#Aegon II x You

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

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

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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.

[br0kenangel]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐃♡𝐠𝐬 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Plagued Aegon x Plagued Reader part 1

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.

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

[ripdragonbeans]

Bonded To Dragons Prologue

Loosely based off of Bonds That Tie by J Bree

Reader x Aemond, Reader x Aegon II, Reader x Jace

Summary: War is starting and it's time for you to meet your Bonded. Will you and your Bonded get together and step up to help win the war?

TW: none

Being a Central Bond has many perks. Everyone would dream to be part of the Targaryen Bond but no one, least of all you, would expect to be their Central Bond. All of Westeros either despised the family or wanted to be part of it. You? You just wanted to be safe. Sadly, with a war brewing, finding safety was few and far between.

When the war first broke out there was a rush to the Blood Tests to find out who was Bonded to who, if you are Bonded in the first place. Your parents were doing the same just as everyone else, trying to keep their child safe. Everyone knew that being part of a powerful Bond group, not just being Bonded to one person, could provide protection. 

The day you learned you were the Central Bond to the Targaryen brothers, your whole life turned upside down. You knew of both of them. Aegon was a party guy and Aemond was the studious, disciplined one. That's all you knew. You didn't know who they were as people. 

There was a third Bond, however. Someone by the name of Jacaerys Velaryon. This one you didn't know at all. The last name was familiar but didn't ring any bells. 

You looked at the piece of paper with the names of your Bonded on them and sighed. You would do this. For your family, you would do this to keep them safe. For your community you would do this to keep them safe. Powerful Bonds usually became part of a Crew to help protect the community. It was no secret that the Targaryen Bond would be powerful; this meant that you'd be powerful as well. 

Before you opened the door you sent up a silent prayer to whatever gods there were to grant you strength and courage. It was time to meet your Bonded.

[aemondfairy]

The Albatross

summary: Originally an unlikely match, you give birth to Aegon’s first child and his entire world changes.

pairing: Aegon x Strong!Reader

word count: 767

warnings: Description of pain & childbirth, brief mention of blood, guilt.

note: “Albatross” is used metaphorically as a psychological burden dealing with shame or guilt! (and shout out to Taylor Swift)

Aegon wanted to hate you. He wanted to hate your hair and your eyes. Your thick eyelashes, the freckles that dusted your cheeks, the way your nose scrunched when you laughed. Despite wanting to hate you in your entirety, he found himself physically incapable of doing so. As a young boy he refused to admit it, even going so far as to tease you for your features — but he thought you were beautiful. If anything, you could’ve resembled his mother more than a Targaryen.

It wasn’t your features that were wrong, but who you inherited them from; you and your brother’s served as living, breathing reminders of Rhaenyra’s infidelity.

Alicent Hightower had been sure to remind him and his siblings that you and your brothers were a product of their older sister's infidelity. An embarrassment to the family. An insult to the crown, to the realm. Abominations. Bastards.

Screams of pain shook the walls of the Red Keep.

“I can’t do this anymore, Aegon! Please make it stop, it hurts!” you rasped, clawing at the blood-soaked bedsheets. It had been almost 24 hours since your labors had begun. To everyone's surprise, Aegon had yet to leave your side.

“We’re almost there, my love. You’re doing a great job,” your husband encouraged as he placed a chaste kiss to your sweat-drenched forehead, which you only returned with a death glare.

“I cannot take it anymore! Just get it out! Cut it out if you have to!”

One of your handmaids tried to dab at your forehead with a cloth, but you gripped her hand forcefully.

Aegon gave her a sympathetic look as he got her out of your grasp, locking his fingers with yours.

“You know we can’t do that, my love. I will not risk losing you.”

You winced as your midwife slid a finger around the base of your opening. All day long you had been violated against your will. Childbirth was not only painful, but humiliating. For Aegon’s sake, you silently prayed the babe was a boy. You weren’t sure if you would be willing to go through this again.

“I can feel the head, your grace. Just a few more big pushes for me and the babe will be here.”

You groaned loudly, your teeth grinding together as another contraction wracked your frame. Pain radiated down your spine and into your groin. You felt like you were being ripped apart at the seams. Being eaten by Sunfyre seemed to be a more pleasant fate than this.

“You hear that? You’re almost done. You’re doing so good.”

You squeezed onto Aegon’s hand as hard as you could, pushing with all the strength in your body. The harder you pushed, the sooner it would be over. You needed it to be over. With a final push, your vision began to blur and your mind went blank.

Before you knew it, loud cries pulled you back to Earth, and coo’s from your handmaidens filled the room. You laid back with a sigh of relief.

Finally.

The handmaids quickly handed the babe to Aegon so you could get cleaned up.

“A girl,” she stated proudly, “and she looks just like you, my queen.”

“Like me?” You shot up.

“Lay back your grace, you need to relax,” she scolded you.

Throughout your pregnancy there was a fear in the back of your mind, that if the babe inherited your features that Aegon would be disappointed. Turns out, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Yes,” he chuckled, tears swelling in his eyes, “like you. She is absolutely beautiful.”

He placed the baby in your arms, smiling down at the two of you.

A wave of guilt had crashed over Aegon at the sight of his newborn daughter. As well as your initial reaction to her looks. Thinking about the torment you endured for those same features in a world full of violet eyes and snow-white hair. How could he have been so cruel to you for something so fickle?

He couldn’t help but think about Ser Harwin Strong. And the fact that he probably shared the same thoughts as him the first time he laid eyes on you as a babe. This baby was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and the thought of anyone making her believe anything else made his blood boil. He would simply not allow it. Anyone who even dare whisper a word regarding your daughters features would lose their tongue for it.

Although the responsibility of sitting the Iron Throne loomed heavy over Aegon’s head it wasn’t until this very moment that he had true reason to be motivated to rule: his new family

[controld3vil]

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.

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Dinner & Diatribes

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

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

Pairing: Modern Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

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

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

It was precisely 9:39 PM on a Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, I’m high.”

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

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

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

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

“That was weird as fuck, right?”

Then a sixth.

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

He finishes up with a seventh message.

“Unless you do…”

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

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

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

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

“Be there soon,” you reply with haste. 

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

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

Finally, you knock. 

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

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

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

Then again, neither did Ted Bundy.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Water is fine,” you tell him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m listening.”

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

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

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

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

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

There’s only one way this night ends.

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

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

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

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

It’s good. Better than most. 

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

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

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

“Yeah?” He asks with a toothy grin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[gtgbabie0]

-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💕

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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.

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

[nalyniavadelletargaryen]

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.

[idksmtms]

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? 

[targaryen-dynasty]

A LITTLE PREDICAMENT.

Aemond Targaryen x female!Targaryen!Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

While you share little sympathy with any of the people present, you know you can’t get any closer to learning about your heritage than you are right now. Aegon and Aemond are served to you on a silver platter, and if there is one thing your grandmother has taught you, it’s that there certainly is one way to charm yourself into a man’s heart to get what you desire.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; canon typical incest/targcest (reader is the granddaughter of Saera Targaryen), threesome, p in v, oral (m receiving), semi public sex, voyeurism, high valyrian, reader has silver hair and lilac eyes

WORDS: 4.3 K

NOTES: I finally put my thoughts of this scene into words! Enjoy! Thanks to @sylasthegrim and @zaldritzosrose 🤍

The stench of sweat and wine alike fills the brothel, following you as you roam through the crowd of patrons and whores, pushing past the several curtains that separate the lounging chambers from the more… private areas. 

Is that what your grandmother had in mind when she sent you away to learn more about your Targaryen heritage? You highly doubt it, but the madam, Sylvi or so you have learnt, does everything in her power to make your stay as pleasant as possible. Perhaps that is just because she owes your side of the family something neither women dare tell you, yet you care too little to delve deeper into the topic. 

Saera Targaryen has grown frail over the years, approaching the age at which the Stranger had taken her own mother back in 100AC, and rests on her laurels she’s earned herself over the years working in the pleasure gardens of Lys before she eventually built her own kingdom in form of a pleasure house in Volantis. 

Therefore it definitely is not a surprise you’ve taken after her. Partly, at least, because although you wander through a brothel, your long, silver curls and lilac eyes catching the attention of several men around, it has always been up to you to decide if you grant them your attention or not – the earned, well-deserved respect and reputation of your grandmother clearly coming in handy. 

You balance a tray with a chalice full of wine and two goblets on your hand as you prowl through the busy rooms, even though getting drunk is not what most men come here for. There is nothing out of the ordinary taking place – until a flash of silver hair comes into your vision. 

You have grown used to the presence of the late king’s second son, Prince Aemond Targaryen, by now, visiting the brothel almost every night to seek comfort in the arms of Sylvi. And since tonight was no different, you’re certain the brothel has been granted the presence of not one but two Targaryen men at once; the newly crowned king donning an attire no commoner could ever afford. 

Blending in with your surroundings never was too difficult, not when everyone was occupied anyways. You place the tray aside and cling to the walls and curtains as you follow him and his entourage, trying your hardest to make out what they say while not getting caught. 

But even before you can fully process the bits of information you’ve gathered, Aegon starts to pull aside one curtain after the other, revealing the private quarters for the well-paying patrons. While most of them do not care, that much can not be said about the patron within the third room. 

Where you haven’t heard his voice before, his howling laughter all but bounces off the walls. “Aemond the fierce,” he mocks in between laughter, pointing at his younger brother. “You have come so far, and yet you still lie with your very first.”

With Aegon stepping towards the settee, an embarrassed Aemond comes into view, and while you share little sympathy with any of them, you know you can’t get any closer to learning about your heritage than you are right now. Aegon and Aemond are served to you on a silver platter, and if there is one thing your grandmother has taught you, it’s that there’s one way to charm yourself into a man’s heart to get what you desire. 

In a quick act, you slip out of the flimsy piece of Lysene silk that hugs your curves, baring yourself completely. You swallow thickly as you make your way toward the room, striding past the king’s men and into it. 

“Nyke gōntan daor nūmāzma naejot mazverdagon ao umbagon, ñuha dārilaros,” you say, clearly talking to Aemond. Your voice is smooth, despite the slight Lyseni accent weaving itself through it. I did not mean to make you wait, my prince. 

The prince is clearly dumbfounded, but not as much as the king whose laughter has suddenly died off again, the cocked eyebrow indicating that he’s just as surprised as his younger brother is. None of the people involved speak, yet curiosity is written all over their features. 

“My… My apologies for letting you wait, Prince Aemond.” Your eyes flit over to Sylvi, a meek smile on your lips. “Thank you for keeping him occupied while I tended to another patron, madam.” She gives you a soft smile, one that a mother gives, and nods to you before she leaves the room – figuring your intentions. 

You walk around Aemond, softly grazing your fingertips over his shoulder as you come to stop in front of him. From where you stand, you can see Aegon sitting up a little straighter, curiosity and lechery alike flickering in his eyes.  

“Have you found a new whore, brother? Do you fuck her like a hound? Woof!” Aegon mocks, his eyes dragging over your naked frame. 

While the prince clearly is surprised by your actions, there’s also some sense of vulnerability still surrounding him, making him shun away from the encounter. 

Raising a brow, you tilt your head down to look at Aemond who’s not meeting your gaze. “My apologies, my prince, but have I known that His Grace intended to join us tonight, I would have prepared… finer quarters for us.” It’s a bold statement, you know that, one that allows Aemond to take charge in this conversation, to save himself from any more embarrassment. 

And much to your surprise, that finally stirs something in him. 

Aemond tilts his head, meeting your eyes, before he turns slightly to look at Aegon. One of his large hands clasps around your wrist, effortlessly pulling you on the settee right next to him. There might be a hint of protectiveness and jealousy coming over him, having no desire to let his brother take advantage of you now, but it’s also the want to consolidate and prove his superiority, that he’s not the failure his brother makes out of him. He has looked more like a wounded dog rather than the fierce dragon prince he is when Aegon has caught him with Sylvi, but that is no more.

“Oh, this is completely sufficient for His Grace. Besides, we do not mind the company, do we?” Aemond asks you now, trailing his hand over the curve of your waist. “The more the merrier.”

The proximity and his touch causes a shiver to run down your spine, and for a moment it’s you being at a loss of words. You lean into his touch, an amused smile on your lips as you look over to Aegon. “Are you sure that is what you want, my prince?” you ask in a low whisper that’s only for Aemond to hear. “I am certain there would be another woman gladly taking care of His Grace…” you speak louder now, gaze flitting over to the king’s dumbfounded entourage, silently watching the exchange. “... or rather his squire.”

But the king wouldn’t be a Targaryen, if he didn’t enjoy a challenge every now and then. 

His lips curve into a wide smirk, almost smug, as he flicks his hand to dismiss his following. “Ah, it seems you have found yourself a feisty one, brother,” he notes. “I wouldn’t mind being entertained by both of you at once,” he suggests, the smirk growing even wider. “It would be a shame not to share such beauty with your own blood, would it not?”

You feel Aemond’s grip on your waist tighten, squeezing your flesh almost painfully harsh. “Very well,” he agrees, his jaw clenching almost as if he’s biting down the words. “You may stay and watch if that’s what you desire so much, Your Grace, but you will not touch her.”

The elder raises his hands in feigned surrender, chuckling. “Of course, I won’t, brother,” he assures in a sarcastic tone. “I shall only watch the delightful performance you two are about to put on for me. And it will be my turn to join when she begs for me to finish what you can not.”

“Save your breath,” he spits. “You will not hear such words leave her lips. I guarantee it.”

Sensing the tension growing between the brothers, both very clearly sharing the hot blood of the dragon, you know it’s your time to de-escalate the situation before it goes any more wrong and ruins your chances of retrieving the desired information. 

You gently place a hand on Aemond’s chest, your fingers tracing a soothing pattern, and flash him a reassuring smile. Only once you notice his tensed muscles easing very slightly do you turn to Aegon, smile widening as you speak in a sultry tone. 

“Now, my king, do not get ahead of yourself,” you say. “You first ought to see what your brother is capable of. But I assure you, you do not have to worry about me being unsatisfied.”

The prince’s annoyance at his brother momentarily vanishes with your gentle touch and words, the possessive heat he feels only fueled by it. His hand moves up from your waist, gently wrapping around the back of your neck, bringing your face closer to his. “Indeed,” he agrees with a smirk. “You best watch and learn, Aegon. I shall be generous enough to give you a show worth watching.”

With his warm breath fanning over your lips and his intense gaze all but burning into yours as he speaks, you feel yourself unable to wait any longer for something that initially was not what you wanted, acting before thinking and pressing your lips to his for a heated kiss. 

A sense of urgency weaves itself through his movements when both his hands clasp around your waist, pulling you right into his lap without breaking the kiss once. He is hard and heavy beneath you, nestled tightly between your soaked and swollen folds. You subconsciously start to grind against him, sliding back and forth and coating him in your essence. 

Aemond’s soft grunts and groans rumble in his chest and you swallow them greedily. Your hands entangle into the hair at the nape of his neck, and you tilt your head back to whimper against his lips the moment the tip of his cock rubs against your pearl. 

You have all but forgotten that it’s not just the two of you in this private space, at least until Aegon’s heavy breaths ring in your ears. But you can’t bring yourself to look at him, not because you’re embarrassed by the current predicament you’ve found yourself in, but because Aemond seizes all of your attention by lifting your hips to align his hard cock with your entrance. 

A shuddered breath slips past your lips at the feeling of his cock slowly stretching you open as you sink down, his grip on your hip growing harsher with the tight embrace of your wet and warm cunt. 

Once you’re fully seated, his grip urges your hips back and forth, not giving you a moment to adjust to his size and the painful sting of accommodating his girth. The tip of his cock brushes your sweet spot with every movement, coaxing one sweet sound of pleasure after the other from your lips already. 

You dare looking at Aegon sitting on the settee with you, albeit not longer than a few seconds, and while you notice his gaze neatly fixed on you and his brother with a smirk remaining on his lips, you also see that the sense of mockery in his eyes slowly starts to fade away to something entirely different.

Quickly averting your gaze, you focus on Aemond, leaning over him to brace yourself with your arms slung around his neck. Your walls clench around his solid weight inside of you as they start to move faster, the grinding becoming more determined and purposeful. 

It’s the quiet, strained ‘fuck’ the prince beneath you releases with his head tipped back that causes a surge of boldness and confidence to soar through you, tearing your gaze off of him to lock it with the king’s. Flitting down, your glossy eyes fall to his hand rubbing and squeezing his hard cock through his black breeches at the sight of you mounting his brother like he mounts his beloved dragon. 

With his back facing him, Aemond does not seem to have a clue about what his brother is doing, yet you’re not quite sure if he even cares about it or his presence in general. If anything, it could be counted as the validation he’s come to crave. 

Blissful moans start to pour from you as you finally find the most pleasing rhythm, the tips of your fingers burying themselves into the plane of Aemond’s broad, muscular shoulders. He barely hisses at the pain, too occupied dragging his nose along the curve of your neck and shoulders to your tits, before one perky bud is immediately embraced by his lips. 

You continue grinding down on him, sucking his hard member in with each movement, sobs and moans of pleasure steadily streaming out of your mouth. It’s the gentle nips of his teeth that make your eyes squeeze shut in delight, the fire inside of you causing you to tear your eyes off Aegon. 

The angle in which you grind your hips down on his allows you to rub your pearl against the base of his cock, the wispy, silver hair at it dragging against it enough to slowly tighten the knot inside of you. 

But much to your surprise, the pace and rhythm doesn’t seem to be sufficient enough for Aemond, despite the grunts and groans that rumble in his chest, and you soon enough find yourself ripped away from the growing pressure inside of you, flipped over to lie flat on your belly, facing Aegon now and looking up at him with wide eyes. 

You hardly have time to catch a glimpse of Aemond from over your shoulder before he positions himself between your parted thighs, forcing his cock inside of you in one, swift thrust that knocks the air straight from your lungs. You scramble for anything to hold onto to keep yourself grounded, knuckles turning white from how tightly you're fisting the sheets. 

His upper body slightly bends forwards and towers over yours as he rests one hand at your shoulder and the other at your hip. The pace of his thrusts is nothing short of ruthless, and he uses the grip he has to pull you back onto his cock for your bodies to meet halfway, the most obscene sounds of skin slapping on skin perfectly audible, hardly drowned out by Aegon’s grunts and groans. 

“Are you enjoying the show, Your Grace?” Aemond suddenly rasps between heavy breaths, voice laced with a hint of mockery and challenge. “Perhaps even learning something useful about how to pleasure a woman?”

You spot Aegon’s gaze darkening slightly at his brother’s words, clearly trying to hold back any sarcastic remarks that tingle in the back of his throat. “Oh, I am enjoying this very much,” he replies, voice strained. “But I do not need any lessons from you. I know my way around a woman’s body just fine.”

Aemond huffs, and although annoyance sparks within him, he masks it well behind a smug smirk and a low chuckle. His hands grip your flesh tightly, surely leaving some bruises the following days. 

“Oh, truly?” Aemond says sarcastically. “Then perhaps you would like to indulge us and demonstrate your skills, hm?” 

No matter how hazy and clouded your mind has grown by the reckless pounding of Aemond, it turns crystal clear the second you fully process his words. Aegon seems just as dumbfounded by the offer as you are, yet he’s quicker to speak and act.

Rising from his position on the settee, he lets out a low chuckle. “Well, I’ll play along,” he rasps, already undoing the laces in the front of his breeches. “I shall certainly not decline this invitation.”

He pulls them down enough to free his cock, hard and standing to full attention. You swallow thickly at the sight, and clench down harshly around Aemond which makes him choke on a groan. 

Aegon walks up to your side as if he means to drive his brother away to take his place, but Aemond merely scoffs at that, and serves a harsh slap to your arse that makes you squirm and whine. “You may use her mouth, and her mouth only,” he clarifies, tone firm. “She is mine, and I shall not let you claim more of that.”

Cocking an eyebrow at his words, Aegon raises his hands in surrender. “Very well, then,” he replies, climbing onto the settee. Not a moment is wasted by him once he’s settled in front of you to tap your lips with the tip of his cock, silently commanding you to part them for him.

But you don’t allow him to slip past your lips right away, and instead drag your tongue over the tip, following the small slit and gathering some of his arousal before you trace it along the vein on the underside of his cock. He’s all but purring at that already, your little performance riling him up to the point he’s just desperate for relief. 

Aemond’s stones are heavy and the pouch they sit in is slightly slagged, hitting your pearl perfectly each time he snaps his hips into yours and fills you to the brim, sending shivers up your spine. It only makes your desire to have Aegon’s cock in your mouth more adamant, and eventually you stop your teasing and take him inside. 

While you’re propped up on both your elbows, you wrap your hand around the bit of his cock that doesn’t fit into your mouth, moving it along in rhythm with the bobbing of your head. 

Each one of Aemond’s thrusts pushes you toward Aegon, forcing him deeper down your throat as if you aren’t struggling already. “That’s it,” Aemond grunts, voice strained, and the snaps of his hips increase to the point your whines become hiccuped, caught in your throat and muffled by Aegon’s cock. “Such a damn good girl for us.”

Aegon is generous enough to pull back completely every once and then, allowing your lungs to fill with air before he sinks back into the warmth of your mouth again. You bring one hand up to rest on his thigh as a means to slow his pace and force, but his desire is getting the worst of him. 

Droplets of your saliva dribble from the corners of your lips, down your chin and throat with how fast he pushes into you, meeting his cock halfway with the force of Aemond’s thrusts. The lewd sounds of their soaked cocks sliding in and out of your holes fill the room, hardly drowned out by their bawdy grunts and groans and words of praise.

You hollow your cheeks and press your tongue flat to the underside of Aegon’s cock, allowing him to claim your mouth however he pleases, the added stimulation causing him to choke on a gasp. He trusts frantically into your mouth at this point, and you know he’s close already with how he throbs on your tongue.

Aemond forces his hips into yours with such determination, he is close to shoving you up against his brother with the force of his need, your arms almost buckling under the weight he puts onto you. You can tell he’s racing for completion, effectively pulling you with him in the process. 

With the pace of his hips not faltering once, your peak washes over you in an ambush. The pleasure in your body gets intense enough for your legs and arms to tremble, his hand that rests at your neck trailing down to seize your hip to support you. Your walls clench around his cock tight enough for him to draw in a sharp breath, but the assault on your cunt doesn’t cease. 

Yet he’s not the first man to surrender to the pleasure. Despite your struggles to please him accordingly, Aegon’s peak follows closely behind yours, ripped from him by the reckless pace his brother has set up. 

“By the Sev–” he heaves, interrupted by a strained groan. 

It might have been the tight embrace of your cunt around his cock, or the sight of you eagerly swallowing every drop of his brother’s seed, but not long after his throbbing cock spends itself deep inside of your quivering walls, causing you to roll your hips against his to prolong his peak. 

His hands trail up and down your sides in pure bliss, and when it’s all over, he releases a sigh of relief, almost as if some sort of pressure has been taken off of his shoulders. 

But you don’t get the chance to relinquish it for too long, both men pulling out of you at once. Aemond’s almost comforting grip on your body leaves far too quickly, prompting you to topple onto your side. 

Your wide eyes flicker between them, and while Aegon is busy tucking himself back into his breeches, not caring about you and your overall presence, Aemond has a somewhat suspicious glint flickering in his eye. 

Even if he’s aware of your antics, it’s now or never, for you certainly won’t be welcomed around him again after the brazen takeover – it was not what he requested after all. 

Putting on a confident front, you roll onto your belly, propping yourself up on your forearms and dangling your feet in the air. 

“Now, I believe you both owe me something,” you start, keeping your eyes locked on Aemond. He’s of more importance to you despite his brother being the king, solely based on the rumors you’ve heard. “A reward for my services, if you will.”

They exchange a glance and scoff, both of them clearly surprised by your audacity. “You will receive your coins on the morrow,” the elder states, shrugging his shoulders before turning towards the exit.

“‘Tis not coins I want,” you retort with a shake of your head. 

Aemond’s still completely bare as he speaks, standing in the room with his newfound confidence. “And what exactly is it you desire, hm?” His tone is slightly derogatory, subtly remembering you of your place – making clear that you’re in no position to desire anything at all.

You know he’s not asking because he wants to fulfill your wish, but rather because he’s just curious to learn what else you could possibly want from them, and it seems to be the same for his older brother for he’s turned around to look at you again. 

“What I desire is the chance to learn more about my heritage,” you reply, gaze scanning both men. “I have only just recently come to Westeros to learn more about the mighty House Targaryen, although my grandmother has told me several stories. But I want to hear it from those with first-hand experience, and I do not think there is someone better to help me with that than you.”

Aemond’s eye narrows in suspicion. “And who might your grandmother be exactly?”

“Princess Saera Targaryen.”

While Aegon releases a scoff of disbelief, Aemond’s eye widens in surprise. “The Saera who left Westeros and disgraced our family name?” 

The weight of your grandmother’s reputation is heavy to bear, and you struggle to acknowledge this part of it. “Yes, I am her granddaughter. And I understand the disdain many might have for her, however, all I know is that she left Westeros and lived her life in Essos, never to return. I am merely curious about my family, and hoped that you, as the sons of the late King Viserys, would have the knowledge I seek.”

Aegon laughs out loudly, but this time you’re the one at the end of his humiliation and mockery. Averting your eyes to the ground, you press your lips into a thin line. There is unease in both their faces, and you figure that you probably won’t get the answers you desire from them anytime soon.

“I… well… it seems that you are not quite yet willing to share your knowledge,” you say, quieter, before rising from the settee. You walk towards the curtains, pushing them aside to make your exit, and continue without looking at them, hesitating to truly leave them. “Do not worry, I shall not trouble you any further. Perhaps I ought to seek answers in Dragonstone, then.” 

The glance they exchange goes unnoticed by you, but soon enough you feel Aegon’s sturdy chest press against your back and his heavy breath fan over your bare, sweat-covered skin. “Ah, no need to rush off so quickly,” he says, planting a hand on your waist. “I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss us just yet. Maybe we’re just a bit hesitant to open up. Perhaps a little persuasion on your part might… convince us.”

You feign a sigh, pretending to be reluctant but secretly enjoying the attention. “I am all for persuasion, Your Grace,” you say, your voice sultry. “But I believe I should be rewarded first… at least a little. After all, my services have proven to be quite delightful, have they not? And I do not plan to persuade you for free.”

Spinning on your heels, there is little space between you and Aegon. But you don’t budge, not when you’ve your mind set on it. 

“You are quite demanding, aren’t you, my dear?” Aegon asks, his voice deep. It’s clear he’s amused by your bluntness, judged by the smirk draped across his features, yet he’s also enticed by the prospect of sharing you with his brother for a second time. “But if that’s what it takes. What kind of reward do you desire, then?”

And so it happens that, after they have given you bits of information about House Targaryen that have not made it into the history books, you find yourself entangled in the sheets again, a mess of limbs and sweat and promises to give you answers to everything your heart desires. 

Aemond Taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu

@legitalicat @eponaartemisa @peachysunrize @blackswxnn @decaffeinatedparadisepost

@mfedits @luvdella @jays-bullshit @justarandomgal @gelacat0413

Aegon II Taglist: @dr-aegon @palmer-hjp

[emmaofnormandy]

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…

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths

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...

💜 Chapter 1: Amethyst

🧡 Chapter 2: Tiger's Eye (coming Sept. 29th)

🖤 Chapter 3: Black Opal (coming Oct. 6th)

💚 Chapter 4: Emerald (coming Oct. 13th)

❤️ Chapter 5: Ruby (coming Oct. 20th)

🗡️ Chapter 6: Bloodstone (coming Oct. 27th)

💙 Chapter 7: Sapphire (coming Nov. 3rd)

💎 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💎

[br0kenangel]

BABY SISTER: 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

The Red Keep hummed with quiet excitement, a rare gentleness settling over the halls as the news spread. The queen had given birth to another child, a girl, and the brothers were brought to see their sister for the first time.

Aegon, stomped ahead, his silver-blond hair a wild mess that matched the glint of mischief in his violet eyes. “I don’t see why everyone’s so fussed,” he grumbled, casting a look over his shoulder at Aemond, who followed more cautiously. “She’s just a babe. Probably all wrinkly and loud.”

Aemond didn’t reply. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect. His small hand clutched the edge of his older brother’s sleeve, his wide eyes taking in every detail as they approached the cradle where their sister lay sleeping. Aegon made a face as they neared. “See? She’s not doing anything interesting.”

Despite his words, Aegon leaned over the cradle’s edge, his annoyance more curious than he let on. Aemond stood on his toes beside him, peering over, almost shyly. Inside the cradle was the tiniest babe they’d ever seen, her silver hair softer than the finest silk, curling slightly on her tiny head. Her cheeks were pink and round, and she slept peacefully, her breaths soft and steady.

Aegon wrinkled his nose. “She’s so small.” He reached out and gave her a gentle poke on the cheek. “Hey, wake up.”

Aemond gasped softly, his eyes wide. “Don’t!” he whispered, though he was just as curious. He glanced back down at her, nervous that Aegon might have hurt her.

The babe stirred, her little nose scrunching up. Aegon watched in surprise as her eyelids fluttered open slowly, revealing the same violet eyes that both brothers shared. She blinked up at them, her gaze drifting between Aegon’s smirk and Aemond’s wide-eyed stare. Then, as if recognizing them in some deep, instinctual way, the corners of her tiny mouth curled into a soft, gentle smile.

Both boys froze, their hearts seeming to stop at the same moment. Aegon, who had been ready to declare his sister boring and unimportant, suddenly found himself captivated by that smile. His earlier irritation melted away, replaced with something warm and protective he didn’t quite understand. “She’s… she’s smiling at us,” he whispered, almost in awe.

Aemond, who had been hesitant, felt his heart swell. He reached out a tiny hand, his fingers barely brushing her soft, pudgy one. “She’s beautiful,” he breathed, his voice filled with wonder.

The babe made a small, contented sound, her tiny hand curling instinctively around Aemond’s finger. Her eyes, so large and innocent, stayed fixed on her brothers, as if already knowing how important they would be in her life. Aegon reached out too, letting her grab his finger with surprising strength. The moment was simple, yet so lovely. The two boys stared down at their sister, completely captivated, forgetting any doubts or teasing words.

Aegon, who had been ready to dismiss her, now felt a fierce surge of love and protectiveness. “I guess… I guess she’s not so bad,” he admitted, but there was no mistaking the affection in his voice.

Aemond just nodded, still entranced, his heart swelling with a love he had never felt before. “We’ll take care of her,” he said softly, a promise in his quiet words.

Part 2 ♡ Part 3

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

[dolicekiss]

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.

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.

[aemondfairy]

My Sister’s Keeper

summary: Aemond intends to send you away to protect you after he starts the war, but Aegon isn't ready to let you go.

pairing: Aegon & Aemond x Sister!Reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: Explicit smut, mention of death, incest, threesome, p in v sex, oral (m&f receiving), voyeurism, male masturbation, infidelity (reader is married to Aemond), lactation kink, choking, cum play/eating, spit, Aegond kiss!! (oop) 18+ MDNI

note: Uhhhh. I'm sorry??? I feel like I just breezed through this, idk I was horny lol. Feedback is appreciated!

You’ll never forget the look on Aemond’s face when he first arrived back to the Red Keep from his journey to Storm’s End. Your family was desperate in the inevitable, upcoming war against Rhaenyra so Aemond had been sent to help strike up a proposal between one of Lord Borros’ daughters and the youngest son of the late king Viserys, Daeron Targaryen.

Sitting in the large bed of your shared chamber, you had been anxiously awaiting his arrival, chewing your fingernails down to bloody nubs.

“Aemond!” you practically leapt into his arms when he appeared sopping wet in the doorway. Overjoyed to see he’d returned in one piece, but something was off, something was wrong. He was vacant, like he had seen a ghost.

“Lucerys Velaryon is dead.”

With that simple sentence you knew your lives would be changed forever.

“You cannot just make me disappear,” you said to your husband through gritted teeth, as your voice trembled, lump in your throat forming as tears threatened to fall from your eyes.

“If we are not here they will just go looking for us.”

“Anywhere is safer than here, my love.” Aemond answered coolly.

“If you think this decision was not difficult to make, you are wrong. It is simply what's best for the both of you. You and the babe will be staying in Dorne until I know for certain that it is safe for you here.”

“But –”

“But nothing! This is not up for debate,” he growled at you, “the decision has been made and it is final!” His words cut through you like a knife.

“You cannot make a decision like this. You are not the king.”

“No “ he retorted, “but I am your husband, therefore, when it comes to you and my child, what I say goes!”

You got up and exited your shared chambers with haste, not wanting Aemond to see you cry.

Your bare feet padded against the cold stone floor of the Red Keep, the walls echoed and groaned as you made your way to your eldest brother’s chambers.

Aegon’s head perked up when he heard you come in. He stared at you sheepishly from behind his goblet of wine.

“Has he told you?”

Letting out a deep sigh, “he has.”

“I cannot leave you. I will not leave you, Aegon.”

“I know, I know,” he says, patting the spot next to him, motioning for you to come and sit.

“Our half-sister is unpredictable,” he replied calmly, “there’s no telling what she might do… not to mention, Daemon.”

As much as you did not want to admit it, both of your brothers were right. Accident or not, Rhaneyra’s son was dead. You would be a fool to believe she wouldn’t be out for blood.

Aegon pulled you into his lap, his cock already half hard. You kissed him deeply as he grinded his hips up into yours. You ran your fingers through his unruly silver hair, enjoying the feel of his mouth on you. Completely lost in the moment, you hadn’t heard Aemond enter the room.

He cleared his throat loudly to make his presence known.

“Aemond!”

Your brother-husband stalked into the room, his violet eye scanning over you with amusement.

“Oh please, do continue.”

Your chest rose and fell as you struggled to find the right words to say.

“Did you not hear me? I said continue,” Aemond repeated, as he approached you and Aegon.

“Aemond, this is not what it looks like —“

His brow furrowed at you as he gripped your chin forcing you to look him directly in the eye.

“Do you mistake me for a fool? You believed me to be unaware of your little arrangement?”

Still at a loss for words, you and Aegon just stared at your brother nervously. Aemond moved away a few inches and started to remove his tunic and his trousers. His cock strained hard against his small clothes, which he removed not long after. You gawked at him as he pumped his cock in his left hand, making his way back to you.

Aegon’s violet eyes beamed with excitement at this, pupils blown with lust. He took no time to nip at your neck, your earlobes, grinding against your core once again.

“I fear this is inappropriate,” you began.

“What’s inappropriate is you sneaking away from your husband to come fuck this wastrel,” Aemond began, his words thick with venom.

“Clearly, you want the both of us. So have us… while you still can.”

A slight moan left your lips as you tilted your head to the side, allowing Aegon easier access to your throat, your gaze never leaving Aemond’s, his expression unreadable as he nodded his head at you.

Aemond had his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, the tip bright red, lushed and angry, his arousal already dripping from the tip.

Aegon leaned down and wrapped his lips around your nipple, and began to suck harshly. Being that your babe was only two months old, you were lactating. A loud moan escaped your lips as you felt the milk begin to flow.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, “just like that. You’re doing so good.”

You could feel his cock twitching against your leg at your praise as he continued to ravenously lap at your breast.

As he switched to your other breast he sucked harder at your stiffened peak, the milk coming almost instantly. He palmed your abandoned breast with his large hand, squeezing gently. Shivers ran down your spine as the sweet feeling of relief washed over you once again.

A growl erupted from Aemond’s throat and he unexpectedly pulled Aegon away from your chest. To your utter surprise, he crashed his lips against Aegon’s, tasting your milk on his tongue. You watched with bewilderment as your husband passionately kissed your brother, tugging at his unruly hair, moaning into his mouth. Arousal seeped from your core and onto Aegon’s thighs. Aemond broke the kiss abruptly and stared at you.

Aegon’s hands gripped your waist, flipping you around so you were underneath him. Your eldest brother positioned you so you were laying on your back comfortably against the pillows. He nestled himself between your thighs and hastily hiked your nightgown up over your waist. You shivered as his warm breath fanned over your folds. Before you could blink his tongue was prodding at your entrance. Your hands flew to the back of his head on instinct, pulling him closer into your center.

Aemond approached you carefully. He tapped his cock against your lower lip a few times, a signal for you to open your mouth. Just as he did so, Aegon’s tongue had reached the right spot, causing your mouth to gape open as a loud moan escaped your lips. Aemond took this as an opportunity to forcefully shove his cock into your mouth. You felt a rush of pleasure as Aemond's cock filled your mouth. You began to suck and lick it, eager to make him moan even louder. Aegon's tongue continued to explore you as you pleasured Aemond, and you felt your body quiver with pleasure.

If you knew being with another man in his presence would have this effect on him, you would have brought your affair to light long ago.

With a low groan of your name he pumped in and out of your mouth mercilessly, the salty taste of his precum evading your tastebuds. The air left your lungs as you gagged around him. You could feel the pent up anger Aemond held for the entirety of the situation with each brutal buck of his hips. Ever so slowly he pulled back, giving the you the illusion he was going to give you a break. But before you were able to catch your breath, his cock found his way to the back of your throat again. The faster he went, tears began to stream down your face.

As bubbles of spit began to form around the corners of your mouth, you hollowed your cheeks to the best of your ability. With Aegon now three fingers knuckle deep in your cunt it was almost impossible for you to focus on Aemond; but as the pace of his thrusts quickened you knew he was going to cum soon. You moaned around his length, the vibrations making his cock twitch, you could feel every throb of the thick vein that ran along the underside of his cock.

“No,” Aemond growled as he pulled himself from your throat, “I need to feel your cunt around me.”

Aemond all but shoved Aegon away from you, almost knocking him off the large bed. Aemond lined his cock up with your center and sheathed himself inside of you with quickness.

As Aegon now sat on the upper left corner of the bed, he watched intently as Aemond’s cock disappeared into you repeatedly. One hand tugged at his painfully hard cock and the other wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he cooed, “look at how you take him so well,” he praised.

You nodded your head at him enthusiastically, pleasure overwhelming you. Aegon hooked his thumb into your mouth and you sucked and nipped at it intently.

There was no doubt that Aemond enjoyed the praise as well, snapping his hips even harder into your own. His cock bullied your sweet spot mercilessly. Your body tingled with a mix of pleasure and pain as Aemond's thrusts intensified; pressing hard against your cervix. His large hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing gently. The overwhelming sensation sent waves of ecstasy coursing through you, making it difficult to focus on anything else but the raw desire consuming your every thought.

“Fuck, Aemond, I’m going to cum!” you screamed as your hot waves of pleasure coursed through you.

Aegon watched intently as your orgasm wracked your entire frame, his own following not long after. He let out a loud groan as he came into his hand. He flashed an evil grin at Aemond as he brought his fingers to Aemond's mouth, shoving them down his throat.

Your husband gagged around his digits, sucking Aegon's release from them.

As the aftershock of your orgasm continued to pump though you, your cunt squeezed around Aemond’s cock. The depravity of it all overwhelmed him and Aemond cum with a shudder. With one final thrust and a loud grunt, he was spilling himself inside of you.

As Aegon removed his fingers from your husband's throat, Aemond leaned over you, his cock still buried deep inside you.

"Open up, baby," he said before spitting directly into your mouth, a mixture of his saliva and Aegon's cum evident on your tongue. You swallowed with a contented hum.

Aemond pulled himself out of you and got up quickly.

You curled up in the bed next to Aegon, Aemond’s seed seeping out of you onto the sheets, sleep finding you almost immediately.

“She can stay here for the night,” Aemond said as he leaned down to kiss your sweat-drenched forehead.

Aegon frowned at his brother.

“Aemond, we cannot make her leave,” he rasped, desperation clear in his voice.

“I think she needs to leave now more than ever, brother. To ensure nothing like this ever happens again.”

A loud sigh escaped Aegon’s lips as he diverted his gaze from Aemond to you, pushing your hair out of your face, admiring your beauty.

“Enjoy your time with her tonight. She will be on her way to Dorne by morning.”

[divinesolas]

deepest desires

summary: Though you have been married to aegon for a while now it seems he wants nothing to do with you and you worry you will spend the rest of your life miserable; but he ends up finding out a secret you've tried so hard to keep hidden and it brings you two together much to your surprise and delight.

w.c: 2.1k

c.w: sub!aegon, porn with plot, pegging, wooden strap, dom!reader, mommy kink, pathetic aegon, slight overstim, anal stuff, not proofread

a.n: dedicated to my lovelie @aegonswife | i will never shut up about the sub aegon agenda !!

You must have been horrible in your past life for the gods to curse you like this. To be married to a prince should be a wonderful thing yet you feel as though you have been sentenced to death.

You can recount on your hands how many words he’s spoken to you despite your many many many many, many, attempts to get him to converse with you. He will not even glance at you most of the time, well kept to his drinks and his whores. You suppose its a better fate than most at least it seemed he would not force himself upon you or abuse you.

Your wedding is a blur and your wedding night is the same, you remember him swiftly leaving after he released and you remember simply lying there and trying to fall asleep.

It took you awhile to officially move in with him as you stuff got stuck on way to the keep and you just so happened to be out the day it finally arrived at the keep so you had the maids bring your stuff into the room in your stead.

As he’s typically out all day and you did not expect him to be in the room while they were unpacking as it is mid afternoon you walk into the room and are shocked to see him standing in front of one of your opened crates with something you prayed he would never see in his hands.

You’ve always had very, different, cravings and lusts. When women would confess their sinful thoughts you realized you were the odd girl out. Many women wanted to get pinned down by their man and be taken in whatever way he pleased but you had always wanted the opposite. To be the one taking, to pin someone down and having a dick of your own forcefully shoving it into their hole.

When you discovered they had invented such a device that could give you the illusion of you having a cock you immediately used your allowance to track one down and purchase it for yourself. Thought you have never used the things you are now wishing you have never bought it has he clutches it in his hands and tilts his head at you, a look you’ve never seen in his eyes.

“This yours?”

You must look like a fish, opening and closing your mouth unsure of what you’re supposed to say. So you say nothing, instead choosing to run out the room like a madman and do not return until very very very late at night and are shocked to see him asleep in your shared bed. He barely even spent five minutes alone in your shared chambers let alone sleep in there. You quietly lay down next to him and fall asleep, praying he would not be there in the morning.

You had hoped that would be that and you would never have to speak to him again but he continues to follow you around like a lost puppy. Tailing behind you everywhere, your lessons, when you spend time in the garden, even your personal time in the shared room he is laying next to you as you read. The sudden change in his behavior is so jarring you cannot help but ask him about it but he just smiles at you, “You are much different than i thought you to be.” You have no clue what that means.

You grow a sort of, friendly? relationship with one another. You are still too nervous to truly say anything to him while he merely seems content laying besides you.

Everything sort of flips on its head when you are laying on the bed, a book in your lap as usual and the door opens. You are not shocked to see a clearly drunk aegon but are more than shocked when he flops down onto the bed and presses his head to your stomach as he lets out a groan.

“My prince?” he merely hums, “My head hurts.” “Maybe you should try and sleep my prince-” “when are you going to fuck me?”

This has you frozen and he looks up at you with his red eyes. “I’ve been so good why haven’t you?” Your mouth opens in shock as he flops his head back down and presses some wet, open mouthed kisses into the fabric of your nightgown. You stutter and are at a loss for words. He wanted you to fuck him?

“My prince if you wish to perform your marital duties you are free to at any time.” He whines and shakes his head, looking up at you with a pout. “No i want you to fuck me. I’ve been good i promise, i havent gone to any brothels, not since that day mommy i promise.” MOMMY? you liked being called mommy in his whiny voice a bit too much and you simply stare at the top of his head for awhile as you try to think of what to say.

“You still come home drunk.” He looks up at you and you merely blink at him. You are more than sure he will not remember this tomorrow so you will merely say what you need to to get him to stop talking about this. “And you reek of alcohol.”

“If i stop drinking and i stop coming home drunk you will fuck me?” “yes.” You are more than glad he will not remember this in the morning. He rolls off of you and to his side of the bed, his back turned to you. “What are you doing?” “Going to sleep so i can start my vow of sobriety.”

His snores quickly fill the room and you blow out the candle next to you and get under the sheets, staring at the darkness with a racing heart. He does not mean it, he will forget about this tomorrow and this will all be a terrible dream.

You are shocked as you wake up the next day and he is stilly lying in bed, merely staring at the ceiling until you flip the covers off and move to get out of bed, “Good morning.” “Morning.” You barely look at him as you move to get dressed for the day. Rummaging through the closet until you pull out a dress and hang it on your mirror. You look at him through the mirror, “Are you going to watch me get undressed?” “It is wrong to?”

You say nothing but simply stare at him until you slowly move the straps of your dress and your nightgowns falls to the floor and you are completely bare.

“So how long must i be sober? A day? a week? a month?” You freeze and turn your head back to look at him.

“what are you talking about-” “were you the one who had been drunk last night wife? must i remind you of what we had discussed?”

You bring the dress you had meant to wear today closer to your chest to cover yourself as you feel a sense of shame wash over you. “If you wish to mock me so then do it.” His head tilts at you as you stare down at the ground. “why would i wish to mock you?

“asking me to fuck you after you had found that horrid device you must mean to mock me…” He quickly stand and you back up until you hit the mirror and he is standing in front of you. “I do not mean to mock you. I had avoided you in the past because i had been under the impression you were just like every other lady at the court but i know now you were made for me, we were made to be together. I have wished to have a lady like you, to fill my wildest desires, i wish for you to do anything you wish. To rule body and use me like a toy. To fuck me like i am nothing but a whore on silk street.”

You stare at him with wide eyes as he drops to his knees and looks at you like you are a goddess. “I was born to serve you. I am at you every whim and every wish.”

You feel something overcome you as he stares up and you and you lose every ounce of self control you have.

“Stand.” He quickly stands up and stares at you eagerly noticing the new look in your eyes.

“Strip.”

He rushes to rip off his shirt and pants and awaits your instructions. You snap your fingers and point to the bed where he quickly moves to sit down on it. You walk over to him and grab his chin to tilt his head upwards. “You want mommy to take care of you?” He lets out a long whine as he nods his head feverishly.

“lay on your stomach.” he follows your instructions without complaining like a loyal mutt. He has no clue what youre doing but he can hear you rummaging around the room, your bare feet peddling against the ground for a few moments and he finds himself unable to lay still, wiggling and whimpering to himself as he grows impatient, on of his hands even begins to slide down to stroke himself before you slap his ass and he moans. “Thought you were a good boy huh? what happened to him?”

“no no i am i am i promise im sorry im sorry.” You slap him again, “I dont wanna hear it.” He continues to mumble and whimper until he feels you shove two oiled inside him and he lets out a high pitched noise and bites the pillow he’s pressing his head against.

“Loose. you're such a fucking whore, look at you.” He doesn’t not respond not that you expected him too but he gets louder and louder the more and more you continue to thrust your fingers in and out of him, reeling in the feeling of you presses kisses against his back and the way your free hand wraps around his cock and toys around with his tip.

“look at you, so fucking pathetic. I bet youve been dreaming of this for months huh, sick freak.” He babbles like a baby unable to form any words or any thoughts the closer he gets, precum pouring out of his tip that you use to pump him slowly. He is so close he can taste it, what hes been craving for so long, he wants it so bad he wants to please you.

Yet you pull away right as hes on the brink and he can barely control himself. Tears begin to spring from his eyes and be turns his head towards you, whimpering. “please.” “you’ll take what i give you.” “but mommy-“ “who said you can talk back?”

He sniffles, “im sorry mommy im sorry please i just wanna be good for you mommy.” his words are slurred and you cant help but feel your heart ache slightly and you grab his cheek, rubbing away his tears with his thumb, “you good?”

He nods, and leans against your cheek sniffles again. “I just wanna be good for you mommy.” You nod and press a kiss against his lips and when you pull away he chases after you lightly as he looks at you with glowing eyes. “You’re so pretty baby, such a good boy, mommys gonna take care of you okay?” “yes yes please please.”

He lets out a gasp as he feels your wooden strap begin to slowly push its way into his pulsing hole. You barely give him anytime to adjust before you begin to vigorously thrust in and out of him. Gripping onto his hair for stability.

The tears begin to pour down his face as he grabs his cock with his free hand, bringing himself closer to release as his hips move back to meet yours. You find yourself unable to hide your amusement as he grows more and more desperate, heaving and whining the closer and closer he gets to release, letting out incoherent babbles of nonsense.

When he releases he lets out a scream that your sure the whole keep could hear, his body shaking as his seed spills out onto the bedsheets below him, sobs racking his body. You press a long kiss against his lips and he shakily returns it. When you had thought you would be doomed to a life of misery it appears you were wrong as your life just got a whole lot more interesting.