the Targaryen histories. He had started at the beginning, telling you all about Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives. You had sat up on his bed, pulling out from under his arm and turning to face him as you listened, enraptured. As Aemond spoke of the love Aegon bestowed upon Rhaenys, you thought of your Aegon. Of course, it all made sense now, you were destined. He was Aegon, and you would be his sister-wife, his Rhaenys, meant to be as it was in the greatest of histories.

When your dragons mated, your beauty and his Sunfyre, it felt cemented into fate. It would have to be so. The gods had deemed it. When Otto and the council began clamouring for the children to be married, particularly Aegon, Alicent had gone to pray every day in the sept for a fortnight before allowing your betrothal. You secretly believed that she was praying for the gods to intervene somehow but you knew they were the ones that had chosen this.

When your betrothal was announced, it was the first time neither you nor he had complained about a decision made by Alicent or the council. Alicent had called all of you to her chambers, Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, and you, to announce it, and neither you nor Aegon had a word to say in dissent. You had simply turned to each other and nodded, little hidden smiles only visible in the dancing of your eyes. Of course neither of you noticed the way Aemond clenched his fists behind his back, or the stony glare he switched between Alicent and Aegon. He had come over, kissed you on the cheek and whispered his congratulations as you hugged him animatedly.

Aegon had even kissed you for the first time the night of your betrothal ball, hidden in an alcove at the darkest part of the night, hands buried in your hair, tilting your head back and pressing his mouth to yours as if he wanted to devour you starting at the lips. He had whispered ‘I love you’s’ in your ear the entire evening and you danced with no one else.

Aemond was not sure when you broke his heart the most. When you had gushed to him all evening about your elation at being betrothed to Aegon, when you had seemingly forgotten his existence the night of your betrothal ball, or the evening you announced you were pregnant with Jahaerys and Jahaera.

People seemed to tread carefully around you after Jahaerys’s death. You believed this to be the reason you found out too late that Aegon had taken off to Rook’s Rest.

Every day, at some random point in the day, you would seek out Aegon, and the both of you would sit curled up together eating biscuits, drinking wine, and comforting each other. In the aftermath of Jahaerys’s death you had thought that was a necessity lest he try and run from you in his grief. Though he had still bludgeoned the man to death, had still had all the ratcatchers hanged, you were simply happy that he did not hide from you.

In that spirit, you had gone in search of him, only to find out he had left an hour ago to chase down the battle after conversing with Alicent. You were forced to waste a little more time to change into your riding clothes as your beauty was saddled, though you had abandoned the attempts of your ladies maids trying to pull an extra blouse over your head. You wore only a simple tunic over your chemise and ran for the dragonpit.

You weren’t quite sure why the gods wanted to punish you so. Your baby, little Jahaerys, was his death not enough? You were late, but not late enough to be spared the vision from a distance of Aemond commanding Vhagar to attack Sunfyre and Aegon. Your heart was in your throat, choking you. Your grip on the reins loosened, and as you watched Sunfyre tumble down from the sky, your dragon shrieked and began flying even faster. You heard the crash, even from how far you were. Your hands were sweaty and cold, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to be off the dragon. You began unclipping yourself from the saddle, ready to slip off and plummet to the ground. Your mind was running so fast you couldn’t grasp a thought, only saw what you saw, heard what you heard, and felt what you felt. There were no words. But you stopped yourself, clipped yourself back in, and let yourself be brought ever closer to Aegon in whatever condition you would find him.

Aemond watched the forest floor burn around Aegon without a single feeling. He watched the embers on Aegon’s body, sizzling away at his hair and skin. He watched the soot gather on Aegon’s armour, watched Sunfyre huff and writhe in pain as the fire continued its relentless assault all over their bodies. He did not feel anything. No remorse, no fear, no sadness. There was no happiness either, no joy or elation. There was simply nothing.

His sword was in his hand, pulled mostly out of the scabbard, when he heard rustling behind him. He turned slightly, just enough so his remaining eye could gaze on the intruder, and he saw you. At first he blinked, once and then twice to be sure you were there and not a mirage in the heat. But then he saw the way you were looking at him, the creases around your eyes and mouth as you gasped, mouth agape in pain. Your breaths were ragged, and you were still mostly hidden in the brush, but he could see your face so clearly, as if you had been outlined against the shrubbery. The face that he had watched grow out of its baby fat and into the shape of the young woman that you were. The face that had once smiled brightly in his direction and sought him out for comfort. The face that he had loved so dearly. The face that now burned with rage.

“You-you traitor! You coward! You have no loyalty, no respect!” You sounded almost hysterical as you spoke, clambering over shrubbery and shattered branches. Aemond stared at you as you screamed at the top of your lungs, each word laced with the deepest pain one could possibly experience, a half-sob half-choking sound. Your cheeks were bright red and shiny with sweat, you had shed your riding coat and your grey pants were covered in sap from clambering over a tree trunk. Aemond thought you had never looked more beautiful. “You truly are self-serving, and-and cruel.” Each word hit him in the chest as if Vhagar was breathing fire directly at him. He would not care if it had not been you saying these words. His grip on his sword tightened as he watched you begin to shed tears (though you already had dried tracks down your cheeks), hurrying around and looking for a way through the circle of fire around Aegon and Vhagar. You turned to him for a moment, a singular moment, and his heart stopped dead at the way your face was contorted in pain and anger and pure hatred. Your eyebrows knitted by a crease above your nose bridge, your mouth pulling back at the corners and your eyes burning like wildfire. “You’re a monster.”

The word seemed to echo in the forest, even above the sound of the fire. His mouth was slightly open, his breaths heaving as he stared at you with a sense of his body crumbling. Not once in the entire battle had he felt this close to devastation. Not once in his life. Even in the darkest nightmares he experienced, not once did he ever imagine you saying these words to him, to look at him so…

Aemond had not once cared about Aegon’s wellbeing in his entire life. Even now, he did not care about it. If Aegon died he would not shed a tear. In all honesty, he would be more inclined to smile, but watching you walk through fire to get to that manic drunk’s body sent a spear through his heart. Why? Why were you so willing to succumb to your own death for that fool? Why, throughout your entire lives have you always chosen Aegon, when he was standing right here, ready, rather, impatient, to love you? He would have raised his sword and begun walking again, a certain defiance suddenly filling him to the brim, had it not been for the way you began to wail at the sight of Aegon.

It was a wail of death. He did not think a person was capable of this sound. Around him in the forest, another high keening sound began. It was your dragon, head raised to the sky, mouth open and roaring like the pain was within her. Then, behind him, with the very ground rumbling as she rose, Vhagar raised her head to the sky and roared so loud that legend states it was heard from the Wall to the southernmost tip of Dorne. Even Sunfyre, with his last breaths, keened in pain and joined the cacophony. Aemond pressed his hands to his ears and waited for it to cease. A war was being waged on him, inside and out.

He closed his eyes, trying to forget you, forget the pain you inflicted on him simply by being in pain, but the gods would not let him.

You were on the floor now, hands shaking as you reached out to pull Aegon’s half-singed body onto your lap. You were caressing his hair, rocking back and forth and crying salty tears directly onto his wounds. Aemond could not move. However much he wanted to walk toward you, wanted to walk away from you, the gods had set him to his place. You turned your head up to look at him through the fire, shaking and hiccuping. Your eyes were so full with tears that he could only see light reflected in them.

“What did you hope to get out of this?!” You sobbed, almost screaming with the pain. It was minutes before you could even speak again.“Did you expect I would suddenly love you? Did you think you could buy me with a crown?”

There it was, finally out in the open. The truth both of you had danced around since you had become of marrying age. You had known, of course you had known, though he had never been overly blatant about it, it was obvious that he had favoured you. The night your betrothal to Aegon had been announced, Aemond had gone to Alicent to beg her to change it, to offer Aegon Helaena's hand instead. But she had been adamant. His grandsire and Viserys had stated that it would be best for Aegon to marry a sister, prattle about emulating Aegon the Conqueror and preserving the purity of the King’s bloodline. It made sense to marry him to the youngest. Helaena could still be used to marry for advantage, a second child but first daughter held more sway.

He could see that secretly his mother was happy to betroth Aegon to you. She didn’t want her youngest daughter to leave. She was by far more attached to you than any of her other children, and if you hadn’t married Aegon you would’ve been sent off. One marriage between siblings was enough, the rest were simply assets in a bigger game.

Now, as Aemond looked at you, he could see none of the love you had once bestowed on him. The face he had once longed to caress, the lips he had once wished to kiss, all appalled at the sight of him. You had never sneered at him this way before, never even turned your face or voice to him in a negative way before. Maybe this was a nightmare, and soon he would wake up, sweating and panting and looking around with fright, before seeking you out, happy to discover that you were still unmarried, and ready to cuddle him to sleep.

You clung to Aegon even tighter as you glared at Aemond through your tears, just a blurry black spot in a sea of green. “If I was even capable of loving a creature like you before you did this,” you spat with such venomous rage that even Vhagar bristled behind Aemond. “I am incapable of it now.” You turned your head back down to Aegoon, and seemed to curl your body around him like a dragon curling over her eggs. The edges of your dress caught fire and slowly began to burn but you let it, not even feeling the heat.

Ser Criston found the three of you like that, as if suspended in time.

Taglist: @summerposie, @izuoyarmin

A/n: Tell me. Was Aemond or Reader right about why Alicent didn’t refuse the betrothal between reader and Aegon?

1K notes · View notes

emmaofnormandy · 2 months

Text

Imagine Aegon is the father of your children.

Warnings: fluff all the way; canon divergence; long post.

( @dracaryxzs for you! One hopes you might like seeing Aegon happy here)

***

• How it all began…

You are his twin, his other half… What one feels the other feels it too. Naturally, as a result, bond came. Courtiers like to say how “wherever the Lord Aegon goes, Lady Y/N is after him like a loyal puppet.”

What they don’t understand is that you and him are two sides of the same coin, blood of dragon, despite the prince calling you his sun, to which he himself gravitates.

“I cannot not believe you are never bored whenever we are together”, says Aegon.

You both are blossoming into youth. You are the only one he trusts, the one he is naturally charmed to. But something about his age doesn’t let him admit there are feelings too.

“I am unlike any other”, you tell him in turn, a smile on your rosy lips. “We came together to this world, Aegon.”

He gives you a shy smile, lowering his gaze—you tamed him, like, it is said, your grandmother had tamed her husband, your grandsire, when they were both the same age.

Lively and so full of life, not even Aegon can deny you anything.

“Let us ride, shall we?”

And not waiting for a response, he takes you by the hand and in between giggles and chuckles the two of you go after your respective dragons.

Sunfyre has been enamored by Dreamfyre and as a result the female dragon has put some eggs. As soon as you are told this, you tell the object of your affections that:

“See, Egg? Evident signs that we are bonded right here”, and you show him the different coloured eggs.

Aegon smiles at you. How can you make him forget the scars of his troubled soul? How can you even sweep away grey clouds, making it seem that it is possible to find happiness?

When looking at your serenity, at how beaming you are before the eggs you cling yourself to, the prince sees himself in you.

You are the light of my world, Y/N.

As if you feel the tenderness his thought emanates, you turn your head at him and give him an egg.

“We are grandparents now, I’m afraid.”

That makes him cackle. A sound so rejoicing, full of life. Few could tell to have ever heard Lord Aegon laugh merrily.

“Too young for that. Come, Y/N!” And then turning to Sunfyre, Aegon is the image of a boy who finds love and happiness where at home such were taken from him.

You smile warmly when seeing the golden dragon almost smiling itself the moment he welcomes his rider.

A bond as strong as the one I have with my beloved.

Then you are distracted by nearly losing balance when Dreamfyre comes at you, resting her head against your face.

“Calm down, girl. I am not as heavy as you are”, you giggle, gently laying your head over the scales of your dragon, whom you claimed when you were ten years old. “Ready to fly high? To some adventures, eh?”

A sound comes from your dragon’s throat. It’s almost as if she speaks excitedly: “Aye, let us go! I’m ready for it!”, which only increases your good mood.

Now here you two are, flying synchronized, one being the extension of the other. Skies may have some clouds, but sun shines high with some warm breeze that announces summer.

“I suggest we could fly atop Dragonstone”, you tell Aegon over your shoulder. “There’s a spot no one goes there.”

“Rhaenyra is settled there with her children”, says Aegon with an unread expression.

You shrug your shoulders.

“So what? I’ve been there frequently and not once she scoffed me off. I doubt she ever knew I flew to this spot.”

And you flash him a mischievous smirk.

Aegon laughs in turn, realizing he’s unable to deny you anything. Flying as high as he could, there’s little need to tell Sunfyre where to go. As if the creature captured the rider’s thoughts, he flies exactly to where he wants… as does Dreamfyre.

It is almost as if both dragons suspect something may come up… even if you and Aegon don’t know that yet.

There is a lake in the midst of vast forests, where silence reigns and there is no sign of any living being. A few hills here and there separate the spot of the rest of Dragonstone.

“How did you come here?”, Aegon inquires you, intrigued by this unusual place. Hardly a man acostumed to wild life, his eyes scan these new surroundings with a mix of suspect and curiosity.

You are untying your hair and loosening your gown—you often ride Dreamfyre in your feast gowns, much to the Queen’s dismay— when you say:

“I don’t think I fit very well at court. I tend to flee whenever I can.”

Aegon is somewhat distracted by your curves, and how poorly hidden your curves are beneath the fabric you dress. He swallows hard, then says:

“We are betrothed. One day you’ll be queen.”

You flash him another of your typical mischievous smirks.

“When have I never performed my duties, brother?”

Aegon shakes his head, but he’s chuckling when he comes next to you.

“Well?”, you tilt your head and the prince seems to notice how handsome you look, wild and free—the way you are born to be. “Aren’t you going to swim with me?”

“Is that a challenge?”, he asks you in a whisper.

You like how he looks at you. Maybe this makes your nipples hard. And maybe this makes him burning inside.

“Perhaps.”

And without waiting for a response, you jump in. Aegon smirks, soon following you.

***

• Summer Children.

His kiss is indescribable. No words can do justice to the warmth his breath gives you, to the bliss it inspires you, to the affection it craves in you. Oh, where are the words when we need most?

Whispers at court regard you and Aegon as the “Baelon and Alyssa” of your age, perhaps two souls reincarnated. Whatever the truth, all you can think about is the taste of his lips against yours.

Not only that, there is more to inspire. As you are riding Dreamfyre in the absence of your lover—he’s been summoned by your father to attend the council—, summer breeze cannot cool down the heat in your heart. And you still recall that night.

Where no living being is found amidst corridors, when, for a moment of weakness, no guard lies awake; when unprotecting is at stake… Here he comes, visiting you.

Boldly so, his steps are silent—right under his demeanor there is a haunted boy, famine for affection, filled with desire to please… but above all, a very insecure man who needs to play pretend before all.

Even though you are not like any other, being in fact the only one who’s witnessed his fragility, he remains blunt in his manners.

Yet when the door opens… and you stand there in your line nightgown with your hair loose, his confidence dies.

“I feared you’d not come”, but there is nothing blunt or arrogant in how you welcome him; but rather tenderness from the moment he’s engulfed in your arms. “I missed you, Aegon. Too much I long for you.”

“My dear Y/Nickname…”, he buries his head against your neck and from the moment he inhales your scent, no pride is strong enough to resist the obvious. “In vain have I struggled to repress my sentiments for you.”

Hearing these words give you the reassurance you’ve been longing.

“Oh you took long enough, didn’t you? I’ve been kept in waiting, but it was worth it.”

One kiss and you are doomed. Aegon waits no longer, not anymore. He takes hold of your face and presses his lips against yours, biting your bottom lip and slamming the door as he leads the way.

“You must promise, though”, you push him away gently, much to his frustration. But you need to be sure… just in case.

“Anything”, his voice comes out in a plea.

You raise your eyebrows and Aegon, though sensing what might be asked of, is willing to pay the price. He is not letting go of you.

“No more whoring. I am no woman of sharing”, you tell him seriously.

Aegon smiles warmly, but you spot relief behind his eyes. He grabs you by the waist and says:

“I am yours and yours alone, Y/N. We came out to this world together, didn’t we? So we are dying together as well.”

“That is some drama you put in there, love”, you smirk before clashing your lips against his.

That night you came to learn you loved riding your dragon and we are not talking about Dreamfyre.

Nine moons later, the results of you and Aegon’s indiscretion comes to the world with a very strong pair of lungs.

“Here comes a very strong prince”, so announces the midwife.

You are exhausted after almost 12 hours in labour, a puddle of sweat and blood, but from the moment you are told you delivered a boy, you beamed proudly:

“I performed my duty well.”

Aegon, in the meantime, is left waiting outside, pacing impatiently in the corridors.

“One wonders what witchcraft has Y/N used to keep you in this state”, muses Aemond in his unusual show of sense of humor.

The prince of Dragonstone doesn’t bother answering Aemond, rather limiting to shooting a glare. It’s when Princess Helaena comes with a smile on her lips.

“My brothers.”

“We salute you well, sister. But pray tell us the news soon: is Y/N well? How’s the child?”

“She is doing great, Aegon. She’s recovering and getting some rest. As for the child… congratulations! You have a healthy baby boy!”

Aegon is paled by the news and even Aemond gets somewhat concerned with his older brother, holding him by his elbows.

“Are you well?”

“A boy”, he mumbles. “Y/N gave us a boy.”

“Our line is safe”, Aemond agrees. Then turning at Helaena, he asks: “Has the name been chosen?”

“Well, Y/N wants a traditional name… so she decided to have the boy named after you, Aegon.”

No one had ever seen the prince Aegon this overjoyed. The way he smiles… who wouldn’t be captivated by this sight? Even Aemond smiles too at this sight. Of all the misadjusted family, at least two of them found happiness… though when Helaena looks at him, he’s not too far from it himself.

“I must see her!”

Ignoring Helaena’s advice that no man is allowed in these chambers, Aegon, tradition-breaker, storms inside, demanding to see you.

You have just left your privy quarters dressed in a line nightgown with your hair wet and recently brushed when he comes at you.

“Husband!”, you giggle quietly when you are engulfed by his strong arms. “You should wait for me. I am not churched yet and we must…”

“Fuck traditions. I wanted to see my wife”, says he, peppering your face with tender kisses before looking at you with the devotion of a lover. “Are you well?”

You cast him the most infatuated glance to him, locking your hands around his neck as if there were no witnesses in the room.

“I am, thank you. Nothing that I could not handle myself”, you assure him. “Aegon, I performed my duties. I gave you a son.”

“Even if it wasn’t, as long as the child is healthy and you are healthy too, nothing else matters”, he whispers in your ear.

The prince cannot state enough his relief in seeing you well and safe. By how he holds you close, it is as if he needs another reassurance that childbirth will not steal you of him.

Feeling his fears, you raise your chin and give him that blunt gaze that marks your lively personality which he’s familiar with.

“I have no intention in leaving you alone in this world, unless you choose another to be in my place.”

Aegon gives you a meaningful look before snorting and scoffing at the same time.

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N! How could you possibly consider I’d find a substitute for you? I thought you knew me better, woman.”

You both share a quiet laugh before kissing as if to seal an unspoken vow. Not too far from the scene is the Queen, with her father by her side.

“Who’d know this was coming?”, she sighs, content with the merry scene that rolls before her gaze. “I may have been deprived of happiness myself, but on the other hand… thankfully such a burden is not placed on the shoulders of mine own offspring.”

“Do not be so dramatic, Alicent. This match is as fruitful as yours was”, says Otto, nonchalantly like usual. “But at times even I admit that I can see Baelor and Alyssa once more.”

A struggle he keeps to himself, since Otto and Baelor never saw eye to eye. Leaving such personal haunting aside, eventually this summer prince also named Aegon is seen placed in the arms of his mother.

“He’s a lovely child”, murmurs Aegon, whose head is now resting over your shoulder. “I cannot stop looking away of his delicate features.”

“Perhaps you should hold him”, you suggest in a whisper since the regal baby is asleep in your arms.

“I do not wish to wake him up”, says your husband, though you may detect a degree of panic in his voice.

You find his concern adorable, respecting his time. This afternoon, you and him watch over your newly born soon in great delight of how your love produced a handsome baby.

“Our summer prince”, you beam at him.

Aegon shares a smile with you. He looks thrilled before kissing your forehead.

“I cannot believe I am his father.”

“A doting father as I’m sure you will be.”

At times he doubts it, but this is a shadow he is unwilling to cast in such a bright moment. All Aegon can say is:

“Thank you for believing in me.”

He does blush though when you kiss his cheek and tell him in turn:

“How could it be otherwise? As my other half, you shall burn as bright as any dragon, my sun and stars.”

***

Little Egg, as he is called, is getting every attention Aegon’s father never bother doting his son. Whilst you are breast feeding, just nine months later his birth, a baby girl whom you named Alysanne after your favourite ancestor, father and son are found together at the nunnery.

“Your mother told me she plans to take you and Dear Alys to fly our dragon. I am not discouraging her, but we should best wait for a litttle bit, uh?”, says the protective father whilst rocking his lively and often chuckling boy in his arms. “Oh so you think this is funny? Are you planning to take after your great-grandparents?”

Aegon is holding him still, playing with the boy when the moment is interrupted by a maid.

“Excuse me, sire. His lordship must be fed. And your lady wife has summoned you.”

“Very well”, he stands, with the prince in his arms. “Before I handle you my precious jewel, Lady H/N, I must be certain you have been fed well. After all, you are responsible for feeding my child.”

“Indeed, lord. I am healthy and robust from the day I started the service”, the woman says seriously.

“Good. I appreciate it”, he nods before kissing his son’s temple. When seeing he’s about to weep, Aegon softens: “Do not cry, my prince. This is not a farewell. I shall go back later, I assure you.”

Reluctantly, he parts, though he does wish to go back when hearing a cry. Aegon pauses at the door but when looking back, Lady H/N has taken little Egg inside the quarters.

“How is mine faire ladies?”, the soon to be king asks you the moment he steps inside.

“Looking better than you”, you giggle quietly. “What happened, love?”

“I had to leave him with those women”, Aegon grumbles.

“I know. I don’t like leaving him there either, but thanks to you I can only feed one child now”, you laugh quietly.

Alysanne, whose hair is as silver as her parents’s, makes noises and Aegon, now more confident in how handling babies, carefully holds her.

“If I remember well, you were climbing on me when I was trying to sleep just the day you were churched”, Aegon chuckles.

“You keep saying that to yourself”, you lean to kiss his cheek. “You have been blessed with a handsomeness that makes me difficult not to merrily engage in marital affairs.”

Again, your bluntness makes him blush, a deed only you could brag in succeed doing so. Aegon gives you a long, meaningful look.

“Watch your tongue, woman. You don’t know what you are saying.”

But his mischievous smirk tells you precisely otherwise. The connection you two share has never grown stronger…

***

• Midnight Sun.

Little Egg is barely three when Aegon takes him for a ride in Sunfyre and you take two year old Alysanne with you as you mount Dreamfyre. It’s late night and since this family is restless, there’s no obligation to stop them in doing so—as if any would do in other period of the day.

“Fly high, Dreamfyre”, you whisper the command in High Valyrian and the dragon doesn’t need much before taking impulse and… weeeee, you and your excited child finally get to the skies.

“Let us do this, S.”, Aegon tells his beautiful golden dragon, resting his face against the creature’s forehead. “Look, this is the son I told you about. He gets my name, and Gods hope that he takes after my best traits. Not that I have many, but…”

Sunfyre buffs as if saying: oh please, you may not be perfect, but you have great qualities! To which Aegon blushes and smiles.

“You are a great friend, Sunfyre.”

“Daddy”, says Little Egg. “Fly!”

“Calm down young man. Are you in a rush?”, Aegon chuckles at his demanding son.

“Mommy… flew.”

“Oh. She’s always in a rush that woman you call your mother. Let’s do it then.”

And soon Aegon’s smile would spread larger if possible as Sunfyre finally spreads his large wings and begins to fly, the reason why Little Egg is happy.

When they are finally getting higher, Aegon makes sure his son is enjoying it. He wants to create this memorable moment that shall reinforce the bond father and son has.

It’s working since little Egg turns his head to his father and says:

“Amazing!”

“Are you enjoying that, my boy?”

“Yes! More, more! Please!”

Aegon laughs happily and does as requested. They fly as high as possible before diving below to meet you and Alysanne. The scene makes the prince emotional. His wife is looking as beautiful as wild as the day he realized he loved you to an unbearable point.

Sensing his gaze, you turn your head to meet him. And feeling your feelings, Dreamfyre is instantly drawn to Sunfyre.

“How’s it going?”, you ask him, eyes sparkling with delight for making it possible an old dream where you and Aegon, together with children of your own, would fly with your respective dragons.

“Just the way you wanted”, so Aegon tells you as if he’s read your mind.

You and him exchanged loving gazes and sweet smiles, letting the dragons taking the reins of the situation.

Indeed, as your children beam, Dreamfyre and Sunfyre dance.

Such is the dance of the dragons.

The toddlers are snoring by the time you and Aegon land.

“They should sleep with us in bed this night”, he suggests you, as he passes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him, placing a kiss on top of your forehead.

“I agree”, and then you instantly pause before the door of the red keep. “Aegon… I would like to thank you.”

“What for?”, he asks you, intrigued.

“For giving me these lovely children, for being the partner I’ve always known you’d be. For being my other half.” You smile softly. “I’d die for you, I hope you know that. You deserve to be loved, to all that you are given.”

“Y/N…”, he’s surprised to hearing these words of you, even though Aegon never needed proof of how you felt for him.

You stroke his face, wiping away his tears. Both of you know that you only have each other, and yet it’s enough. Specially now you have children of your own.

Resting his forehead against yours, the prince closes his eyes and kisses you.

“Whatever our souls are made of…”

“…mine and yours are the same.”

***

• Epilogue.

Alysanne is fast asleep when she dreams of dragons. Dragons that fight, dragons that die, dragons that survive. In the midst of chaos, she runs after her father.

Where is he? She calls out his name only to find another who is not in his throne. She wakes up thus, unable to remember the usurper’s identity, a mere shadow. But it’s enough to scare the seven year old princess.

She leaves her privy chambers. It’s still dark, but she needs to be sure he’s there somehow. Alysanne runs barefoot to her parents’ chambers. She opens its door, holding her breath but praising the Gods there’s some fire in the fireplace.

She sees you’re sleeping next to your father, but when seeing he’s there…. what a relief. Yet, the princess is scared to go back to her chambers.

“Papa”, she pokes him. “Papa, wake up.”

Aegon groans lightly, but when seeing it’s his oldest daughter calling him, he only rubs his eyes and makes sure to sit properly, careful in not waking you up.

“Lys”, he calls her affectionately and is probably thankful for wearing some proper garments after early copulating with you. “What’s wrong?”

Alysanne quickly throws her arms around his neck.

“I am scared. I don’t want to lose you”, she sniffs.

Aegon rocks her in his arms, smiling quietly for doing so.

“You’re not losing me. Who told you this nonsense? Has Little Egg been teasing you again?”

“No. He’s been good, actually”, she tells him, holding tightly against his neck. “I had a nightmare.”

For some reason, this gives him shivers. But Aegon isn’t inclined to dig into this deeper.

“A nightmare is just a nightmare. Come. Do you want to sleep with mama and papa today?”

Alysanne smiles brightly. She then kisses his cheek just as you are waking up.

“What happened?”, you ask, worried. “Are you well, my dear Alys?”

“She had a nightmare”, Aegon tells you as if this doesn’t mean anything, but one exchange of glances tells you this isn’t anything. Yet neither should feed it. And you agree. “So I’m letting her sleep with us tonight.”

You nod discreetly before kissing your daughter’s forehead.

“Of course. Like the good old days uh?”

And you watch as Alysanne makes herself comfortable in between you and your husband. Aegon strokes her hair as you cover her.

“Do you think…?” Aegon leaves the question in the air.

“Let us leave to concern about it tomorrow. It’s late.”

Aegon agrees. But neither looks forward to go back to sleep. As he casts a fond gaze at the princess, you take his hand and give it a small squeeze.

“It’s going to be all right. Helaena is doing well with it.”

“I know. But…”

“And at the same time she’s not like Helaena”, you tell him. “Let us not confuse things. It’s going to be well.”

“I just worry. I do not wish…”

Aegon looks away, remembering the wounds of his neglect childhood. There’s little need to explain since you can feel what he feels.

“Aegon, my love. We are not like them”, you tell him firmly. As he looks at you, you stroke his hair and place a lock of his messy hair behind his ear. “We are not like our parents. We are better than them. I’d not say so if I believed otherwise. Just look at how Egg seeks to impress you, how Alysanne came after you tonight… or how our twins Jaehaerys and Jaehaera often run after you.”

Aegon smiles quietly.

“How can you convince me that easily?”

“It’s the truth I speak. Besides… I have to tell you something”, and here you whisper. “I conceived again.”

“Oh how fertile we are!”, Aegon chuckles merrily.

You both kiss, before settling to lay down, careful now with your daughter fast asleep in between you. Shadows for once are pushed and in late night midnight sun comes to shine bright.

Oh these delights…

#house of the dragon #aegon ii x female reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii fluff #aegon ii x you #king aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon the second #aegon ii #king aegon #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x oc #aegon ii fic #tom glynn carney

1K notes · View notes

dolicekiss · 1 month

Text

Apple Of Their Eye

part one here

PAIRING: Aemond Targayen X sister!reader X Aegon Targayen

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni), incest between siblings, virgin aemond, possessive behavior, threats, abuse, slut shaming, mentions of forced marriage, voyeurism, kissing, unprotected sex, polygamy, threesome, mating press, hickeys, usage of high valyrian during sex, aggressive aemond, doggystyle, raw filth, hand job, breeding, impregnating, swearing, territorial targaryen brothers, thigh riding, dry humping.

SYNOPSIS: Whispers have a habit of reaching ears, no matter how far and when a whisper about your rendezvous with your brothers reaches your mother, she loses it. Enraged, she strikes you but when your brothers find out, their wrath is enough to burn cities to the ground.

“Brother, someone might see.” Came a soft whimper from you as your brother continued to litter gentle kisses down your jaw, forming an invisible trail to your neck and already had he decided to kiss your collarbones too. It was embarrassing to engage in such actions in the hallways of the Red keep, knowing you were both at your peril.

Aegon didn't care though. He continued kissing you as if he didn't fuck you a few hours ago in the garden. His needs were insatiable and as much as you enjoyed it when your own brother pummeled his cock into your little cunt, you were always worried about getting caught too.

Your brother only let out a soft hum, his large hands moving to grab a handful of your breasts. Your state was disheveled and when you heard footsteps coming near, echoing in the high walls of the hallway, you gave a push to your brother. The expression on Aegon’s face was of complete displeasure as a servant walked passed you two, her gaze lowered but she didn't fail to notice the messed up state of the Princess.

You looked up at Aegon and as he tried to step closer to you, you decided to run off somewhere, with giggles escaping you. The King almost chased after you, but when he was called for a council meeting — he had to solemnly give up the idea of chasing after you and claiming you.

You ran with the assumption that your brother was behind you.

It didn't end well for you as you ended up crashing into someone else. In the arms of another dragon, more ferocious than the one before.

“Going somewhere, sister?”

Aemond’s soft voice was like fucking sugar to your ears. It was unfathomable how he had to speak once and your cunt would get soaked, especially when he would speak High Valyrian while fucking your mouth.

Unlike Aegon, Aemond still had not fucked you like his older brother. He lacked the time to give you full attention and fulfill your needs, as well as his. But today Aemond had decided to put the realm aside once and give you all his time and attention.

You squeezed your thighs, a feeble attempt to rid yourself of the impending feeling of arousal and need. You smiled at him but the way you looked at him, it was an invitation for him to take you right here in this damn hall, against the Iron Throne. Pupils blown out and plump lips parted, swollen definitely by the hands of Aegon.

Your brother reached to put a strand of silver behind your ear with his glove cladded fingers. “I asked you something, sweet sister and I expect an answer.”

You fucking melted whenever he refer to you as his sweet sister. Before it worked wonders but now, you weren't too sure but you'd grown completely obsessed with your own brothers. Last week the topic of Aemond’s marriage was brought up, same as yours and everyone noticed the sour look on the Princess’ face.

The realm’s delight was pissed, for the first time in awhile.

“I was running from Aegon.” You whispered to him, neck craned up to look at your taller brother.

Aemond smiled. “He won't be chasing you, sweet sister. He has the council to attend to.”

You let out a sigh. “Things were much better when Father was alive. I had all your and Aegon’s attention but now the realm demands it more.”

Your words made Aemond realize how good their lives were when you were all children, under the care of your father, the King. If only his father hadn't changed his mind on his death bed, if only his mother hadn't forced Aegon on the Iron Throne. It was all too overwhelming to think about, even for someone like Aemond and he brushed it all aside, replacing it with the thoughts of you.

“You will have all our attention when we win this war, sister. You will be Queen.” His words brought you ease but deep down the fear of something bad happening to both your brothers always tugged at your heartstrings. It lingered, like a threat and even you were not oblivious to the damage that this war will bring.

The chaos, the destruction, the pain.

It was all to real to ignore it.

Aemond’s hand moved to cup your cheek and you smiled, the worry disappearing from your face.

“Let me give you a kiss to ease your worries.”

You were ready for him, lips in a childish pout and Aemond always chuckled at how desperate you seemed for a kiss. It was lost on him why you'd grown this attached to them, to him — a monster he was. Beneath lurked darkness which he knew would one day swim up to the surface and consume your light. He feared that day and he wished for nothing more than to become better, for the sake of his sweet sister.

He had to bend, that's how short you were in comparison to him. The moment his lips met yours, it was a moment of peace but you did not know the chaos it would soon follow.

That single kiss would change the course of house Targaryen. Challenge years worth of tradition, power and would set a new law, abided by both men and Gods.

Butterflies flapped their wings, similar to dragons in your stomach as your brother firmly took your lips into a kiss. His growing need enough to nearly make him lose all control and take you right then and there on the stairs leading to the throne.

Your lids fell shut as you allowed your brother to kiss you, his head tilting and his fingers digging into the cheek he was holding — a testament to his broken self control. Aemond pulled away soon, to restore some dignity in him and you let out a soft breath.

A string of saliva leaving you connected to your brother's lips.

“I will come to your chambers tonight. You must wear a white gown and wait for me.” His command was strong and firm, leaving no room for disagreement.

You were never going to disagree anyway. Pleasing your brothers was all that mattered to you, especially when they had been nothing but kind to you. You nodded your head causing Aemond’s grip across your chin to tighten. “Use your mouth, gevie.” (Beautiful)

You swore you could feel your cunt beginning to grow more soaked each time your brother uttered even a word in High Valyrian. His was the best and even you grew envious of him at times at how dedicated and good he was. To you, Aemond was the epitome of a Targaryen man.

“Yes, brother.” You said in a breathless whisper, nodding your head along.

Aemond let out a satisfied hum, his gaze lingering to the way you rubbed your thighs now and then and fixed his posture. He rested his head on top of your head, patting it a few times. “Don't run around now. You will hurt yourself, little girl.”

You watched as your brother left, going into the same direction you had. Probably to head to the council. At times you wished you were a member of the small council too, so you'd be able to look and stare at your brothers all the time. Their youth had brought them unwanted attention and you were not fond of the idea.

Aegon needed a Queen for the realm, Aemond needed alliances for the realm and in order to secure those, he had to marry someone.

It all worked to agitate you.

Fuck the Realm.

You walked to your chambers and upon entering, you called for a servant to bring you the dress Aemond was referring to. It had always been his favorite on you. It was a lengthy dress with large sheer sleeves and a bow was stitched to its front. It was more of a night gown than a proper dress, if wore without small clothes. Your face flushed at the thought of Aemond seeing you in this, practically bare beneath the pellucid fabric of the gown.

A knock caught your attention and then the doors were opened, your mother’s face coming into view.

You smiled as she walked towards you, completely oblivious to the way she seethed at you. “Moth–”

The sound of skin colliding with skin reverberated in the room, bouncing off the high walls of your chambers. But what left you astonished was the slap your mother had delivered to your cheek. Pain blossomed along with crimson on the pale canvas as Alicent stared at you in pure anger as well as unmatched disgust.

Her hand moved to grab your arm, fingers digging into the soft skin. “You dare to lay with your own brothers, not one, but two of them?”

Your gaze flickered across the room, not having the courage to make eye contact with her as tears welled up in your eyes. This was the first time someone had ever treated you this harshly and the person being your own mother terrified you.

You struggled to speak, because you had nothing to say. All you could do was stand still as your mother reprimanded you, spewing out words which tugged at your heartstrings and forced your tears to run down.

“I was not aware I had given birth to a fucking common whore and not a Princess.” You flinched at her harsh tone, her tight searing grip and the way her other hand moved to grab your chin.

It was all too overwhelming for you, your sensitivity failing you here. Tears ran down your face in small streams, hoping that this would end. “Please mother–”

“Not a word.” Alicent snapped, her anger growing for you even more. It was mostly directed towards her sons, knowing fully well that they were capable of defiling their own sister but she had trust in you. She'd mistaken your love for your brothers as platonic. “Bold of you three to engage in such, heinous and obscene actions out in the open. You think I would not find out? The master of whispers is loyal to me!”

Her voice boomed through the room and with every high octave of her voice, you sobbed and flinched.

It was the comfort of your brothers that you craved. To run to them, wither away in their arms and cry your little heart out. Even as a little girl everyone thought twice before reprimanding you, but your mother had laid a hand on you. For the first time ever and it surely left a scar.

“You will marry Lord Tully, I will see to it.”

Your eyes widened as you shook your head, realizing in that moment that staying away from your brothers was something you could not endure. Born from the same womb, fathered by the same man, you three were almost like triplets attached to the hip of one another.

Being apart from them was a punishment even Gods were not cruel enough to cast upon you.

But your mother was.

With all your courage and strength, you pushed at her shoulders and lifted up your skirt — sprinting out of the door with bare feet. You were in the midst of changing your shoes as they'd grown dirty when your mother blessed you with her presence. You had no idea which brother to run to, absolutely clueless to where they were.

If your mother, a member of the small council was in your chambers that meant the council had been dismissed.

Still with little hope, you slammed open the doors of the room where the meetings took place, only to find it empty. Crestfallen, you ran back into the hallway you came from, running outside hoping to find your other brother training.

Upon running out in the open area, your gaze flit here and there, a blurred one it was from all the hopeless crying you'd done in your despair.

You found the silver long strands of your brother flowing in the air as he moved swiftly against Ser Criston Cole. Your lips breaking into a soft smile as more tears fell, your dirty feet taking you to your brother. Everyone in the area witnessed the disheveled state of the Princess, yet no one dared to say a word about it.

Ser Criston stopped moving, dropping his sword and looking behind Aemond’s shoulder where you stood.

He immediately turned around when amidst the stench of sweat, metal and smoke, he caught a whiff of roses. There you were, trembling as you barely managed to hold your own frame. Aemond’s one eye widened, noticing your situation and the large handprint across your face did not go unnoticed by him.

“Who?”

You sobbed, your small hands reached for his chest as you laid your head against it.

Aemond’s fingers that once gripped the hilt of the sword now loosened, causing it to drop and come in contact with the floor. The whole of the training grounds had grown completely silent, witnessing the scene unfold before them. The prince was fucking pissed, the tremor in his jaw evident to everyone else around him and his aura changing.

He was no more composed.

“Who, Princess?”

You couldn't even speak properly without breaking your words apart. “M-Mother found out, Aemond. She will get me married now. I'm scared— I'm scared. I do not wish to leave you and Aegon. I am happy here, with you two. Why must I go? Why must–must I marry Lord Tully?”

Aemond’s mind blanked out, only your words lingering in it. He would burn the whole realm down before seeing you get married to someone else other than him, or his brother. You were theirs, their birthright. Aegon’s was the throne, he was second in line — a prince, a future knight maybe but before all that, you were their true birthright, made for them, crafted by the Gods in the same fucking womb they once nestled in.

Even if Aegon was easily manipulated by Alicent — which he doubt would happen as his brother shared the same feelings as he did for you, Aemond would not allow you to be taken from him. He had grown unloved, a boy broken beyond repair and you somehow still saw the good in him. You sought out comfort in a man the whole of Seven Kingdoms feared.

You, out of everyone, believed he too was deserving of love and you went out of your way to prove it.

Before he'd even proven his worth as a Targaryen by claiming Vhagar, you stood by him. When he lost his eye, it was you who was ready to tarnish the reputation of your own nephews as revenge for your brother’s eye. It was you who went beyond and all for the sake of your brother and most would call you a loyal hound but Aemond saw a beautiful girl that was willing to do anything for him.

His pain had ended — but now his mother, Alicent was going to freshen up old wounds.

He could not allow that to happen.

If you were taken from him, Aemond would mount Vhagar and burn the whole of King’s Landing down. He would not stop, he would descend into absolute madness, leaving nothing for his pretender of a half sister to rule. Everything ashes, destroyed and demolished.

The realm’s delight was a soothing gel, an apology from the Gods, a flourishing flower, a lover for Aemond and he would destroy anything and anyone that would intervene between them.

If the conclusion to this dangerous predicament was betraying his own mother, he did not find himself distressed by the idea.

Aemond didn't say anything, instead his hand wrapped around your wrist as he pulled you along with him. Known about Aegon’s whereabouts, he lead you to his chambers and upon entering, he saw the King engaging in a conversation with one of his squires.

“Out.”

The squire hurried, nodding its head and leaving the King’s presence at once.

Aemond pulled you along until you both were stood before the King. “Look at her. This is the consequence of your actions, Aegon.”

Aegon stared at you in pure scrutiny and as his purple irises ran over the marks of red fingers and palm imprinted on your cheek, his nostrils flared with anger. Your silver hair a mess, hair sticking out of your braids and your lips wobbled — everytime a fresh of tears sliding down and tainting your face even more.

“Who fucking dared to lay hand on the Princess? Give me their name and I will have their fucking head!” Aegon shouted and your previous rendezvous with your mother lead you to flinch, body leaning into Aemond’s in a desperate endeavor to seek comfort.

Aemond’s jaw tightened. “Alicent Hightower.”

“Mother? She wouldn't. Our sister is loved dearly by her.” Aegon’s eyebrows furrowed and Aemond scoffed. “Our sister was loved dearly by her, until she went ahead and broke the fucking rules.”

You sniffled, gaze lowered to the ground. The way your mother had addressed to you as some whore made you feel shame with such intensity, you could not even meet their gazes without bile rising up in your throat. Aegon walked to you, both hands reaching to cup your face. His thumb swiping across the mark in hopes that it would melt within the skin and disappear.

But it stayed behind.

“Aegon, she said–said I was worse than a whore. That she'd given birth to a whore instead of a Pr–Princess.” You bursted into a fit of tears and sobs, breaking apart in your brother's hold and Aegon looked at Aemond, a fire similar to his brother’s awakening in his purple gaze.

They were too eager, to protect you.

To get rid of their mother in this very instant but you needed them, you needed them to comfort you and be there for you.

“Listen to me.” Aegon lifted your head up, making you lock eyes with him. “There is no power in this world that can keep you away from us. Do you understand, my little dove? I will see the whole world burn before letting someone else have you.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Aemond wrapped his arms around you from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Gods, this was all they wanted. To have you for themselves, all to themselves. Just a simple little thing yet customs, traditions and what fucking not got in between.

It angered them both.

If Aegon the conqueror could take two wives, why couldn’t a Princess take two husbands?

Was their house not about securing their bloodline? What better way than wedding the Princess to her two brothers, the King and the Prince. It was the only solution to this mess and both your brothers would see it happen.

“Don't cry,” Aemond whispered against your nape. “I will burn everything down, please. Don't cry anymore.”

You understood what your brother implied with his words and love for him swelled in your chest. Your mere tears affected him to an extent he would commit such a gruesome crime, against his own mother too. You tried to quieten down, sobs turning into soft sniffles as the twitching of your shoulders came to a halt.

“Trust me, my Princess. You must have faith in me.” You nodded at Aegon’s comforting words.

After all he had the bigger play at hand. He was the King, the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and had everyone beneath him.

Your small hand reached over to hold Aegon’s face in it, fingers caressing the soft supple skin. “I'm terrified, Aegon. She wishes to wed me to Lord Tully.”

“Fucking Riverrun Lord.” Aegon cursed, shaking his head. “I will bring you his head, put it at your fucking feet.”

Aemond hummed at the idea in satisfaction as he could not imagine you being in the presence of another man. Laying in the arms of another, being bred, giving birth to some dark haired children. The image instilled him with repulsion.

“You belong to us.” Aemond growled in your ear, his bare fingers moving to push your hair aside, revealing your pale neck to him. You whimpered when you felt him press a kiss to your sensitive nape, body tensing up. “Every inch of you, sweet sister. Your beautiful hair, your soft lips, from your breasts to your little cunt. It belongs to us and it will fucking stay that way, forever. There is no one in the Seven Kingdoms that can stand between us.”

Your back arched, lower half pressing into Aemond while the upper half pushed against Aegon. Breasts flush into Aegon’s chest and ass curved perfectly against Aemond’s bulge. Your tears had dried off by now but your lip still twitched from the ferocity you'd faced.

Before things could escalate further, the door was slammed open and Alicent stood there, her calm expression switching into one of anger as she witnessed the state of you sandwiched between her brothers. The woman lost all calm — taking powerful strides towards you but before she could actually reach you and tear you apart from your brothers, they stood in front of you.

Concealing your small, shivering figure from their mother.

“I will not have you continue this debauchery and ruin the honor of your house!” Alicent shouted and Aegon felt you flinch, your small fingers wrapped around his sleeve. Your other hand doing the same to Aemond’s leather tunic.

Aemond swallowed, to compose himself but Aegon had little to no respect left for his mother anymore. “What you call debauchery are actions done by our predecessors. Do you not remember Aegon the conqueror taking two wives, mother?”

Alicent’s eyes widened. “He was a man, a King! You cannot suggest something as baffling as this.”

“I am not asking, I am telling you.” Aegon spoke, stepping forward.

But his mother was not going to have it. The woman reached for you, pushing past her sons and when her fingers managed to wrap around your frail wrist, she tugged and pain shot through your wrist. Your loud cry acting as an immediate order for your brothers to protect you.

“Let her go!” Aegon stepped forward and so did Aemond, holding his mother's hand as he pulled.

All the commotion only made you cry out even more, the metal from your mother's rings digging into your skin, almost piercing through it and evoking blood. “I will not tolerate this. Do not pull her into your sick desires, she is but a child!”

“She is a child for us but is old enough to wed Lord Tully? You were always a hypocrite, mother.” Aemond called out, trying to pull his raging mother apart from you without causing you much pain.

You sobbed, trying to somehow squirm your wrist out of your mother's grasp. “You are hurting me, mother.”

Alicent was too far gone to even consider the fact that she was bringing her own daughter pain. The slap was to reprimand you, how mothers often do their child but by now the metal had slashed through your skin, little droplets staining your mother's hand as well as your wrist.

Aegon glared at the woman. “I am your King and I command you to unhand the Princess or I will have your fucking head.”

That is when Alicent’s grip loosened, her adamance dropping and you were quick to pull out of her hold. Your wrist stung and as you held it, Aemond caught the red peeking beneath your skin. He did not realize when he stepped forward or when his hand found his mother's throat, or when he nearly suffocated her.

It was all too much, and too fast.

“Dare hurt her again and I will kill you with my own bare hands.” Aemond threatened — meaning every word with his whole chest and Alicent knew that this son of hers was capable of harming her.

But as was Aegon now, as he too had seen the blood tainting your pale skin.

“You will send a raven to Lord Tully and you will tell him the Princess will be marrying her brother, The King, to become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” It was spoken strictly but with an underlining of threat and Alicent could only nod.

Aemond released her and her hand immediately flew to grasp at her throat, dragging out choked and strained breaths.

“And then the Queen will have me as her second husband.” Aemond finished with a smug smile.

Alicent shook her head. “This is beyond unacceptable. The realm will not tolerate it.”

You stood there, lips trembling and eyes swollen as you continuously let out more tears. Your mother shot you a look of pure disgust but deep down she knew that it was not really your fault. Your brothers encouraged this mess, all of it but she didn't know that you too were hopelessly in love with both your brothers.

“We're the fucking Targaryens. Rulers of the the realm, we write history and make tradition.” Aegon said, proudly as he glanced at his sister with a softened look in his eye. “If anyone wishes to start a war over the Queen getting fucked by her two brothers, we're more than welcome to engage in it.”

Aegon knew sunfyre and Vhagar alone could clear out the whole of the realm.

Alicent spared you one last glance before turning around, running out of the room. Her state was the same as yours now and you almost felt a sense of pride. Yet the hurt had not subsided. Your own mother harming you like this was something you had never expected.

Once alone with your brothers, Aemond took a hold of your hand, as gently as he could and looked at it. There were droplets of blood everywhere on your wrist and he felt his own boil at the sight. “I shall call for the maester.”

He soon arrived and while he bandaged your wound as you laid on the bed, both brothers at each side, he could not ignore the tension with which the room was elevated. He finished his work as quickly as possible and after giving you a few drops of milk of the poppy, he left the chambers.

Aegon lifted your wrist, bringing it to his lips and you watched as your brother pressed kisses against the bandage. Featherlight and gentle.

“I—I feel bad.” You voiced out your feelings, somewhere feeling at fault for all this mess.

You blamed it on your abundance desire to prove your love for your brothers.

Aemond shifted closer to you, hand in your hair, fingers massaging your scalp. “You mustn't. You are not at fault, my sister. You're the most sweetest little girl and you deserve all the love in the world.”

Your cheeks bled crimson.

This was the first time ever Aemond had been this open with you, this raw and maybe it was because he almost lost you. He knew better than to be his usual stoic self with the likes of you.

“She wishes to wed you to someone too, Aemond.” You pouted, looking up at your brother. “I can't share you, I resent the idea of it. It brings me unease and repulses me. I think I might kill whoever you get betrothed to.”

Aemond nearly cooed at how your jealousy was finally pouring out. He exchanged a glance with Aegon who almost seemed proud that his little dove was capable of sounding this strict, but fucking adorable. Gods, they were a lost cause.

“The only person I will be marrying is you, sweet sister. I belong to you, and forever will.”

It was as if his words had magic and the pout disappeared from your lips, replaced by a honey smile. You moved your other hand and tugged at his sleeve. “Do I still get to wear that white dress for you tonight?”

“You're hurt, Gevie. I wouldn't wa—”

You quickly sat up. “I'm fine! Look at me, I'm perfectly fine. Please Aemond.”

“May I also know what the fuck is going on here about this white dress?” Came a very irritated question from Aegon as he looked between the two of you.

Your cheeks burned and Aemond decided to explain. “I told her to wear her white dress for me when I will visit her chambers tonight. Before, unexpectedly, this turn of events happened.”

“You meant to fuck our sister without me?”

Gods, his older brother was as dramatic as they came. Behaving as if he had not claimed you first and multiple times. “You took her maidenhood and then proceeded to fuck her in the gardens too. Let me have my fill.”

“You can have all your fill you fucking want, Aemond. I'm fine with just watching.” Aegon suggested and the idea wasn't so bad, only he knew that Aegon would eventually lose all restraint and end up joining them too.

He sighed. “Alright.”

Then he turned to you. “You okay? Can you go to your chambers and wait for me, hm?”

You quickly nodded your head, sitting up on your knees now. You pushed forward and put all your weight on your palms, leaning in to kiss your brother's lips. You felt your older brother's hand roam over your spine, moving against your head as he pushed your lips deeper against Aemond’s.

“Suck on it, come on.” Aegon encouraged you, recalling the lessons. “Exactly how I taught you, little dove.”

You nodded as your cunt produced the essence of your arousal. Your lips puckered up, closing around Aemond’s upper one as you sucked. His hand moved to grab a handful of your breasts and you whimpered into the kiss. It soon ended when both of you pulled apart to inhale some oxygen.

Your cheeks flushed and lips swollen.

“I need you to go now, my sweet sister.”

You hopped off the bed, not before giving Aegon a kiss too but with less intensity and not that he minded. He knew he'd have his fill of yours sooner or later too. For now it was his younger brother's turn to own you, to claim you fully.

Aegon’s stomach churned with anticipation, thinking of Aemond driving his cock into the walls of your tight cunt and he shuddered meanwhile Aemond’s own cock hardened at the sight of you walking out of the chambers, hips swaying here and there.

Both were painfully hard.

“I want to breed her, get her with child.” Aemond suddenly broke the silence and Aegon chuckled. “Even if it is your child, we wouldn't know for sure. Look at us, we look the fucking same.”

“Perhaps,” Aemond agreed. His brother had a very valid point. Two Targaryen men fucking a Targaryen girl — all of them having silver hair and the same features, only a tad bit different.

Aemond stared at the door. “She has not shown signs as of yet, so I must fuck her over and over again until I know for sure she is with child.”

“Are you that desperate to have your child inside her, or maybe it is the Iron Throne you wish to see your child to ascend.” Aemond groaned, body going slump in the sheets at his brother's words.

It was not his desire, as obvious as it seemed it was.

“You took her maidenhood, Aegon. I want her to bear my child first.”

Aegon stared at his brother, blinking shortly before breaking into a fit of laughter. He could not believe that his cunning brother cared more about petty emotions such as jealousy than actually using this situation to put his heir on the throne. It was too amusing for him.

“You are fucking obsessed, brother.”

Nightime fell.

The hour of the bat had settled in, the moon proudly beaming up in the dark sky, dominating it.

You were already dressed in your white dress, awaiting your brothers but the butterflies of anticipation nipped at your stomach for Aemond.

You paced back and forth in the room, the white end of your dress trailing behind you. The doors were soon pushed open and you saw Aemond walk in. His staunter always filling you with excitement, as heat rushed to your face. His sword glued to his hip and you tried peeking behind but to your disappointment, your older brother was nowhere to be found.

It was only Aemond.

“Brother, where is Aegon?”

Aemond stopped in front of you, hands held behind his slim back. “Oh, did my sweet sister not wish to see me?”

Your face contorted in confusion and you were quick to shake your head. Hand reaching to grasp around your younger brother's, a frown ceasing your delicate features. “Absolutely not, Aemond. In fact I have been looking forward to seeing you, my eyes were glued to my door.”

Your confession made him chuckle as he brought his hand up to your face, caressing the skin with the back of his fingers.

“Is that so?” Aemond asked. To you he seemed normal, stoic and devoid of any emotions but on the inside Aemond battled his demons. Restraint was slowly slipping and the Prince wished for nothing more than to fuck you, right here, against the fucking floor if he willed. His desires were often concealed, kept at bay which made him more dangerous than his brother, Aegon.

He'd kept himself pure, untouched for you.

Aegon encouraged him, to indulge in other women. Whores that would keep his lust for his own sister at bay but as usual, Aemond always declined. He knew that his body only yearned for his sister, not some used whore fucked by countless.

His pure — sweet innocent sister.

You nodded your head with a pout forming on your lips. “I missed you. I waited for you ever since I left Aegon's chambers. For a moment I thought you wouldn't come.”

“How could I not come?” Aemond whispered, breath mingling with yours. “Do you think me cruel enough to make my beautiful sister wait like this?”

With a shake of your head, you covered Aemond’s hand on your cheek with yours. A soft lick of your tongue at your lips made your brother lose the idea of self control, his cold demeanor crumbling apart. His boots tapped aggressively over the floor as he cornered you against the pillar of your bed. Your breath hitched — throat parching as Aemond buried his face in your neck, his nose catching whiff of your scent.

“Iksan ribazmoqitta syt ao, mandia.” Aemond murmured and you whimpered at his High Valyrian, feeling his nose trail up your neck and then back down, grazing against your collar bones. (I'm crazy for you, sister)

Your thighs subconsciously pressed together and Aemond noticed it. He licked his own lips as he brought his face up to yours and locked lips with you. You were take aback by the sheer aggression he held, how violet he was being when his large hands began ripping away at the dress. One shoulder ripped while the other in a perfect state. His fingers clasped around your waist, digging into the skin as he moved his mouth skilfully against yours.

All that you had learned, was now slowly disappearing from your mind as your brother dominated your mouth like a savage. You gasped when he pushed open your thighs with his knee, settling it between them. Aemond took your gasp as a chance to slip his tongue inside your mouth and the moment he did, you reached heaven. His rigid tongue battled with yours, wrapping around it and sucking on it eagerly like a babe sucking milk from its mother’s teats.

“Ae—”

You tried parting from him but he didn't allow it. Simply, he sat down on the bed and pulled you onto his thigh. Everytime Aemond would bounce up his thigh, a whine would escape your lips feeling the rigidity of skin deliver sensations to your sweet pearl. Your hands moved to his shoulders, laying as you tried to hold yourself together.

“Tonight I get to be the one inside your cunt, sweet sister.” Aemond growled, his chest rumbling with unlaced desires. “Your little cunt will be the first I would ever fuck.”

Your eyes widened. Confusion clouding your features as you'd assumed your brothers has already done this before. Aegon had — so why did Aemond hesitate? Before you could question him, your lips fell apart and desperate whimpers orchestrated.

“I-I will be your first?” You somehow managed and Aemond nodded, bouncing you on his thigh.

He was fucking hard, his cock stirring in his breeches. “Yes, my Princess. I made a promise that is it only your cunt I shall drive my cock in.”

You whimpered. “Oh, Aemond.”

Your brother had lost every bit of restraint and had been tipped over the edge. Aemond pushed you off him onto the bed and watched with his one eye as your small body bounced off the mattress, an expression of shock adorning your features. He wasn't going to be as soft as Aegon — he knew that deep down and he was going to make sure that you knew it too.

Jealousy that Aegon had you first riled him up.

Aemond stared at you, dress ripped and hair a beautiful mess, silky strands laying over your shoulders. Your dress ripped in places, shreds of it missing. He swallowed, hands unbuckling his belt and tossing his heavy sword aside, followed by the removal of his gloves and clothes. You stared at your brother in pure awe as he finally stood before you in all his glory.

Aemond was taller, leaner, sharper.

His muscles taut and standing out from the rest of him.

He crawled towards you, like a dangerous animal and in this moment Aemond almost resembled Vhagar. How he stalked closer to you, instilling fear within you as your brother reached for your ankle and clasped his fingers around it, tugging on it and pulling you closer to him.

“Open your legs.” It was a command, that was proven. “Be a good little girl and show me your sweet cunt."

You obliged, thighs parting open and the cold air brushing against your soaked cunt caused heat and chills to take over. Aemond let out a groan at the sight. How sweetly you parted your legs and how your pink pussy peeked back at him — glistening from your creamy arousal. It enticed him like nothing else, sending hot blood rushing down into the veins of his cock.

“Do you grow this wet each time I speak a word in High Valyrian?” He asked with a soft scoff, embarrassing you furthermore. Your hands had fisted at your chest as you slowly dragged your head up and down. Aemond had the most beautiful High Valyrian you'd ever heard and it would be a lie to say it did not work to entice you.

It was alluring.

Aemond didn't waste time getting on top of of you, holding his cock as he aligned it along your hole.

His ache to be inside you was something he tried to suppress since the past few days but he failed. Every time taking the company of his own hand, using it to bring him relief and imagining it to be his sister's cunt. He was a depraved man, worse than Aegon.

“Aemond,” you whimpered when your brother pushed past your folds, his thick cock head stretching you beyond your limits. It proved that it was thicker than Aegon's, more longer and your back rose up from the mattress.

Aemond rested his weight on one bent elbow by the side of your face while his other grabbed your chin, fingers dimpling in your cheeks. “Look at me. Look at me while I fuck you, sweet sister. Fucking look at me.”

Though his words were full of aggression, his voice was soft like the clouds. Everything about him was rough, with sharp edges but his voice. It was gentle and it drove you fucking insane. Growing drunk on it everytime you listened.

Your stomach twisted as Aemond buried himself inside you to the hilt with one single push. It sent your body forward and your eyes rolled into the darkness based at the back of your skull. Tears fell as your wet walls sucked in your brother's cock, wrapped tightly around and Aemond groaned — thighs shuddering. It was his first time and Aemond realized it was worth the wait. It was worth turning down the whores, declining their offers or looking down upon them. It was all fucking worth it and your brother had finally found solace from the war in your delicious cunt.

“Gods,” Aemond almost whined like a child at how good you felt, fitting his cock perfectly like you were made for him. “You were so worth the wait, sister. If it is to fuck you, to put a babe in you, to breed you, I would wait a hundred years more.”

His hands shifted to grab your thighs, pushing them up. Your legs went up in the air and your eyes slammed open, widening at the brazen position your brother had contorted your body in. Aemond pushed more and eventually your thighs met your breasts as he began to pound his cock into you, watching how it slipped in and out of your gummy walls — the sound of flesh meeting flesh sending him over the edge.

Your stomach was taut and with a new, strong thrust you felt your brother's cock prod at the skin of your stomach, a newfound pleasure dominated your body. Aemond had not only found your sweet spot but also tore through all barriers, reaching your womb.

“Aemond, my brother. Brother— oh please!”

The aforementioned’s pace only picked up upon hearing you address to him as yours. It was enough to make him go fucking insane as he pummeled his cock deeper inside you, watching the bulge form on your stomach with a frustrated expression. All the pent up tension from war, training endlessly for hours and anger towards his enemies was slowly pouring out.

Aemond knew that he would break you. He wholly possessed the power for it.

“Gevie riña, ñuha gevie riñītsos.” Aemond moaned, his silky hair caressing your face, softly. “Kesan dīnagon iā rūs isse ao.” Your pussy’s endeavor to suck your brother in did not go unnoticed by him. You were truly a sight as your cunt throbbed around Aemond’s cock when he'd spoken High Valyrian. It left you in a complete daze, your own desires pooling in your stomach.(Beautiful girl, my beautiful little girl. I won't stop until you're with child)

A hoarse chuckle escaped Aemond. “It arouses you, my sweet sister? Listening to your brother speak High Valyrian? I can feel your little cunt trying to swallow me whole.”

Heat rushed beneath your cheeks as you nodded your head, fingernails dragging down against his biceps, evoking streams of blood.

Both of you were so occupied with one another, no one noticed Aegon entering your chambers or walking towards the two of you, or when he took a seat on a chair facing the bed. You cried out, tears continuously sliding down as Aemond’s rapid thrusts made him pant like an animal in heat.

“Careful now, you'll break the poor girl.” Aegon interrupted his brother's debauchery.

Aemond’s hips came to a halt, but his cock was still sunken inside you. He glared at his brother, the sapphire dancing in his empty eye socket. A sight he'd entrusted few people with.

“Continue.” was all Aegon said, slumping back into his seat.

He watched with a lustful gaze as his younger brother continued to drill his cock into your cunt, squelching sounds filling the air in the room. You were a sobbing mess and Aegon acknowledged that his brother was the beast amongst them both. With how relentless Aemond seemed, growing impatient second by second.

He soon switched positions, flipping you on your stomach like a rag doll and pulling you up by your frail arms against his broad, well-built chest. His cock was still inside you and as Aemond held you over it, he brought his lips to your ear.

“Hop now, sweet sister. Give our older brother a show.” All you could do was sniffle, tears blurring your vision as you started to lift your ass up. You somehow made a rhythm, bouncing up and down on Aemond’s cock while he put his weight on his palms forced into the mattress.

Your back glistened with sweat and oils — pale skin a replica of the moon. Even compared to the moon, you were somehow the most prettiest. Your hair got in your face, hovering as you grinded on your brother's cock.

Heat emanated from your petite figure whilst your parted drool covered lips let out the most delicious little sounds.

Aemond glanced at Aegon and found him already with his cock in his hand. Erect with precum leaking from his tip. He stroked himself while watching you ride his brother like your life depended on it. The dedication your face was riddled with made him breathless.

“She's so obedient.” Aemond grunted as you pushed down on his cock. “It almost makes me want to devour her whole.”

Aegon nodded in agreement, eyebrows closed in together as the movement of his hand fastened.

Aemond reached for your arms, pulling you against his chest and taking the lead. He thrusted up, his hips finding a rhythm to work with as his grip tightened on your skin. You whined, head thrown over his shoulder as Aemond felt his peak dance around him.

“Invite Aegon in.” He whispered against your ear. “Be a good sister and help him.”

You turned to Aegon, your cunt tightening around Aemond at the sight of your brother this disheveled and out of breath.

“A-Aegon, please come here.”You whimpered, patting the bed and Aegon rose up from the chair, shifting on the bed and sitting in front of you. You reached for his cock, wrapping your hand around it. Slick covered your hand as you moved it up and down, your thumb caressing the slit of his head.

The three of you moaned in unison, whines along with groans and grunts filling up the room. The scenario almost reminded Aegon of the brothel he'd often visit and he sighed, throwing his head back as he let you bring him the best of pleasures. Your little wrist moved swiftly, to drag an orgasm out of your brother – his cock throbbing and warm against your skin.

Aemond held you tightly, using your cunt to satisfy himself. You felt so fucking small in his hold and the thought of putting a child in you drove him insane.

“I'm going to taint your pretty walls all white, sweet sister.” Aemond whispered from behind in your ear, his deep voice birthing chills on your spine while Aegon let out desperate whines, close to bursting in your small hand.

He soon came — white fluid staining your pale hand, almost the same color. You sobbed as Aemond’s thrusts increased, growing more relentless. Your brother tossed you on the bed after you'd pleasured Aegon and buried his cock deep inside you, your knees helping you support your ass perched in the air.

Your back arched, face buried in the sheets, Aemond took you from behind. His cock prodding over and over again at your sensitive spot.

“Greedy cunt.” Aemond grunted, large hands cupping the entirety of your waist as he felt his peak near. “You like this, hm? You enjoy getting destroyed by your brothers. Gods, sister. You're such a fucking cocksleeve.”

Holding onto to the tethered pieces of his sanity and humanity, your brother drilled his cock into you. Loud pants concealed by the sounds of skin against skin, Aemond growled as his balls throbbed to fill you with his seed and he did – shooting ropes of his spent inside you. Holding you against him as he filled you up.

“Aemond! Please, please. Too much, can't take it—Brother please!” Your muffled wails echoed, sobbing into the pillows and all Aemond did was fuck into you harder, more rougher. It was too much for your little body but Aemond was too far gone.

With a loud muffled cry, you tightened around your brother and came all over his cock. Your gummy walls so tight, so wet, enough to tear an orgasm through your brother too. Aemond pumped you full of his load, his thrusts slowing down as he moved his hips sensually now, in slow strokes, fucking his spent deep into you.

Surely this would get you with his child.

“Fuck.” Aemond shivered as you milked him dry, sucking him in more and more until you'd drained him fucking dry of any more seed. “You're so desperate to have my child inside you.”

He was right.

The idea of being swollen with your brother's babe was innocent but it enticed you to no ends.

For a moment your body was allowed to rest as Aemond let it go, watching how it fell against the mattress but then you felt it being lifted up again. Your eyes that had fluttered shut now snapped open again as Aegon pulled apart your buttocks, revealing your gaping hole with his own brother's residual leaking out.

Aegon didn't waste a moment sliding his own hardened cock inside the same hole his brother was in not long ago. Your energy was spent and you let it happen, your older brother holding your lower body as he used you to bring himself to a release.

All you could do was sob and let out tiny whines of disapproval.

“Sh, sh.” You felt a hand on your head and turned your head to find a naked Aemond sitting by your side. “Its okay. He deserves this, yeah? Let him fuck my seed further into your womb.”

You could only nod but your strained face let your brother know how tired you were. He glanced up at Aemond and found him already on the brink of his peak — his nails digging into the flesh of your arse as he continued digging his cock deeper into you. Aegon loved how because of his brother's seed slicking your walls, his own cock slid easily in an out of you. The wet sounds arousing him to no extent.

Soon he also filled you up, spending fully inside you and colliding next to you. Aegon immediately began to leech off your warmth, burying his face in your neck as he let out a murmur.

You whimpered, feeling heavy with the seed of both your brothers. Your cunt had grown heavy as you felt the warm liquid seep out of your hole, making a mess on your thighs and sliding down your clit. Your head nuzzled into Aemond’s side for comfort as both brothers laid next to you, cuddling you like their life depended on it.

Days had passed.

You paced back and forth in your room, fingers fiddling with one another. Your heart thumping rapidly in your chest, impatiently awaiting the arrival of your brother – husbands in your shared chambers.

Right after spending the night together, on the morrow both your brothers married you and dared all the members of the small council, lords, high born or low borns to come and challenge them. Prevent your union but no one dared to.

Turns out, one could do anything when you're in possession of three dragons, Seven Kingdoms and the crown.

The doors of the chambers opened and you smiled upon seeing them. One with crown, other with sword. Your feet took off as you embraced both your brothers in a tight grip and inhaled their scents.

“Hello to you too, wife.” Aegon chuckled, bringing his arm to wrap it around you, Aemond pursuing his actions.

You broke apart and pulled the two to the bed, sitting them down and the two exchanged a silent look between them, rather puzzled by your ecstatic behavior. You let out a sigh, bracing yourself.

“I have something to share.”

Aemond raised a brow. “Go on, wife.”

The term of endearment always filled you with butterflies each time you were addressed with it. Gods, your cheeks were swollen from smiling to an extent they hurt from it.

You beamed. “I'm with child.”

Both brothers looked at one another. Aemond was stunned but Aegon stood up, surprise in his gaze. “You–You're with child? I'll be a father, I'll be a fucking father!”

You nodded and then looked at Aemond but all he did was press an open palm over your flat stomach before also rising to his feet and leaning forward. “You've made us the happiest in all of Weteros.” Aemond pressed a kiss to your forehead and then embraced you in a hug, Aegon joining in. Both of them were beyond happy and could not believe that they were going to be fathers.

It mattered not that who the actual father to the child in your womb was — as long as it was fathered by one of them. They would love the babe no matter the gender, no matter who's blood coursed through its veins which made your heart flutter as you knew it.

Despite having such a controversial relationship, the three of you were pleased, content and happy.

913 notes · View notes