#Flori looked great though

[you-have-been-frizzled]

Can someone tell me what color Gizelle’s hair is

because i remember her description originally saying her hair was blonde

but after the art came out with her hair being black i’m not sure

[sapphire-writes]

Our Last Summer (modern!HOTD)

part 4 of 10 || series masterlist || previous part || next

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: Dresses, sails, and thunderstorms oh my! You and Aemond are forced to work together and tensions rise.

word count: 6.4k

rating: Mature

warnings below the cut!

warnings: language, angst, p in v, oral (fem receiving), fingering, praise, kissing

note: hope you enjoy my loves!!

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

as always, comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated but not expected

You spent the days after you and Aemond’s conversation at the Wolf Den trying to avoid the Targaryen as much as possible. Which was much easier said than done. Both of you spent generous amounts of time helping Luke with Seasmoke, bickering with each other more than actually being helpful. 

“If you just let me do it-” you’d said, grabbing the paint roller from him.

Aemond had pursed his lips together in annoyance. “Like you could reach with those short legs-”

“Don’t talk about my legs!” you’d angrily hissed, “Don’t look at them, don’t think about them!”

“Believe me I’m not-”

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“You change your mind?” he’d asked, a sly grin on his face that caused your cheeks to burn with embarrassment.

“Get fucked,” you’d told him.

“Seems like you need it more than I do.”

Aemond had walked away from the interaction with paint splattered across his chest. 

Needless to say, the tension between you two was palpable. Even Baela had begun to notice it.

“You really hate him, huh?” she asks while holding up a dark blue dress and looking in the floor-length mirror.

You, Baela, and Helaena had traveled into the city for the day, shopping for dresses for the gala. Though Baela already has a dress picked out, she can’t stop eying the one she currently holds. You’ve been looking at dresses for the past half an hour, unsure of which you like best. 

Helaena’s the one who is truly enjoying herself, trying on various lengths, designs, and colors.

“Who?” you ask, picking out a gold dress. It’s nearly perfect, except for its ruffled collar with matching sleeves. You scrunch your nose with distaste, returning it to the hook.

“Aemond,” Baela says, dropping to an ottoman and pulling out her phone, “You seem to really bring out the worst in each other.”

“I don’t hate him,” you assure her, “He’s just….annoying.”

“Mhmm,” she says, scrolling through Instagram, “Can’t argue with that.”

You can feel your cheeks flush as you think back to your conversation with him at the Wolf Den. Was he seriously proposing a no-strings-attached situationship with you? And more importantly why? Though you can’t deny your curiosity. Floris Baratheon was clearly not happy that she wasn’t Aemond’s fuckbuddy anymore.

You’d run into her again a few days ago at the country club and the cheerful prom queen facade had been replaced with a much icier one. Clearly, she thought you and Aemond had something going on. Great. 

“Oh shit,” Baela says suddenly, eyes going wide.

“What?” you ask, still flicking through gowns.

“Nothing,” she says, pressing her phone against her chest. 

You tilt your head to the side as you turn to face her.

“What?”

“Nothing!”

“Bae!”

You reach for her phone, trying to wrestle it from her grip. Helaena rounds the corner, a dress in her hands before seeing the scuffle and turning quickly away. You grab Baela’s phone, even as she continues to insist you shouldn’t look.

It’s Will Tyrell’s Instagram, a group picture on a boat. He looks good; shirtless, wearing a captain’s hat with his arm slung around a pretty blonde.

Fuck.

Baela’s eyes are apologetic. “I didn’t know he was seeing-”

“Whatever,” you tell her, giving her phone back, “It's fine, it's cool.”

“Are you sure?” Baela says, chewing her lip nervously, “Cause you just-”

“Bae,” you tell her, laughing slightly, “I had one conversation with the guy. I don’t own him.”

“Still,” she says, eyebrows concaving together, “Will is a nice guy. Nice guys don’t give their number out and then run off with CeCe Lannister-”

“Wait, that’s Cece?” you ask, “Cece rosebush burning Lannister?”

Helaena has reappeared, dressed in the gown she was previously holding, and rolls her eyes.

“Why do I keep hearing her name?” she grumbles, “You know, you say it again and she’ll appear. Like Beetlejuice.”

Baela holds the phone out and Helaena raises an eyebrow. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Baela says shaking her head, “No one disses my girl like this!”

“Please, there’s no way they’re a thing,” Helaena says, smoothing her dress and turning toward the mirror to admire herself, “Tyrell and Lannister just don’t match.”

Helaena’s dress is beautiful; a strapless, silvery blue color that falls just below her knee. 

“Cute,” Helaena says to herself, turning to the side to admire the curve of her ass, “Seriously, Y/N, shoot him a text.”

“You think I should?” you ask as Helaena bends over. Baela reaches over giving her ass a slap that makes Helaena yelp.

You shrug taking out your phone and sending a message. You watch the screen as the read receipt appears, along with three gray dots. You can’t help but smile, nibbling on your lower lip. 

“He’s typing,” you tell them, happiness swooping through your belly.

Helaena smirks. “Told you!”

Two hours. You’ve been left on read for two hours. 

God fucking dammit. 

Helaena’s smile is apologetic from the rearview mirror as she catches your eye. It’s the twelfth time you’ve checked. Those three little dots appeared and disappeared with no response from Will. 

“Guys are drama anyway,” Baela had said, “Who needs them.”

Easy for Baela to say. The girl hasn’t had a dry spell in years. But since your last one-night stand back at Honeyholt, you hadn’t hooked up with anyone else. And that was a while ago. Snow was on the ground. And you just couldn’t help but get your hopes up slightly with Will’s flirtation. No matter what the case, the rejection still stung. 

Baela could tell. She turns to you from the passenger side, peering over her sunglasses.

“Listen to me,” she begins, “You’re a bad bitch. If Will Tyrell can’t see that, then it's his loss.”

You roll your eyes.

“I know,” you tell her, “It’s fine, seriously. I barely know the guy.”

Baela goes to say something else when her phone begins to ring. She holds it up and you just make out the name Dad when she answers it.

“Yeah?” she says, her voice cold. You can hear the deep voice of Daemon Targaryen on the line as Baela removes her sunglasses, tossing them onto the dashboard. 

Helaena glances at Baela before turning the radio down. You’d been seriously vibing to Phoebe Bridgers. Baela brings a hand to her face, rubbing between her eyes. It’s a nervous habit of hers, one you often see when she’s got a big paper due or during finals season. 

“I don’t know, Dad,” she says with a sigh, “I’m…okay. Yes. I understand.” She bites her lip. “Of course I do. Yup. Yeah, bye.” You faintly hear Daemon’s voice say something along the lines of love you before Baela hangs up the phone. 

You don’t speak for a moment, driving in silence except for the low volume of Savior Complex humming through the speakers. 

“Everything okay?” you ask softly. 

“Yeah,” Baela says, running a hand through her curls, “Would you be cool grabbing dinner with Hel tonight while I go to Dragonstone?”

You reach out to touch her shoulder. “Of course.” 

“Ew no,” Helaena jokes, smiling at you through the rearview, “I actually can’t stand Y/N, you can’t leave me with her.”

“Hurtful!” you tell her, putting a hand on your chest in fake shock. Helaena snickers, but Baela barely cracks a smile.

“Rhaenyra wants dinner,” she tells you both, “With the whole family.”

A chill runs through you. While Baela had evaded dinner with her father due to the storm over a week ago, he clearly the kind of man who gets what he wants. 

“Well not the whole family,” Helaena argues playfully, “Cause that always goes oh so well.”

Baela groans, placing her feet on the seat, and holding her knees against her chest. 

“Trade places with me?” Baela begs her and Helaena shakes her head.

“Someone would notice cuz,” she says with an apologetic grimace, “Though maybe if I curled my hair?”

That earns a laugh from Baela, and she rubs her eyes. 

“This is gonna suck,” she moans.

“Probably,” Helaena agrees, and you smack her shoulder lightly, “But you’ll get through it. You always do Baela-boo.”

Baela drops her hands from her face, looking at Helaena. 

“Oh my god stop,” she says, though she’s smiling for real now.

“What?” Helaena asks innocently, “You don’t remember Baela-boo, and Rhaena-roo?”

“And don’t forget Helaena-hoo,” Baela says with a giggle, before turning to face you, “My mom…those were her nicknames for us. She thought she was so clever.”

“Which she was,” Helaena says, grinning, “Best nicknames ever. The boys were so jealous.”

“It was for the girls only,” Baela said, her smile full of emotion, “Laena-loo…Nyra-noo.” She clears her throat, looking down at her lap, “Silly.”

Baela Targaryen is one of the strongest people you know, in more ways than one. Your heart hurts watching how her lower lips wobbles as she plays with the rings on her fingers. 

“It’s adorable,” you tell her, smiling at your best friend fondly. Baela misses her mom so much, you can tell. 

“I think we can bring them back,” Helaena says with a nod, “Sure, we were nine when they were cool, but I think they hold up!”

Baela laughs and wipes a tear that’s fallen down her cheek. You squeeze her shoulder before giving her a hug, wrapping your arms around the passenger seat and her. It’s awkward, but Baela grabs your arm anyway, resting her chin on your forearm. 

“Oh, I love this song!” Helaena says, turning up the volume as the next song begins to play. 

You swing by Helaena’s house to drop off your dresses. She insists Alicent will want them dry-cleaned before the gala. After that, you decide to head down to the docks to see how the gang has been doing with Seasmoke that day. 

You hadn’t expected they would get a lot to get done in your absence. Rhaena had been tasked with babysitting the littles on Dragonstone while Rhaenyra and Daemon saw Jace off. He was headed on a solo sailing trip to the Vale and would return in a few weeks, just in time for the regatta.  Daeron had made his departure for Oldtown a few days ago, and Luke was clearly lost without his friend. 

“Get anything good done?” Baela hollered up to the boys from the dock. 

It looked like they were tidying up for the day, but Luke seemed agitated. Aegon was first to exit the ship, flashing a cheeky grin as he passed. 

“Fuck, fuck!” Luke says, running a hand through his curls, as he walks down the ramp. Aemond follows close behind, an exasperated expression on his face. You’ve been here two minutes and are already annoyed with him.

“What?”

“Jace ordered the sails from Iron Islands, but they arrived at Pyke and need to be checked out tonight before Greyjoy ships them here,” Luke tells you. 

“I’m not seeing the issue,” Helaena says, “Pyke’s a lot closer!”

Luke nods dramatically, tongue between his teeth. You think his right eye twitches.  

“I can’t go to Pyke because of the stupid dinner!” he says, face flushing, “Goddammit!”

“Hold up, calm down. It's okay, Aegon will go,” Helaena offers. 

Aegon frowns. “No, I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to,” he answers, walking down the dock. 

Luke holds his arms out in frustration and Helaena looks ready to chase her elder brother off the dock. It’s like Aegon senses her glare, burning into the back of his head because he quickens his pace.

“Okay, then I’ll go,” Helaena offers, but Luke winces, “What?”

“Umm, no offense Hel…but I want someone who…you know…” he trails off, muttering something about ‘knowing how sails work.’

Helaena rolls her eyes before letting them land on Aemond. He tenses, standing up straighter, sensing the direction this is headed. 

“No,” he says immediately.

“Yes,” Helaena counters. 

“No.”

“Yes!” Helaena insists, “Aemond this is your fault, you fix it.” 

But Luke is shaking his head, eyes wide with panic.

“No way!” Luke argues, “He’ll sabotage me again, probably tear the-”

“Y/N will go with him!” Helaena offers, much to your surprise.

“What?” you and Aemond ask simultaneously. You shoot him an annoyed glare which he returns with one of his own.

“You’re unbiased, you’ll represent Luke and make sure Aemond’s not fucking around with anything,” Helaena says, “Come on it's perfect.”

Luke’s mouth twists into a frown, but he doesn’t disagree. You raise your eyebrows to your hairline. 

“Seriously?” you ask through clenched teeth. 

Helaena wets her lips nervously. “Look, Pyke isn’t that far. You can’t kill each other in that amount of time, I promise.”

“Oh, really? Can’t you come with us?” you beg, eyes wide. But Helaena shakes her head.

“Can’t, the bike only seats two,” she tells you with a shrug. 

Your heart drops into your stomach. “Bike?”

“This is your ride?” you ask, as Aemond leads you into the garage.

Of course, stupid Aemond drives a stupid motorcycle. The bike is huge, shiny, and black, gleaming in the streams of sunlight that come through the garage doors. 

“No, I’m stealing it,” he deadpans, holding out a helmet for you. 

“So funny,” you tell him, snatching the helmet from his hand. He’s got big hands; while he could hold the helmet in one of his hands, it takes both of your own. 

Aemond puts his own helmet on, straddling the bike before looking back at you.

“You getting on or what?” he snaps, patting the seat behind him.

“I’m going!” you tell him, hurrying to clip the helmet on your head. Your hands fumble with nerves, and you keep missing the clasp. You’d never ridden on a motorcycle before. Straddling the back of Aemond Targaryen does not seem like the greatest idea for your first ride.  

Aemond groans, beckoning you forward with his hand. You scoot closer and he brings his hands to the clasps. You swallow, feeling his fingertips caress the skin under your chin as he secures the helmet. Your heart beats frantically in your chest as your eyes meet his. 

“You couldn’t figure that out?” Aemond insults and the spell is broken.

“Fuck off Targaryen,” you snap, getting on the back of the bike. 

The drive isn’t that long, but it scares the shit out of you. Aemond is a reckless driver. Though you wanted to remain cool, calm, and collected for the whole ordeal, you find yourself clinging to his back desperately, nails digging into his leather-clad pectorals as you press your face against him. He smells pretty good, an enticing mixture of cologne and the leather from his jacket. 

He weaves through traffic like a man who doesn’t fear death, going over the lines and in between cars. Several people honk at him, one man even leans out his car window to shout obscenities. By the time you reach Pyke you’re trembling like a leaf. 

Aemond turns off the bike, and you don’t release him. 

“Hello?” he asks, turning slightly.

“Don’t!” you squeak, eyes still shut, “Don’tdon’tdon’t-”

“We’ve stopped,” he assures you, “Don’t be a baby.”

You open your eyes slightly, and once you see that you’ve safely stopped, unwrap your arms from around him, standing on trembling legs. You unbuckle the helmet tossing it to the side, as Aemond gets off the bike, using his foot to flip the kickstand.

“You asshole!” you yell as he removes his helmet, running a hand through his hair. His grin is impish as he takes in your flustered expression.

“What?” he asks, placing the helmet on the seat of the bike.

“You’re insane!” you accuse, crossing your arms. 

“That’s unkind,” he muses, “You’ve hurt my feelings.”

“Do you even have feelings?” you quip and Aemond pokes his tongue against his cheek. You turn away from him, beginning to walk toward the small shop that lies next to a dock lined with sailboats. 

You can hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you. 

“Let’s get this over with,” you grumble and he chuckles behind you. 

Dalton Greyjoy greets you once you’re inside, the owner of Iron Sails in Pyke. A smaller location than Iron Islands. 

“The best in the west,” he boasts, grinning from ear to ear. His face is weathered from the sun and the sea. 

You and Aemond check over the sails three times, making sure everything is in order for them to be shipped to King’s Landing the following day. 

“Big beauty Seasmoke is,” Dalton muses, “You don’t see sails this size anymore.”

“Luke’s been working really hard,” you tell him, smiling politely, “He loves sailing.”

“That he does,” Dalton agrees, patting you on the hand. He pulls away, nervously glancing at Aemond. He’s been a little too friendly with you this afternoon, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. 

You’re actually thankful Aemond is here with you. Dalton clearly thinks you’re together, which is why his advances haven’t gone much further. Scary boyfriend privileges without the boyfriend part. You hope Aemond doesn’t notice but of course, that isn’t the case. He points it out as you’re leaving.

“He was awfully friendly,” he comments, handing you your helmet. You place it on your head. 

“Whatever,” you tell him, but before you can reach for the clasp, Aemond’s hands are there already. He clicks the strap into place adjusting it under your chin. Your cheeks burn and you blink rapidly at the kind gesture.

Aemond breaks away from your gaze looking up at the sky. The wind has begun to pick up and the air has a sudden chill to it.

“We better get going,” he says softly, “Storm’s coming.”

You barely make it back to King’s Landing when the rain begins to turn into a downpour. Aemond must have a remote control clicker for the five-car garage, because it opens automatically, sending warm light onto the driveway as you skid inside.

Even though the sky had just opened, you’re already soaked as Aemond shuts off the bike.

“Shit,” you curse, taking off the helmet.

The walkway is already flooding with water. Your eyes widen as lightning flashes through the sky, followed by a loud clap of thunder.

“There’s no way you’re making it to Driftmark,” Aemond muses, removing his own helmet.

Baela was supposed to swing by after dinner and grab you before returning to the island for the night. You reach for your phone, seeing a missed text from her and Helaena.

“What is it?” Aemond asks, stripping off his leather jacket. 

“Um, just Baela spending the night on Dragonstone,” you tell him.

Aemond shakes his head, “I’m sure she’s thrilled.”

“And Hel’s at Sara’s,” you finish. You watch him, neither of you moving.

“Come on,” he says, motioning with his head towards the door to the house. The garage doors begin to close behind you as you follow him inside. 

The house is dark and Aemond turns on a light in the kitchen as you enter.

“Mom?” he calls, “Aegon?” There is no reply. 

Aemond checks his own phone before shaking his head. 

“They’re not here?” you ask.

“Aegon’s god knows where,” Aemond grumbles, sliding his phone into his back pocket, “Mum’s out. Just us.”

Just us.

You swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat. Aemond scratches the back of his neck, eyes falling to the floor. You glance around the room, eyes falling to the empty podium that once held the bust of Maegor Targaryen. 

Aemond moves to sit on the couch and you follow him. It’s large enough to fit several people and you sink into the cushions comfortably. Aemond leans back spreading his legs wide and placing his arms on the back of the couch. You can just spot his silver chain poking out from underneath his black t-shirt. He nearly catches you looking as he glances your way.

“Where’s your mom?” you ask, as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Helping with the auction stuff. She does a lot of volunteer work at the country club,” he tells you.

“That’s nice of her,” you tell him. 

“Mhmm,” he answers. 

It’s awkward, with nothing to bicker about. You find yourself wanting to fill the silence.

“Where do you go to school?” you ask, removing your shoes and tucking your feet up on the couch. 

“Citadel University,” he answers, to your surprise. Of course, he’s from CU, as all pretentious rich assholes are. 

“Figures,” you say with a snort, “You know what Honeyholt calls you?”

Aemond purses his lips, nodding for you to continue.

“Cunt university,” you snicker, even though it's not that clever. 

“I see why you go to Honeyholt,” he says smirking.

Your jaw drops.

“It’s a great school,” you argue.

“Sure,” he mockingly agrees, and your blood begins to boil.

“What are you studying anyway?” you ask, trying to change the subject.

“Double major. History and philosophy,” he quips, “And yourself?”

“I’m undecided,” you tell him. 

“You’ve got lots to figure out,” he says, holding your gaze. Your face warms, butterflies gathering in your belly. 

Aemond doesn’t look away. His hand outstretched on the back of the couch suddenly seems too close like he could reach out and touch your arm with his fingertips. 

“You’re so annoying,” you groan, laughing a little as you say it, “What’s your deal anyway?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, tilting his head.

“This whole, thing,” you hold your hand up, referring to him, “The dick-sona.”

“Dick-sona?” he asks, a smile curling at the corner of his lips.

“What’s got you so fucked up?” you ask, “There must be a reason you’re so…”

“Forward?” he finishes your sentence for you. You hold his gaze. 

He’s thinking of the other night too. You can feel it. His proposition weighs heavy between you.

“Yes,” you agree.

“I just know what I want,” he tells you, sucking his lower lip into his mouth.

You watch him, knowing there’s more to it that he’s not sharing. There’s a reason he’s being like this, keeping you and everyone else, at arm’s length. But you’re not going to push, no matter how curious you are. If Aemond Targaryen doesn’t want to share, that’s fine with you.

“Yeah,” you tell him, the back of your neck tingling, “So…”

“I can show you the guest room,” Aemond says suddenly, “I mean, who knows when the rain will let up. You’ll want to get some sleep if Baela’s coming for you in the morning.”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding, “That sounds good.”

You follow Aemond up the winding grand staircase, listening to the sound of rain pounding down on the windows. He leads you down the hall, opening a door revealing a large queen bed with a white comforter and several decorative pillows. 

“Hold on,” he murmurs, heading further down the hall.

He disappears through another door, coming out with a black shirt in his hands. He holds it out to you. 

“Here,” he says, “If you want to be more comfortable.”

You take it from him. “Thank you.”

He hums in response and you back into the room.

“There’s a bathroom too if you want to shower,” Aemond tells you as you nod. 

“Um goodnight,” you tell him, pressing your lips tightly together as you close the door. 

Holy shit.

What the fuck are you supposed to do now? Stuck in King’s Landing. Alone. With Aemond. Your mind is racing, so you decide to take a long, cold shower to erase any dirty thoughts from your mind. 

It’s not like you can fuck him. Right? The guy doesn’t even like you. You check your phone once you’re done with your shower. Yup. You’re officially spending the night. And no text from Will. Left on read. AGAIN.

You slam your phone with a groan. Fuck it. Maybe sleeping with Aemond isn’t the worst idea. Maybe you do just need to get laid. Help each other out, as he said. You chew your lip nervously.

You hold the shirt up in front of your naked form. It’s huge, clearly his. You bring it to your nose, inhaling the scent of laundry detergent and his cologne. It’s the same scent you smelled as you rode on his motorcycle, cheek pressed to his back. Expensive. Musky. Notes of amber. Fuck. 

You slide it over your head, and it falls in the middle of your thighs. No panties though. You sleep without them anyway so what’s it matter? You hop over to the bed, sit on top of it, and cradle one of the soft feather pillows in your lap. You can’t help but nervously chew your lip, thinking of Aemond down the hall. 

Screw this. 

You get up, tossing your pillow behind you, and head toward the door. Throwing it open you’re shocked to see Aemond already standing in front of it, hand raised as though he was going to knock. You release a startled squeak, stumbling backward on the balls of your feet. 

Aemond’s eye runs over your wet hair and scantily clad form, causing warmth to gather on your cheeks. You can’t help but do the same, eyes roaming the form-fitting white t-shirt he wears, down to the grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips and back up to that fucking silver chain he wears. 

“Hey,” he says, wetting his lips, “I was just-”

You interrupt him with a chaste kiss on his lips. You pull away quickly, lips tingling. Aemond blinks as though he’s trying to process what just happened. Then, a smirk curls onto his handsome face, and he lets out a soft, breathy chuckle before reaching down, grabbing the back of your neck, and pulling you towards him. 

“I fucking knew it,” he growls.

He connects your lips, kissing you deeper this time; his tongue slipping through the seal of your lips with ease. Aemond’s hand remains firmly on the back of your neck, long fingers curling around your throat while the other reaches to slam the door shut as he backs you into the room. Then he’s on you, pawing at your waist, reaching down to cup the swell of your ass, and squeezing so hard you gasp into his mouth. 

He’s a good kisser, much to your disappointment (well not really, deep down). You had hoped he wouldn’t live up to the cocky attitude he wears like armor.

“You sure about this?” he murmurs, between kisses, his voice rough and seductive, sending a rush of warmth between your thighs. 

“Yes,” you breathe against his lips, feeling the sharp point of his nose press against your cheek.

“Super sure?” he breathes, lips ghosting against yours. He tastes like peppermint, like winter in the city.

“Yes,” you repeat, lips hungrily chasing his own in a desperate kiss, “I want you to fuck me, Aemond.”

He groans as you say it, pushing you back against the bed until your knees bend and your back hits the mattress. You lift your legs, wrapping them around his slim waist as he climbs on top of you, kissing you like his life depends on it. His lips are so soft and warm, you nearly whimper just from making out with him like it's your first time again. 

You can feel him smiling against you as you drag your hands underneath his shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his abdomen flex underneath your touch. He breaks away for a moment, holding himself above you with one hand, using the other to pull his t-shirt off his body, throwing it to a corner of the room. 

You move to remove your own shirt- well his shirt- tossing it in the same direction. Aemond eyes your breasts hungrily, wasting no time bringing his mouth to your taut right nipple, swirling his tongue over the bud and sucking. You can feel the cool metal of his chain dragging across your breast, the juxtaposition driving you crazy.

You moan, digging your nails into his shoulder, and dragging them down his back harshly. Aemond gasps slightly, releasing your nipple and moving to the other, beginning to palm at the abandoned breast. His hand travels lower, slender fingers dragging down your sternum, over your belly button, and down toward your wet center. You can feel how drenched you are already, the stickiness that has formed between your thighs. You lift your hips, desperate for some friction, anything. 

Aemond’s fingers part your slick folds, barely touching you, just enough to make you bite your lower lip in anticipation.

“Fuck,” he moans, jaw slacking, “You’re so wet.”

A sharp whine leaves your lips as you throw your head back against the pillows. Aemond smirks, sliding down your body to seat himself between your legs. 

“All talk,” he muses, pushing your legs back against the mattress.

You’re spread out for him like a feast. He curls his fingers into the meat of your thighs, before bringing his mouth to your left one. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the smooth skin, sucking harshly. You’re tingling everywhere, from the top of your head all the way down to your toes as he moves to do the same to your opposite thigh. 

He kisses the delicate flesh where your thigh meets your hip, dragging his lower lip against it as he looks up at you. His violet eye is hooded, the pupil dilated with lust. Aemond grips your right thigh, pulling you toward his face with ease, his nose bumping against your clit, causing you to jolt. 

“Aemond,” you whimper, and he moans in response.

“Oh I like that,” he murmurs, letting his tongue dart out to taste between your folds, “Say it again.”

Your heart is beating erratically in your chest, fire erupting in your belly with every swipe of his tongue against your slick folds. 

“Aemond,” you whine once more, “Oh fuck.” He wraps his lips around your clit, suckling on the sensitive nub, tongue flicking out to caress it. His eye watches you the entire time, studying your way, the way you react to each gentle flutter of his tongue. 

Your toes curl and your legs tremble at his attention. Fuck. Holy shit this is good. His tongue dips lower, momentarily abandoning your clit to prod at your entrance. Aemond releases his grip on your thighs to bring his hands to cup under your ass. He lifts you off the bed slightly, angling your upwards and plunging his tongue inside you.

A strangled cry leaves your lips as he works the smooth, wet muscle against your clenching walls. He moans as you cry out, squeezing your asscheeks harshly as he moves his face up and down, grinding his nose against your clit as he fucks you with his tongue. You’re nearly there, legs tingling with your impending orgasm, when he lowers you to the bed.

He replaces his tongue with his fingers, easing one slender digit into your throbbing core. Aemond finds your G-spot with impressive precision, stroking the rough patch in tandem with the movements of his tongue on your clit.

“Oh Jesus fuck,” you squeak, abdominal muscles clenching as he slips a second finger into your tight, wet heat. He crooks his fingers, pulling his mouth away from your clit momentarily to watch them slide in and out. 

“You like that?” he asks roughly, chin glistening with your slick.

“Yes,” you answer, a broken cry, “Fuck just like that-”

“Just like this?” he teases, pressing his opposite palm on your lower abdomen as he taunts you, “Yeah, that’s good, huh?” 

The added stimulation on your g-spot makes your vision blur as he drops his head to mouth your clit once more. The noises leaving your mouth are uncontrollable at this point, and you can’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed because it feels too fucking good for you to care.

Your legs shudder and you tangle your hands in his hair as your walls clench around his fingers and you cry out as your orgasm washes over you. You feel a rush of wetness as you finish, hear the squelching of Aemond’s fingers and the low, throaty moan he releases as he continues his ministrations with his fingers and tongue so you can ride out your orgasm. 

When your limbs have stilled, Aemond eases his fingers out of you, crawling on top of you once more, kissing you ferociously. You can feel his cock straining against his sweatpants and you move quickly, mind clouded by lust, fingers dipping below his waistline and freeing it. It's hot and heavy against your hand and you wrap your fingers around his thick length. You’re kissing him still, fuck you like kissing him, so you can’t see how his cock looks. 

But you feel it, as you stroke down the shaft. It just keeps going. 

You blink, pulling away from his lips, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, sucking harshly in the smooth skin of your throat. You glance between you and him, eyes widening at the sight of his cock. Long, pale, and slightly curved upwards. Aemond Targaryen is well endowed. Aemond Targaryen has a perfect fucking cock.

This stupid bastard. 

You almost want to roll your eyes in frustration but then he sinks his teeth into your shoulder and any thought of annoyance with the man on top of you fades from your mind. 

“I have a condom,” he murmurs through a moan as you continue to stroke him. 

“Do you want me to…” you begin, wanting to return the favor.

“Not tonight,” he tells you, kissing your lips, “Let me be inside you.”

“Yes,” you agree, bucking your hips desperately, “Please-”

Aemond sits back on his haunches, reaching for his discarded sweatpants. He smirks while removing a condom from the pocket. He tears the foil with his teeth, sliding it on his length. 

“Please?” he teases, imitating you slightly, “You want my cock that bad?”

You’re breathing heavily, and nod. Aemond leans forward, his arms forming a cage around you. He guides his cock toward your center, dragging the tip through your slick folds. 

“Say it,” he demands, voice low and commanding.

“Please…I want your cock,” you whimper, cheeks aflame.

Aemond grins.

“Fuck that’s good,” he murmurs, rewarding you with a kiss as he presses into you.

The delicious stretch of his cock steals the breath from your lungs as you adjust to his size of him. Your walls spasm, pussy fluttering desperately as he sheathes himself completely in your tight, wet heat. And then he’s rolling his hips, dragging his cock out to the tip and slamming back into you and you lose your last thread of sanity. 

Aemond pounds into you with long, hard, even strokes. The bedframe shakes, and he reaches up, holding the headboard to support himself as he thrusts into you.

“So fucking good…” he moans, “Perfect fucking pussy…fuck I knew you’d be perfect..”

You moan at his words, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. Aemond hooks his free arm under your lower back, lifting your lower body off the bed. He’s so deep inside of you, the curve of his cock sliding against your G-spot perfectly with each thrust. It’s hard and dirty and you’re living for every second of it, pleasurable tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. 

Aemond’s jaw is slacked, eyes glued to your tits bouncing with every harsh thrust he delivers. He slides his hand down from your back, releasing you down onto the bed and sliding your leg over his shoulder. The new angle has you spilling moans and whimpers with every thrust, causing an open-mouthed smile to appear on Aemond’s face.

Cocky bastard. And he was right. He is that fucking good. Especially as he brings his hand to play with your clit, the pads of his fingers working lazy circles around the sensitive button. 

“You gonna come on my cock?” he asks, his tone tantalizing, “You know you want to. Be my good little girl, yeah?”

“Fuck fuck!” you cry, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around his thick cock.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises as you fall apart for the second time with a cry, “Oh she’s a good girl after all, huh? Just needed to be fucked real good.”

“Oh shit!” you cry as he continues thrusting into you, the overstimulation making you see stars.

“Gods this perfect tight little pussy, fuck,” he moans, stuttering as he finishes into the condom. He kisses you as he cums, tangling his tongue with yours, dragging another moan from your throat.

Aemond stays inside you a moment, before unsheathing his cock. He rolls next to you, removing the condom and throwing it into the trashcan. He turns back over to you, pulling you against him. You’re dazed, blinking sleepily as his fingers stroke your upper arm. 

“You need to go to the bathroom,” he murmurs, “And have some water. Then we’ll lay.”

You turn your face to him.

“Didn’t think you’d be into aftercare,” you tell him.

“It’s important,” he answers immediately, “For the chemical balance in your brain.”

“Okay Bill Nye,” you tell him, rising from the bed and heading to the bathroom.

You return a few moments later, climbing back into bed with him. He’s gone under the covers and you snuggle up next to him. 

“This doesn’t mean we’re friends with benefits,” you tell him, cheek pressed against his chest. Aemond releases a hum, the vibrations moving through you.

“Why not?” Aemond asks, fingers playing with your hair.

“We’re not friends, for one,” you tell him, bringing your hand to the one of his that lays on his stomach. You stroke your pointer finger over the back of his hand, tracing the veins. “And you’re annoying and irritating.”

“So?” Aemond asks, as though the statement doesn’t bother him in the slightest, “I just fucked your brains out.”

You feel the heat returning to your cheeks.

“I assume you enjoy getting your brains fucked out?” he asks, moving his hand to lace his fingers through his.

It’s your turn to hum in response.

“Alright,” you tell him, sitting up, “But if we’re doing this, we need some ground rules.”

“Perfect,” he says sitting up, “I agree.”

But just then, your phone lights up on the nightstand. You frown, reaching for it. You can still hear the rain and thunder outside, so you assume it's not Baela or Helaena. Your eyes widen when you read it. 

“Oh shit.”

note: I just can't keep things uncomplicated can I?? its a curse

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[flowerandblood]

To desire, to love, to care (Oneshot)

The Impossible Choice Series Special Chapter

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ description: After years spent in Borros Baratheon's fortress, Aemond chooses his youngest daughter as his future wife. The closer to their wedding date, the more he begins to understand where his real home is. Devastated by this discovery, he consoles himself with the thought that he will finally be reunited with the one he has chosen and create his own family with her, but to do this he has to wait until his wedding night. Or not? ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, kissing, smut, angst, sexual tension, domination, violence, swearing, kind of incest but not actually ]

This oneshot is an alternate reality from The Impossible Choice Series where, according to Aemond’s words in Chapter 49, he is sent to Storm’s End by his father when he is still just a child. It shows what would happen and how it would affect Aemond and Lady Baratheon, what his relationship with Borros, Royce and her other sisters would be like. This oneshot is part two of Brother, Lover, Son story, it's stands apart from the main story and is a big, long “what if”. 

Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister

Moodboards before you start reading and want feel the mood:

Aemond and Lady Baratheon • Storm’s End Stronghold • Baratheon Family • Lady Baratheon Gowns • Aemond • Lady Baratheon Mother

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Main story and my other fics: Masterlist

______

He had never been so happy in his life as he was after their betrothal was officially announced. Cassandra and Ellyn had quickly come to terms with his decision, and he didn't care about Floris or Maris' opinions. Borros and Royce seeing his engagement, the glances and quiet words he exchanged at the table with his future wife finally calmed down, reassuring themselves that his decision really did stem from his affection.

His wife-to-be, after what they did almost every night, appeared to him as even more beautiful and even more desirable, and although they allowed themselves to become intimate, letting his fat erection slide deep into her body, he promised himself that he would not undress her or fill her with his seed until their wedding night.

He knew he shouldn't touch her until the day of their nuptials, but he couldn't help himself.

If she had been a complete stranger to him it would have been easier, but they had shared a lifetime together, his years filled with a whole range of feelings towards her that he had not been able to reveal, which now appeared to him like a stream from which she could drink by the handful.

She knew that he loved her.

She knew it even though he had never said it to her.

She could see it in the way he looked at her when, as usual, the three of them practised in the courtyard in the morning, when, hot from the duel with Royce, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

When he stared down at her, panting along with her in a sweet effort of pleasure, with the thrusts of his hips again and again sinking deep between her thighs, experiencing the greatest intimacy that could unite a man and a woman.

She could hear it in his voice when, at her request, he would read to her as he had when she was a small child. This time, however, he let her lie between his thighs and snuggle against his chest, the great book of the complicated history of House Targaryen before them.

She felt that as his future wife she must thoroughly understand and know his lineage.

She could not hide her surprise when she saw their family tree on one of the pages – although she knew it, the number of marriages between sisters and brothers shocked her.

"If you had a second sister, would you marry her?" She asked quietly, her voice quivering with uncertainty, as if she felt that by her not being a Targaryen she was his second, inferior choice that he had been forced into by fate.

He hummed under his breath, leaning in, pushing back her hair with the tip of his nose, placing a soft, warm kiss on her neck.

"As far as I can remember, the Seven have bestowed upon me the grace of having as many as six sisters, though not all of them are as wise as I might wish." He murmured lowly, trailing his nose upwards to her jaw, which he brushed with his lips, feeling the heat at the words he himself had spoken.

He felt her shiver all over, a red flush on her cheek, as she glanced up at him in disbelief, her lips parted slightly, her eyes shining.

"− to me you will always be my brother − that's what you told me − isn't it? − have you changed your mind? −" He asked, feeling his manhood pulsate strongly at this realisation, at the fact that he was in fact taking as his wife the girl he had seen as his family for years, that his decision was no different from what his ancestors had done, and he felt a kind of pride at the thought.

For the first time in those many years when Viserys had sent him to Storm's End he felt that his presence here really did make sense.

That Borros was more of a father to him than the King himself had ever been.

Borros knew him and his withdrawn nature, and yet he was still able to reach out to him, to instil in him the values and principles that he himself upheld.

Royce was the big brother to him that Aegon was unable to be, and although he could sometimes be irresponsible, he could always count on him, and Royce always stood by his side.

And so was she.

He realised that he hadn't even noticed how they had become inseparable over the years, that they spent virtually all their days together.

He had tried to pretend, to divide himself into 'himself' and 'them', but he realised that this had never been true, because he had never been excluded by them or repelled by them himself – they moved around each other's orbits like planets, drawing each other close.

"− of course not −" She mumbled quietly, pulling him out of his reverie, ashamed of her own words and their context, of how inappropriate and shameless they were. She lifted her hand and her soft, warm fingers ran over his scarred cheek.

He swallowed loudly, pressing his forehead against her temple, his hand put his book on the cold stone floor and returned back to her body, only to grasp her soft, plump breast with a greedy, thirsty gesture, separated from her hot skin by nothing but just the thin fabric of her nightgown.

She drew in a loud breath, her swollen lips parted in sweet moan. He could see in her gaze what he wanted – hot affection and a boundless, deep desire that only he could quench.

Instinctively, they sank into each other's mouths, wet and thirsty for closeness, sucking and licking with a loud, sticky clicks, silent sighs rippling out of her throat each time his fingers pulled gently at her nipple, playing with it.

"− please −" She whimpered as she grasped his other hand in hers, sliding it lower between her thighs in a slow, tentative motion. He murmured low into her mouth, delighted at how direct she had become, how he had completely opened her up to all physical sensations in recent weeks.

His fingers nimbly pulled the material of her nightgown upwards and sank into her hot, wet womanhood, her moisture slick against his skin as he traced his fingers gently over her folds.

She squirmed before him, thirsting for more intense caresses, but he wanted to teach her patience, taking the greatest satisfaction from the sight of her twitching with pleasure.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled furrowing her eyebrows, rushing him, knowing he was playing with her. He only smirked, feeling that he was completely hard, his length hidden in his breeches pushing against her buttocks, pulsing intensely.

"− not like that − that's not what you called me −" He murmured amused, his fingers merely teasing her puffy bud, driving her to desperation – she quivered silently in his arms, searching for any source of more intense rubbing.

"− please, my Prince −" She mewled, and he shook his head, letting out a loud expression of disappointment and tsked.

She swallowed loudly as if she suddenly understood what he meant and turned her face towards him, running her hand over his jaw in an affectionate gesture, her nose pressed against his cheek.

"− please, brother −" She mumbled and moaned loudly when she felt his fingers dig into her sensitive, fleshy structure, with sure, intense circular motions massaging her pearl, making a powerful shiver of pleasure pass through her.

"− just like that − tell your big brother what you need −" He cooed as he leaned down, placing loud, sticky kisses on her neck, rubbing involuntarily against her buttocks, unable to bear the sheer tension he felt between his thighs.

He heard her cry loudly, simultaneously ashamed and aroused, her moisture running straight down onto his fingers, her slit pulsing hard, all hot, ready to welcome him inside her.

"− inside me − please, put it nside me −" She sobbed, and he lost the remnants of his strong will, letting her go, reaching quickly for the clasp of his belt.

Taking advantage of her freedom, she quickly turned to face him, sitting down on top of him with her arms around his neck and hovering a tad, lowering herself onto his fat length with such confidence and lightness that he groaned, surprised.

"− fuck −" He exhaled, tilting his head back, leaning it against the cold stone wall, clenching his eyes – he placed his hands on her hips as she began to rise and fall onto him, panting loudly along with him.

"− brother −" She moaned out, and he growled like an animal, slamming his cock into her with sure, deep thrusts of his hips, stretching her wet, hot muscles trying fruitlessly to resist him, looking up at her from below.

She kissed him, leaning over him, her hands entwined in his hair, her slick tongue sliding deep into his throat, giving him the feeling that he felt her all over him, that they were one.

He had to slide out of her embarrassingly fast – the speed with which his fulfilment came surprised him and her, but afterwards he took pity on her nonetheless and brought her to fulfilment with his two long fingers, sucking and licking her nipples through her nightgown.

She was his.

The faster the moment of his journey to King's Landing approached, the more Storm's End seemed like home to him. For some reason he had thought he would stay there forever, and now that he realised he hadn't, he looked around the great halls of the Baratheon stronghold with melancholy.

He had wished that he would feel joy and satisfaction at the thought of returning to Red Keep, but this was not what happened.

Instead, he felt a kind of tightness in his throat, the unfairness of it – even if part of him felt as Borros's son and Royce's brother, he could not take part in their inheritance.

He knew every nook and cranny in Storm's End, sneaking off with Royce on expeditions through dungeons and cellars. His youngest sister would sometimes sneak out with them whenever she heard them, threatening to cry loudly if they didn't let her come with them.

That's why they usually ended up walking as a threesome – he and Royce holded torches and illuminated the dark, disturbing views around them, their footsteps echoing down long corridors seemingly endless.

"It is said that the ghost of a servant girl lives here. She was murdered in her sleep, but the perpetrator was never caught." Royce began, glancing over his shoulder at his younger sister, her eyebrows arched in worry, her tightened lips expressing discomfort.

"You're lying." She muttered, but without certainty. He glanced at Royce, who looked at him expectantly walking beside him arm in arm.

"Haven't you heard about this story? She was found in a pool of blood with her throat slit. Everyone knows about it." He said indifferently, stretching his lie, hoping that if they scare her right she'll let them go on their trips alone.

He grinned when he heard her whimper in fear – she looked at them trying to see any sign that they had tricked her, but they both tried to keep stony faces, taking an unspoken satisfaction from it.

And suddenly they heard a loud rumble in front of them – they flinched and screamed, terrified, running away immediately like the most ordinary cowards.

As they ran up the great stone stairs to the floor on which their chambers were located he thought it was pitiful, but he was shaking all over – he could hear Royce trying to silence his sister, who was crying out in terror, holding her brother by his sleeve.

"− I don't want to sleep alone − I'm scared of this ghost − what will I do if it comes to me −" She mumbled between sobs, all wet with tears, barely able to get the words out between loud, ragged breaths.

The three of them ended up sleeping in Royce's bed.

At first he didn't want to stay, figuring it would show that he was scared too, which of course wasn't true, but after that he remembered the awful rumble they heard and thought that lying alone in his chamber he wouldn't sleep a wink.

That's why they all huddled under a thick furs, his youngest sister between them, snuggled into her brother, their warmth radiating in all directions making him feel safe.

He knew that if Aegon, Jace or Luke saw him now they would laugh at him, but they weren't here and he knew they would never know, so he fell asleep at last.

He woke up in the middle of the night feeling someone's small arms wrapped around him, someone's head snuggled into his chest – he knew it was her and thought she had probably mistaken him for Royce, so he didn't push her away.

He embraced her.

She was warm.

He fell asleep again.

The next day he escaped to his chamber in the morning as soon as it began to dawn, she and Royce sleeping soundly holding hands.

He felt something then looking at them, some kind of affection that made him feel ashamed and he left not wanting anyone to know what had happened.

They never spoke about it afterwards but he knew that it was a turning point for them, a moment when they subconsciously understood that they were companions.

Precisely because they were so close they had concerns about what their life would be like in King's Landing after their marriage.

"Will I still be able to train with you? After our marriage?" She asked quietly one day as they stood at a table lined with all sorts of weapons. He glanced at her, completely surprised.

He didn't know what to answer.

It wouldn't bother him, what's more, he felt that her place was by his side in every aspect of his life, but what worried him was that people would gossip about her.

Say she wasn't behaving like a lady from a great house, that she wasn't a woman worthy of a prince.

He knew she would still feel like a stranger in the Red Keep and he didn't want to add to her pain.

"I don't know." He answered honestly. "Perhaps archery. However, I don't want to promise anything."

She lowered her gaze, her whole body filled with sadness and disappointment.

He thought with pain that she would experience more of these feelings when she became his wife, when she saw what they had to face.

His family was not like them.

Aegon was not like Royce.

And while he firmly believed that she might find a friend in Helaena, the most significant thing was that his father was not Borros.

The rainy, at first sight ugly and cold stronghold in Storm's End became, years later, his asylum that he did not want to leave.

His mother, however, had made it clear that his marriage meant his return home.

The day before he was to leave Storm's End to personally oversee the preparation of her chamber for her arrival they met again in the library, horrified that they would be separated for as much as a week.

It also seemed to him that it was becoming increasingly clear to her that she was leaving her home, and although she loved him, she was suffering because of it.

"− will − will we sometimes be able to fly here together on Vhagar? − to visit my father and Royce? −" She asked uncertainly, looking at him pleadingly, needing to hear that she would be able to visit her family, that he would not lock her in a golden cage like an animal.

He lifted his hand and stroked her plump, warm cheek.

"− of course − no one will forbid us from travelling here whenever we want − if my future duties on the council allow, we will travel here as often as possible −" He said softly and she hugged him, clearly comforted by his words, sighing with relief. He kissed her hair thinking only of the fact that she would soon be his wife, that she would bear him his children.

In the Red Keep he was joyfully greeted by his mother and his sister, her children were no longer small newborns and babbled loudly in her arms.

He thought with a squeeze of his heart of his betrothed, who might be holding his child in her arms like this in the future, and felt heat in his lower abdomen, wishing only that she would join him.

As usual, the biggest disappointment for him was his father and brother – the King looked as if he was in agony, pleased to see him, expressing his pleasure that he was back and that he would soon meet his future wife, but beyond that he heard nothing more from him.

Looking at Aegon, seeing at night as he walked down the corridor how he sank between the thighs of the common servants, he felt discomfort and disgust.

He thought then of Royce, of how he would never do such thing to his own wife.

Although Criston had tried to bond with him and he respected him as a person, it wasn't the same. He and Royce understood each other without words.

However, he found with regret that, apart from his future wife, it was Borros that he missed most.

It was only when he was far away from their stronghold that he realised what a charismatic person he was, how much he influenced him with his very behaviour, the way he spoke and gestured.

He still had the daggers he had given him for his Name Day, just as he held in his heart the values he wanted to pass on to him then.

You are not my son by blood, but I made you a man.

His real father remained in Storm's End.

He was only relieved that he would become his father-in-law and his second father by marriage, allowing him at last to openly think of him that way without shame.

He oversaw the preparations for the ceremony and the furnishing of his betrothed's chamber personally. He supervised everything, from the colours of the paintings on her walls, to the choice of flowers, to the books with which her bookshelves were to be filled.

He had everything set up so that her chamber would resemble her rooms in Storm's End.

He wanted her to feel at home.

He also had his belongings moved to the chamber next to hers which were connected to each other by large double doors and could be one large room – which was his purpose.

He had no intention of living separately with her, as his father and mother did, having their rooms on two different sides of the keep.

When the day came on which she and her family were to arrive in King's Landing from the morning onwards he felt excitement and contentment, a kind of pride, as if it was his real family who were to visit him at last, as if it was just what he had been waiting for.

He, Ser Criston and his mother greeted them in person. Borros and Royce got out of the first carriage, bowing to the Queen with honour. They nodded at Criston, not paying much attention to him.

Royce surprised him by extending his hand to him, which he shook. His foster brother drew him in and gave him a quick hug, patting him manfully on the back, and he reciprocated the gesture, pulling away from him and grunting loudly.

Borros stared at him for a moment with such a look that he felt his heart squeeze. He swallowed loudly as he finally approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder, patting him like a proud father, his eyes red.

For some reason, he felt like crying as he looked at his face full of the affection he so longed to see in his king's eyes.

And then he saw her – she was standing at the back waiting her turn, her beautiful gown sewn in the Baratheon colours in the cut she always wore, with buff, slit sleeves and a low waist, with her breasts covered only by a white chemise.

She looked beaming, her face flushed, her eyes shining at the sight of him, big, hot and filled with affection, her hands folded in front of her on her abdomen in a gesture of humility.

He felt like throwing himself at her.

Gods, his sister, his lover, his future wife was beautiful.

His mother welcomed her with open arms, speaking quietly of how she hoped her journey had not been tiring and that everything was ready for their arrival.

For the first time during the supper in the Red Keep he felt that there was any life at all – Borros's low, hoarse laughter, the voice of Royce, Ellyn and his future wife filled the hall along with the voices of his mother and his grandfather.

He had feared that Borros would seem too coarse and straightforward to the Queen, but Lord Baratheon had clearly decided to tame his character in front of her and was at least behaving decently.

It was the first time in a long time that he had seen anyone bring his mother and grandfather to laughter, and he managed it with ease.

He felt relieved.

His fingers were entwined under the table on the armrest of his chair with hers, his thumb stroking steadily her warm, soft skin.

He had only dreamed of touching her, but they had promised each other that upon her arrival at the Red Keep they would not risk anyone catching them, that they would wait with any kind of physical intimacy other than a kiss or the touch of their hands until their wedding night.

Now, having her close to him, he had a feeling that he would die faster than he could last those three days.

He was not mistaken.

The next day, being in the library with her, showing her the rich collections of the Red Keep, he pressed her against one of the bookcases, lifted her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist and slid his erection, throbbing with longing, inside her, babbling that he couldn't stand it when she was this close, fucking her with fast, deep thrusts, panting hard, her face pressed into his neck to muffle the loud moans of pleasure that ripped from her throat.

He had never felt so happy in his life.

He didn't let their wedding day be spoiled by his grandfather once again suggesting that the maester should make sure his wife was a maiden, meeting his categorical objection, or be ruined by his brother shouting during the wedding feast about the bedding ceremony even though he had agreed with his mother that such a humiliating tradition would not take place.

He remembered very little of the Great Sept, standing in front of hundreds of people focused only on him, feeling small and surrounded, ringing in his ears.

He only felt relieved when he saw her, her hand on her father's palm extended in front of her, her gown pearly and shiny, almost white like the colour of his hair, daisies tucked into her curls.

She looked so innocent.

He thought of nothing but her when they said their vows, when they revealed in front of everyone that from now on they belonged together in the face of the gods.

He could hear cheers and applause echoing off the walls, but all he could think about was her shy, warm smile and the tears of emotion that hid in the corners of her eyes.

They left the wedding feast embarrassingly quickly, once they had eaten and drunk, without even waiting for the fifth dance to end. He only growled to his brother that he would cut off his cock if he didn't shut his mouth after he mentioned undressing his wife again and then nodded to her to follow him.

He watched, standing in his chamber, as her servants helped her pull off her elaborate rich gown, untying her sleeves and bodice. One of them reached up to touch the flowers in her hair, but he intervened.

"No. The flowers are to stay." He said coldly with a pounding heart imagining her naked, clad only in tiny daisies entwined in her curls.

He saw her throw him a look full of warm affection and embarrassment, she blushed at his words and lowered her head, looking down at her hands.

"That's enough." He said impatiently as they applied the oils to her skin.

She was already standing in nothing but her beautiful nightgown, richly embroidered with white threads, and he felt that he had to touch her already.

Her maids immediately left her and one by one walked out, closing the door behind them with a quiet click of wood.

He stared at her standing a few paces away, simply admiring her.

The one he had chosen, the one who had been destined for him all along.

She lifted her gaze to him and smiled in her own distinctive way, warm, caring and comforting, making him feel seen, wanted, loved.

He approached her slowly feeling that they didn't need to hurry, they had already made love, and though he had never experienced fulfilment inside her it made them both know what to expect, not afraid of what the next few minutes were to bring.

He took her cheeks in his hands with gentleness and tenderness, pressing his forehead against hers, feeling strangely light, his heart hot, beating fast and hard.

"− my wife − " He whispered, and she made big eyes hearing those words for the first time, as if she only now realised it had happened, that she was his wife, that there was no turning back.

She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, in her eyes some kind of awe from which squeezed his throat.

"− my husband −" She said softly. He felt her words throughout his body, a wave of heat went through him, and in a sudden, involuntary reflex he kissed her, clasping his hands in her hair, slipping his tongue between her lips, drawing a sweet, innocent moan from her.

They kissed for a while, purring and panting, stroking each other's faces, necks and hair, sure that this time they didn't have to be afraid that someone would catch them, that they didn't have to be quiet, didn't have to hide.

He grabbed her hips and lifted her up, walking with her to his bed, laying her on her back.

She looked up at him with trusting eyes as he untied her nightgown, spreading the material to the sides, revealing her bare, plump breasts to him at last. He felt his cock pulsate hard at this sight, raw, final, shameless, of her pure, beautiful flesh.

She moaned loudly, surprised, as he pressed his lips to her breast, licking her hard, puffy nipple with his tongue, teasing it with the very tip, her hands clenched in his hair, pressing him closer, her thighs spread wide before him in some natural, subconscious impulse.

"− please − please, husband −" She mumbled helplessly and that was the end of it – he lifted himself up on his hands and clung to her lips, with firm, sure jerks ripping her nightgown open. She gasped loudly into his throat, her fingers reaching for the buckles of his tunic, unbuckling them one by one.

He couldn't consider that undressing went easily for them, but he didn't think anything of it, helping her to pull off his tunic, shirt and breeches until finally they were both left wonderfully naked. They moved away from each other, giving themselves a moment to admire what they were seeing.

He parted his lips in an accelerated breath when he felt her fingers run over his bare chest, her fingers small, soft and warm, a pleasant shiver went through him.

He leaned in, nuzzling his face between her breasts, kissing her beautiful, firm, sweet-smelling skin, going lower and lower.

"− your husband is going to taste you tonight −" He murmured and felt her move restlessly beneath him, unsure of exactly what he meant.

He didn't stop when she squealed suddenly, seeing his face between her thighs, trying fruitlessly to push him away, startled, his breath surrounded her warm womanhood leaking with her moisture, the tip of his tongue trailing over her sensitive skin, wanting to taste her.

"− Aemond − what are you - oh gods −" She mewled with difficulty as she heard him hum with satisfaction, discovering that her wetness was smelling of her and her arousal – his tongue forced its way inside her without warning as his nose teased her pearl, drawing sounds from her that he had not heard before.

He gripped her hips with his hands and spread her thighs wider, sinking his face completely into her soft flesh, her fingers tightened on his hair holding him close – she was sobbing each time the tip of his tongue teased and massaged a spot hidden deep inside her.

"− come on, little sister − give it to me −" He purred in between the loud, slurping clicks of her juices caused by the flicks of his tongue, and she fell apart in his arms. He moaned low as he felt how much wetness flowed out of her through her fulfilment, licking it all away with devotion.

"− you taste so good −" He cooed, wiping his face with his hand, lifting himself up, resting his weight on his knees, pushing her hips closer to him with one hand, the other jerking his manhood a few times, already dripping with his precum. "− now it's time for your big bother, don't you think? −"

He asked, watching with amusement as she failed to recover from what had just happened to her, her breath heavy, her gaze clouded, her mouth parted wide, her hands lying loosely on either side of her head.

"− I − oh −" She mumbled out as she felt him guide the fat head of his cock to her entrance. He slided into her with one, sure thrust, her oversensitive, hot muscles clenched against him in panic – his wife moaned loudly, clasping her hands at his sides, both of them all sweaty.

He leaned over her and kissed her, moaning and purring as he slid in and out of her with slow, deep, purposeful pushes with the loud slaps of flesh against flesh, their tongues meeting and licking each time he sank deep into her body again.

"− yes −" She whispered with pleasure in a trembling voice, her hands shamelessly slid down to his back and buttocks, exploring his body with as much curiosity as he did – he felt a powerful shiver run down his spine and he sped up feeling that he would not last long.

"− for you to give me an heir as soon as possible − I should fill you with my seed every day − don't you think? −" He exhaled between their sticky wet kisses and felt her walls clench against him greedily at his words with pleasure, his hands on either side of her head, her thighs spread wide before him allowing him to penetrate her as deeply as he wished.

"− yes −" She uttered with difficulty between his one thrust and another – he felt his fulfillment approaching, she was too soft, too beautiful, her naked flesh pressed against him too hot.

"− beg − beg your brother-husband to fill you −" He hissed, looking down at her with satisfaction, feeling from the way her walls throbbed that she was on the verge of a second elation too.

He heard her swallow loudly and gasp, breathing hard, his bed beneath them creaking loudly with each of his brutal thrusts, her breasts bouncing up and down, mesmerising him completely, her face expressing absolute submission.

"− please − please, brother, fill me − gods, I need it −" She mewled helplessly clenching her fingers on his buttocks, as if she wanted him to thrust even deeper into her.

"− just like that − oh, fuck − yes −" He growled out with difficulty, coming inside her so hard that for a moment he went dark before his eyes, the wave of his pleasure completely stupefying him. All he could hear was her moans of pleasure, her walls clenching against him greedily in fulfilment as his warm spend finally filled her core.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled softly, panting loudly along with him, their bodies moving for a moment longer, trying to prolong their pleasure.

He knew that although many men mocked him because of the fact that he was a cripple, they would be envious of his marriage, of who his wife was to him.

He collapsed on top of her, breathing unevenly, feeling her hands immediately embrace him. They laid like that for a long moment, trying to calm themselves.

He thought that what they had done was heard by the entire Red Keep for sure and involuntarily smirked under his breath.

Everything.

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[mejcinta]

Parallels Between Daemon and Aemond (narrative foils).

1. Both believe they would make better kings, even dismissing the existence of their brothers' heirs ahead of them in the line of succession e.g Daemon with baby Baelon, Aemond with Jaehaerys.

Episode 1 Daemon: "Until your mother (Aemma) brings forth a son, you are cursed with me."

Episode 9 Aemond: "I'm next in line to the throne. Should they come looking for me, I intend to be found."

2. Both men, however, are loyal, respectful and defensive towards their brothers' positions as kings, even though they actively oppose their brothers' decisions and challenge their suitability to the role of king.

Daemon to Viserys in ep 1: "The blood of the dragon runs thick...he (Otto) doesn't protect you, I would."

Aemond to Lucerys at Storm's End, about Aegon: "Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?"

The duo also notably pursued their ambitions after their brothers were officially out of the picture, with Viserys dead and Aegon severely injured and incapacitated after the battle of Rook's Rest.

3. Both Daemon and Aemond have escaped marriages of duty, more or less. Daemon's marriage with Rhea Royce ended when he killed her. Aemond's betrothal to Floris Baratheon was dissolved or put on hold indefinitely after he killed Lucerys.

4. Both men have been romantically entangled with lowborn women, who they tried to legitimise to no avail.

Daemon took Mysaria as his lady when he captured Dragonstone for himself, demanding that she be recognized as his wife. He also later consorts with Nettles, a young dragonseed, who he is forced to leave in order to preserve her from Rhaenyra's wrath.

Aemond was besotted with Alys Rivers, a bastard woman in Harrenhal that was believed to be a woods witch skilled with potions and gifted with visions. He's assumed to have married her (as she was referred to as his widow) and she fights for their son's claim after Aemond's death.

Aemond and Daemon are foils, different as they are similar. Second sons burdened with the demands of duty and loyalty, cursed with dreams of greatness never quite fully realized; yet ending it all fighting for the cause they believe in and for the people they love.

[jaimeslanisters]

the pawn in every lover's game (part ten)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you’re ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 6.4k notes: late update which is 100% on me so my bad! but anyways, a lovely and beautiful anon made a playlist for this fic so give it a listen! here's a nice reprieve after the drama of the past chapters (:

Once, as children in your library, you had tried to convince Aemond to read the tale of Lady Jonquil and Florian the Fool. He had scoffed at you - it wasn’t the usual history or philosophy the two of you poured over together. It was a silly romance story, nothing to do with the important matters of state he was obsessed with understanding, but you had pressed it upon him to read.

You can still remember pushing your book of songs over his own book about the maesters of the Citadel, determined to present your case. ‘It’s not quite as serious as everything you like to read but it says something about men, I feel. Ser Florian may have been a fool but he was wise where it counted.’

‘Singers and bards are invested in us thinking that, my lady, but I don’t think it’s true,’ he had responded, rolling his eyes, but he had taken your book and read it. He had never once talked about it with you though, simply returning the book to you the next day and distracting you from asking him about it by dragging you into a debate over whether or not Lann the Clever was the bastard son of Floris the Fox or even Rowan Gold-Tree, a topic sure to rile any Westerlander, leaving you to completely forget about silly love songs as you had argued over your ancestor’s own ancestry.

‘I am as great a fool as ever lived, and as great a knight’ Ser Florian had told his lady when he had crowned her. ‘All men are fools and all men are knights where women are concerned.’

With as much love as you have for the songs, you never could quite believe that line, could never make it quite click in your head.

But now, with the screaming all around you, as Aemond stands at your side, arm in arm and having crowned you with a crown of bloodied roses, you wonder if he’s remembering the songs as well as you are, if he’s realizing that maybe the singers were right in some respect.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” You ask, pushing away your thoughts of the Lady Jonquil and her fool of a knight, in favor of looking over him anxiously. He’s bloodstained but you can’t tell how much of it is his and how much of it belongs to his opponent. His dark armor hides most of it, preventing you from picking out any clear wounds or injuries, and, out in the open like this, you can’t glide your hands over him to try and feel any out.

Aemond looks down at you, his eyes soft as he takes in your worry. “No, not hurt. Bruises here and there, some cuts and scrapes that my mother will drive herself insane worrying about, but nothing serious.”

You sigh in relief, leaning against him slightly, wishing you could wrap your arms around him and pull him close. You allow yourself a moment there, pressed against the hard armor, before you pull back, conscious of the eyes of all of King’s Landing watching the two of you. There’s a flicker of disapproval on Aemond’s face when he notices, his jaw tightening just a tick, and he shoots a baleful glare at the crowd.

It reminds you all too much of the way little Loren’s face would scrunch if anyone tried to pull his blanket away from him, right before he let out loud screams and wails that sent the entire household running to his side, and the odd comparison makes you laugh out loud.

Aemond’s brow furrows but his gaze softens once more as he watches your obvious glee.

“My father will be chomping at the bit to arrange a meeting with your mother,” you say after a while, smiling fondly as you look back toward the crowd. The royal box is emptying out and you know you only have moments before both of your families descend upon the two of you. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to secure an… understanding for right now. At least, until Cerelle’s marriage is public knowledge and Tyshara and Lord Tarly announce their own betrothal.”

Aemond huffs, showing a flash of impatience that makes you beam. “Hasn’t there always been an understanding? It’s been his and your goal ever since you came to the capitol.” You blink, confused for a moment, before shame and horror blossom on your face as you realize he knows. His eye watches you, openly amused, and he leans down, mouth by your ear, voice so low you can barely hear him over the still-roaring crowd. “You’re clever, my love, but it’s only in recent years that you’ve become skilled at deception and manipulation. I’m afraid that I was onto you right from the start.”

Heat explodes in your cheeks and you pull away, gaping up at him openly. He smirks at you, infuriatingly smug, and, suddenly uncaring of the eyes around you, you open your mouth. To say what - you’re not entirely sure. A denial? An explanation? An apology? No matter what you plan to say, you still want to say something but you’re cut off when Aegon all but slams into his brother, knocking him from your grasp, and sending the two of them skidding slightly in the dirt.

“I’m a rich, rich, rich man,” Aegon crows, arm flung around his younger brother as he gives him a firm shake, looking elated. Right behind him, Daeron is excitingly bouncing on his heels, looking like a little boy in all of his joy.

“Haven’t you always been a rich man?” Aemond snipes back, no real bite behind his words, and Aegon merely grins wider, looking impossibly pleased as if it was he himself who had fought and defeated all the opponents his brother had faced.

“Yes but now I’m a richer man,” he corrects, even as the rest of his family arrives to crowd around you all, forming a wall between you and the rest of the world. “That was family wealth, brother. This is personal wealth now - mine entirely.”

You watch them, torn between laughing at their interaction or panicking at the fact that Aemond knows, before Helaena tugs on your hand to call your attention. When you turn to her, you jerk back slightly as she reaches up to your face with a handkerchief, wiping at your chin gently. When she pulls it away, you blink at the blood staining the white fabric.

Aemond’s hand. When he grabbed me earlier.

It should horrify you but instead, something in you roars with satisfaction. In front of all of King’s Landing, he had claimed you and he had crowned you and he had marked you. It calms you but only barely.

He wouldn’t do this if he didn’t care for me too. If he didn’t think I was honest you try to reassure yourself but it’s still difficult to convince yourself of it. A part of you wants to be indignant at the idea he could judge you for seeking him out in marriage - the two of you had always agreed about the importance of marrying for your house rather than personal pleasure. You had just been lucky that for you, those two desires managed to be one and the same.

A larger part, however, is just scared. You can still remember, plain as day, the little boy who had seemed baffled that you wanted to spend time with him, that you even cared to speak to him. Aemond is grown now, more confident and sure of himself than he had ever been as a child, but you don’t want to hurt him. You never have.

You need him to know that. To know that you’ve always been honest in wanting him and only him.

Helaena knocks you with her shoulder and you startle, looking at her with wide eyes. She smiles, soft and gentle as always. “Don’t get lost in there,” she says, reaching up to tap at the side of your head.

You manage a smile. “I won’t, princess,” you promise, fingers itching for something to grab and squeeze in your nerves.

She eyes you and you know that she can see right through you.

You wonder who else can.

There’s a slight commotion and you look up in time to see the Queen descend upon Aemond. Unlike you, she’s well within her rights to brush her hands over him, searching for any wounds that he might be hiding. She looks equal parts relieved, exasperated, and proud as she crowds her middle son and, though you’re too far to perfectly hear her quiet voice over the still rowdy crowd, you can only imagine that she’s scolding and congratulating Aemond.

You only get a moment to watch their interaction when someone drags you into their chest in a facsimile of a hug and you let out a loud yelp. Aemond immediately turns at the sound, hand flying to his sword, only to have to force himself to relax when he catches sight of who it is.

“Your prince did well, sweetling,” Jason murmurs in your ear, giving you a tight squeeze, and you swat him away, fighting down a pleased smile. When you turn to face your father, he reaches up to touch the crowd on your head and, when he pulls his hand away, his fingers are tinged with red. “A Queen of Love and Beauty crowned twice in one tourney by two different men. You’re in rare company now, sweet girl. Not even Lady Jonquil can claim that honor.”

You laugh, feeling your cheeks go hot. Behind him, Tyland walks up, having been speaking with Lord Ormund. Even he looks victorious. “Are you talking about how our little lady and the Dragon Prince have ensured that the singers will be well-fed for the next few months?”

“Hardly,” you retort, knowing as you say it that it’s a lie. Victor and Aemond both crowning you, a Queen of Love and Beauty twice over, the Dragon killing the Fox. Individually, they were all things that would invite the singers to write their songs. Combined? You’d be lucky if it ever stopped. The bards must have been frothing at the mouth during the tourney and now that they’ve been given their perfect story, there is little doubt in your mind that they will take every advantage.

You wonder if centuries in the future if the songs would still mention you and Aemond like they mention Jonquil and Florian. You wonder what they would say.

I hope they’re beautiful songs, you think, feeling a girlish sense of joy spread throughout you, something you haven’t felt in quite some time.

“Now,” Jason says, grinning as he squeezes you again. “I have to speak to the Queen. See about arranging a meeting.”

“Not tomorrow,” you warn. “Helaena is to spend the day preparing for the wedding and I’m to assist her with it. It’ll have to be after the wedding.”

Your father laughs. “I doubt we’ll have a problem if we postpone a little, sweetling. Like Lord Tarly, Prince Aemond strikes me as an exceedingly patient man.”

You bite your lip as you think about the look in Aemond’s eye at the moment after he had crowned you - when he looked as if he wanted to devour you.

No, father, you think as you watch Jason walk to the Targaryen princes and their mother, his gait slow and confident like a predator that has finally cornered his prey. I don’t think Aemond is very patient at all.

“What did the court say?” You finally ask, tearing your eyes away from them to meet your uncle’s watchful gaze. “Positive? Negative? Will I be tarred and feathered during the feast tonight?”

He sighs, rubbing at his beard. “Excited, to say the least. There’s little the court loves more than scandals such as this one. This will sustain them for some time and I wouldn’t be surprised if some especially nosy ladies reach out to organize teas or take you out riding and hawking just to try and pry some gossip from you. I’d keep an eye out for it.”

You smile, shaking your head. You open your mouth to ask for more detail when there’s a screeching wail, loud enough to reach your ears but not quite loud enough to call the attention of the rest of the grounds. You look over and freeze, feeling as if someone has poured ice water over you, dowsing and chilling you completely.

Two servants stand awkwardly to the side as a woman sobs over Victor Florent’s body, her dress soaking in blood, staining its delicate blue beyond saving. A man is holding her, pulling her back, his own cheeks streaked with tears as he stares with despair down at the broken body of what once was a knight.

And Erren Florent stands, almost perfectly still, eyes boring into Aemond and his family.

His brother and good sister you realize as you watch their grief, your stomach twisting into knots. For all his faults, they must have loved him something fierce.

You want to look away, want to look and see anything else, but your body won’t let you. Is it penance? Is it a poor attempt at an apology?

You crush the thought as easily as it arises. Not an apology. Never an apology. This was a tourney. This was the melee. Men died as easily as flies and Aemond had been well within his rights to kill Victor. If it hadn’t been Victor, it would have been Aemond and his life is worth all of the lives of the entire Florent line. You’d rather have to personally rip their House out from their seat of power, root and stem and seed, than have to face what could have been today.

No. Not an apology.

Guilt.

If Victor Florent was the only victim, you would sleep easy. You would sleep happily. But he had a family. You didn’t care about Erren Florent - the man deserves to be knocked down like this, deserves to see his ambitions lying pitifully in the dirt - but his brother and good sister were innocent. Their only crime was loving their family.

You don’t even want to imagine the state you would be in if you lost one of your siblings. If Helaena or even Daeron or Aegon had paid the ultimate price.

If Aemond.

As much as you don’t want to think about it, the thought rises in your mind and you know what you would feel, what you would want, if you were in the position of Victor Florent’s loved ones.

Because of that, you turn back to your uncle, finally pulling yourself free from the Florents’ show of grief. “Send them our condolences,” you say, voice quiet but firm. Hardened. There can be no room for doubt. “But see if we can pay a servant in their party to loosen their tongue. If they decide they want more than our well wishes… We will move from there.”

Tyland watches you, careful and analytical. He’s looking into you, peering around as if he’s looking for something. You meet his gaze with determination, lifting your head up, and eventually, your uncle smiles. It’s a gentle smile even as his eyes flash with satisfaction and pride. “Of course, little one,” he replies, holding his arm out for you to take. You take it and he does you the favor of ignoring the slight tremor in your body. “Your will is my command.”

I am a Lion of the Rock and foxes cannot frighten me.

——————————–

Unlike the dinner before, you dress in your house colors tonight, shining in a gown of deep maroon with veins of an even darker red embroidered on the thick fabric. A corset forged out of gold, more decorative than serving any true purpose, cinches at your waist, a lion’s head embossed onto the delicate metal.

No one is looking at your dress, however. They hadn’t looked at your dress when you had entered or when you had bowed before the royal family. Even when you sit down to eat, your family all around you, your cousins and distant uncles don’t look at your dress or even your face.

Instead, they all stare up at your crown. You’d been near obsessively careful with it on the journey back from the grounds and, when your handmaids had been helping you dress and fix your hair, you had insisted on being the one to handle it. When one of them had suggested cleaning it, to ‘make the gold shine, m’lady’, you had had to bite your tongue to hold back from lashing out in anger.

Gold isn’t the only color of my House, you had said, firmly and without room for doubt or misinterpretation. I mean to do them both honor.

The crown of golden, bloodied flowers sits on your head, pristine and perfect. It’s a clear message. It’s a loud message.

When you had greeted the royal family and Aemond had seen that you were still wearing it, he had very nearly smiled, his face brightening up - not to the point that anyone else would recognize but so glaringly obvious to you. The Queen and the Lord Hand had personally congratulated you and Aegon and Daeron had even toasted you. Their acceptance of you as a Queen of Love and Beauty along with your clear preference for one crown over another has essentially tied you to Aemond publicly even if no betrothal has been announced.

An understanding, indeed You think to yourself.

It was truly no wonder that the eyes of the court stayed focused on your crown rather than you yourself.

There was one member of the court, however, who was not staring up at the red and gold flowers. Instead, Erren Florent was staring right at you.

There’s no expression on his face. Not grief, not rage, not even annoyance. His face is blank, an expressionless mask, and it was all focused on you. He sits alone. His son and good daughter must have sat out to mourn in peace but he had come.

He had come to watch you.

His gaze is heavy, oppressive, but you refuse to let him see you flinch. Instead, you straighten up in your seat, throwing your hair back, and meet his eyes coolly. His gaze sharpens, cold and cruel, and you know that if he could, he would leap across the throne room and slit your throat himself.

But he can’t. Not here, in a room where the most powerful people were allied to you. It must rankle his nerves, agitate his very soul.

How hateful, you think, to have to watch your son die while the world cheers around you.

You’d feel pity if you didn’t already dislike the man. You’d feel guilty about his pain if you weren’t cautious about the look in his eyes; the wild, crazed, desperate look.

You and Aemond have made your beds and burned down any chance for anything resembling friendliness with the Florents. Now you would have to lie in it, in the ashes of what the two of you had done.

Erren finally looks away, turning his gaze to some poor well-wisher that’s approached him to offer his condolences, and you join your cousins’ conversation. Still, you remain sitting straight, your posture so perfect that you’re sure that your old septa is somewhere beaming with pride, lest he turn his stare back on you.

Your cousins are predictably talking about the tourney - they’re gossiping about the melee and all of the handsome knights that, while unable to win the event, had proved themselves to be skilled and capable. A few of the more confident ones scheme about how to bump into the knights to see if they could manage to coax a dance or even a tea out of them. All of them keep cooing over your crown, most of them tactfully ignoring the blood staining the golden roses.

Surprisingly enough, however, Jocasta is the only one to bring it up. “Our House colors,” she quietly murmurs, still skittish under your gaze. “The Gods must have blessed Prince Aemond so he could be the one to give you this crown.”

She doesn’t meet your eyes but you smile warmly at her regardless. She’s a sweet girl, after all.

The actual feasting part of the feast wraps up fairly quickly and, when the dancing begins, you excuse yourself from your family and walk up to the royal table. This time, no one stops you and no one gets in your way and, soon enough, you’re sliding into the chair next to Helaena, smiling at her and Aemond both.

An awkward silence descends on the three of you - you’re not entirely sure on how to act now, not in this new reality where your and Aemond’s intentions have all been laid bare. Hours away from any Targaryen have calmed your anxieties - he’d never have crowned you if he hated you for the truth - but now you’re unsure how to approach talking to them, unsure if you should bring up the rather big elephant in the room.

“Are you ready to spend all of tomorrow in prayer?” You ask Helaena, grasping for a topic to talk about, and she sighs in response, her hands coming up to play with the ends of her hair.

“It should be a nice reprieve, to be honest,” she says after a moment. “It’ll be quiet. Relaxing.”

You nod, finding that you agree. “It will be nice to get away from the chaos of the rest of the wedding. Pity that we’ll miss the archery event though - Tygett seems pretty confident that he’ll win in that event.”

“Is he a skilled archer or are Lannisters naturally inclined to succeed when there’s gold on the line?” Aemond asks drolly and you shoot him a glare, ignoring how your cheeks warm when he chuckles at your dark look.

“I don’t say why we would be,” you say in your most haughty voice, tapping your fingers against the table. “We’re already richer than every other House in Westeros.”

“There is no limit to Lannister pride or ambition,” he quips back and you preen. You had heard the phrase lobbed at your House in the past, usually used to insult or scorn, but coming from Aemond, it feels more like a compliment than it ever has in the past.

A companionable silence falls over the three of you and you turn your attention back to the throne room, watching as the court mingles. This late into the night, people are slowly drowning deeper and deeper in their cups and you begin to wonder how anything ever gets done. It’d be easier to list everyone who isn’t drinking and it’s nothing short of a miracle that people are able to wake up in the morning in order to even attend the wedding festivities.

You’ve never particularly liked alcohol and usually could only tolerate a goblet or two of wine before begging off and asking for water. Aegon seemed to be somewhat invested in getting you drunk at least once but, as you watch your father flirt with a coquettish Lady Tyrell as her increasingly annoyed husband stands at her side and watches, you wonder why anyone bothered.

“If the feasts are already like this, I can hardly imagine how the actual wedding is going to go,” you grumble and Helaena laughs.

“Aegon will start drinking tonight and he won’t stop until after the wedding. I’ll thank the Seven if he manages to make it down the aisle.” She says, amusement evident, and you turn to smile at her even as your stomach squeezes at her response.

She’s fine with it, you remind yourself, wishing that the reminder would bring you any comfort. He’ll keep to his practices and she’ll keep to hers. It’s duty. There’s honor in doing your duty.

Aemond sighs. “Aegon will be there, Helaena. I’ll personally ensure it.”

“No choice,” she responds, almost chirping. “No choice at all.”

You watch her, heart beating fast in your chest, before she shakes her head firmly. She blinks hard before rising to her feet.

“I’m tired,” Helaena says, not sounding very tired at all. “Shall we leave?”

“So early?” You ask, looking over her carefully as you rise to your feet, suddenly anxious that she’s grown uncomfortable and you haven’t noticed. “Should I inform the Queen?”

Helaena shakes her head again, smiling. “No. I’m sure Mother will understand - getting an early jump on prayer and contemplation and all of that. Perhaps we should head to the gardens, actually. Enjoy the night air.”

After a moment, you nod, glancing over to see if you can spot the Queen regardless. She’s with her father, speaking to Lord Borros Baratheon, her emerald dress making her stand out even deep in the crowd like she is. “Of course, Helaena. I imagine the gardens are lovely right now.”

“Either way, I’ll inform Mother. I’ll also let Lord Lannister know as well, my lady,” Aemond says, glancing at you, and you quickly thank him, giving him a small smile as he nods his head at you.

“Join us after, brother,” Helaena calls out after Aemond has already made his way down to the ground, and, though her brother made no indication that he heard her words, she beams as if he’s already agreed. She turns to you, light entering her eyes and making her seem more like the little girl the two of you used to be rather than the women the two of you were. “Shall we go?” She asks, holding out her arm for you to take, and, after a moment, you loop your arm with her, grinning.

——————————–

The gardens are, predictably, empty with not even a token servant wandering its grounds. The moment you step into the cool night air, Helaena pulls free from you and, tugging at her skirts from the side to pull up her gown, darts into the maze-like hedges, her long silver hair streaming in the air behind her.

“Helaena!” You call out, immediately chasing after her, but the princess only laughs, delighted. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the garden are her giggles, punctuated by your cursing at your own gown as it snags and snares on every stray piece of foliage you pass. Mercifully, she finally slows to a stop, near the paved terrace that overlooks the rolling waters of Blackwater Bay.

Helaena sits, perched on the wall that separates the gardens from the rocky cliffs that jut out beneath it, face turned towards the waters. Slowing to a halt, you stop next to her, trying your best to calm your breathing from the sprint she had dragged you on.

“Look,” She says after a moment, pointing out towards the rocky outcrops in the middle of the bay, far in the distance. You follow her finger, eyes straining against the dark, until it lights up like day.

There’s a brilliant burst of flame, bright and hot enough that you can feel the heat crash against your body as if it was a physical wall ramming into you. A massive body, larger than anything could have the right to be, crashes into the water, sending up a massive wave that could swallow most ships you’ve seen whole.

Vhagar is hunting.

You watch, mesmerized with wonder and fear, as she rises up into the sky, clutching a whale in her claws. It’s a colossal thing, big enough to seemingly drag Vhagar down back to its home in the deep, but the Queen of All Dragons is stronger than that. The leviathan is writhing in her grasp, fighting with all its might to escape, but Vhagar’s claws are longer and sharper than any spear any man could ever hope to hold. She curls her talons in and you can hear the whale’s wail even from miles away, can see the rivers of blood that fall through the air like rain.

Vhagar flies up, up, and up into the sky where even her tremendous size can appear small, disappearing into cloud cover. Even in the dark, however, the moonlight casts her shadow and she looks monstrous, even hidden from view how she is. You watch until you can’t anymore until she finally disappears into the inky darkness of the night.

“Where does she feed?” You ask Helaena, hands coming down to the wall so you can lean, pressing deeper in the cool air as if you’ll be able to see her if you stretch.

“At an island deeper in,” Aemond’s voice answers and you nearly topple over in your shock, spinning around to see him smirking at your surprise. Next to him, Daeron is pinned under Aegon’s arm, both seemingly trapped by his older brother and also being the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground. Aegon, for his part, looks mighty pleased, a wine bottle clutched in his hand.

Aemond walks closer, standing by your side and looking out towards the Blackwater. His eyes are focused, narrowed, and you get the idea he knows exactly where he’s looking at. “It’s a small island, past the spears of the merling king. From what I can tell, it used to be covered with trees but she’s razed most of it down to make her roost.”

“She’s far too big for the Dragonpit I suppose,” you reply, curling your fingers against the stone.

“She was too big a hundred years ago,” he hums. “Vhagar could fit - if she had any desire to. Once Balerion the Black Dread passed, she never returned to it. The island is her home now.”

You smile sadly at the thought of Vhagar leaving the Dragonpit forever once her brother had passed. Perhaps it hadn’t been her size that had driven her out but rather her grief. It seemed strange that such a creature, as ancient and destructive as she was, could feel such emotion, such heartbreak, but somehow that little detail has warmed you up to her more than anything else ever had in the years since Aemond has claimed her.

After a moment, you glance up at her rider. “How do you summon her?” You ask, feeling slightly embarrassed that the simple question had never once occurred to you in the near decade since Driftmark. Vhagar had always been an abstract figure in your mind - the prize that Aemond had bought with his eye. You had never stopped to think about the simpler details of her bond with the prince.

Aemond, noticing your sudden curiosity, gives you a half smile. “She always knows. My lady Vhagar will come flying if she senses I have a need for her. She’s always in my mind like I’m always in hers.”

You frown, looking back over the bay. Vhagar is no doubt far from here now but you can still see her in your mind: a massive beast that took up the entire sky. You wonder if, even as deep in her meal as she surely must be, she can still feel Aemond’s presence in her mind. “How does that work? What if you’re chilly one night and offhandedly think that you’d fancy a fire to keep you warm? Would Vhagar come bearing down on us and crush the Red Keep beneath her?” You question jokingly, laughing slightly.

“A dragon is not something you can call accidentally. You can try to summon one but it’s not some dog that’ll come running at your beck and call. Dragons will only serve those they want to serve,” his words are heavy with intent and, sharply inhaling, you meet his ever-watchful eye.

I’m afraid that I was onto you right from the start.

“Was I really that obvious?” You breathe out, heart pounding in your chest. Your voice is low, quiet enough so that the other Targaryen siblings, lost in their own conversation, cannot hear you, but he can hear you perfectly. The look gleaming in his eye tells you all you need to know. “How long have you known?”

He smirks in response, looking rather like the cat that finally caught his prey. “Since you arrived. Lannisters notoriously stick together and daughters of the Rock are usually treasured rather than shipped off. If your uncle wanted company from his family, he would have sent for some distant cousin or another and not his ten-year-old niece. You only would have come to marry and, with your family pushing for you to be Helaena’s companion, there were really only two real targets.”

You sigh, feeling your cheeks flush in shame and embarrassment. “Are you angry?” Do I need to apologize? Do you want me to spill out my heart here?

“After I got over the fact that a pretty girl actually wanted to spend time with me, I wanted to ignore you, but Mother made me promise that I’d give you a chance,” he says easily and you openly wince, feeling a pang of regret shoot through you. “You were difficult to avoid, however, always showing up at the library when I was studying, always willing to talk to me about whatever book you were reading. It wasn’t hard for you to worm your way into being my friend.”

You ruefully smile, shaking your head. “It wasn’t as if it was a chore, my prince,” you respond, the truth coming to you easily. “If I didn’t like you for you rather than the prince my father wanted me to claim, I wouldn’t have read nearly as many books as I did. I certainly wouldn’t have given you the sapphire necklace. That… It was the first gift my father ever gave me himself. During all my earlier name day celebrations, his gift would be mixed in with the ones from everyone else and sometimes he’d look as surprised as I was at whatever it was he had given me. I’m sure his old steward was the one always picking it out for him. But that necklace… It’s tradition, you see, in House Lannister, to give a maiden jewelry when she begins her search for a husband.”

“And you gave it to me,” Aemond says, no question in his voice - only the absolute truth of it.

“And I gave it to you,” you echo. “At the time, it was the only thing of value I could think to give you. That and my word. A promise from a Lannister is as good as any jewel.”

Aemond laughs at that. “Your word is as good as any jewel, my lady. Better even.”

You grin, relief washing over you when you realize he isn’t upset. “Perhaps. Maybe Lannister words aren’t worth as much as I say but all of us take our debts very seriously and your debt is mine.”

“And yours is mine,” he replies, as steady as the Red Keep itself.

I am yours and you are mine.

Before you can say anything, however, the too-familiar call of your nickname calls your attention and you look over to see Aegon waving his bottle of wine in the air, narrowly missing smacking poor Daeron in the skull with it.

“Brother! My shining Lady of Lannister! Come join us for a drink!” He shouts as if you’re across the Blackwater Bay itself rather than standing only a few scant feet away.

You can practically hear Aemond’s frown in his voice. “‘Join us’? You’re the only one drinking.”

Aegon laughs gleefully. “Come now, Aemond, we should be celebrating your victory! You may not be able to claim the true prize yet without bringing an entire kingdom down on our heads for defiling a lady of the Rock but you can drink!”

“He just wants to congratulate you,” Daeron rushes to say, no doubt recognizing the stormy look on Aemond’s face after Aegon’s less-than-subtle insinuation. “You’ve won a great victory and brought yourself much honor.”

“The hand will hold the iron,” Helaena sings even as she kneels down on the ground to play with a passing millipede.

“If you do not want a drink, though, it'd make you much more enjoyable to be with,” Aegon continues, shaking his head as he moves closer to you and Aemond. “Then your Queen of Love and Beauty will drink for you.”

You huff, sidestepping the bottle stretched out in an offer and gamely holding yourself back from smacking him away when his free hand reaches for your crown. “I thank you, Prince Aegon, but I’d rather not enter a full day of prayer and contemplation tomorrow sick from drink. I’m supposed to be praying for a blessed marriage with your sister after all.”

Aegon scowls at the reminder and you instantly wish you had chosen a different word to call Helaena. She’s his sister and his betrothed. Both are true no matter how much we all wish they weren’t. “If you’re praying for children for us, there’s nothing prayer could accomplish than a cask of the finest Arbor Gold could not.”

“Enough of that,” Aemond snaps, no doubt displeased with his brother’s blasphemy. “No one else will be drinking.”

“Daeron had a drink,” Aegon replies mutinously and Daeron’s eyes go comically wide. You laugh at his almost bug-eyed stare as you sink to the ground next to Helaena, sensing that Aegon will not allow anyone to leave before his fun is finished. Helaena beams at you as she grabs the millipede, bringing it up uncomfortably close to your face to show you.

“I had one,” Daeron hotly protests, no doubt missing how his older brothers, despite their discord, exchange amused glances at his overly forceful defense. “And you made me do it.”

Aegon grins. “I don’t know, little brother… You did trip on a rock on our way here.”

“Because you tripped,” Daeron shoots back.

“Mother would be disappointed to see how her baby dragon’s turned out,” Aemond says, voice as serious as if he’s discussing policy with the Lord Hand. “She had such high hopes for you.”

“But I-”

“I saw him wobble a little just now,” Helaena volunteers from the ground, not even looking up from the millipede crawling all over her hands.

Daeron whines, sounding like a little boy rather than the near-grown man that he was. “I didn’t!”

You grin up at him, shaking your head. “It’s alright, my prince. As long as you can hold your drink better than Prince Aegon, the Queen would find no fault within you.”

“There’s not much hope of that if he’s like this after one,” Aemond replies, quick as a whip, and even he cracks a smile as Daeron loudly protests his innocence.

The five of you stay in the gardens long after Aegon finishes his wine, basking in the glow of the moonlight.

[scaly-freaks]

i'm really curious, does aegon feel like he's cheating on amara with his new lannister gf?

because you said that he didn't expected Cassandra to remain faithful to him, even though she was his wife, but amara is not allowed to be with anyone else while he is seeing other women.

Ok so I am in the mood to yap, nonnie, hence I will yap.

He's the king, first of all. Cheating for him holds...less consequence. In fact, it's encouraged. Any lord who can get his daughter into Aegon's bed would then look forward to favour. Aegon lives in a world where temptations are plated up to him like he's at a five star restaurant, and he's never had very good impulse control. Otto knew what he was doing when he dressed up Alicent to send her to Viserys. Right now, as Aegon is unwed himself, there are lords left and right dressing up and schooling their daughters similarly, and Lyanna seems to have won for now.

Aegon's example of women in his family are Helaena and Alicent and Rhaenyra. Helaena is cheating on her husband (a mutual agreement) with her girlfriend, Floris. Alicent would probably have loved it if Viserys took his attention off her and had a mistress so she could be left in peace. Rhaenyra cheated on her husband, Laenor (also a mutual agreement) with Harwin. Adultery is almost a requirement in this family, and if you're not into your spouse, make an arrangement where you can both cheat. That's what he did with Cassandra.

He also has a different set of standards for Targaryens. Targ women can do more than other women because they're Targaryen. In his view, they'd be more justified than any other woman because of the bloodline (the more he settles into his position of real power, he's finally leaning into his heritage). Women who marry Targaryens would be a step lower by that logic, but Aegon's own mother is a non-Targ, and he probably is aware that if she'd had the chance to cheat and have affection elsewhere, she might not have turned out the way she did. In a way, allowing Cassandra to have lovers, was almost his way of ensuring she wouldn't become like Alicent (and it wouldn't affect their children).

Amara is an anomaly in that he is finally experiencing love for a woman like he did for Aysla, but this time, he's older and not fifteen and impressionable, and she isn't twice his age with five kids. The relationship is unequal from the start, more so than it was with Aysla because she at had the advantage of age over him, whereas he was the prince.

Amara is four years younger and severely traumatised. Right out of the gate he's in a position to control her. But when he lets her exist as she wishes, and thinks it's a great favour on his part, she doesn't respond the way she should. When he first made it obvious he wanted to sleep with her, she joked and wriggled her way out of it.

In a sense, everything he does to her and around her, it's like he's got her in his hands and is shaking her like a rag doll whilst screaming why won't you love me? But for men accustomed to his position, that also means why won't you submit to me?

They're not in a relationship, and that much Amara made clear. They agreed to have sex to have the child together, but she never said she wanted to be his lover in the truest sense of the word. He isn't sure what she feels, because the friendship they have/had is so much fun (when they're both cooperating), that it's hard for him to tell where the line is. He's never been introduced to the concept of being friends with someone you also want to be in a romantic partnership with.

I was also thinking about his relationship to his Targ heritage the other day, and about how he can't categorise her into a "type" of woman he's known all his life. Maybe he's overcome his own aversion to being involved with his family members, to wishing Amara was his sister instead. That co-dependancy he understands perfectly, and it's what he's developing with her (though it's not co as much yet, since she's got one foot out). His view of sibling relationships is naturally skewed, and though he made those claims about wanting her to have "power" so she'd agree to have his baby, in a way it was also about binding her into his blood. Cassandra was the queen, and he needed an heir. He didn't need to have a child with Amara but he chose to with deliberate purpose.

Also, ALSO, this does tie in to the rather strange relationship he and Jaehaera have once she grows up. It's not sexually abusive (though there have been Targ forefathers who are very sus in that regard...I'm looking at you Jaehaerys, you vile man) but it does get emotionally incestuous. She views him as the "ultimate man" but also as the person she can't disappoint, hence she hides her bad behaviour from him more than she hides it from Amara. Aegon, on the other hand, sees her as a piece of Amara that is undeniably related to him by blood, and will belong to him forever. When Amara disengages from him because she can, and because he can never keep her mind focused only on him if she doesn't wish it, he turns to the daughter. Jaehaera ends up knowing way too much about their relationship because Aegon crosses that emotional boundary where a parent really shouldn't be sharing that stuff with a child. She becomes protective over him because she only hears his side. She starts to resent her mother, entering into a one-sided competition over who can treat her father better.

(Alternately, Amara and Aegon's son is completely on Amara's side and resents his father so...oh dear)

ANYWAY, before I end up yapping more (also if you're surprised Jaehaera doesn't grow up well-adjusted....she's a Targaryen with traumatised parents....HELLO)

[floripire]

what are your top five fandoms to RP within?

mun memes › @survivingpierce

p.ercy j.ackson was my first fandom and it's the one i come back to again and again, no matter how many times i step away from it. p.ercy j.ackson as a series / franchise is imperfect, certainly, but it was there during a time i desperately needed it, so i'm protective of it as a whole.

t.vd / t.he o.riginals / l.egacies: i saw the shows (minus s4 of l.egacies) from start to finish before i read the books - which i also very much recommend, they're very 90's and white and straight but the concepts and world building are awesome - but it just drew me in. it took me two tries to get through t.vd however because i couldn't stand e.lena at first. (it's much better now ;P)

make no mistake, though, i love to write in this universe but i will also be among the first to call it out for the fact that across the board, there were only three indian women (aimee bradley, gia and emma tig) and two of those were murdered by white people (aimee got killed by katherine at the masquerade ball for bullshit reasons and klaus killed gia to get back at elijah and in a show where people fake their deaths all the time, suddenly this time it was permanent, uh-huh, we all know why that is) and one of them was written out of the show (due to the actress having other jobs lined up) and never got the backstory or complexity she deserved.

those characters deserved to live and imho, g.ilijah should've been endgame.

(also, as much as i love h.ayley, i am not forgiving nor forgetting the fact that she killed a.ya al-r.ashid; i don't give a fuck that she did it to protect her family or whatever.)

m.arvel / dc: i love superheroes. always have, always will. i grew up on 2005's s.ky h.igh and i've watched t.he b.oys and g.en v as well as i.nvincible (though i personally vibe more with hopeful superheroes instead of nihilism and jerkwads).

s.tar t.rek / s.tar w.ars / sci-fi: i was born on international s.tar w.ars day so of course it'd stand to reason that i'd get into it. i got into s.tar t.rek a little later and that's mostly because of tumblr mutuals writing the characters. (i haven't seen r.ebel m.oon yet but that's only because i keep hearing conflicting accounts lmao.) my oc over at @dvarapala is pretty much a sci-fi based oc.

t.wilight / t.rue blood / i.nterview with a v.ampire / m.idnight t.exas / a.bigail / the i.nvitation etc: give me any and all vampires tbh! i operate under the umbrella of: all vampire lore is real and can exist alongside each other (with proper and prior plotting and some discussion to be had). the only one i do not like is a d.iscovery of w.itches because i watched a couple of episodes of that show and the main love interest vampire dude was such a creep and it's never properly talked about and then creepy vampire dude and powerful witch lady become canon???? ew! fuck that!

d.escendants / o.uat: that is to say, the grittier, darker, let's tear away the veil version of d.escendants because if you look close enough, you'll find that they're actually living in a warped dystopian version of the d.isney tales that we grew up with and i think that's fascinating. and also, the age old question of are you destined to be like your parent(s) or can you carve out your own path? and if so, which price will you pay for that, if any?

o.uat is on the list because i, unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on one's pov - grew up to become an o.uat girlie. i know it's not everyone's cup of tea and that's okay. i just find the lore of the universe fascinating. (also, added layer of pain: e.mma s.wan and flori's mom have the same fc and i did that deliberately ;P)

s.upernatural: i'm only at s2 still - i hope i can watch more this summer - but it's so easy to slot my preternaturally inclined muses in there. it's great fun.

t.een w.olf: big s.cott m.ccall stan here. always have been, always will be. it's also very easy to slot my preternaturally inclined muses into that universe as well. and, also, i love the lore. it's very cool. (though i will die on the hill that they should've also used t.een w.itch as well and created a whole t.een w.olf extended universe, but that's neither here nor there.)

b.uffy the v.ampire s.layer: i'm pretty sure i'm still at season 3 with that show but it's also very easy to drop my preternaturally inclined muses in there and take them for a ride.

[childotkw]

Looking at the wiki about the four Baratheon daughters and what happened during and after the Dance-it’s pretty sad, tbh. Like, Cassandra is the 1st born daughter of a Great Lord & her marriage to Ser Brownhill was no doubt a step down/humiliation. Not to mention Ellyn and Floris’ fates. Since what Maris said to Aemond *is* historical account in Canon, though there were extenuating circumstances for them all, Maris’ actions *ruined* her sisters’ reps.

Oh this intrigued me so I just had a skim of their wikis too and jeez they really do get a rough ride. Cassandra's life is just a mess, Ellyn is a non-entity, but the one I read said Floris died at sixteen giving birth?? I don't particularly care about any of them as characters since I know so little about them, but still...

[omerflorent]

THE HISTORY OF BRIGHTWATER; Part 1 of Many As written by Maester Ronan

Brightwater extends out to the coast of the reach understandable for a land settled by travelers, fisher folk, and wanderers. A mix of Andal and First Man blood brings forth the odd peoples of the brightest waters. The name Brightwater started as Brightest Waters which was more of a descriptor than an actual name. The people would write their kin and tell them to look for the brightest waters and there they would find foxes and the Florent knights who protected them and their shores. 

The Florents claim to be the sons of Florys the Fox, the cleverest of Garth Greenhand’s children. With their close blood ties to House Gardener there are some Florents who boasts of a superior claim to Highgarden though not in the hearing of any ruling Florent lord. Florents did what they do best and adapted. 

The People;

The People of Brightwater are renowned for their kind hearts and warm nature. Where there is great pride is also a great love for their lands and their home and their lord. Their love for House Florent extends to House Tyrell because the King holds the blood of the fox lords and as a result they are ferocious in their loyalty to Cedric Tyrell who they swear shares the look of the late Florent sister. You can hear men in pubs talking of the King with his Florent eyes and the eyes being a window into the soul and heart of their good King. 

They are hot tempered people, quick to anger and quick to forgive. They’re not the sort of folk you would expect to open their door to a homeless urchin but they do. Where you might see a butcher and a baker brawl in the pub by the next morning these greet each other like brothers. Women will shout over another looking their husband too long and by dinner they’re sharing bread. 

Pride runs through Brightwater lands. From petty lords to landed knights and widowed ladies their pride to be found in the nicest keeps and smallest villages. Pride allows people to keep their villages nice. Men proud of their homes and their farms. Women proud of the meals they cook and the children they raised. 

The Lands and homes; 

The villages of Brightwater sprang up quickly as the people began to settle. The lands around Brightwater Keep were settled first, Brightown (shortened over the years from Brightwater’s Town) is the pride of Florent lands. The families who live in these houses and tend to these lands have lived here for centuries and consider themselves the first line of defense for their lord. 

Other villages began to spring up along the roads, the Honeywine, Honeyholt, Bandallon, and the southwest of the Mander. The people of these villages are responsible for the state of the roads around them having cobbled them after years of storms and the mud it brought became more than many were willing to deal with. 

The Ruling Lord and his people; 

Each village hosts a representative, one man and one woman, who travel to Brightwater once a month with their complaints if they have them. Some travel more often for serious conflicts and border war issues. 

Because of this tradition many feel a pride in knowing their village representatives know the hospitality of their ruling lord and lady. 

Economy; 

Farming, fishing, crofters, crafters, and builders.  Wool, milk, eggs, potatoes, and chickens Whiskey, Honeywine, and Honeyed Whiskey  The singers and storytellers of Brightwater are well known around the Reach and feel that a man or woman can make their wealth just performing in and around the Reach. Many writers have made a home across Brightwater lands. And some have made a home for themselves in the many apartments of Brightwater. It is not a secret that the Lord Commander and ruling Lord of Brightwater loves his books of poetry and verses of knighthood. ( you will rewrite this, omer) Edit; is a lover of books, arts, and all that makes the Reach the most educated of Westeros.  (this is better, omer)

In our next section we will focus on the roles in our community and the depth of the faith in our Brightwater folk. 

Omer; What’s this bit about poetry and verses? I am the lover of the arts. You will rewrite it. I wish to continue not mentioning my father by name. He is a traitor and a stain on my great house.  Ronan; As m’lord wishes. Omer; And write a bit about the old tongue. Very common here, it’s important we remember our tongue lest we forget like the Northmen. And stop calling me Lord, cousin. Just do as I say without that look on your face.  Ronan; But you do like poetry. You write it. 

Omer and his cousin Ronan agreed Ronan should mind his business and stick to history not his possible hobbies. 

[ruthiesalenger]

continued from here. @smilton​

“I’ll wait.” Ruthie answered the question, unasked. Violet only blinked her golden eyes and resumed licking the end of her tail. Ruthie resisted the urge to roll her eyes -- or shift, or do much of anything, less the slight discomfort in her bladder turn to an all-out ache.

There was too much noise in the hallway, and she wasn’t about to wait in line and make small talk. She had already done it once, creeping back up the steps at sunrise, cornered by Mrs. Bridgewater and her seventeen questions, all aimed at unearthing something other than what they asked.

What are you doing back here? You were away terribly long. Did you have a great many adventures? Are you traveling alone? Oh but I thought Violet was rather-- It’s the same cat? Does your da’ know you’re coming? Will you be staying at the farmhouse, then? Flory’s just hasn’t been the same without those gingersnaps Do you know how to make them? Oh? You do? Oh.

Ruthie’s eyes snapped open, the plaster imperfections of the ceiling staring down at her. Already, she felt tired. Always, she felt tired.

“I’m fine.”

Violet moved closer, peering down at her. She sneezed, a delicate, tiny thing, though it pulled the edge of Ruthie’s nose up in a grimace.

Heaving herself upright, she rummaged through the scant items in her bag. There was so little left from what she had first packed, dresses outgrown (or so remarkably out of fashion), shoes worn to the soles. New ones sat on the floor, the toes pointed in, toward each other. Black grain leather. The knobs of the laces were still hardened, underused.

She slept in her slip, and slept only in fits, gaps of time barely an hour wide. Ruthie moved mechanically, re-fitting the slip to her form, then a dress overtop. Dark green. Gold buttons in the shape of tiny stars. A glance in the mirror told the story of a mop of straw hair, disheveled.

Violet worked the door open as Ruthie worked a comb and two clips through her hair, disappearing into the crowded hall. She realized it only latently, shoving her feet -- longer than were ladylike -- into her shoes. Opening the door wide, she came shin-to-nose to Violet, triumphant.

And Sallie.

Oh, again.

“The creek?”

The hallway was loud and full of people, their affectations, their scents. Morning light seemed to halo the brunette, and Ruthie froze.

She looked over her shoulder at the foggy window. September portended cold water and a muddy bank, and yet.

Violet, merry again, trotted back into the room and curled up inside Ruthie’s satchel, making full use of the sweater folded at the bottom.

I hate it here. Ruthie wanted to say.

Instead, a smile tempted her lips. The promise of adventure, or escape.

“I think we should find out.”

[spookylittletownhq]

October 23, 1923

Letter from the Editor: Season tidings to all this marvelous autumn! As your hardworking Gazette staff presses their noses to the printing press, and speeds through the whipping wind to deliver each post, know that we do it all in service of the beloved valley we call home. We serve as proud bastions of the news worth knowing inside the Green Valley, from the hayfields of the lower foothills to the cresting north of Wolgemuth Hall.

We do have one, small favor, to ask:

Lately, several letters have been misdelivered, and sent instead to our office upon Front Street. This has caused a great deal of clamor regarding our own writers possible thieving of letters for their personal, journalistic gains. Allow me, Ansel Tate, to assure you: we at the Albion Gazette hold ourselves to the highest standards of integrity, and we only publish news gained through the common paths (interviews, investigations, and eavesdropping). Opening the mail would be a dereliction of our own duties.

If you are missing a letter, please inquire at the post office. Or, whisper it to an eastern wind. It has worked before.

That is all for now! Read on to see what else there is to know in Albion.

--

Leo Grocers will be hosting an All You Can Apple sale for the remainder of the month. Those interested in apples of all forms (butters, chutneys, apples themselves) should arrive on the quarter-after to the grocers for the best deals.

There is a strange trio often found inside Pegamon Pub, believed to have absconded with a figurine quite dear to the owners there. Should anyone spot them, please do ask for the return of the Lumpy Bear statue.

Due to a repair on the track, St. Catharine’s Depot will be closed Tuesdays for the foreseeable future.

Looking for employment? The Mill at Howell Creek is looking for a night manager to operate and clean the grain bastions. Lodgings provided.

The weather will remain temperate for the rest of the week, though the sisters of the western ridge warn that we are in for a particularly heavy winter. Members of the Augurs will be holding starlight readings for those looking to predict their winter fortunes. Inquire at the red door on Abbott Street. The second one.

Funeral rites for Hartmut Wolgemuth, esteemed patron of several public works (most notably, the bridge connecting Wolgemuth Hall to the upper fields, and a statue of his likeness nestled in the alcove along Linden Street) will be performed this Thursday. Invitations have been sent.

Flory’s Bakery is looking for a morning shopkeep to open the bakery and tend to visitors. Those interested should send six dinner rolls to the bakery for consideration.

Accordingly, the Bakery will be closed Thursday and Friday of this week in preparation for nuptials! The wedding of Whitacre Gatlin and Opal Flory will be held in Ramsey Orchard on Friday evening. All are welcome. Please do not send dinner rolls on Thursday or Friday, as they may be inadvertently served to guests.

And last: Madame Lange would like to request the newcomer’s presence for a private conversation. Do make your way there, newcomer. The Tea Room can be found six doors down Front Street, on a cloudy day.

[wafflessquad]

Hi, sorry for going Anon: I try not to put too many personal infos on Tumblr but I just saw your ask about Turin on @unwinthehart ‘s blog and I’d be happy to offer a few suggestions since its my city!

Seconding what Unwin has already said for esc (Reggia di Venaria is well worth a visit if you have the time) as for something fun…what are you and your friend into?

A few generic suggestions: The Royal palaces, The Egyptian Museum, The National Museum of Cinema is great and it’s in one of the city’s best known symbols - la Mole Antonelliana. The view from the panoramic terrace is lovely btw. There’s the historic cafes: Baratti e Milano, Stratta is a personal Favorite for a bite to eat, Al Bicerin is one of the oldest and the place to go for trying -you guessed it- a bicerin (a concotion of hot chocolate, coffee and cream that’s our best known beverage). Or you could try Gobino in via lagrange, it’s one of the best chocolate shops in the city (try the ganaches and Turinots) and they have a few tables for coffee and fun chocolate drinks too. For eating out I love Floris (at lunch, there are better places for aperitivo) or Lo Scannabue. A lot of places around universities and students heavy areas, like Piazza Vittorio, offer Apericena (drinks & buffet dinner) for a fixed price.

One of my favorite areas is called Crimea, right across the river from corso Vittorio: you could eat something at Maggiora than take a stroll up the hill (monte dei Cappuccini) to the S. maria del Monte church and enjoy a great view of the city.

Hi, completely understandable and absolutely no problem! And thank you so much for taking the time to write all this! 🤍🤍🤍

We’re going there to watch a figure skating event since we both skate, so we have our late afternoons/evenings mostly filled. The rest of the days we just wanna walk around, discover the place and enjoy some nice brunches/drinks/views. I guess also enjoy a little bit of a christmas vibe, since we’re going in early december.

So basically all of your suggestions are very relevant and helpful! I think I’ve heard about bicerin before, it looks so tempting I might try it even though I don’t even drink coffee… and then I’m always down for fun chocolate drinks 😍 At least one apericena should also be feasible 🤔

Thanks again for these great suggestions, I’m sure we’ll try at least some of them!!

[27potatochips]

Alright, I am nervous as all hell because this is so self-indulgent I want to cry, but fuck it embrace the cringe. Have some information about my boy Flower. Please do slide into my asks anytime, I have so many thoughts about him.

Flower, or Floris Van Steege, was born in his family’s farm in Zaanstad, Netherlands. He is the eldest of four children.

He has always been interested in the human body, even from a very young age, constantly asking his nurse father what this organ does or how muscles work. His father, Kees, has always answered these questions gladly, fuelling Floris’ interest.

He once considered going into nursing like his father, and even went to school for it. Only after a year working as a nurse, he realized that this was not for him. He wanted to prevent people from getting hurt as much as possible, and he wasn’t satisfied with his current job. After a long think and a talk with his parents, Floris quit. Then the next night, he signed up for the military.

He faced military training with dogged determination that some of his fellow trainees envied, and of course, began teasing him. Saying he’ll never make it because he was ‘a delicate little flower’ (Floris never grew past 5’5, dyes the tips of his hair a different pastel color each time and is openly trans.) Floris never considered it worth his time until they also went after people who he associated with. He challenged them to a spar. He won them all and took on the codename Flower, as an extra fuck you.

Flower became a medic, and a good one. Mortality rates on the field dropping dramatically when he started getting sent out as a field medic. Floris fights tooth and nail for every patient he gets, and it brings results.

I also have two versions of Flower meeting König and joining the 141 (the self-indulgent stuff begins here, be warned)

1: Flower gets forcibly retired for not being able to save the son of a high ranking official, even though nothing could be done for the bullet through the neck. After two years of being furious at home, he joins up with KORTAC, and meets there König. It was a bit of an awkward meeting, with König reluctantly being forced to go to medical for a sprained wrist and accidentally startling Flower into almost stabbing him with a scalpel on instinct (König fell in love right then and there.)

König quietly grumbles the whole way to medical. Horangi had to practically drag him there after their spar went a bit awry. König sighed and opened the door to medical, it was practically deserted, with only the new medic inside. König hummed and tapped the new guy on the shoulder. “Ah, excuse me? My wrist-“ He was cut off by the new medic startling and a scalpel slashing across his face. He immediately took a step back and brought a hand to his face, his hood was sliced cleanly over his throat, it could have killed him. König felt his face heat, he has always had something with people who could kill him so easily.

For a beat everyone was frozen in place, then the medic released a breath. “Sorry about that, you startled me. I’m Flower, and from what I’ve read you are König, want me to take a look at that wrist injury you have there?” Yup, König was attracted. At least there were worse people to find attractive than the medic.

A year or two later Flower gets a call from somebody he met a long time ago, John Price, who is a Captain now with his own squad and needs a medic. Flower really wants to go, but doesn’t want to leave König, who is now his partner, behind. He struggles with it for a bit until König tells him he’ll come with. He may like his position here at KORTAC, but Flower is more important.

2: Flower never gets forcibly retired and continues to thrive, then when he gets Price’s call he immediately agrees. He gets along fine with the rest, he and Gaz get along pretty great, he takes turns info dumping with Soap, he already knew Price from his rookie days, and even Ghost gets along with him, simply because Flower isn’t afraid to tell him off when he disregards his health again.

Then a mission goes horribly wrong, they’re knee deep in enemy territory, everyone is injured in some way and now KORTAC is there too. Flower is understandably stressed and has run out of fucks to give, so when he sees that big Austrian dude Ghost has that petty rivalry with, he stands his ground instead of running.

“No, leave.” Flower demanded. He was tired, filthy, and still riding the high of finally getting Gaz awake, he wasn’t going to let anyone ruin it. The mercenary loomed over him, bloodshot eyes staring at him from behind a hood. “I’m serious, I don’t have time for this shit today. Go pick on someone your own size, shoo.” The giant blinked, but shockingly backed off. Flower watched with narrowed, exhausted eyes as the mercenary backed away, not taking his eyes off Flower. “Good boy.” Flower sighed as the mercenary was out of sight. God he was too tired for this.

And since then, Flower has had a ‘secret’ (literally everyone knows who it is.) admirer that leaves him little gifts every time they’re on the same battlefield. Flowers, shiny things, knives, you name it, König is leaving it in places where Flower can find it easily. If you look past the slight creepiness (how does König know what missions Flower is on??) it’s honestly kinda cute how smitten König is. And if Flower sometimes leaves for a bit during calm missions and comes back with love bites all over it’s no one’s business but his own.

Anyways, what y’all think? I am deliberately not tagging this because I do not want my first OC rant to breach containment.

[fellvespers]

five times shared: ( five times the receiver shared something (either a material or feelings or secrets!) with the sender )

one. when mia found out about floribeth's sweet tooth, she thought it might be a great way to bridge the gap, so to speak. she wasn't great at making friends, having been isolated away from other people her age for so long -- it made things difficult. she was always second-guessing herself. even now, when flori was nothing more than friendly to her. the day the dining hall served blueberry pie, mia saw her chance. not a fan of them herself, she took it and proudly made her way over to flori to sit down in front of her. a quick greeting, wide smile, and she slid the pie plate over.

two. she could have sworn that somewhere in her intro to lycanthropy notes, there was something about not getting sick as often as humans. what they failed to mention was the post-full moon lethargy that sunk into her bones and left her with a brain fog and slight aches in her joints. some days, she can get through it. today wasn't one of them. when flo came by to bring her notes from a shared class, mia made sure to swap out some of her own notes to make it even. "so i don't feel guilty." she'd said, with a crooked smile.

three. it was chilly outside, snow flurries coming and leaving a dusting of white over the ground. it was the first time that mia had seen snow that threatened to build up higher. the cold wasn't bothersome, though. she'd even gone so far as to shed it and hold it in her lap while she and flori sat outside. glancing over at the vampire, she handed off her jacket. "i know you're probably not cold, but here." a light blush colored her cheeks, feeling stupid, even as floribeth took it.

four. there were a lot of times where mia felt as if she were some sort of outsider in the salvatore school. sure, other students were missing their families. other students had killed to become what they are. but the holidays seemed to bring it up the most. some students were allowed to go home and see their parents, their siblings, their aunts and uncles, cousins - but mia didn't have the option or the opportunity. the four of them had been spending most of the day together while others packed their things to get ready to head out for the week, and mia could feel her bad mood tainting everything around her. when it was just her and floribeth, she felt the words explode out of her chest - unable to hold them back anymore.

"my parents are dead. i know it's like - not unusual for here or whatever." she shifted uncomfortably as if there was a spotlight on her. "but i just didn't know they were dead. like, i thought they'd left me." she licked her lips and rubbed her face, hating herself for just blurting it out, but unable to stop the words from spilling out of her. "turns out, they were killed by some group of people who hate supernatural creatures. they wandered too close. i found out, uh, trying to look up my pack. my family pack, i mean."

she wiped at her face again, this time trying to fight off the tears that were starting to build in her eyes. "my uncle just.. left, i think i mentioned that once. and i thought it was like my parents. turns out - he was part of that group. my mom's brother, and all. and that's.. how they found them. he, uh. felt guilty. and just.." she shook her head and curled in on herself.

five. from across the room, mia could see faith sitting at a table, her head buried in a book. before she'd sat down, she'd looked over at mia and gave her a little wave with a soft smile. mia's heart felt like it was going to burst in her chest. she knew she'd stared a little longer than she'd meant to. such was always the case when it came to faith, if she were to be honest with herself. she would trace the lines of their features with her eyes, longing to do it with her fingertips. more often than not, she'd stare at her lips - wondering what it might feel like to feel them pressing against her skin.

her cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of pink, traveling down to her neck and up to her ears. groaning, she had plopped her head down onto her arms, making flori jump.

"sorry." she murmured. "it's nothing."

like usual. only this time floribeth wasn't having it. they always teased her about the way she looked at faith, both loren and flo both. but usually it was good-natured, taken in stride. when the two of them left the library, mia couldn't stand it anymore. much like usual, she could feel the words shifting and turning and bouncing back and forth in her mind until it was so large and unbearable that she had to say it.

"i think i'm into faith." the look on flori's face was unsurprised. almost a 'no shit, sherlock' expression, which made mia sink down lower into herself as they walked. "i just don't think she's into me, okay? i know i'm obvious or whatever. but if it's so obvious, why haven't they said something, you know? like - i gotta assume it's not gonna happen." her voice was even more dejected than the words sounded in her head.

"and if i ask her out, she says no - it fucks all of us up. the friend group dies. or worse - what if they say yes? what if it's going great and we have a horrible break up and my heart gets stomped on or theirs does and then you and loren have to choose sides or its awkward." it's unfounded. mia knows that would never happen, but its a fear and fears are irrational. "i.. just.. really like her, okay? and i wanna keep it to myself for a while. i'm okay with having her like this, as a friend."

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Yandere Teacher Dream x Student George.

This is the only exception I'll give. The rest will have to be Male x male readers. 

This was requested from Pokadeathpony

Disclaimer: I do not encourage anyone to do this sort of thing. 

Word count: 3679

Warning: There be violence, smut, an age-gap of 4 years, and I guess forced? George is 18 and Dream will be 22.

George POV

I heard my alarm go off and my mom calling me. “Honey! Time to get up, It’s going to be your first day at school!” 

‘Oh yeah, It’s going to be my first day at school!’ I got up from my bed and went to the bathroom to empty my bladder, wash my face, and brush my teeth. After I was done and went to my school uniform, I looked at myself in the mirror to see if I look good. ‘I look good today!’ 

I went downstairs to greet my mom and say goodbye to her. 

“Hey, mom!”

“Hi sweetie ready for your first day at school?” “Yeah, I am.” “Oh, my baby is all grown up! I remember when you were just a baby! Can I take a picture of you?”

“Mom!” “Oh please, sweetie? I wanna show all of my Facebook friends that you’re all grown and to show Karen that I’m good and raise you well as a single mom!” 

“Fine… But make it quick! I have school in a few minutes!” “Alright! Give me a pose!”

After a few minutes of trying to take the picture, she finally got the picture and posted it on Facebook and show Karen that she raised her son well. 

After a few tries, she finally got what she wanted and kissed me on the cheek, and told me to have a good day at school. “Have a great day at school sweetie.” “Okay, mom! I’ll see you at 4:30!”

I walked out of my house and made my way to Windlesham School Brighton. (Random high school I looked up) 

After a few minutes of walking, I finally made it. I saw there were still kids walking in and talking with each other about what they over the break and bragging about where they went. 

I was hoping to make friends cause I was always lonely. (Y’all know when you don’t have friends and you would eat alone at lunch?)

As I walked into the school it was loud, mostly from the girls screaming and talking at 300 dB. And they walk in these big packs taking up the whole hallway. (It was like this at my school)

I bumped into someone while walking through the halls and I heard a thump. The other person who got up helped me.

“Hey, you alright?” “Yeah, I am.” “What’s your name?” “Oh uhh, George. George Davidson. Uhh, what’s your name?” 

“Thomas. Thomas Simon. Or you can call me Tommy!” “Oh okay, nice to meet you, Tommy!”

“What class do you have next?” “I have… uh… Economics?... Yeah.” I said looking at my schedule. Just then we heard the bell ring signaling that class has just started.

“Aww, we don’t have to be in the same class. But we have most classes together after that though.” 

“Oh, I was hoping you could lead me to my class?” “Sure I can still help you. I can just say I was lost as an excuse.”

Time skip (only 3 minutes) 

After Tommy helped me get to my class, he went on his way to his class. I walked in and everyone’s attention was on me and the teacher looked at me with an unreadable face. ‘Great! They all were just talking but when I walked in they just stopped to look at me!’ 

“Are you in my class?”

(Has that ever happened to you?)

Dream’s POV

I was just in class ready to start class, show the expectation, behavior, and give the class syllabus. But these damn kids won’t stop talking.

“I hate my job,” I said underneath my breath, I was thinking of just quitting until the class door opened. And everyone stopped talking and directed their attention to the door, so did I. And I saw the most captivating boy in my life.

He was triggering something inside me. I noticed he looked embarrassed by all the eyes on him. I decided to ask him, “Are you in my class?” I was hoping he was. 

“Yes… here take a look.” He handed me his schedule and I felt his soft milky white hand graze mine, but it was only a moment before he snatched his arm away. 

“Let’s see…… Okay, you are in my class! Since you’re up here would you like to introduce yourself?” I see him shake his head no. 

“It’s okay now you can go sit anywhere but you will be given assigned seats, so don't be comfortable.” I heard the class groan cause they wanted to stay next to their friends. I’m going to put him upfront. 

Whatever he is doing, is growing. I feel like I want to protect him, I want to keep him, and let no one else get him. 

My other self was telling me that he is ours, while my other is telling me this is wrong and that I shouldn’t have a feeling for one of my students. But in the end, it was my other side telling me he is ours to have and to keep forever, and hurt or even kill anyone who dares to get between us. 

George’s POV

I was standing there just embarrassed by the way everybody is looking at me, Then I heard him say, “Are you in my class?” Took me a few seconds to comprehend what he said and I gave him my schedule to show that I was in his class.

“Yes… here take a look.” I handed him my schedule and he looked through it to confirm that I was definitely in his class. 

For a brief moment, I felt his big strong hand touch mine as I handed it in. ‘I wonder how it would feel to be manhandled by those hands?’ My gay thought was appearing, ‘Wait… What?! Why am I thinking about that?!?! He’s my teacher for crying out loud!’

After a few moments, he confirmed that I was in his class. “Let’s see…… Okay, you are in my class! Since you’re up here would you like to introduce yourself?” he asked me if I wanted to introduce myself in front of the whole class. I shake my head, no, I didn’t want to present myself. 

“It’s okay now you can go sit anywhere but you will be given assigned seats, so don’t get comfortable.” When he said that I was finally able to sit down.

I choose the sit right by the window. I feel like one of those main characters in anime where they have that scene where they look out the window, outside, looking at the peasants. 

Nothing was happening, the teacher was preparing and he seemed to daze off. I then felt a tap on my shoulder and looked behind me to see a boy. 

“Hi, my name is Wilbur. Wilbur Soot! What’s your name?” 

“Hi, my name is George. George Davidson. Nice to meet you!” 

I and Wilbur talked until we were interrupted by the teacher apparently, we talked so for too long. And we were about to begin class.

Dream’s POV

I was trying to get things ready but my mind kept going back to that kid. Maybe I’ll get to know his name when I do a roll call.

In the corner of my eye, I could see MY lover… ‘Wait? What I’m I thinking?! You know what, who cares! Yeah, he is my lover even though he looks 18 or 19. He is old enough I’m only 22!’ 

anyways I could see him talking to a random kid. Seeing that made me feel jealous, I looked at them with envy, I wanted to be the one that made him laugh. I decide to interrupt them and start the roll call.

As I was calling the names of my students and paid more attention to finding out who that kid was. “George Davidson?” 

“Here!” I see my angel raise his hand. Now I know his name. Few names later. “Wilbur? Wilbur Soot?”  

“Present!” I see the kid who was talking to MY George. Now I know who he is. Now I got to deal with him. 

Time skip (end of class)

I told everyone my expectations, how they should behave, gave out the syllabus, and did assigned seats. I of course placed George at the front and Wilbur at the back.  

“Goodbye everyone, have a great day and review your syllabus, and have it signed to get your first grade!” 

Everyone had left, leaving me alone in the room and the only thing I could think about was George. ‘Don’t worry darling, Daddy will have you’

George’s POV

It turns out that Wilbur and Tommy were friends and they introduced me to the rest of the group. Their names, Dave, Zak, Darry, Floris, Nicholas, Karl, and Caroline. Caroline was the only girl in the group but I finally made friends! I’m no longer alone!! 

Time skip to the end of the day.

All classes were over and I could finally go and sleep. ‘I miss my bed.’

I said goodbye to my new friends and I began to walk home. 

As I was walking home, I felt someone watching or following. I turned around and looked around to see if anyone was following. No one. 

But I’m going to take that chance. I remember watching something like this on TV. You should go or run in different directions so who is following would get lost by all the different routines you take. And I did that.

I went in different directions hoping to lose them. I finally arrived home. What I didn’t is that they still followed me and now they know where I live. 

“So that’s where he lives”

(But for real though, does that work?) 

Time skip to 2 months later

Still George’s POV

The first month was great, I had friends with Wilbur and Tommy being my best friends. But things changed

At the beginning of November (School starts in September in the UK. That’s what I got), Some of my friends began to go missing. First, it was Caroline, then it was Karl, Darryl, Zak, Nicholas, and Dave in that order. 

(To lazy to write their deaths) 

The atmosphere at school was dark. The once cheerful school full of normal kids became dark and everyone was scared, thinking they may be the next person. But all of the missing kids are related to me. 

The only ones that are left, Tommy and Wilbur. 

Dreams POV

As the days, turn into weeks, and weeks turned into months my obsession over George had grown. I began to deal with the “bad people.” 

I also learned some things about George. He is 18 years old, meaning that there is a 4-year difference, He was born in London, etc. 

I just have to deal with Wilbur. I know he likes George, It's so obvious. Tommy? Nah, I don't have to worry about him, He's going to move to a different school tomorrow, so he won't be a problem.

But now it's just Wilbur. I forgot too much George and Wilbur are in my last period class so I could just keep Wilbur behind. Time skip to the end of class

"Alright remember to turn in your work, tomorrow is the last to turn it in. Also, Wilbur, will you stay behind, I have to talk to you about something?" "Sure Dream." (I don't know his last name so yeah)

The bell rings signaling that the day is over and everyone can go home. Everybody rushed out of classes and walked outside while Wilbur stayed behind to "chat" with dream about something.

"Hey how about we go outside? To the rooftop?" I said with a wicked intention but he still accepts it.

"Sure." he was unaware of what was going to happen to him. We both walked up there and I told him to go stand by the rail. He complied and went to the rail, and I stood right next to him.

"You know what I got to say?" I said. "What? What do you need to say?" He questions with suspicion.

"George is mine." I pushed him over the rail and he spat when he hit the ground, killing him instantly. 'I'll let the police find him. They won't know it's me. I'll put the body in the dumpster.'

I went to drag the body into the dumpster where nobody can find it.

Friday

The next day came and I could finally claim George for myself. I would just stare at him lovingly, knowing that he will be mine soon.

George's POV

It was the last day of the week until the weekend came. Wilbur didn't show up today, I wondered why.

Throughout the day, Dream would give me weird stares, it was creepy. I was cautious of him. I don't know he seems suspicious if he is the one behind all this, I don't have evidence against him.

This suspicion went on for the entire day until it was the end of my classes. 'Finally, it's the weekend!' I thought to myself cheerful but that ended when I heard my name called.

"Hey, George could you stay behind? I need to talk to you about your grades." What about my grades? He said the same thing with Wilbur. Uhh, he's my teacher, he won't do something bad right?

"Okay, sir."

Timeskip to the end of the day. (Plot purposes)

It was the end of the day and I had to stay behind to talk about my "grades."

The bell rang and everybody ran out the door while I sat there in the front. "So, you know there is nothing wrong with grades," he said. "Then why am I here if my grades are good?" I replied

"But I need you to come over to my house and study for the upcoming test," he said with no emotion and with a straight face (gay face).

"I can study at home," I replied. "You can but I feel like it would be better if you study with me since I am your teacher and it would be easier." He replied.

"And if you don't then I'll drop your grade to a 40." He whispered in my ear. "Okay fine! Let me just text my mom."

"No, no need to worry I already called her and she is okay with that." He said nervously. "Okay."

"Fantastic let's get going."

No one's POV

George and dream both went out into the parking lot where George would go "study" at Dream's house. They went off and the car ride was awkward and nobody talked during the ride.

When they arrived, Dream got out and opened the door for George. And George thanked him for that. They both went and that's when dream struck.

He pulled out a syringe and ejected whatever was in the thing into George's neck, knocking him out. Dream smiled wickedly as he looked upon the now sleeping corpse of George. 'He is finally mine.'

A few hours later George woke up in the basement tied to the bed that was in there.

SMUT WARNING!!!!!!!!

"What, where am I?!?!" He said frantically as he was trying to comprehend and remember the last that happened then he remembered, 'it was dream! I knew it!' he thought to himself.

Just then a naked dream walked down the stairs with nothing on but his boxers.

(oH lOrD HavE MerCy. Ignore the surfboard. I think this is dream cause when I looked it up, this was one of the results.)

"Hey, there sweetie." dream said seductively. "It was you! I knew it was! You despicable monster!" George yelled at the top of his lungs. Dream was anger by what George just said. 

So he grabbed George on the thigh and turned him over to where his asscheeks were showing and he gave them smacked. He smirked when he saw them jiggle. George let out a squeal.

"Don't talk to Daddy like that sweetie or you'll get punished." Dream said while giving a smack on George's ass. "You molester!" George replied. Dream of course was not happy about this and gave 20 smacks.

After the 20 smacks on the ass. Dream began to plant small kisses on George's neck and nibble on his neck. That for sure will leave hickey's showing that George now belongs to Dream.

George was groaning and moaning at this. George was now rock hard. "I see you're hard for daddy now, mmm?" Dream in George's ear as he bits and George whimpering. George was now a moaning mess.

"You want daddy to continue? Mmm, baby?" Dream said seductively and George is now under Dreams enchantment. "Yes, Daddy! Please I need you!" George screamed while moaning.

"Mmm... I didn't hear you, baby you're gonna have to speak louder." Dream teased George. "Please I need you! I want your big fat cock to fill me up! I want your cum to flood my insides! Please I want you, I need you!" George said needy as he was still on his stomach shaking his ass. That provoked dream.

(Oh lord have mercy!)

"Yeah, you want daddy to continue?" Dream said and George rapidly nodded his head. "That's what I like to hear. Now take Daddy's boxers off," Dream said and George complied.

George slowly took off Dream's boxers while his other was touching his rock-hard abs, and his tongue playing with his nipples. All of this left dream groaning under his touch.

George was done teasing and he finally took off Dream's boxers, and Dream's large cock popped out. 'Damn he was packing down there! It's like 9 inches long (or 22.86 cm long.) and thick as a coke can!’ "What's wrong? Too big for you?" Dream said teasing George thinking he can't take him.

"Yes, I can! I'll try to!" George replied with determination in his voice. Dream just smirk and let him do his thing.

George began to give kitten licks on his massive member. Dream was groaning, "Stop teasing baby boy... And take it all in that little warm and tight mouth of yours." George nodded his and tried to take him whole. Keyword: tried.

George got his mouth around the head and slowly started to take him more. George only got halfway before choking. "You're doing well-baby!" Dream said while moaning as George's tongue was getting all of the sides. "Shit I'm to cum! Stop baby I wanna release inside you."

George got on his knees on the bed. Dream got behind George and began to lick the rim around George's ass. "AHHHH!" George moaned. "You taste delicious." Dream said while continuing. George was about to cum, Dream stopped.

"You're not cumming just yet baby, we gotta cum together." Dream said while trailing his tongue on the back of George's and licking his ear.

Dream grabbed the lube and squeezed some on his three fingers. He pushed his three lubed fingers inside of George. "Mmm... ahh!" George moaned as the fingers penetrated his tight hole.

Dream was trying to find George's prostate, meaning that he was going to have to go deeper. After trying to find his prostate, George felt a massive amount of pleasure going through his whole body. "AHHHHHH!" George moaned loudly as his prostate was being abused by Dream's fingers.  

"Looks like I found it." Dream said while taking his fingers out. George whimpered at the feeling of being empty. "Don't worry baby, you'll get something way bigger than my fingers." Dream said reassuring George that he'll receive much more pleasure.  

Dream took his fingers out. Dream began to tease the rim of George's ass with the head of the massive thing. George whimpered. Dream then thrust in George's tight hole. "AHHH!" George moaned at his hole was being shaped to fit dream's whole cock inside him.

Dream slowly thrusted in. "Please go faster..." George whimpered as he was moving backward to meet his thrusts. With dream thrusted faster hitting George's prostates immediately. "AHHHdchfbfcedrjcbu." George was on cloud nine as his prostate was being abused by a massive cock. It felt like he could see the stars.

"You like that huh? Do you like how my cock is pounding this tight hole of yours? Shit, you're milking my cock if you keep squeezing around me!" Dream as he was inching closer to his climax.

"Answer me!" Dream said while slapping his ass causing George to moan louder. "Yes, I like it! Wait no, I love it! I love your cock daddy, the way it stretches me out! Please give your milk!" George said he was closer to his climax as well.

"Fuck I'm going to cum! You better cum with me!" Dream as he was now aggressively pounding George faster than he was. George began to get tighter around Dream. "Here it comes!" Dream screamed. "Yes, please give it to me!" George said while moaning and groaning.

Dream came inside of George filling him up with his milk. Dream then but down on George's shoulder official marking George, with that George came as well. They both laid down as they both were exhausted.

George went to sleep and the last thing he heard before darkness consumed him was, "You're finally mine. I will never let you go. DEATH is the only thing that will separate us."

THE END. 

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

TommyInnit's Tale of Magic and Monsters

by AWeirdLisa

The man turned his head and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a loud bang and the sudden flash of bright green filling the sky. Both his and Tommy’s heads jerked towards the origin of what looked to be an explosion. A commotion broke out on the fairground as others realised what’d happened. Enormous green flames danced on the side of one of the academy’s spires, smoke plumes rising high above. Something had exploded and ripped a hole straight through one of the tower walls. The sight of it frightened many as people were screaming and running in all directions, deciding they had to get out of there, right now.  

Tommy yelled his lungs out, and turned back around, but to his surprise the guy and his cat were gone, like they’d evaporated in thin air.

--

Tommy lives in a world full of magic, where he happily works a job at a blacksmith's shop (the Tinkering Boar) and lives with his roommate Tubbo. Though when his 18th birthday comes rolling around the corner and he can finally apply for the L'Manberg Academy of Magics, his world gets turned upside down. He learns a lot about himself as he meets a variety of odd figures on his journey to save his home.

Words: 6903, Chapters: 1/20, Language: English

Fandoms: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, Dream SMP - Fandom

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: Toby Smith | Tubbo, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot, Cara | CaptainPuffy, Alexis | Quackity, Niki | Nihachu, Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Floris | Fundy, FoolishGamers

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & Technoblade, No Romantic Relationship(s), Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson

Additional Tags: Dungeons & Dragons References, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Inspired by Skyrim, Inspired by Critical Role (Web Series), Dream SMP Ensemble-centric, The Dream SMP people but they are all d&d inspired with cool magic and stuff, Tommy finds himself in the middle of a journey he never meant to go on, He's going to do great things, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Temporary Character Death, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, I promise you're gonna like this adventure

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/36718084