#Wooden Hall Table

[samdecors]

[indiatrendzs]

Modern Minimalism with Moroccan Inspired Architecture

Moroccan-inspired city chic blends the vibrant colors, intricate patterns, and exotic textures of Moroccan design with the contemporary flair and urban sophistication of city living. This fusion creates a stylish and eclectic aesthetic that reflects the cultural richness and cosmopolitan energy of Moroccan cities like Marrakech and Casablanca. Visit Our Online Store:-ETSY MOGULGALLERY Elements…

[qfabraywrites]

Hall - Mudroom An illustration of a large, modern entryway with porcelain tiles, beige walls, and a dark wood front door.

[dolicekiss]

Silver Sobs

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen X Sister!reader

CONTENT WARNING: incestous relationships (obviously) noncon, dubious con (?), somnophilia, smut (18+, mdni), dark aemond, unprotected sex, breeding, nipple play, forced kissing, threats, coercion, praise, obsessed and sick aemond, display of possessiveness, hair pulling, biting.

SYNOPSIS: After the terrifying battle which took place at Rook’s Rest, Aemond’s lust for power had still not subsided despite burning his own brother, the king of Westeros. He arrives at King’s Landing with one thing in mind; to claim everything that belongs to his brother which included — you, his sweet dear sister. The Queen.

Restless and relentless, you paced around the floor of your chambers. Finger nails scratching the skin around them, drawing blood from beneath the stripped flesh.

War was blooming, like a dangerous grey cloud above your heads with the prominent promise of a storm. Panic was everywhere, as well as despair. Multiple soldiers had died, leaving behind their families to fend for themselves, the King had fallen.

And amongst all that, you could only possibly worry for the well being of your only child, Jaehaera. After what had befallen your innocent babe, you had completely disconnected from everything.

Under the name of war, you suffered. You witnessed the atrocities committed by Rhaenyra’s men and your mind had become a void — as you found yourself sinking deeper and deeper into it. Images and reality merging together. Both a foreign concept.

There was no one there for you.

Everyone enamoured with the idea of winning the war, playing their parts, desperate to stay alive. You were all but a pawn, a machine to produce heirs. You knew they didn't even consider you a proper Queen.

The smallfolk and even your own mother, Dowager Queen as well as your brother, Aemond.

Yet you did not care.

You wished to be left alone, pay no mind to such things. Break free from the uneasy restraints of danger and war. Form peace, relish in it. Is all you wanted.

You were not blessed with the courage to go pay your badly injured husband a visit, choosing to nip and scratch at your own skin was a much better and comforting option.

Losing your babe made you realize none of this was worth it. Not a single person in Westeros could end the brewing war and you'd left everyone to fend for themselves — just as they had abandoned you.

Darkness fell over Westeros and meanwhile your maidens were preparing you for bed, Aemond on the other hand battled obscene thoughts and needs at such a dark hour.

Aemond drowned himself in wine yet it had no affect on him. Instead he found himself wondering about staking a claim over everything that belonged to his brother. He got the throne, when he didn't even wish for it and he got you — the sister that Aemond himself wanted.

From when you both were only children, little kids, Aemond had thought of marrying his older sister. Only a year younger, he was. Hoping he'd be the one who's children you'd carry, watching your stomach swell up with his babes and be his wife but even that was snatched right away from him in the name of serving the realm.

His childhood snatched — face left deformed and disabled, a laughing stock that he'd become for his older brother. The drunken fool who had no right to even linger around such a prestigious throne, made only for strong willed men and warriors to take a seat on.

Aegon was no warrior.

He was foolish, an embarrassment and an utter disappointment.

Incapable of pronouncing a word properly in high valyrian.

And he surely did not deserve to have such a sweet little bird such as yourself by his side.

He finished his wine in one gulp and slammed the glass down, aggressively against the wooden table. Criston Cole was nowhere to be seen and Aemond made up his mind to ravage you, to claim you like he had already desired to from the beginning of time.

His steps were stable and strong, booming through the halls of the red keep. Each step only brought him closer to your chambers, driving himself quickly up the stairs which lead to your chambers.

He was relieved to find no guards guardian you and scoffed, realizing how little and less important you were to the Hightowers.

Aemond’s hands moved to push past the doors and there you were, sound asleep in your bed. Your daughter asleep in a cradle a little far away from your bed. He closed the heavy doors and sauntered towards the bed, standing at its foot.

He had consumed wine but he was not drunk at all. Matter of fact, Aemond was as sober as the day he was born.

Your silk robe concealed the plush of your creamy breasts as they rose up and down in soft little attempts to inhale air, one arm laid leisurely over your stomach while the other somewhere concealed within your silver, sparkling hair.

Aemond felt his cock harden in his leather slacks, his sword still attached to his hip. Reaching for it, he undid it and placed it over a table across and then moved his body to continue admiring your body, the vulnerability you showcased had him frozen on the spot.

The lecherous act he was heading to engage in would surely leave you in disarray too but Aemond was too far gone to even care anymore.

He'd arrived to claim what was rightfully his.

He walked to the side of the bed, hands reaching out to remove the blanket from your frail figure. Then his hands pried open the robe, revealing your kirtle. It scarcely did anything to veil your dignity and Aemond shuddered.

His hands, his war causing hands, sinful hands, moved covetously over your body. Fingers digging into your neckline to pull it down, watching with his one good eye as your breasts spilled out. The cold air forced your pebbles into peaks and Aemond nearly lost all restraint.

Large hand cupping your left breast, a callous thumb flicked your nipple and your already parted lips released a short lived gasp. He was pleased with the soft sound, as subtle as it was.

Aemond sat next to you on the empty space, slithering his tongue over his plump lips. Your breaths were soft, the only sound echoing in the expanse of your room, cutting through the silence like butter. His own breath hitched in his throat, upon witnessing the disarray you were in.

Hair like rippled waves of the narrow sea, body loose and comfortable. Aemond leaned in, shrinking the space between the two of you, to analyze your features. He'd never gotten the chance to do, you'd never allow him. You were anything but an immoral woman who'd give herself to him on a silver platter.

You were the Queen.

Aemond knew he'd be reprimanded for even being in your room, staring at you up close like this. He had unraveled you like some gift, like a present and he wished to do so much more.

Your beautifully long lashes coated the apples of your cheeks and Aemond, with a gloved hand, reached to swipe the thick strand of hair away from your cheek. Just by touching you, despite having leather separate his skin from becoming one with yours, he was already thanking the Gods for blessing him with you.

Aemond slowly slipped his gloves off, resting them on the table next to the bed. He fully slipped into bed next to you, face buried in the crook of your neck and bare hands slithering to fondle with your beautiful, plump breasts.

Soft flesh with hardened nipples.

A soft breath from his lips ghosted over your nape, his hips pushing into your hip in dire need for physical affection. Aemond had slept with whores, he'd fucked them but for the first time in his life he wanted to lay with a woman to satiate his hopelessness for affection.

Something he never received from his mother, Alicent and Rhaenyra always managed to overshadow him.

He let out a guttural moan, pushing his hips more into you and when you shifted in your sleep — back turned to him, Aemond fucking lost it. You had exposed your perfect curves to him, how your ass was shaped and how your side dipped in, giving you the shape of a goddess.

In your state of unconsciousness, you had presented yourself to him like a feast.

Aemond’s actions grew haste. Hands reaching from behind to grope your tits much more roughly, hips stuttering into you from behind and his cock leaked from the amount of pleasure the depravity of this endeavor brought him.

His breath grew quicker, heavier and your sleep was soon disturbed. As you fluttered your eyes opened, revealing the purple hues, your sleepy brain finally acknowledged your surroundings and the cold, callous hands fondling you from behind.

You gasped, giving away hint of your consciousness and before you could even scream, Aemond had already wrapped a palm over your mouth.

“Sh, sh. It's me, Aemond.” As if that would make things much better for you, but this revelation only worked to make things harder for you.

Your eyes widening in horror and when you tried to shift, a feeble attempt to slip out of his tight grasp, you realized the severity of the situation. Aemond’s hard manhood was pressed up right between your ass. Your brother's and it left you completely astonished. Your flight or fight response being triggered.

You tried to say something but only muffled words paired with broken sobs tore managed to make through the little space between Aemond’s slim fingers clasped tightly over your lips. Your vision blurred as you tried to focus on the cradle in which your daughter laid, asleep and in peace.

Aemond had glued himself to you. “I've missed you, dear sister. I miss our childhood, I miss what we had. Remnants of our childhood always haunts me.”

You almost felt bad. Guilt ridden because somewhere, deep down, you were aware of the feelings your brother harbored for you. The two of you would even go as far as behaving as you were already betrothed to each other when younglings.

You moved past it, accepted your loveless marriage with the care less drunken brother of yours. You succumbed to your targaryen traditions, roles and duties bestowed upon you by the Gods but it appeared that Aemond decided to fight that Gods.

He chose to go against destiny and the traditions.

“I will remove my hand and you shall keep your honor and dignity intact, Dear sister.” You nodded in desperation and Aemond with great reluctance peeled his hand off your face, causing you to inhale a sharp breath.

You registered the situation you were in. Breasts spilled out, hair pushed aside with Aemond buried in your nape. Seeking solace that he never found in his mother's embrace and you swallowed. Tears streamed down, soaking into the cushions.

“This is wrong.” You whispered, hoping that you don't awaken the dragon in him. “Immoral, Aemond. I am your sister, the Queen. I carried His Grace’s heirs. You cannot do this.”

Your tone was fearsome and Aemond’s irritation grew when you faced him with the facts. He knew about this already and he did not care, not in the slightest. His arm which had wrapped around your waist, tightened, a warning to tread carefully.

“His Grace is also your brother, our brother, so what is so immoral about us engaging in such..” Aemond couldn't call it debauchery, because he didn't see it exactly as that. He saw it as something more, something pure beyond anyone's understanding. “acts.”

You tried to shift, to face him and when you did, Aemond was already staring back at you, his patch still over his disabled eye.

Surely with more persuasion he would leave your chambers and you could pretend that none of this happened but unfortunately for you, there was no God, no sept or no traditions that could change his mind.

“Aemond, I'm his lady wife. I'm merely your sister. Please try to understan—”

Aemond nearly growled. “Do not remind me over and over again that he – a drunkard, an idiot – managed to put his heirs in you when you were supposed to carry mine! You were mine, do you hear me? It is about time I get what is rightfully mine, what was taken from me.”

Before you could say more, Aemond closed the space between you two and captured your lips in a rough kiss. One with which you could not keep up — small fists banging at his chest, in tethered hope that he might have a change of heart and dissipate from your presence.

Your husband was fighting for his life, meanwhile you were laying nearly bare in front of your brother.

You felt bile rise up in your throat but you had no other option than to swallow it back down as Aemond’s passionate lip lock grew more restless and haste. Using up all your strength in an endeavor to push him, yet there was no retribution. He carried on with his sick intentions.

His hands moved down to grab a handful of both your tits, his lips swallowing your little whines and pleas. His rutting which had stalled, continued again as he pushed his hardened cock into your mound.

“A-Aemond.. ” You tried to reason, still.

His hands worked their way around your breasts, flicking your hardened peaks repeatedly and your body twitched. You did not wish to accept it but this was the most pleasure you'd felt in your whole life.

Warming your husband’s bed was only to fulfill his desires, his needs and wants. You were solely a doll, a lifeless being who only existed for Aegon to have his pleasures with. You always wondered how your own mother could subject you to such cruelty, such monstrosity.

To lay awake at night and welcome your husband, whom you do not wish to even breath the same air as, with open arms.

Aemond’s potent tongue pried your lips open and you let it happen, not possessing any more of courage. His tongue danced with yours, a reminiscent of the dragons that danced above Rooks’s Rest. He panted like a wild beast, and you followed.

Dire need to consume you warred with his ache for you and Aemond soon tore away from you but continued flicking your swollen buds. He stared at you, eye dark and rapacious.

Your cheeks were flushed and the rays of moonlight illuminated the beads of sweat on your forehead. Aemond was lost in you, drunk off a single kiss and he simply could not wait to have more of you.

“You have grown into such a beautiful woman, Sister.” Aemond praised, pinching both your hardened pebbles simultaneously and you cried out a wail. “But before me I still see my older sister, nuha byka hunte.”

You flinched at the name.

He addressed you as his little bird in high valyrian when you were kids and then he stopped, after witnessing your wedding to his brother. In all honesty, you longed to be called that and Aemond had finally responded to that longing of yours, unknowingly.

Aemond’s hands fell, fingers tucking underneath the edge of your silk robe as he tugged at it. You didn't allow it — still fighting back as you stayed still. He didn't like that one bit. The Targaryen man pressed his forehead against yours, warm breath lingering like a looming threat.

“You will let it happen.” He commanded, rendering you speechless. Chills dancing across your frail frame at the sheer dominance in his voice. Just when did your little Aemond grow up into a masculine and domineering man?

You shook your head, staring at him with a plea. “Stop ‘tis for I am the Queen, I am your Queen and I demand you to stop.”

Aemond tugged at the dress, bunching it up past your thighs. “I wish you were my Queen but instead those fucking cunts had you warming up my brother’s bed like some common whore.”

The overwhelming urge to cry took over and you sobbed, banging your fists against Aemond’s chest. It didn't seem to affect him much but it did rile him up how you fought to accept him but most probably allowed his brother in — gave yourself up to him in the name of duty and sacrifice.

“I'm not a whore!” You wailed, punching him over and over again. To flee from the upcoming acceptance of your situation but Aemond reprimanded you. He forbade you and greeted you in the form of your queasy truth.

Aemond grabbed both your wrists, glaring at you. “Yet he treats you as one. You're even below that for him. I have seen him show kindness he's never shown you, to a fucking whore. Not the mother of his children, not his queen, but a whore for some coin.”

The reality Aemond was making you face was slowly poisoning you from the inside. You couldn't even hit him anymore as your wrists had been restrained. Your demeanor fell and Aemond took notice, his fingers unclasping from around your small wrists.

He saw how you cried.

Softly, each tear falling as your pale pillow awaited to absorb your pain.

“But I would treat you differently. If it had been me, I would have cherished you like the only woman in the seven kingdoms and beyond that.” He whispered to you with yearning obvious in his voice.

Aemond managed to slip the petticoat off your body and revealed you to him — in all your glory. Skin bare and glistening from sweat. Each curve delicious and crafted by the seven Gods themselves. You were the embodiment of pure targaryen beauty, some even going as far as claiming you to be the most beautiful targaryen woman.

You tried to reach for the blanket, to cover the shredded pieces of your dignity but Aemond hurried to refrain you from doing so.

He grabbed both your wrists, slamming your back down on the bed and pinning you against the mattress. His body hovering over yours, knee bent and settled between your thighs. Your chest heaved, and tits bounced from the force of harsh pants.

Aemond’s knee pried open your thighs rather forcefully, pressing his knee against your cunt. His vile action had earned a whimper of discomfort and embarrassment out of you, your whole being resenting the throbbing sensation spreading in your core as it flourished.

“Tonight I shall have you and cherish you like you deserve, like I should have.” Aemond whispered, tone grave. “If you choose to stay adamant and resilient, I cannot promise you humility, nuha byka hunte.”

Your lips formed into a pout, tear ducts sore from all the droplets you'd shed. “A-Aemond please, don't. If you do this, everything will change.”

Aemond scoffed at your naivety. “Everything has changed, Sister. Brother is injured, I'm prince regent and you're going to carry my children.”

You shook your head, pushing at his slim frame but that only resulted in Aemond’s hand drowning in your silver, pale locks. A malicious grip tugging at the roots, a fiery sensation blooming.

“They will be bastards.” A lone tear slid down.

Aemond’s lips broke in a sadistic smirk. “And? The pretender can have bastards, not even remotely close to her late husband’s features but I can't have bastards with you?”

He licked his lips, his pointy, sharp nose caressing against your own. “Our children will look like true born Targaryens. They will have our purple eyes and silver hair.”

There was no point.

You were defeated.

Aemond saw you accept defeat and he smiled in victory, his other letting go off your hair and moving to grab yours. He pulled it to the strings of his leather slacks and encouraged you to undo them.

You shook your head and that angered Aemond.

How adamant could you be?

“I will shove my cock into your cunt one way or another and I will make sure my seed takes root inside you.” The vulgarity of his words made you sob, your hands trembling as you began to undo his strings. Pulling each one from the knots and finally loosening the leather enough for him to slide out of it.

Aemond was pleased and soon, he was naked too.

Leather pieces thrown over to the side along with his eye patch too.

When your gaze captured the sparkling sapphire in the void of his left eye, you were left appalled.

He had never ever shown you what was behind that eye patch. Even after you begged him to, he grew cold and pushed you away but now you had begun to realize it was probably because of the announcement of your betrothal to Aegon.

His silky strands were in a tedious contrast to your wavy, thick ones.

Lingering eyes caught the awakened cock between his legs and horror flashed in your widened eyes. He was blessed by the Gods, that was for sure and no wonder your brother was this famous amongst the ladies. He had the equipment to satisfy them.

You gulped, nervousness donning your face.

“I slept with other woman so I could become better for you. Incompetence and lack of experience would surely ruin this time, don't you think so, sweet Sister?” Aemond spoke, as his hand dropped from your knee to your center.

You flinched every time he caressed your skin and your abdomen twitched with absolute need. You failed to fathom where all this rush and need was birthing from — how the disgust lingered but along it roamed a feeling of desire which had erupted in the form of essence from your hole.

Aemond ran his slim, tenacious fingers over the stripe of your cunt, gathering the arousal you produced. “Your little cunt is very wet, Sister. Disobedience, wails and pounding at my chest. Is this all merely an act, to veil your sickly desires beneath?”

Your breath broke and humiliation draped itself around you like an invisible blanket. Your small hand reached over to deliver a tight slap to your brother's face, but it barely caused an impact. All you left was a red hand print on his face.

Aemond looked at you, head tilted and fire born in his eye.

You had awakened the dragon.

“Your actions tell me you have no desire to be treated with respect. So be it then.”

Your low chances of rebuttal were revoked as he slid two fingers at once into your opening, going to the point until he was knuckles deep inside your squelching cunt. You sobbed hopelessly, hands trying to push at him but none of it worked.

Your resistance only boosted his ego, his god complex. He had all the power over you, despite you being the Queen. How fucking pathetic and cruel life had been to you but Aemond was here. He was here to save you, and in order to do that, he had to claim you first.

You pushed inside you, caressing your cervix and your gummy walls clasped around his fingers. Your nails dug into his shoulder to cause him pain but that was a failed attempt as Aemond’s cock hardened even more — if that were possible — when he felt the prickling feeling on his shoulder.

The pain inflicted only heightened his arousal.

“A-Aemond, please.” Your cries were the least bit of his concerns, as he curved his fingers up and managed to hit that sweet concealed spot of yours.

Your back arched, lifting up from the mattress, hands bunching up the sheets in them. Writhing your hips, Aemond used his other hand to strike you down — a stinging sensation blossoming on your thigh. You suckled on your lower lip, to stifle your sounds. Jaehaera waking up could possibly ruin everything.

“The Queen’s cunt is truly worth becoming a kingslayer for. Look at how tightly you squeeze around my fingers, Sister.” He whispered, staring at you. You caught the shimmering of the sapphire and sniffled, your cheeks and nose a crimson color.

Death was much better than this humiliation at the hands of your own brother — one you used to see as your protector when you were a little girl.

“H-Have shame. Your sister.” You managed to whimper out and Aemond groaned in annoyance, retrieving his fingers from your cunt.

Your hole gaped as you whined at the loss of contact. He laid next to you, flipping you so your back was facing him. Aemond kicked your thighs open with his shins and pressed his red leaking cock head over your clit, moving it in soft little circles. The burial of your face in your pillows made you realize just how unbearable all this was.

“Do not turn away from me.” Aemond’s voice had a plea in it. “You allowed Aegon in, why is it so difficult to allow me in? I promise you, nuha byka hunte. You will never feel shame again, you will never be embarrassed by your husband again.”

His promises almost worked.

You found yourself wondering whether this was so bad. You'd slept with Aegon, in a much more brutal way, worse than Aemond. Usually he'd ignore you and your pleasure in his drunken state, only chasing after his own. Aemond made you feel good.

He actually cared enough to bring you pleasure.

You nodded your head with a soft sob. You wished things were better, that your betrothed was Aemond, not the other brother but things never turned out the way you wanted them to.

Aemond aligned his cock with your hole and sunk into you, face hidden in your nape as his naked body sought comfort in your presence, basking in it. His chin resting on the small cup of your shoulder, breath caressing the skin of your neck.

He was almost like a babe.

“Aemond.” You called out, feeling bad for what he was put through as a child. For what he had turned out to be.

Having your own children made you realize how easy it was to provide them with affection, so it was difficult for you to fathom why your own mother failed to show you and your brothers affection.

Aemond melted at the way you softly called out his name and his cock had fully sheathed inside your cunt, thighs pressed up against your ass. You'd become one and he was going to have you for himself now.

“Yes, my sweet sister?”

“It feels weird.” You spoke truthfully as you had never ever lay with a man in such a close and intimate position. Aemond figured what you were hinting at and he smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to your nape.

He moved his hips, stuttering inside you, grinding into your ass. Your sounds nearly woke up your daughter if it wasn't for Aemond’s hands slithering from behind, one groping your tits while the other silencing you.

“Quiet now. You don't wish to wake up your daughter, do you now?” You shook your head as he slowly rutted his cock inside you, pushing it deeper into that weak spot of yours and muffled sounds escaped your sealed lips.

Tears fell, and so did your dignity as your brother fucked himself into you with newfound vigor meant to swallow you whole.

Aemond lost his demeanor, his usually calm and nonchalant demeanor. Transforming into the sadistic monster that he was. He pulled his hand back from your swollen breasts and brought it to your hair, pulling it up rather harshly to expose more of your sweet skin.

A perfect spot. A clean canvas for him to paint his bloody streaks across.

He parted his lips open, baring his teeth and sinking the sharp canines into your skin. Being punctured with such severity, even his hand could not prevent the piercing scream that tore through your throat.

Your eyes squeezed shut as Aemond sunk his teeth. The searing pain of prickling bones a deadly contrast with the soft, sensual thrusts of his cock. A mess he had made you into and there was no escape from the lecherous bounds of your brother.

“I-It hurts. Aemond, it hurts!” You cried out, writhing against his body but his arm had locked you in place. Right against him.

The more you struggled, the more his long arm like a snake tightened around your stomach. He did not budge, not at all. Focused fully on the task at hand which was to leave a gut wrenching mark, as a testament to his claim over you.

When he was done suckling and drawing blood, he pulled back and hummed in satisfaction at the mark. A mix of reds, blues and purples. Such hues looked absolutely breathtaking on you. He pressed a soft kiss over the bruise, the two punctured hole and you shuddered.

Helplessness washed over you.

Your husband was hurt, in pain meanwhile you engaged in such debauchery with your brother.

Aemond snapped his hips, now ramming his cock into you. Pounding with potency and your body surged forward. He reached for your leg and pulled it up, holding it in air as he fucked you.

“P-Please. You're my broth–”

“Shut your damn hole.” Aemond snapped, patience wearing thin. “Keep saying I'm your brother but it only arouses me more.”

You gasped when you felt his cock head hit into that spongy bubble of sensitivity and Aemond scrunched his brows in over whelming pleasure. He had taken many maidens and whores but you were different – of course you were. A targaryen princess turned Queen, his own blood and flesh.

You ought to be different.

Aemond reveled in the feeling of your tight cunt pressing down on his cock, caressing every vein, soaking it in your juices. The sounds of his flesh colliding against yours enticed him in a way that he could not fathom. Like milk of the poppy, he wished to continue absorbing you.

His fingers rubbed your clit, the swollen bud twitching. All this pleasure, that you were so foreign to, it overwhelmed you. Thighs convulsing and abdomen building up knots, a warning of your upcoming orgasm.

“Brother, something’s happening. Aemond, please!” You wailed and he stared at your sweaty, flustered face.

Gods, had Aegon never once made you unravel?

How fucking pitiful.

Aemond grinned. “Yeah? You're going to make a mess, dear sister.”

Your stomach tightened and this unfamiliar feeling took over. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull and your hands shifted hastily to find something, anything to grab a hold of as your body transcended to another realm. One visible to those who indulged themselves im such debauchery.

Aemond hissed. The sheer tightness of your cunt made him feel like he'll snap in half, his own groans and moans loud enough to reverberate through your chambers. He still continued to thrust, earning your climax out of you.

When you were done, Aemond raised himself and pulled his cock out of you. Relief washed over you but how naive were you, to assume he'd get dressed and leave without chasing after his own pleasure. Your eyes fluttered open and you found him right between your legs, kneeled.

“Are you not done?” Your voice was weary, soft and tired. Aemond chuckled at your innocence, both hands pulling your thighs apart.

His one good eye stared at your cunt, pink flesh glistening from your creamy arousal. He felt the urge to lean in and lick along the swollen stripe of your pussy but the throbbing of his cock made him cave in. He slipped inside you again, pulling both your legs up and balancing them on his shoulders.

Your lips released a gasp.

Aemond’s bestial and rapacious thrusts made you cry, muffled wails breaking apart. He stared at you as the sapphire glinted, his cock driving itself with fervor into your cunt, enjoying your sweet vice like grip.

Your shaky hands reached for his face, to cup it and Aemond leaned in your touch. Affectionate it was, his lips parted as he let out a broken breath, similar to how he felt on the inside. A broken boy and you felt horrible, like it was all your fault to begin with.

He had turned into a monster and it was all your fault.

“Your eye,” you whispered, his snaps coming to a halt. “its beautiful. You look so beautiful, Aemond.”

He admired you before snapping out of the trance and pounding into you. Aemond’s cock found comfort in your tight cunt and his release had grown closer to. You cried out, vision completely blurry and lips swollen, covered in drool.

“My beautiful sister.” He growled, pressing his pelvis against yours. “I shall fill you up, give you a child of mine. Your stomach will swell with our child. Your beautiful breasts will once again pump milk, this time for our babe.”

His palm laid flat on your stomach and you shook your head. You didn't want him to give you a child, as it would end badly for the both of you yet Aemond did not bother himself with traditions. He nuzzled his cock into you and with a loud groan, shot ropes after ropes into your walls.

Tainting your gummy flesh white. You sobbed as you felt the warm fluid fill up your stomach, your whole body suffering from prominent convulsions. Aemond’s cock bulged against your taut stomach, a fine print visible to you both.

When Aemond was done with his release, he pulled out and dropped on the bed right besides you. Body numb and throat parched from all the sounds you'd made, your gaze lingered across the room to find your daughter sound asleep.

Thank the Gods.

You turned to Aemond and found him already staring at you. His arm wrapped around you, refraining you from moving away from him as he nuzzled his neck into your neck. Aemond sniffed your scent, closing his eyes and relishing the sweetness of it. God, you were a dream come true for him.

“I will get rid of him soon.” Aemond whispered, hair mixing in with yours. “And then I will have you as my wife. Our child shall be conceived within the bounds of our marriage.”

[pastel-rainbow-galaxy]

Hall - Mudroom An illustration of a large, modern entryway with porcelain tiles, beige walls, and a dark wood front door.

[spxllcxstxr]

Northern Attitude • C.S

(Gif not mine)

Request: hey!! can i request something where you’re a targaryen and you’ve been sent to speak with cregan like jacaerys did on the show, but you’re quite soft spoken and feel lowkey intimidated by all these big burly northmen. and ofc some flirting with cregan and he makes you feel safe :) -- @sarahisslytherin

Summary: In the process of assuring Winterfell’s loyalty to your mother, you get close to Lord Stark

Warnings: fem!reader, you’re the daughter of Rhaenyra but I don’t specify the father so it can be more inclusive (older than jace), alcohol and eating mentions

Word Count: 1.3k

A.N: This wasn't going to be this long and then I got so into it. I'm actually really happy with how this turned out! Not just because it's actually over 1k words, but also because i really really like it! And I hope you guys enjoy it too!!

•

The bitter cold of the North nips at your extremities even when housed inside the walls of Winterfell. This was a cold you felt right down to the bone, despite the furs your host had provided you with only hours prior when you arrived.

Since your arrival, you have occupied yourself in your chambers, flitting between the books on the shelves and the small hearth on the other side of the decent sized room.

It is not until late your host makes an appearance; matters from the Wall taking priority over the Queen's daughter. You held no ill will, knowing how important the Wall was for the Northmen closest to it.

The greeting outside of your chamber door goes smoothly; since birth you had to greet numerous Lords and Ladies, this one being no different. His charming looks, though stoic, catch you off guard. You take his offered arm before he guides you to the welcome feast.

Cregan leads you through the dark stone corridors of Winterfell, your arms intertwined as you hold onto the crook of his elbow. You feel his strong muscle through his many layers of thick fabric. Your footsteps echo along with the metallic rattling of your guards behind the two of you. The absence of conversation is comfortable, however, something you truly have not felt since the death of your Grandsire.

Beside you, Cregan practically radiates warmth which has you almost melting into his side. Despite the chill, his hands are uncovered, the palm of his hand rests on your arm, heating your covered skin beneath.

The sight of the rugged wooden doors causes you to stiffen almost immediately. The reality of your purpose for being at Winterfell cools your blood as it finally washes over you. You were here on behalf of your mother, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Swallowing uneasily, you attempt to calm your nerves.

Sensing your distress, Cregan leans closer to your frame. "Do not fret, Princess," He mutters kindly. "You have no one to convince except me—and I am already highly inclined to agree to your terms."

You do not spare your host a glance as your face burns. In front of you, the grand doors open, revealing a large hall and guests already rising for the two of you.

Your gaze glides over the bowing figures, all men, you notice. The only women in the hall were serving girls; stiffly standing at the ends of the room, pitchers full of presumably ale clutched in their hands.

Attempting to muster up a commanding presence was difficult when next to the Lord of Winterfell, for he commands the room with no effort. His men watch you as you continue to the other side. Their intense stares and built bodies making you nervous. Swords were strewn recklessly across their dining tables, bows and arrows litter the floor. In their eyes you were a defenseless babe crawling into a den of wolves.

The men in King’s Landing and Dragonstone were dangerous in a different way. Their sharp wit and web of lies could cut deep and kill. The men of the North, however, used their brute force and self-assured bravery to kill you just as dreadfully. Any one of these men could bloody you as you walk by them. This rattles you just as much as the plotting traitors back in King’s Landing does.

Taking a deep breath, you feel the soothing motions of Cregan's thumb tracing circles against your arm. The reassurance pulls you out of your spiral of thoughts. With your chin held high you continue to the front of the hall, the long wooden table already covered with food and goblets of wine and ale.

After a few words from both you and Cregan the feast begins and the once silent hall becomes almost deafening. There were plenty of jeers and jokes thrown around at your expense. If you had more fire in your blood like the rest of your family, you might have said something to stay their tongues.

You and Cregan make small talk, the two of you paying more attention to the plates on the table. By the time your appetite is sated the Lord of Winterfell had noticed your meek demeanor and timid glances at the drunk Northmen below.

"Pay them no mind, Princess," The warm light of the hall's hearth dance in Cregan's striking grey eyes. "These rowdy bastards lack decency after a drop of ale."

You scan Winterfell's great hall from your position at the high table. Cregan Stark's men were all in various states of disarray, though you suppose it’s only characteristic of Northerners. The room was loud, almost overwhelmingly so, with booming laughter and arguments that spanned across the tables.

"Not like Dragonstone, I presume?" At Cregan's soft yet baritone voice, heat creeps up your neck.

Your gaze turns to the Lord of Winterfell, a smile gracing his usually stoic face. "Not at all, my Lord. Dragonstone is more.."

"Boring?"

"Traditional," You finish, smile mirroring his own.

Cregan snorts. "Aye, you Southerners have quite the stick up the arse."

"Oh really now?" You lightly giggle, tilting your head as if to challenge the Northerner at your side. You drink from your goblet, the red wine sweet on your lips, eyebrows raised.

"Aye, Princess. I think you need a Northerner to invigorate your life down there."

You hum in response, the wine making your skin tingle. With your attention now solely on Cregan Stark, you feel yourself melting into comfort.

Cregan briefly pauses, looking into your eyes. They mirror an oncoming winter storm and you’re unable to look away.

“I have something to attend to, Princess. My men will escort you and your guards to your quarters.” He takes your hand in his, the delicate grip of such a strong man making you bite your bottom lip. “I will try to see you before the night ends.” With that, his lips meet your knuckles in a soft kiss.

Cregan heaves himself out of his seat, throwing you one last smirk before leaving you in the hall with your guards and the remaining feasting men.

With one last sip from your goblet, you allow yourself to be escorted to your chambers, tugging your fur cloak tighter around you.

The crescent moon is shining through your window when you hear three knocks on you door. Assuming that this late night visitor could only be Lord Stark, you rise from the bed, adorning the fur cloak your host had provided you earlier in the day.

The door creaks as you open it tentatively. Cregan stands at the threshold, wearing the same attire from the feast. You take note of the hint of pink on his cheeks and the red hue of the tips of his ears peeking out of his shoulder length brown hair. Whether this was a result of the North's bitter chill or something else, you do not know.

"Princess." He bows his head as he greets you.

"Lord Stark..." You breathe out, smiling at the man in front of you. "Is this visit based on the business of the Crown?"

"No, Princess, I just..." His low tone tapers off as he lifts his hand up in order to stroke you face. His fingertips feel warm against your skin. You wait with bated breath for his next move. Slowly, his fingertips trace down your delicate skin to hold your chin between his index and his thumb. He tilts your head up slightly. His stormy grey eyes never leave your own. "I just wanted to gaze upon your beauty once more before I fall asleep."

The maneuver has you practically trembling under your heavy furs. You wet your lips, his eyes only quickly following the movement before once again settling back on your eyes.

"I am happy to indulge in your desires...my Lord." You whisper, voice almost quivering.

"Sleep well, Princess," With that, Cregan removes his touch, though his warmth still lingers across your face. He bows once more before turning and walking down the stone corridor.

Slowly you close your chamber door, smiling lips pursed.

"Mother will be pleased." You sigh before sitting once more on your bed, thoughts of Cregan Stark dancing through your head.

•

[randomdragonfires]

Parallel Lines, Act I

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He fears her proximity, and she fears his distance. As war looms, they’ll have to learn to make their marriage work to find comfort in each other.

Or at least, try.

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Complicated Relationship Themes; Emotional Negligence; Infidelity; Major Character Death; Aemond and his issues are a warning on their own ok?

AUTHOR’S NOTE | All Valyrian lines were translated from english using a free online translator. They are likely to be grammatically wrong - but I don’t even know man. Yeah.

WORD COUNT | 9.5k - and not a single word is beta read. We die like warriors, I guess?

The moonlight spilled through the series of windows of her husband’s - not theirs, his - apartments in the Red Keep, casting a silvery glow over the austere elegance of the chambers. His wife stood by the window, her silhouette framed against the backdrop of the night sky, the soft rustle of her gown the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

She turned slowly, her gaze sweeping across the dimly lit interior, taking in the cool, stone walls that seemed to absorb the flickering torchlight. She glided through the hall where intricate tapestries depicted dragons in flight, their scales shimmering with threads of gold and silver. The grand fireplace dominated one wall, the warmth emanating throughout the space from the burning logs within. She folded her arms into her chest, as if to preserve the heat as she shivered from the cold night - her thin nightdress didn’t help. Above the mantelpiece, Vhagar's fierce eyes followed her every movement, a fierce presence in paint.

Moving through the chambers, she passed through his personal library, every page a stern reflection of his interests. Shelves of dark, polished wood lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls, their faint scent of aged parchment and leather permeating the air.

He mostly smelled of smoke, fire and leather. Of books and dragons - both of which he is passionate about.

It makes sense then, that no one will ever catch a whiff of her perfume on him.

They were far from passionate, after all.

In the center, his heavy, ornately carved desk was strewn with maps and documents, a well-used quill and inkwell ready for his expert hand to wield. She leaned on the table to look at it all, and spun one of the wooden markers between her nimble fingers for a moment - as she had seen him do countless times - before leaving it back where she found it.

She stepped into the bedchamber, its stark stone walls softened by the rich, crimson fabrics of the large, canopied bed. Dragons were subtly woven into the bedspread and curtains, a constant reminder of the Targaryen lineage that she had married and given birth to.

How long has it been since she laid with him on this bed? More than a year, she surmised. They did their duty on their wedding night, and the Mother was graceful enough to make his seed quicken in her immediately. She laid with him for a few weeks after - and when the maesters made it known that she was with child, that had stopped.

A good wife knows how to keep her husband satisfied, they said. Her husband never sought her out. If the whispers of the few around her were to be believed, he frequents a whore in a Silk Street brothel.

Was she not a good wife then?

She gave him a son. He may be sickly, but he is a son nonetheless. Surely it must count?

With a weary sigh, her eyes shifted to the adjoining armory, where Aemond’s armor and weapons were meticulously displayed. This part of his room exuded an air of readiness, a silent promise of the warrior who would soon return to his space.

From the whorehouse, no doubt.

She turned back to the window, her thoughts as fluid as the shimmering waves below. The apartments were a microcosm of her husband's existence: regal yet austere, scholarly yet martial.

And no sign of marriage, leave alone happy or healthy. How could there be, when he doesn’t feel half the happiness with her that he does when left alone with his beast or books?

There was no hate between them, surely not. Her husband was agreeable, but that was that. There was never any doubt in her mind that he did not want her - or the idea of her - but had to marry her anyway. There was no passion, and she could count with two hands the number of times they have lain with each other in the past year that they have been married - even that was before she had become with child.

There was nothing, truly.

She tried with him, initially. But any illusion of interest that she thought he may grow towards her was shattered the moment she heard that the very night that she’d met him, he was seen moving out of the castle grounds and into the Street of Silk.

He didn’t even bother with making it discreet.

Their wedding was a morose affair. They were the very picture of a royal couple, but neither felt the part - more like a pair of chastised children made to listen after a screaming bout. Even when he took her, he took her from behind - and she was fully clothed. It was nowhere close to the slow exploration that some of her ladies promised. He’s a scholar, he’d be willing to learn for your pleasure, they had said. He’d not even kissed her after their wedding ceremony, not once - he simply demanded that she get on the bed, and took her like an animal while the Small Council and their families watched her eyes pool with painful tears.

What had she done to warrant such embarrassment? She didn’t know what she’d done to make him shirk her so, but it was the way it was. It just was.

When he kept calling her back, he’d taken to offering her wine when they were finished. She didn’t linger when her goblet was emptied. She simply walked out, and wished him a good night.

He never once asked her to stay.

When the news of the babe in her belly had arrived, she’d been relieved - she’d never have to lay with a man who did not want her, ever again. He didn’t seem overjoyed either, and simply hummed with a hand on her belly.

“There is blood of the dragon in you now,” he said. And then he let his thumb run over her cheek. It was the softest he’d ever been with her, and she relished those few seconds. For a moment, he looked so peaceful and content… a stranger. That’s when it occurred to her that perhaps there’s more to Aemond than what he lets anyone see.

She could have fallen in love with him, if he’d cared enough to show her. But it seemed that he’d only viewed her as a duty and a burden.

The ghost of his touch lingered, and she brought her own hand to her cheek as though the warmth still remained. What did the whores have that she did not? Or was it the same whore each time?

Jealousy is unbecoming of a princess, she reminded herself. But so is unhappiness and a constant sense of dread, surely?

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open. Her husband strode into the room, immediately aware of her presence. She felt the shift in the air and watched as the shadows of his boots slow, absorbing the sight of her. He removed his cloak with a fluid motion, letting it fall onto his chair before approaching her with the deliberate grace of a predator.

“Wife.” His voice was clipped and devoid of warmth, as though addressing a servant rather than the mother of his son.

She turned to face him, the pale moonlight highlighting the tension etched across her features. "Husband," she responded, mirroring his tone, though a flicker of hurt glimmers in her eyes.

Do you think of me as I think of you? Do you think of me at all?

A heavy silence settled between them, thick with unspoken words. Her gaze scanned his face, searching for any trace of the man whom she foolishly once thought would love her. Instead, she found only the cold mask he wore, a fortress against the world and his own buried emotions.

Against her.

“Has the council kept you long?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. They both looked outside the windows, with her leaning into the railing while he stood with his hands held back, ramrod straight.

Always on guard.

“Long enough,” he replied, his eyes drifting to the dark expanse of the bay. “There are matters that require my attention.”

“And our son?” she asked, a touch of warmth infusing her words at the mention of their child. “Will you see Aerys tonight?”

For a brief moment, something softened in Aemond’s gaze, a fleeting shadow of tenderness. She must have imagined it - it was too fleeting and quick to hold any kind of weight.

She was jealous of her own son, for he elicits more from Aemond than she ever has, as little as it is.

“Perhaps. If time allows.”

She nodded, turning back to look at him; to see him.

The weight of his indifference settled over her like a shroud. The Blackwater Bay stretches out before them, vast and unchanging, mirroring the growing distance between them.

“I worry for you,” she murmured, her voice almost swallowed by the night. “War will come to us soon, will it not?” If it hadn’t come so far, she knew it would now. Vaemond Velaryon’s rolling head and King Viserys’ worsening condition only made sure of it.

He stood rigid beside her, his posture unyielding. “It is my duty,” he said, as if that alone suffices.

“I know,” she replied, sadness threading through her voice. “But you are more than your duty, Aemond. You are Aerys’ father and my…”

The emotions were high tonight, higher than they’d ever been. She didn’t know why she sought him out. There has been ample evidence to support that he would not care, and yet here she was.

She wanted safety, and the only person she could approach is the one who has never made her feel welcome or safe in any capacity.

Who else do I have here?

The tears mangle her vision and she swallowed what threatened to follow.

“I have given you a son.” She trembled, her voice threatening to give way to s stream of tears. “The shadow of war looms upon us, and you’ve set me aside and I worry…”

He lifted his head just slightly as the words sank in, but she was too dejected to care about his acknowledgement. He may be cold, and his reactions to her come far and few in between - but she could not bring herself to mull over it too at the moment.

“War is coming. I am as certain of it as I am of the sun rising on the morrow and I know you are too -” He opened his mouth to interfere, but she was quick to not give him the gap to take over her speech. “Do not insult my intelligence by suggesting otherwise.”

“I was not.”

She turned to face him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in her eyes as she wondered why the Gods had not seen fit to give her a husband who loved her. He was beautiful, a cruel irony that made her anger flare even more. Despite all the hurt he had caused, she could not help but feel drawn to him. To hide her tears, she looked to the floor, trembling as she forced out her next words.

“I know you do not love me. I know you do not want me. But I… I have given you a son. An heir to continue your legacy, and that… I like to think that it would be reason enough to ask you to not forsake me. We have not supported each other all this time, but the least you can do is assure me that you will keep us safe.”

A flicker of something unrecognizable flashed in his eye, and he turned to face her fully, leaning against the window arch. “Did you… truly think that I would leave you to die if it came down to it?”

“You haven’t given me reason to believe that you’ll want me around.” Her voice was bitter, dripping with contempt.

He was ethereal as he reached out, holding her jaw between his thumb and finger, bringing her closer to his porcelain skin and alabaster hair. Her gaze flitted about chaotically, struggling to meet his eye. Her body shivered from the cold, torn between wanting him to let her go and needing him to hold her tight.

“You are my wife. I swore to the Gods that I would honor and protect you. You and Aerys are my family, and I would be slain a hundred times over before I see either of you hurt. I may not be… I may not be the man you want, but I can assure you that I am an honorable husband who will safeguard you and our boy.”

She did not know what she expected. A declaration of hidden love? Certainly not. But somehow, his assurances fell short. “Honorable.” She tested the word on her tongue, finding it the most bitter sound she had ever uttered. Her cheek alarmed him, and she spat venom. “Honorable?” His grip on her chin tightened, and she took it as a sign to continue.

“I know you frequent the Silk Street brothels. I know you’ve been going there since the very first day we met. Unless the professions of whores have changed, it is safe to assume that you are not honorable or loyal. And if you are, it is certainly not to me.”

A whore out there enjoyed her husband’s undying devotion, while she sat in the castle hoping and praying he would recognize her, let alone love her.

His expression shifted, a storm brewing behind his eyes, but he did not release her. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, a chasm of pain pulling them apart. She met his intense gaze finally, tears brimming in her eyes, the anguish of their fractured bond laid bare for him to see.

He tasted of smoke and fire, and yet her mouth craved him anyway. He was an eternity away from her—always, always—and yet her fingers yearned to touch him.

“I do not go there for…” He took a long breath before completing his sentence, almost as if he needed his composure to simply survive.

Not there for what? Was he not fucking the whores? What else could he possibly do?

“Do you think I do not know the sacrifices you have made?” His voice was a harsh whisper, a mixture of anger and something deeper, almost pleading. “Do you think I do not feel the weight of our shared duty, the responsibility to our son? My responsibility to you?”

“But you have never shown me,” she whispered back, her voice breaking. “You have never given me a reason to believe that you care, that you see me as more than just a broodmare for an heir!"

For a moment, they stood frozen, the distance between them both physical and emotional. The moonlight casted a cold glow over their figures, highlighting the stark contrast between their proximity and their separation.

“It is not easy for me.”

“It should not be hard to love your wife. Or at the very least respect her.”

“I—”

She brought her hand up to stop him before any more of his lies spewed out and stepped away from him. She walked to the door at an amazing speed, her skirts swishing past as she tried to get out before her tears spilled out. In a late change of heart though, as her hand rested on the door latch, she turned.

“No lady should beg her husband to love her. No matter if he is a prince. It is beneath her, and I am no different. I will not beg…” If she had looked at him properly, she’d have noticed him flinch at her damning words.

“I will not beg you to love me after dismissing me all this time; I do have my pride. But I will beg you to save my life if it needs saving. That is all I ask.”

“You never had to ask.”

She took a breath and drank some leftover wine in the goblet next to her, not caring for whose it originally was. The thought would make her retch usually, but she was beyond caring.

“Your mother… she loves me surely, but I think she doesn’t like me very much. Your sister and I never managed to understand each other. Your brother… well he is a mindless lecher. I can’t quite figure out your grandfather at all. And you… you know what we’re like. I just… I worry that in this impending war within kin, I will be forgotten and left to die simply because my job is done with the birth of my son and I am too close to the storm and you don’t care and I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone to die-”

“You are my kin.” he said. It made her smile, albeit a woeful one. “You may need to remind me every once in a while.”

He didn’t respond. She simply left.

And even now, he didn’t ask her to stay.

She wished he did.

Aemond stood by the hearth, cradling their feverish son in his arms. 

Dressed in his somber blacks, he looked every bit the stern warrior, yet the gentle way he held Aerys belied that image. The babe was flushed and fretful, his tiny hands gripping Aemond’s hair and tugging insistently. Aemond hissed softly at the sharp pull, but did not dislodge the child's grip.

“Byka zaldrīzes,” he grumbles. It is strict, but not unaffectionate - she was familiar with that tone. She’d watched him use it with their son often when he thought no one was looking. [Little dragon.]

From the doorway, she watched them. They looked like a loving family - the devoted mother standing watch, her eyes filled with affection as she observed her husband and son. But appearances were deceiving, and both of them knew the truth beneath the surface.

Aerys, in his restless state, grabbed at Aemond’s eyepatch, tugging it down and exposing the scarred, empty socket. Aemond’s expression tightened as he shifted the boy from one arm to the other, quickly adjusting the patch back into place. In that brief moment, their eyes met, and she glimpsed the vulnerability he so meticulously hid. He seemed to close himself off even more, as if shielding his heart from her gaze.

It was a deep, almost dark blue. She noticed, she always noticed.

“I came to check on him before luncheon,” she said softly, breaking the silence that had settled like a heavy shroud. She always ensured that she made a solitary routine of her visits, ensuring that he’d have time alone with her son like he seemed to want. To be together - as a family - stumped her beyond belief, no matter how second nature it should be.

What was he doing here?

Aemond nodded, his voice measured as he recounted the maester's instructions. “The maester believes he will grow healthy with time. We must be diligent with the poultices and draughts.” His tone was clinical, as if discussing a strategy for battle rather than the wellbeing of their son.

She watched as he laid Aerys gently in the cot, the child’s feverish grip slackening as he drifted into a fitful sleep. She approached, brushing a strand of hair from Aerys’s forehead, her touch tender and light.

Aemond stepped back, retreating to the armchair close to the cot where a goblet of wine awaited him. He took a long sip, his gaze fixed on her as she sat at his foot, and peered in to take a look at their son. Facing away from him, she began to sing softly. Her voice, though tinged with sorrow, was soothing, and Aemond’s stern expression softened as he watched the scene unfold. For a moment, the room was filled with a fragile peace.

The Seven Gods who made us all,

are listening if we should call.

So close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

She didn’t say anything and let the silence engulf them both when she finished her song. She then turned around and sat on the floor near his feet, her back leaned against her son’s cot as she looked up to face her stoic husband. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke - his words measured but with the intent of concern. He spoke them like he was testing them out on his tongue.

“The maesters… they say you’re being given herbs as well.”

She nodded, feeling the weight of her exhaustion in every fiber of her being. The birth had been horribly hard on her body, leaving her depleted and fragile. Only now was she beginning to regain her strength. The whispers of the servants echoed in her mind—comments about how all this suffering was for a sickly child. But those whispers meant nothing to her. She would move the ends of the earth for her son, no matter what anyone thought. 

He was the blood of the dragon. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, and she would not allow her son to be any different.

“Ever since the birth, I have grown… weak,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Aerys took a toll on me when he came.”

Aemond’s eyes were detached, but she heard the slight concern and contemplation in his voice. “Were you in pain? In the days after?”

She hesitated for a moment, surprised by his sudden show of concern. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I was. I still am.”

His questions were gentle, as if he truly cared, as if he genuinely wanted to understand what she had gone through. This unexpected tenderness from him was jarring, and it took all her strength not to withdraw. She had longed for this moment for so long, the chance to finally, truly connect with the man she had married.

And now that it was here, it felt as foreign to her as the other continents of the realm.

“I should have been there,” he said, his voice laced with regret. He didn’t look at her, head turned away as he spoke.  “I should have been by you-”

She’d heard the rumors that her good mother worked hard to ensure she’d never hear. While she labored and went through all the Seven Hells giving birth to their son, Aemond was at a whorehouse, doing Gods know what.

She shook her head, her eyes filling with unshed tears. “I don’t want to know,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “I’d rather choose blissful ignorance than a painful truth. Especially when it comes to you.”

Aemond nodded slowly, regality exuding from him even in his slightest movements. “I have failed you,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. He did not apologize, and she knew that he never would. This was the most she would get from him, and for now, it had to be enough.

It didn’t mean that it shocked her any less.

Summoning her remaining strength, she stood and moved toward him. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the armrests of his chair, bringing herself closer to him. The curve of her breasts nearly brushed his chin, and she could feel his breath, warm and shallow, on her skin. His goblet of wine lay forgotten on a nearby desk, the contents slowly going tepid.

He looked up at her, surprise and something deeper flickering in his eye. His expression was a mixture of pain and longing, as if he too yearned for what she did. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he moved his hand and covered hers with his. His touch was tentative, as if he feared she might pull away. But she held firm, her fingers entwining with his. 

He was warm to the touch. She remembered that much from the first days of their marriage, but it felt better to be reminded of it this way. Almost as though he was tender towards her, like they never spent any time being purposefully apart from each other.

She felt like they were getting somewhere, a tentative bridge forming between their fractured hearts. Carried away by the newfound closeness, she hesitated only for a moment before reaching out, her hand trembling as it neared his face. Her fingers were delicate, soft against the rough texture of his skin as she traced the scar that marred his otherwise perfect visage.

Aemond’s breath hitched, his entire body tensing at the intimate touch. She moved slowly, her fingers gliding over the jagged lines. Her touch was feather-light, almost reverent, as if she could heal his old wounds with her tenderness.

Her eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign of discomfort or rejection. Instead, she saw vulnerability, a crack in his formidable armor that allowed her a glimpse of the man beneath the warrior’s facade. His eye, the one not covered by the patch, was wide and filled with an emotion she couldn't quite name - something between longing and fear.

With a gentle caress, her finger traced the path of the scar down to his cheekbone, lingering there for a moment before moving toward the eyepatch. She felt his breath warm against her hand, the rise and fall of his chest quickening as her fingers danced over the leather. The eyepatch was cool and rough under her touch, a stark contrast to the smoothness of his skin.

She paused, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the tension coiling in him. Would he push her away? Would he retreat back into the cold distance that had defined their relationship for so long? But he remained still, his gaze fixed on hers, a silent permission in his eyes.

Encouraged by his silence, she allowed her fingers to explore the edges of the eyepatch, feeling the worn leather against her skin. Her thumb brushed over the strap that held it in place, her touch gentle and soothing. He shivered, a barely perceptible tremor that ran through him, and she felt a surge of something warm and hopeful rise within her.

His reaction was slow, almost imperceptible. He closed his eye briefly, as if savoring the sensation, then opened it to meet her gaze again. She could see the conflict within him, the struggle between the desire to protect himself and the yearning for this rare moment of intimacy.

She moved closer, her body almost pressing against his as she continued her exploration. The curve of her breasts brushed against his chin, and she felt the heat radiating from him, the tension in his muscles. Her fingers lingered on the eyepatch, tracing the lines where it met his skin, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat beneath her touch. His hand reached up, covering hers. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them, suspended in a fragile, tender silence.

“Will you let me see?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

His hesitance and silence said more than his words ever could. 

The moment stretched, taut and fragile, until it seemed to snap under the weight of unspoken fears. She saw the flicker of rejection in his eye, a retreat behind the barriers he had so carefully constructed. Her face fell, the light of hope dimming as she realized she had pushed too far. But she understood; perhaps he needed more time. Withdrawing her hand, she felt the ghost of his touch linger on her skin, a burning reminder of the closeness they had almost shared.

He grasped her wrist gently, as if he wanted to ask her to stay, but the words remained unspoken. She did not want to stay unless he wholeheartedly asked her to. His grip was firm, yet she felt the reluctance in it, the silent struggle to decide whether to hold on and let go.

“I should go,” she said softly, gathering her skirts. “Your mother and sister await me at luncheon, and it would be unseemly to be late.”

He watched her walk away, her steps slow and measured, each one pulling her further from the fragile connection they had started to form. Left alone with his son, Aemond felt the weight of his failure press down on him, a cold, heavy burden that settled in his chest.

Aerys slept in the cot nearby, his tiny body trembling with each breath as if the sickness that plagued him might take him at any moment. Aemond moved his chair closer to the cot, peering down at the infant with a mixture of fear and determination. The soft tufts of silver hair marked him as undoubtedly his, a tiny mirror of his own lineage.

How many nights had she spent alone, watching over him like this? Scared that if she stepped away, Aerys may be gone?

In a quiet tone that would otherwise go unheard, he whispered to his son, his voice thick with emotion. “Ao kostagon’t tepagon bē va īlva, riñnykeā.” [You can’t give up on us, child.] After a moment of composure, he continued. “Ziry braved vīlībāzma naejot tepagon ao naejot issa. Gaomagon daor henujagon zȳhon.” [She braved battle to give you to me. Do not leave her.]

Aemond's voice trembled, the words almost breaking under the weight of his desperation. He held his son closer, cradling the tiny, fragile body against his chest. He thought of his wife's strength, the pain she had endured, and winced at the realization of how badly he had treated her. His neglect, his coldness - they had all but shattered her. 

He had done enough to her. The last thing he wanted was to see her lose Aerys too.

The dim light of the chamber cast soft shadows on Aemond's face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrowed brow etched deep with worry. His eye, normally a piercing blue, now seemed almost muted, dulled by the depth of his concern. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on his son’s chest, feeling the weak but steady rise and fall of his breaths. Aerys stirred slightly, his tiny fingers curling around a strand of Aemond’s hair. The grip was weak, but determined.

“You are the blood of the dragon,” he continued, his voice a fierce whisper. “You will grow strong.”

The Dragonpit was packed, the air heavy with the murmurs of the gathered smallfolk and the flickering light of countless torches. She stood beside Aemond, her posture as straight and regal as she could manage, her heart pounding in her chest. The spectacle of Aegon's coronation was unfolding before her eyes, a momentous event that would shape the future of the Targaryen family.

Hers.

The ceremony began with the Grand Maester stepping forward, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror held reverently in his hands. The weight of history seemed to press down on the room, making every breath feel heavy, every movement deliberate. Aegon - looking more like a squabbling, crying child than a King - ascended the steps to the dais, his face a mask of acceptance.

And when her husband nodded to his new King, she bowed deep.

She watched as Aegon’s expression shifted from indifference to a flicker of recognition of the power now bestowed upon him. The crowd erupted in cheers, their loyalty and fervor palpable, yet she felt a pang of unease amidst the celebration.

Beside her, Aemond stood tall and vigilant, his eye never leaving the proceedings. She glanced at him, seeking comfort in his composed demeanor, his presence a steady anchor in the sea of chaos. The noise of the crowd swelled, and she could feel the anticipation hanging thick in the air, a tangible force that seemed to wrap around them all. 

Aegon, now crowned, raised Blackfyre high above his head, the ancient sword gleaming in the firelight. The sight was awe-inspiring, a symbol of power and legitimacy. Yet, beneath the grandeur, she sensed the underlying tensions and overheard the words that Helaena kept mumbling. 

There is a beast beneath the boards.

Her feet shifted, and she heard the hollow sound that the ground made when her shoe met the surface. A hollow sound that comes when feet meets -

The boards.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled, a low rumble that grew into a deafening roar. Gasps of shock and fear rippled through the crowd, and she instinctively reached for Aemond’s hand. Before she could react further, the floor of the Dragonpit exploded upward, sending debris and chaos flying in all directions.

Rhaenys, astride her dragon Meleys, emerged from the smoke and dust, her presence formidable and terrifying. The dragon’s scales shimmered with an otherworldly glow, its eyes blazing with fury. The people scattered, screams of panic filling the air as the beast roared, the sound reverberating through the hall and shaking her to her core.

Her heart raced, terror gripping her as she stared at the massive dragon, its wings spreading wide, casting a shadow over the entire chamber. Aemond’s hand tightened around hers, pulling her behind him protectively. She could feel his body tense, ready to shield her from any danger. Despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, a faint surge of gratitude washed through.

You never had to ask.

Meleys roared again, the sound like thunder, and the heat of its breath washed over them. She could see the flames flickering in the dragon's throat, the promise of destruction just a heartbeat away. Rhaenys, regal and unyielding, locked eyes with Alicent, a silent challenge passing between them.

Aemond stepped forward, his presence a wall of defiance and strength. “Get behind me,” he commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos. She obeyed without hesitation, her body pressed close to his, drawing comfort from his unwavering resolve.

The dragon’s eyes fixed on them, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. She could hear her own heartbeat, a frantic drumbeat in her ears, and the cold sweat on her palms. Every muscle in her body was taut with fear, and she kept her eyes firmly set to the ground.

This is how I die. Do you call it a dragonrider’s death when you don’t ride a dragon?

My son. AerysAerysAerys-

Aemond.

Rhaenys stared at them all, the weight of her decision hanging in the air. Meleys shifted, the ground trembling beneath its weight, and for a moment, it seemed as though the dragon would unleash its fury. But then, as if making a choice that defied all expectations, Rhaenys turned Meleys away, the dragon's wings beating powerfully as they ascended through the shattered roof of the Dragonpit.

The relief was overwhelming, a rush of emotions that left her weak at the knees. She clung to Aemond, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she tried to process what had just happened. The hall was filled with the sounds of weeping and the murmurs of disbelief, the aftermath of the encounter leaving everyone shaken.

Aemond’s arm wrapped around her, pulling her close, his breath warm against her ear. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. She nodded, still trembling, her heart beginning to slow as the adrenaline ebbed away.

She did not notice how closely he held her when it came down to it - for the very first time. 

Aemond's fingers dug into Sylvi's hips as he thrust into her from behind, each movement fierce and relentless. Her back arched under the pressure of his hand, pushing her down onto the bed. The room was filled with the raw sounds of their coupling, echoing off the walls.

His breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with her moans. His grip tightened, nails biting into her flesh as he drove into her harder, seeking release in the violent act. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, an intoxicating mix that fueled his aggression. "Gods,” He growled, his voice a low, primal rumble. He watched as her body responded to each thrust, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed, the sheen of sweat on her skin glistening in the candlelight. She was a willing vessel for his frustrations, and he took her with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

Her moans turned into cries of pleasure, her fingers clutching the sheets beneath her as she braced herself against his onslaught. He felt a dark satisfaction at the way he could bend her to his will, the power he wielded in these moments of raw, unbridled lust.

The climax came in a wave of intense pleasure, his body shuddering as he spilled into her. He collapsed over her, panting, his chest pressed against her back as he tried to catch his breath. The aftermath was a stark contrast to the ferocity of their coupling – a quiet, intimate moment where their bodies remained entwined, slick with sweat and the remnants of their shared passion.

Her arms wrapped around Aemond's naked body, her touch tender and soothing after their rough encounter. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, mingling with the faint aroma of lavender from the sheets.

Aemond's breathing gradually slowed, his chest rising and falling against hers as he allowed himself to relax in her embrace. His mind, however, was anything but at ease. He thought back to the scene that had haunted him since he left his chambers earlier: his wife, cradling their son, her eyes red from crying, her body and mind still fragile from the ordeal of facing a dragon at Aegon’s coronation.

"She was crying before I left to come here," he began, his voice a low murmur against her neck. "Holding our son, so shocked by near-death.. It didn’t seem as terrifying to me, but... she was so scared. She's worried, you know. About the impending war."

The Madame’s fingers traced gentle circles on his back, encouraging him to continue. "She doesn't have dragonrider's blood," he went on, almost to himself. "I didn’t know how to comfort her. I want to help, but I don’t know how."

Her hands moved up to his shoulders, her touch grounding him. Her presence was a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind. He lowered his head to her chest, his lips finding her breast. He suckled softly, kneading the soft flesh, seeking solace in the familiar act.

Holding their son brought comfort to his wife, and for him, coming here to the Madame, was his escape. The warmth and intimacy they shared, however fleeting, was his way of coping with the weight of his responsibilities and the emotional distance between him and his wife. As he continued to be held, he couldn’t help but wonder if he and his wife would ever find this kind of comfort in each other; if he’d ever find the courage or the trust to truly tell her what he needs without worrying about losing her respect.

If he'd walked in and held her while she cried instead of leaving her to it and coming here, could he have made her feel safer?

Too many questions, not enough courage for answers. Too much pride and so little sense between them both.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as Vhagar soared through the stormy skies back to King's Landing. The cold wind bit at his face, but it was nothing compared to the icy dread gripping his heart. 

He had killed Luke. His nephew, his blood. 

The act had been unintended, a consequence of their reckless chase, but it was done. There would be no undoing it. If there hadn't been a war before, there certainly was now. The weight of his actions settled heavily upon him, more suffocating than the fiercest storm. As the familiar silhouette of the Red Keep came into view, a storm of emotions churned within him. Guilt, fear, and a desperate need for comfort twisted together, making his insides writhe. 

He dismounted Vhagar with a heavy heart, his drenched form slipping through the darkened halls of the castle like a shadow. His mind raced, an entire host of thoughts battering against the walls of his consciousness. He needed solace, a place to hide from the storm he had created. The whorehouse crossed his mind briefly, a familiar escape, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough this time. He needed... he needed...

Before he knew it, his feet had taken him to her apartments.

Her. His wife.

He stood before the door, hesitating for a moment before pushing it open. His wife was readying for bed, her state of undress evident. She wore a robe over her shift, her hair loose around her shoulders. The soft light from the hearth bathed her in a gentle glow, as he took her in. She turned to him in shock, her eyes widening at the sight of him. It was clear how rare this occurrence was, how unexpected his presence was in her chambers. But she was quick to pull him in, taking in his drenched form with a worried expression.

"Husband, what has happened?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

He did not answer, his eyes trained on her as she moved. Her exposed skin drew his attention, and he found himself wondering. 

Was she softer? Kinder? Would she hold him in her soft arms if he so wished? Did he deserve it from her? Would she shame him?

She kept asking, but he remained silent, his mind too chaotic to form coherent words. She moved to find him something to dry off with, but he reached out, his hand wrapping around her wrist in a death grip.

"Don't go," he whispered, his voice raw and choked, barely more than a breath.

She looked up at him, her confusion gradually giving way to a quiet curiosity. He gently guided her arms around his cold and damp waist, his touch unexpectedly tender. This was not a whore; this was his wife. She deserved to be treated differently. 

At first, she froze, her body tense and uncertain, but slowly, she let herself relax – at least as much as she could manage with a husband who had sought her out for the first time in a year.

He felt her hesitation and understood the significance of her yielding. The weight of his guilt pressed harder against his heart, but he clung to this moment of closeness, desperate for the comfort he so craved.

"What has happened, husband? Why are you here?" she asked softly, parts of her words muffled into his chest.

He remained silent, waiting to see what she would do. Her repeated questions slowly stopped, a resigned understanding settling in her gaze. In the silence, he became acutely aware of her form – soft, untouched by anyone but him, made for him. The thin layers of her robe and shift did little to keep his hands from exploring her.

His fingers trembled as they traced the curve of her spine, brushing against the delicate fabric of her robe. Every slight movement, every breath, every shiver she made became magnified in his mind. Her body responded to his touch with a delicate gasp, and he felt a surge of something he couldn't quite name – a need, a longing, a desperate desire for solace in her embrace.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest, every intake of breath, every flinch and gasp. He noticed a stray hair that had fallen across her face, the way the delicate hairs on her skin raised at his touch, the way her eyes widened and then softened. Each detail etched itself into his mind, a stark contrast to the murder that had driven him here.

She tightened her arms around him, her touch gentle yet firm. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent – lilacs and something uniquely her that anchored him to this moment, to her. It was a comfort stronger than any he had ever received, yet calm and grounding at the same time.

His hands roamed her back, feeling the delicate curve of her waist, the slight tremor in her muscles as she responded to his touch. He pressed his lips to her neck, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Her breath hitched, and he felt the vibration of her voice as she whispered his name, a question and a plea all at once.

"Aemond," she murmured, her voice breaking the silence. His body reacts in shivers and heat at the sound of his name upon her lips. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

Had she ever said his name out loud before? He did not know. But he wanted to hear it again and again until the world as he knew it ended. Perhaps it was the guilt - over Luke, or over his neglect of his wife - he did not know. But it was all bubbling at the surface now, and he was much more open and vulnerable than he’d ever been.

He bent his head down, his eye locking onto hers. The intensity of his gaze seemed to drown out the room, focusing solely on her. He could see the concern, the worry etched in her features, and it tore at him. He couldn't tell her, not yet. Not about the blood on his hands, the life he had taken, not why he was here and what he’d wanted.

But he could let her consume him, to forget. He could lose himself in her.

He felt the warmth of her skin, the softness of her curves against him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to forget the horrors of the night. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, memorizing every curve, every angle. Her skin was smooth and warm, a stark contrast to the cold, damp leathers clinging to him.

He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. Her eyes searched his, looking for answers he couldn't give. Despite her confusion, the turmoil in his mind quieted, replaced by the steady, reassuring rhythm of her heartbeat. She was his anchor, his solace, and he clung to her like a lifeline in the storm.

Wordlessly, he moved back enough to get a good look at her, his eyes tracing her form with a reverence that made her pulse quicken. He then slowly untied the front of her robe, the silk falling away with a whisper. His hands fell to her shoulders, pausing there for a moment as he sighed. As he pushed the sleeves down, his hands traced the newly revealed skin - his fingers glided from her collarbone to her shoulders, down her arms, and finally to her fingers, which he intertwined with his own. The robe slipped to the floor, leaving her in a thin shift that clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination.

His eyes remained locked on hers, the intensity of his gaze a silent plea for forgiveness, a desperate need to be anchored by her presence. He took her trembling hands and placed them on his damp leathers, his touch firm but gentle, giving her silent permission—no, a quiet command—to undress him. His breath hitched slightly as he waited for her to take the lead.

She moved slowly, her fingers deftly working the buckles and straps, peeling away the layers of his clothing until he stood before her in only his trousers. Her hands hover over his chest, her touch hesitant, almost afraid, as if she's not sure she's allowed to touch him. His skin was warm under her fingertips, his heart pounding just beneath the surface.

His hands covered hers, guiding them lower, to the waistband of his trousers. His touch was both a plea and a command, silently asking, demanding, begging her to take this final barrier away. She did, her movements slow and deliberate, until he stood bare before her, exposed in every sense of the word.

She did not dare try to take off his eyepatch, not this time.

He watched her intently, noting every flinch, every gasp, every shiver that runs through her. His fingers traced delicate patterns on her skin, exploring every inch with a tenderness that speaks of his desperation for her. He needed this moment, her touch, to forget what he'd done to Luke, to drown the guilt that threatened to consume him. Every breath he took was a reminder of his failures, every brush of her skin against his a lifeline that pulled him back from the proverbial edge.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder - not her lips, he had not kissed her on the lips since their wedding ceremony. His hands roamed her body, mapped out the places that made her gasp, the spots that made her arch into him. He was attuned to her every reaction, his focus entirely on her.

All he asked for in return - with no words - is that she make him feel safe for this one night.

With his body bare and hers still clad in her shift, he silently gestured to her bed with a tilt of his head. She moved toward it, her movements graceful yet hesitant, and then crawled to the back, letting her spine rest against the headboard. He stood there for a moment, watching her, his breath uneven and his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

He did not miss the way she looked at him. Desire flickered in her eyes, growing with each second her gaze roved over his body. Her eyes widened when they settled on his manhood, and he could see the anticipation building within her. She expected him to take her tonight, he knew. He hadn't given any indication otherwise in the last few moments, and she had no clue what he actually wanted; or why.

Would she welcome him to her bed if she knew he was a kinslayer?

The thought gnawed at him, but he chose not to tell her. She might not offer her true acceptance, but he would take her false comfort tonight – even if she thought it true.

He moved to the side of the bed with all his characteristic grace. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. When he lifted his knee to place it on the plush mattress, she shifted to make space for him. He laid down beside her, his movements deliberate and slow, as if fearing she might vanish if he was too hasty. She mirrored his actions, and soon they were facing each other, their warm breaths mingling in the stillness of the room.

Their eyes locked, and he saw her questioning gaze. Her next words, soft and tentative, knocked the breath out of his lungs.

"Are you alright?"

For a moment, he couldn't answer, the weight of the day's events pressing down on him. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and saw the worry etched in the lines of her face, the softness of her eyes, the way her lips parted slightly as she waited for his response.

"I will be," he finally said, his voice rough with emotion.

Tentatively, he placed his hand on her thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shift. He slid the material up, his fingers tracing the smooth expanse of her leg. 

"Gevie.” [Beautiful.]

His fingers continued their journey, moving to her inner thigh. Her legs shivered at his touch, and he smirked for a moment before he withdrew his hand and moved closer. Their bodies were now a hairsbreadth apart, the heat between them palpable. 

His hands moved to her breasts, feeling their fullness beneath her shift. He was acutely aware of every breath she took, every flinch and gasp that escaped her lips. Each reaction to his touch drew him further into the present moment, away from the dark thoughts that threatened to consume him. Her body was a haven, a sanctuary where he could lose himself, if only for a while.

Encouraged by her soft gasps, he continued to knead the mounds of flesh and pinch her pert nipples, his touch gentle yet insistent through the shift. Lowering his head, he nestled himself at her bosom, inhaling deeply. The scent of lilacs and milk overtook him, and he let out a contented sigh.

"You are a mother... the mother of my heir," he murmured into her chest, his voice a mix of reverence and disbelief.

She said nothing, but when her initial shock faded, she began to comb her fingers through his soft hair, humming the same song she sang to their son to sleep. The melody was soothing, a balm to his frayed nerves. He didn't know if her singing was to calm him or herself, but he found solace in the gentle rise and fall of her breasts with each breath she took.

He took in the way her body trembled slightly beneath him, the softness of her skin, the rhythmic beating of her heart against his cheek. This was not the harsh, immediate and uncertain release he sought at the whorehouse. 

This was more, more, more.

Sleep came to him easily in her arms, draped in her comfort; devoid of any nightmares, dreams, or heavy thoughts. 

If she wondered why he'd simply laid with her rather than fuck her, she did not ask.

Would she welcome him again when she finds out what he did?

The council branded him a kinslayer when he told them what he'd done. He embraced it, staring into their eyes, defiant and unyielding. He told them he did it on purpose, each word a dagger thrown with precision. Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

Aegon patted his back, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "A job well done, drawing first blood in the King's name," he said, his voice a blend of admiration and malice. His grandfather's face remained a mask, revealing nothing. Criston was disappointed, his disapproval a heavy weight in the room. And his mother... 

His mother was disgusted, her eyes filled with a sorrow he had never seen before. When he stepped out and walked through the corridors, the word had spread like wildfire. 

Kinslayer. 

The whispers followed him like a relentless shadow. Servants and maids stepped out of his way, their gazes avoiding his. The tension was palpable, a living thing that tightened the air around him. He wanted to escape them all, to flee to the skies where their judgment could not reach him. But before then, he wanted to see them.

He stood near the doorway as she had a few days prior, watching her rock their fitful, sick son to sleep. Her movements were gentle, contrasting all the shock, anger and brashness he’d seen since he stepped out of her room before she awoke. He wanted her to look at him, to see beyond the blood and the sin. He was asking too much of her, he knew that. They were strangers bound by duty, their recent shared moments brief and fraught with his own selfish needs for comfort.

His heart pounded as she finally met his gaze. He was not prepared for the slight fear in her eyes. It cut through him deeper than any sword ever could. She looked at him as if he were a creature she could not recognize. 

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

The word echoed in his mind, a relentless chant that drowned out everything else. He took a step forward, his hands trembling. "I—" he began, but the words died in his throat. What could he say? How could he explain the unexplainable, justify the unforgivable? She held their son closer, her grip tightening protectively. The room was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of what he had done and what it meant for them. His mind raced, filled with a cacophony of anger, regret, and despair.

The need to escape surged within him again. He wanted to flee to the skies, to find solace in the cold, indifferent clouds. But he couldn't move, couldn't tear his gaze away from the image of her fear-stricken eyes.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

With a heavy heart and a mind in turmoil, he turned and walked back into the shadowed corridors, each step echoing the relentless chant of his new title.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

The word echoed through the empty halls, a reminder of the path he had chosen and the price he would pay.

If he’d told her last night as he laid in her arms, would she have understood?

He’d never know.

NEXT

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[softspiderling]

picture of you in an invisible locket | j.v

summary:

“It is not my father who is against the match.”

“What?”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in surprise at the implication, and you sighed quietly. You weren’t planning on telling him, knowing it would hurt his feelings greatly, but did you have any other choice?

“You say you have a deep affection for me, and then say that you’re against a match,” Jacaerys said, his brows knitted in confusion.

OR; loving jacaerys velayron means more than loving just him, something that you are painfully aware of

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: none :)

word count: 2,5k

author's note: my first jacaerys fic! ngl it was super hard to jump from obx to hotd bc i wanted my writing to feel authentic to the fandom/show??? yeah obx and hotd could NOT be any more different tbf. i have a bunch of ideas for jace but if you want you can send me some requests! also tagging @zyafics and @sunderlust bc they've been encouraging me to write for jace ily guys. happy reading and pls leave some feedback/comments/nice words!!! <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The light of the torches were flickering as you walked down the hallway, your shoes clicking against the marble stones that lined the ground. It was nearly midnight and a lady of your rank shouldn’t be awake at this hour, much less out of her chambers by herself, roaming the halls.

But you were hungry.

You hadn’t had much to eat during dinner, trying to avoid him as much as possible, which is getting increasingly more difficult. Usually, he wasn’t so persistent, opting to stay close to your father during dinner, exchanging information about their culture, or drinking with your brother. Tonight, however, it seemed like he was on quest to find you whenever you were standing idly by, asking for a dance. And of course, you couldn’t decline for no reason, as it would appear rude or even slight, so you busied yourself with other - much less distracting - dance partners. By the time he was approached by one of your guards, inquiring about his training, and you saw your chance to sit down and eat in peace, the table had been cleared for the last course. While you did love cake, your hunger couldn’t be stilled by a mere dessert and you spent the remainder of the night famished, longing for some hearty food.

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled of hunger again, and you picked up the skirt of your night dress, hastening along to the kitchen. When you finally reached the stair case that led down to the kitchens, you hurried down the steps, letting yourself into the kitchen, the heavy wooden door swinging shut behind you.

The kitchen was dimly lit, and you headed to the pantry, searching for bread and butter and if you were lucky, some smoked ham. You were so focused on your search, you didn’t even notice another presence lingering in the doorway of the pantry.

You heart nearly stopped when you finally did see him, your gasp echoing in the empty kitchen.

“Prince Jacaerys!”

The crown prince of the Seven Realms was standing in front of you, arms behind his back and brows raised. You forced your heartbeat so calm down, hand still clutching your chest.

“You gave me a fright,” you said. “What are you doing here?”

“I have been waiting for your arrival. You took quite some time, I was certain you would be here an hour past.”

Your eyes narrowed in slits, growing wary at his words. “And how did you know that I would come to the kitchens at this hour? I do not make it a habit to skulk around the keep at night.”

Jacaerys chuckled dryly, his beautiful dark curls bouncing as he shook his head, as if in disbelief.

“Given how you occupied the dance floor with various dance partners earlier, I did not see you sit down for supper once. You were certain to still your hunger somewhere.”

So he did notice.

You acted nonchalant, turning away from him eyes searching shelves in the pantry.

“Searching for this?”

Jacaerys brought a loaf of bread from behind his back, wrapped in a cloth. Your eyes gleamed, taking a step forward to reach for it, nearly bumping into him as he took a step forward as well, breaching into your personal space. Your heart stopped, feeling his hot breath fanning on your cheeks and the prince’s lips tugged into a grin.

“Ah ah,” he tutted, moving the bread out of your reach. “You do not expect me to give this away without a price now, do you my lady?”

You took a moment’s pause, considering his words with caution.

“… What sort of price do you speak of?”

“How about…” Jacaerys begun. “A kiss?”

With a small breath, you faltered, looking up at him through your lashes, your shoulders slumping.

“Jace.”

“Ah, now we are back to Jace?”

Snatching the small piece of ham and the butter that sat in a small marble bell from the shelves, you walk back into the kitchen, knowing Jacaerys would follow you. Making a stop at the counter, you spread your findings on it, waiting until Jacaerys stopped next you, loaf of bread still in his hand.

“You have been avoiding me.”

“I have not.”

“You danced with every single man at your brother’s name day celebration except for me,” Jacaerys pointed out. You shrugged with your shoulders, an act you would never do in front of other people, but this was Jace.

“I was merely being a good host.”

“Don’t insult me, my lady. I saw your grimace when Lord Ren twirled you over the dance floor while stepping all over your feet with his barbaric dance moves.”

Seven hells, he got you there. You never were able to keep your real feelings hidden when it came to Lord Ren. He was just too insufferable. Pursing your lips, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You were still a lady after all, you had some manners.

“Will you give me the bread when I admit you’re right?”

“I should not,” Jacaerys sniffed. “Because I know I am right, I do not need a confession. I just want to know your reasons.”

With a huff, you snatched the loaf of bread out of his hands, reaching for knife in the wooden block. You cut out several slices, maybe with more force than necessary.

“You know my reasons.”

Jacaery is quiet next to you and you dropped the knife on the counter, wrapping the rest of the loaf up again. You can still feel his gaze on you as you spread the butter on the bread slices, knowing he was waiting for you to elaborate, and after a few more moments, you broke, the knife clattering against the wooden surface.

“Jace, you know I… Have a deep affection for you.”

“As do I for you.”

The two of you both skirted around the big word, not quite bold enough to say it yet.

“I do not wish to give my father the expectation to marry me off to you.”

“I’m the crown prince, surely your father would not have any grievances against a match.”

“It is not my father who is against the match.”

“What?”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in surprise at the implication, and you sighed quietly. You weren’t planning on telling him, knowing it would hurt his feelings greatly, but did you have any other choice?

“You say you have a deep affection for me, and then say that you’re against a match,” Jacaerys said, his brows knitted in confusion. “I don’t understand. Isn’t a match born out of affection and not duty what you have been wanting?”

“Jace, this is more complicated than me harboring any affections for you-” you started, but your words were cut shot by Jacaerys speaking your name.

“If it’s about leaving home, I promise King’s Landing is not as bad as it seems. And on dragonback, it is only a three day journey. When I first left, I got terribly homesick as well, but-“

“I do not wish to be Queen!” you exploded, falling into Jacaerys’ words and he took a step back at your outburst, surprise flickering over his face. You let out a long, deep, breath, hand clutching at your chest, calming yourself down.

The kitchen is eerily calm, neither of you spoke, the only sound is the fire crackling in the hearth. Your voice is quiet when you finally spoke again.

“I am the youngest child of my father, Jace. His only daughter. My oldest brother is betrothed and to be wed in less than a year’s time, the second oldest is courting his partner to be betrothed. I was not trained to rule, to have any responsibility or to represent my house. You are the crown prince, set to inherit the Iron Throne, to rule over seven kingdoms. Seven, Jace. How exactly do you expect me to fulfill the role of a Queen consort?”

Jacaerys’ mouth was parted, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. Which you understood. You have never shared your feelings about his position as heir before, how you resented it a little for it was the only reason you couldn’t let yourself be matched with him.

“I’m not fit to be Queen.”

“I… Didn’t know that you felt this way,” he said, his voice tight. “I can’t shirk my duties.”

“And I am not asking you to,” you assured him. “I just can’t… Be the wife you need.”

“What if-”

“Jacaerys, please.”

Your voice was pleading, knowing discussing this any further was no use. You weren’t fit for a Queen. Jacaerys’ face shut down, and he put his mask up, before nodding, ever the understanding prince, much to your luck. “Of course. Whatever you wish for, my love.”

His love.

“I will see you on the morrow.”

Reaching for your hand, he grasped it gently with his, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, before stepping back, letting go of you. As he departed from the kitchen, you leaned against the counter, your breath shaky. You knew you hurt him, disappointed him, but this was so much bigger than the two of you.

You breathed out deeply, hoping the sorrow would leave, but it didn’t. Reaching for the bread, your appetite had gone, but leaving it would be wasting it, so you bit into your dinner. And as you ate, you couldn’t help but think that the bread tasted like ashes in your mouth.

The next few days, Jacaerys seemed to respect your wishes to keep his distance. You still saw him around the keep, occasionally walking with your father, mostly though you saw him accompanying your brother as they conversed quietly, but intently. You wondered what they were talking about. Whenever you saw him, you noticed that Jacaerys kept his gaze away from took, and you couldn’t help but feel saddened, even though this was what you asked him for in the first place.

You missed his company. Especially at night. Despite the fact that you had never crossed any lines, or did anything improper - spending the dark hours at the library talking, exchanging stories about your childhood, maybe coming very close to a kiss - you were still a maiden. Of course you spending time with him alone was unseemly, and your father would betroth you immediately would he find out. It might be better for you, that Jacaerys kept away.

It was the end of the week when you saw him again. You were sat in the dining hall, at another feast your father had called for. It was the night of the departure of the representatives of House Blackwood, though even if it weren’t, you didn’t doubt that there would still be a feast. Your father didn’t need an occasion celebrate.

Your demeanor was polite, bht curt, hoping that it would deter any lords from asking for a dance, but of course Lord Ren was keen on offering you his hand.

Giving him a polite smile, you let him lead you around the dance floor, already forming some sort of excuse in your head when someone stepped to you, offering you his hand.

It was Jacaerys.

“May I, Lord Ren?”

“Of course, my prince.”

Lord Ren bowed to Jacaerys and you bowed your head out of respect before Jacaery placed a hand on your waist, his other finding your hand. You couldn’t help but feel relief that Jacaerys had freed you from Lord Ren, but you tried to keep your composure.

“I thought we talked about this, Jacaerys,” you muttered out between gritted teeth, as to uphold the image of a happy lady, dancing with her guest.

“We have.”

Jacaerys replied easily, never missing a step as he spoke, despite keeping his eyes on you. Ever the perfect prince.

You turned away, not being able to hold his eyes on you, your stomach churning.

“I am sorry if I hurt your feelings, Jace,” you said quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear you talking to the crown prince in such a familiar way. “I wish things were different- That I was different.”

Jacaerys’ hand tightened on your waist, and he used that to pull you closer.

“I spoke to your father, and he gave his blessing for our betrothal.”

Your eyes widened at his words, as you hadn’t expected them, the shock evident on your face. You had told him about your fears of being Queen consort and he just disregarded them.

“What?”

“I know you’re afraid that you won’t be able to fulfill your duties as Queen, my Queen consort. My mother will teach you, I will be by your side. My mother is set to live a long life and by the time I will inherit the throne, you will be properly trained. And I swear on my life, you will make the best Queen consort the realm will ever see.”

Stunned, you blinked your eyes at him, as if this all was a dream. Never before had you experience someone being so stubborn to prove you of your own worth.

“It hurt me greatly when you told of your reluctance of our match, because I cannot fathom that you see yourself anything less than you are.”

As he spoke, Jacaerys kept his gaze ahead, but he finally he turned to look at you, his eyes softening.

“I will not force you. This is your choice. If you do not wish to marry me, you won’t have to. Just know that I believe in you and what you will be able to do as Queen consort.”

You were trying so hard to find the right words, your feet stopped working for a second and you stumbled, but Jacaerys was quick to tighten his grip around you, keeping you upright.

“I- don’t know what to say,” you admitted.

“Say yes?”

Jacaerys looked down at you, his eyes hopeful and you felt your resolve melt away, especially because it looked he had planned it down to the last detail.

“Yes, okay.”

Jacaerys smiled at you before turning to the side, giving a curt nod and that was all it took for your father thrust his jug into the air, the ale spilling over the rim.

“I am thrilled to announce that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen of the Seven Realms, has asked my daughter for her hand in marriage… And she has accepted!”

The raucuos cheers that followed after nearly deafened your ears and you hid your face in Jacaerys’ chest - an act of affection you allowed yourself now that the two of you were betrothed.

“This couldn’t wait until we were in closed chambers?” you whispered, pink tinging your cheeks. Jacaerys shook his head, lifting your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles.

“There’s no backing out of it now, my love.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: thoughts?? :)

[distantdarlings]

OUT OF IT // t. nott

RATING: R / 4.4K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* Theodore Nott has been your best friend for years, but the closeness that you’ve gained throughout your friendship proves to be a little too intimate for the two of you to handle.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! PIV - no protection, fingering, light nipple play (f!receiving), dirty talk, tension, top!Theo, bottom!Reader, fem reader, language, super NOT proofread (lmk if I missed anything!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Again (Sped Up) - Noah Cyrus

(Okay! So prep for this was super rushed bc I am about to go on vacation and just got done with a ton of work. I’m very sorry this is so quick and frazzled—hopefully you all can look past it. Thanks for your patience.)

- - -

The dimly-lit corridors always felt so cozy around this time of the evening. The skies outside were pitch black and the only form of light was the flickering, honeyed candles mounted to the stone walls every few paces or so. A rather clever spell had been cast on them to keep them from dripping wax all over the floors.

You combed your fingers through your hair, letting the strands slide across your skin. Keeping your hair pinned up always gave you just a bit of a headache, but being able to take it down after classes was a relief like no other. Your fingernails scratched lightly over your scalp in an attempt to reestablish some blood flow throughout.

After a particularly difficult day, you wanted nothing more than to eat a quick dinner and then crash into your bed. You felt as if you’d been going non-stop since waking up this morning with nothing but a bagel and some tea in your stomach for the whole day. You were sure if you spoke to a muggle physician, they’d have some choice words for you. You could practically feel the dark circle sprouting beneath your eyes.

You turned one final candle-adorned hallway before arriving in front of the Great Hall. You arrived on the later side of the allotted dinner times, but you knew the food would stay on the table until the last student who intended to eat arrived. That was part of Hogwart’s lovely charm.

A wave of warmth from the fireplace in the corner washed over you like a blanket. The sudden temperature change brought on a case of chills across your body. A small shudder flowed through you.

Your eyes scanned the table on the far end of the room—its dark wooden surface topped with deep green runners and dishes of food. Sitting alongside the farthest end of the table were the most familiar faces in the entire school. A gentle smile appeared across your lips at the sight of your friends chatting and laughing together.

You approached the table with the same smile painted on. As you drew closer and caught a few eyes, you raised your hand for a polite wave. All of a sudden, you were a bit more awake than you had been.

A set of bright eyes turned and locked with yours, prompting a jolt of energy through your chest. You settled in next to the owner of those special eyes, allowing him to wrap his arm around you and pull you in close.

“How are you, tesoro?” Theo asked, pressing a small kiss to the side of your head.

“It was good. What about you?” you asked. He shrugged and flashed you a smile. He’d never been one to talk much about his day.

You gathered some food onto your plate, Theo never taking his arm from around you even when he went back to eating.

“So, how was everyone’s day?” Enzo asked cheekily, eyeing the two of you. The young man in front of you had always had a deep insistence that you and Theodore Nott would be the perfect couple.

“You’re perfect for each other,” he would say. “You compliment each other so well, plus you’re already so comfortable around each other!” To which, you’d always laugh and shake your head, only mostly ignoring the fantasies that would twirl through your mind after the fact.

You were not going to date Theodore Nott. He was your best friend—had been for years.

“Fine, thanks,” you replied snarkily, popping some kind of berry into your mouth. It crunched between your teeth pleasantly, bleeding dark, sweet juice. It was unlike any other fruits you’d ever tasted, but you never knew what you were going to taste at Hogwarts.

“Mm, you’ve got a bit of—” Theo started. Still chewing on a bit of food, he ran the thumb of his free hand over the corner of your lip and promptly placed it against his tongue. He sucked the flavor off of his skin, then turned back to his dinner.

It didn’t much bother you, just ignited a bit of heat against the wall of your gut. Mattheo and Enzo, however, acted like they’d just seen someone hurl into the dinner bowls.

“Hello, friends!”

The group turned to face Pansy Parkinson. A dainty, but lean girl with striking black hair cut across her cheeks in sharp, even lines. She was truly one of your only female friends, considering how often you hung around a male party.

“Hey, Pans!” The group chorused, offering lazy waves and full-mouthed smiles. She smiled a bit and took a seat next to Enzo. She selected an apple from the bowl just before her and took a large chunk out of it, her pale eyes flicking around the table.

“Why are you all so quiet?” she mumbled around chunks of apple.

Enzo snuck his arm down beneath the table and discreetly bumped Pansy’s ribs with his elbow twice. They were sure you hadn’t seen their little gesture that translated to ‘I’ll fill you in later,’ but you most definitely had.

You struggled not to roll your eyes as you knew they’d gossip for hours about how you and Theo would be the perfect couple. Honestly, it used to bother you a bit, knowing your friends were talking about you behind your back. But with a quick and direct questioning of Enzo, you realized that they weren’t so much gossiping about you as they were rooting for you. Their support didn’t matter, though. You would not be dating Theodore Nott.

***

That night, as you had begun to settle in for bed, you found yourself thinking of Theo. You always thought of him around bed time. There was never really a time when your best friend wasn’t floating around your head, but at night, when you were recapping your day, you thought of him.

Theo had a nasty habit of popping into your head at the worst of times. During tests, holidays with your families, your dreams, and even when you…when you would get into bed and slide the velvet drapes hung around the frame shut, and let your hands slide beneath the covers.

You swallowed thickly at the thought. You would not be dating Theodore Nott. No matter if he did cross your mind when you touched yourself. You inhaled shakily and slid beneath the covers, ignoring the ache in your chest and the pulsing between your legs.

***

The next morning, you found yourself wandering down to the Great Hall just as you had done the night before for dinner.

And just like last night, Pansy, Enzo, Mattheo, and Theo were waiting for you just like they always were.

You slid into the space beside Theo and laid a sleepy head against his shoulder, letting a slightly dramatic huff out.

“Oh dear, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Theo teased, placing a kiss to the top of your head. The audience members before you each made a different face at the show of affection. It never bothered you and it had seemingly never bothers Theo, but your friends had a habit of turning it into something it didn’t need to be.

“Yes, I did,” you sighed. “I barely slept a wink last night—I was tossing and turning all night.” Which was not a lie, but a bit of an understatement. Your sleep had been plagued with visions of Theo.

Theo looking at you, Theo kissing you, Theo touching you, Theo Theo Theo. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Theo looked down at you. You met his eyes.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

“You’re clenching my arm really hard,” he chuckled, glancing down at your clutched fist around his arm. Oh. You quickly let go of him and apologized, embarrassed that he was having such a physical effect on you. You’d never been so distracted before. Sure, you’d had these thoughts of Theo before but it had never affected you in your everyday life, and certainly not in front of him.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Enzo interrupted. You turned and the three sitting across from you all seemed to be staring with concern.

“You seem out of it…,” Mattheo said, looking you up and down. Pansy voiced a small agreement.

“I’m fine,” you chuckled nervously. Theo placed a hand on your back and began to rub comforting circles around the center of your spine.

His touch against you was almost too much to bear.

You shied away from him and, forcing a smile, you got to your feet and quickly excused yourself. You knew if you looked back, all of them would still be staring at you but you needed to get away. Theo’s hand on your back was nearly enough to make you come undone.

These altered feelings of him had your mind running haywire.

You scurried off down the halls, twisting and turning, and avoiding any and everyone. The Slytherin dungeons weren’t that far from the Great Hall, but every step you took made the hallway feel as if it was elongating. It felt as though you would never reach it and as if you’d be walking for the rest of eternity, when you came upon the secret entrance.

You mumbled the password then slipped through the doorway.

Other than a few scattered students, there was practically no one in the common room. Hopefully you’d be able to get a bit of privacy upstairs in your bedroom.

Thoughts of Theo swirled around your head, threatening to fall in on you and drown you in your own desire. You had no idea why he was having such an effect on you.

Once you came upon the door to your dorm, you pushed through the door, slammed it quickly behind you, and collapsed onto your bed. A quick survey of the room told you that it was empty, except for your panting body.

You set yourself against your pillows, drawing your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. If you kept having such an issue, you were just going to have to avoid your friends for the next few days.

You refused to let any silly thoughts get in the way of your friendship with Theo. You’d had plenty of intrusive thoughts pertaining to him in the past. That didn’t mean you were in love with him or had any feelings for him other than platonic. People had weird thoughts about their friends all of the time—it didn’t make them true.

A knock on the door drove its way through your train of thought. A small jolt ran through your body at the sudden sound.

Assuming it was just one of your roommates, you invited them in. But one of your roommates did not walk through the door. Theo did.

Upon seeing him, you shot up to a sitting position almost immediately.

“Theo—I didn’t know it was you, I’d really like to be alone right now if—”

“That’s fine. I’ll leave as soon as you tell me what’s wrong.”

His eyes were stern with his jaw clenched tightly, the muscle running across the bone rippling with every grind of his teeth. If you didn’t know this boy like the back of your hand, you might’ve mistook his concern for fury.

“Nothing’s wrong. Like I said, I’m just tired.”

“There’s something else,” he spoke. “I can tell. I’ve known you for nearly as long as I’ve been alive. Do you seriously think I can’t tell when something’s bothering you? You brushed away my hand, you—you barely looked at me earlier. You’ve never, ever turned me away like that—and if you decide you’re done with me, w-with us—that’s fine, but I deserve an explanation.” He stepped forward and left nothing but a few inches between the two of you. “I demand one.”

His ramble ended with deep, heaving breaths, his eyes staring down at you with longing and panic, and your saliva nearly getting caught in your throat. If you hadn’t closed your mouth that had been gaping open, you might’ve choked.

He stood so closely, you could feel his breaths on your chest. You attempted to avoid his eyes but it was as if he’d locked you to him. You couldn’t pull away.

“Theo, I’m not…done with you,” you exhaled shakily, “I always want you.”

His eyes softened a bit.

“Er, to be here with me as my friend!” you gasped out quickly, trying to ease the landing of the borderline confession you’d just spouted out.

His mouth dropped a bit as he seemed almost disappointed. Surely he didn’t feel the same way.

“What if I want to be here with you…but as more than just a friend,” he whispered. His deep voice rumbled beneath the pressure of his chapped lips. You couldn’t help but glance down at them briefly.

Once you had, his breath hitched in his throat just a bit, and you knew he’d seen you. You knew he’d seen your eyes dart from his deep, crystalline eyes to his barely parted lips. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, just enough to grant them some hydration from how deeply the two of you had been breathing. A shudder passed through you at the sight.

“What’s…more than a friend?” you breathed, your voice wavering as you found it increasingly harder to pull your eyes away from his lips.

What a stupid thing to ask.

“I want to show you what it is,” he said. “I want you to feel what more than a friend is.”

You almost jumped out of your skin when the tips of his fingers brushed against your forearm. He seemed to be testing the waters and, though your reaction wasn’t exactly calm, must have decided that it was okay to move forward again. The fingers from the opposite hand brushed alongside your other arm.

“Let me show you what it feels like,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to lose anything we have because of one stupid mistake—because we couldn’t control ourselves,” you said, biting your lip nervously. You knew it was a cruel thing to say but it was the truth. Theo was the best thing that had ever happened to you, even before you couldn’t escape the feeling of his eyes on you.

“I won’t let anything change us,” he said. “Let me give you all of me before you decide you need some of me.”

Shakily, you pressed your lips together and nodded slowly. You were all his.

He smiled just a bit, a shaking breath pushing through his lips as if he’d been holding it for a while.

His hands were slow and patient, carefully mapping out every place he intended to touch and ensuring that it was completely okay with you before doing so.

Fingers traced over your hips and across your ribs through your uniform shirt. Even through the material, you felt his simulated touch eliciting chills across your stomach and arms. He smirked a bit at the way the small hairs there stood up.

“Can I touch your skin?” he asked, his eyes finding yours. You nodded in response.

At your immediate consent, he took no time in easing the hem of your shirt out from beneath your skirt. The tucked-in material had created indentations along your flesh from pressing into it all day. His fingers traced along the swirls of marks across your hips.

His hot skin on yours was nearly too much to handle—you swore you felt your knees buckle.

After the initial shyness of skin-on-skin, you could feel Theo’s hands splay wide on either side of your hips and move across your abdomen and all the way to the back. His fingers brushed across the strap of your bra just as a raging heat split your stomach in two.

“Can I?” he asked. Of course, you nodded.

With a second set of permissions, he felt even bolder. He sucked in a strong breath and, with quick and intense movements, brought his hands out from beneath your shirt and began to unfasten the buttons.

With each button he pulled open, he placed a hot kiss to the skin revealed. Your breaths came in deep heaves, your chest lurching towards him pathetically.

His tongue brushed over the cleavage split evenly by the pressure of your bra. With your chest nearly completely revealed to him, Theo’s eyes darkened severely.

His eyes found yours again. The two of you regained consciousness for only a moment to realize where you were and what you were doing, before you clasped your hands around his head and pulled his mouth to yours.

With a fiery desire, he slipped his hands beneath your thighs and, with subtle clumsiness, lifted you off the floor just enough to push you up against the stone wall in the corner.

A shy moan slipped from between your lips at the feeling of your body trapped in between him and the wall.

His lips devoured yours like a man starved. He drank up every drop of saliva granted by each slide of your tongue along his, never wasting a single bit. His hands gripped at you mercilessly—at your hips, your chest, your ass. It wasn’t long before your shirt was completely unbuttoned and slid messily down your shoulders and your shoes slipped off and kicked somewhere into the corner.

As the two of you took a moment to breath, noses pressed to each other and breaths intermingling, Theo contemplated his next moves.

“I want to take care of you,” he heaved, a bead of sweat sliding down his sharply detailed throat.

“Please… have me as you will,” you whined, hardly able to stand being away from him in these few seconds.

The sounds of your begging did nothing but urge him forward, cutting through every strap of restraint he may have still had. He fucking loved it.

“Let me make you feel good,” he whispered.

He slid his finger down across your neck, tightening his grip just barely around your throat, then sliding them down across your breasts. He kneaded the sore tissue there, reveling in the way your lips parted at the feeling.

His fingers slid over the metal clasp that sat squarely between your breasts, shining in the firelight, waiting for him to separate it.

Before touching your chest any further, he wrapped his hands around your thighs once more and wrapped them around his waist, balancing you against the wall behind you.

His fingers then returned to their post at your bra and effortlessly split the clasp. The pressure of your breasts popped the fabric apart, quickly revealing your chest to the boy before you.

He moaned at the sight of your gorgeous chest and could not resist from placing his lips around each nipple, swirling his tongue around them perfectly. Your head fell back against the wall, your hands clutching at this hair, your legs wrapped around his body.

“You’re so perfect—gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbled.

His hands and lips reluctantly separated from your chest and pulled you away from the wall for just a moment. He walked you over to the recession in the wall where the windowsill waited for your body weight.

The drapes were pulled together but you imagined that you wouldn’t be so angry if they weren’t.

Theo set you down against the cool stone and slid your hips against him.

With no regard for what you were going to do for your next day of classes, he roughly split your tights to reveal the bottoms beneath.

He let out a moan at the sight of you—you were better than he’d ever imagined.

Flipping your skirt up, he traced a single, trained finger over the slit of fabric covering the most sensitive part of your body. You let out a wavering moan at the sensation, gripping onto his shoulders tightly.

“Please, Theo, no more teasing,” you groaned, sliding your hips closer to his. The motion pressed your core against his, creating a type of friction that was more than delicious. The both of you paused and shuddered against each other’s mouth.

If Theo had any restraint left in his body, it was this that destroyed it.

He slid a finger beneath the material of your bottoms and slid them to the side, revealing you to the cool air. You shuddered a bit at the feeling, not prepared for the sudden change in temperature.

He traced his fingers along your folds again, collecting slicks of moisture along them. You could barely keep up with his pace, not sure whether to moan or cry or beg for more.

Once soaked enough, he slid a finger into you, allowing you to stretch around it. You cried out to the night air, clutching at his shirt like you might slip away from this world if he kept easing you open just as he was.

There were blinks of time where he’d slip another finger in just beside the other, stretching you farther than you’d ever been before, but you could hardly grasp where you were in time and space. All you could feel, think, smell, hear, taste was Theodore Nott.

When years had passed and he’d built you up to your climax twice already, he decided that he was ready to give you all of him.

The layer of sweat across your body and cloud of exhaustion that plagued your mind seemed to be no obstacle for a still very wired Theo. He was ready to fuck himself into you until you were begging for mercy. He’d been waiting for this for years.

“Turn over for me, sweetheart,” he said lovingly, a stark contrast to the brutality with which he’d worked you apart.

Slow-moving from exhaustion but still eager for more of his touch, you forced yourself onto your stomach. Your hands gripped onto the drapes for some sense of purchase—hopefully they wouldn’t collapse down around the two of you, revealing both of your bodies to the world.

When the rustling of his clothing and the clinking of his belt hit your ears, the entire lower half of your body twinged in anticipation. You gasped lowly as his hands slipped beneath your skirt, slowly smoothing his fingers over the fabric of your bottoms before gripping them and sliding them down your legs.

He allowed you to step out of them before he pushed you back up against the stone and slid himself across your entrance. You sucked in a breath sharply at the sensation, your fingers digging into the canvas drapes so tightly they burned white around the knuckles.

One hand gripped your bare hips while the other slowly guided himself into you all the way to the hilt. The slow stretch he had provided you before was nothing compared to the fire burning below now. Your eyes clenched shut, bursts of tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Breathe, bella,” he groaned softly as he allowed you to adjust while refraining from going as fast and as hard as he could.

It took only a moment before you asked him to move, and begged him to claim you fully. And then he was controlling every inch of what you received, ruthlessly, yet lovingly.

The silence of the room was filled with his breathless groans, your stuttering words, and the force of his hips hitting yours. You’d hardly be able to stand if it weren’t for his strong hands holding your hips up, keeping you just where he wanted you for each force of his hips.

With each passing second, you found your grip on the fabric above you becoming weaker and your ability to hold yourself up diminishing. With the pace he’d set, you’d be finishing any minute and he knew it.

And by the way his speed stuttered every so often and his hands gripped onto the fabric of your skirt, you figured he couldn’t be far behind you.

Your naked breasts lightly scraped against the stone with every push from behind, rubbing the sensitive skin just enough to push you over your edge and crash within yourself. You cried out from the force of the pleasure that hit you.

As soon as you had managed to finish against him, the tightening of your muscles tipped him over the cliff side he stood atop, forcing him to the waves below.

He worked himself through his climax before slowing to a stop and collapsing against you. The sweat on your skin mingled together, creating a hot seal between your bodies. You could hardly catch your breath between the windowsill pressed against you and the strong man behind you.

“Theo,” you whined. “Get off…”

He responded with a huff and a moment’s silence, before pushing off of you. Your skin separated with a sticky pull.

He gently pulled you away from the window, slid your messed skirt down and helped you slide into your bed. He slid in next to you for just a moment.

“I think I’m about to pass out and sleep for the next 48 hours,” you chuckled lazily.

“Would you say I gave enough of myself?” he smirked, brushing a strand away from your forehead.

“I’d say it was more than enough,” you said, rolling your eyes at his confidence.

“Well, I’m yours anytime you want me.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead, before getting to his feet and beginning to redress.

“No,” you fussed. “Why are you leaving?”

“Because it’s the middle of the day and I’m missing my classes,” he laughed, tightening his belt back to its proper place.

“I am too—just skip with me today,” you begged.

“No, darling, I’ve got to get back to class. I’ve got too many assignments due today. I’ll let them know you won’t be making it in today, though.”

“What are you going to tell them if they ask?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Mm, I’ll let them know that you had a rough morning and you’re gonna sleep it off.”

He smirked meanly before slipping through the dorm door and leaving you in silence, bundled up in your bed and nearly too tired to even try and get ready for classes.

One day off wouldn’t be too big of a deal.

- - -

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[irisintheafterglow]

kid megumi starts a fight. you and satoru finish it.

being fresh out of high school while simultaneously taking care of a second grader was an interesting experience, to say the least. today was no different.

"oh my god; he what? i'll be there in a second, fucking hell," you sputter as you all but shoot upward from your desk, sweeping the post-mission paperwork to the side and grabbing your car keys from the bedside table. the car makes strained vrooms while you impatiently pump the gas pedal, accelerating down the street like a bat out of hell. swerving into the nearest parking space you could find, you forcefully swing open the door to the front office to find satoru waiting in a plastic chair. he mutters an exasperated oh, thank god under his breath before standing and taking your hand, leading you down the hall to the principal's office.

"is he okay?"

"he's fine, i promise." you look at him skeptically, remembering all the times megumi was "fine" yet had scrapes that satoru didn't know how to clean up. "i'm serious. i saw it myself. the nurse cleaned up his nose and iced the hit on his face."

"he got hit in the fucking face?" your jaw drops in shock and you quiet your voice to a hushed whisper outside the principal's office door. "what the fuck happened that he got punched in the-"

"fushiguro's guardians, please come in. we're ready for you," an irritatingly nasally voice calls from inside and it takes all of your willpower not to blast the door open until it's shredded to pieces. megumi's principal sits behind an obtrusively large wooden desk, with the boy sitting by one end and two empty chairs at the other. you immediately drag one of the chairs over to sit by his side, but a wrinkled hand stops you. "please sit across from him, not beside him. he must receive proper punishment and that begins with accounting for his own actions," the principal instructs you and you catch satoru's jaw clench in restrained anger. he wanted to tear the principal's head off for telling you what to do, especially since it was regarding megumi.

"i'll decide where i want to sit, thank you," you reply with forced politeness, sliding the chair next to a defeated megumi. he scoots as close to you as he can and links his pinky finger in yours. it's small, but you know he's trying to manage his anxiety along with yours. satoru shrugs indifferently at the principal but shoots you a proud wink when no one is looking. "they cleaned you up, yeah?" you ask megumi softly and he nods, wincing slightly when your knuckles lightly brush the bruise on his cheek. "i'm sorry, baby-"

"fushiguro instigated a fight with three sixth grade students, all of them older than him. we believe he may have developed issues dealing with his emotions, specifically anger," the principal informs you and you make a great deal of effort to wipe the glower from your face. "student witnesses say that he struck first, and-"

"do you know why he started the fight in the first place?" your eyes narrow on the scrawny, shriveled man behind the oversized desk and he shrinks away slightly.

"no, b-but we believe that violence should not be-"

"violence or not, shouldn't you be responsible for understanding why this occurred outright?" your voice is strained and tense, slightly shaky with repressed anger. you stare daggers into the old man's sunken eyes and catch satoru watching the whole scene with pride. here was a man who knew nothing about a child you considered your own, trying to argue that he started a fight for no reason when you knew megumi would never harm a bee, even if it stung him. before you're able to start a physical fight with the idiot school official that probably saw more board meetings than actual students, satoru's voice cuts in.

"forgive me, but i don't appreciate your tone-"

"we'll be sure to properly discipline him at home, sir," he states emotionlessly, and you wordlessly thank him for wrapping the meeting up quickly. after a few more glares and aggressive signatures on paperwork waiving the school of any responsibility for megumi's injuries, you walk out of the office with satoru's arm around your shoulders and megumi's hand grasping yours. "alright, firecracker. you fizzled out yet or do we need to take you to a kickboxing class real quick?" he presses a tender kiss to the side of your head, clearly unbothered by the way you barreled through that ridiculous meeting.

"put me in an empty field away from people, and i'll make a kickboxing class look like a fucking knitting circle," you mutter vengefully as satoru chuckles under his breath.

"alright, megs. you gonna tell us what happened or are we actually going to need to get you a therapist?" megumi glances off to the side, irritated, but you squeeze his hand once in reassurance that, no matter what happened, you'd figure it out together.

"they were hurting tsumiki," he says quietly and both you and satoru freeze, looking at each other in careful understanding. "she was saying it was just a joke, but i caught her crying while we were walking home."

"so, you decided the best option was to fight them," you say slowly. satoru's hand rubs loving circles on your shoulder and you ask the question you've been holding onto since he called. "well, did you beat them?"

"i did, and that's why everyone is so angry," the boy shrugs and you huff a tired exhale. "are you mad at me?"

"no, megs. i'm glad you defended your sister, but i wish you'd told us what was going on before acting on your own."

"yeah, we could have helped you," your boyfriend whispers and you elbow his stomach lightly. not yet, you mouth to him. let's drop him off first.

"the kids said they were going to get my parents involved. is that why you're here?"

"yes and no," satoru says, opening the car door for you as you slide into the passenger seat. he could have warped back to the school, but he'd silently indicated that he wanted to drive all three of you back. "yeah, we're here to come get you; but, unfortunately for those shithead kids-" you turn to face him in the backseat, a conniving smile creeping onto your face.

"we're not your parents, and we're gonna need those kids' names."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[indiatrendzs]

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[benjinotes]

𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐗𝐘 — jacaerys velaryon

PAIRING. jacaerys velaryon x fem reader SUMMARY. while trying to escape the arranged marriage, you meet your betrothed, who turns out not to be as terrifying as your father suggest. WARNINGS. spicy but no actual smut. family issues. mostly daddy issues. fluff. no war au. rhaenyra is the queen. kissing. arranged marriage. jace and reader are in their 20s. N/A. after 2 weeks, i finally finished this! english is not my first language so be understanding. 8K+ words.

requested! -> masterlist

The fierce late spring sun blazed through the narrow gaps in the heavy curtains, its relentless rays searing your skin with persistent, vexing heat. You drummed your fingers impatiently on the rough wooden table in the meeting hall, trying to hide your frustration and nervousness as you listened to the whispered conversations among the gathered people drifting through the room.

Still, the serenity of Casterly Rock, though comforting, did little to ease your anxiety. The constant whispering of those around you seeped irritatingly into your ears, while their watchful eyes remained fixed on you. Not only were you subjected to relentless scrutiny, but you had your future laid bare for everyone to judge and comment on as they wished, which was frustrating to say the least.

What was most exasperating was the fact that no one dared to speak to you directly. Instead, all you received were discreet nods and brief looks of pity and some form of solidarity, as if these gestures were carefully calculated not to deepen the anguish you already felt at the prospect of marrying the eldest son of the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The name of that woman was met with reverence. As a queen who openly defied patriarchal traditions, her strength and ambition embodied the very essence of legends. She was known for making tough decisions without hesitation, placing duty and power above all else. To some, she was a visionary; to others, a tyrant. Yet no one, not even your father, could deny her cunning and ability to manipulate the political landscape to her advantage, always steering her destiny with unyielding control.

Marrying the son of the queen Rhaenyra meant joining a lineage forged in fire and blood, a dynasty accustomed to winning at any cost. The thought sent a chill down your spine, knowing you were about to become part of something so vast and merciless.

The air in the room grew heavier as the whispers faded into silence, and although there was plenty of air around you, it felt as though you were drowning. Your fists were clenched in your lap as reality slowly seeped through your body, tightening its grip on your heart. Across the table, your father, Lord Lannister, sat silently, his eyes fixed on you with a cold, relentless gaze. The barely perceptible warmth that had once lingered in his stare was now completely replaced by a biting chill, making you lower your head and shift your eyes to your hands in an attempt to escape the penetrating judgment that surrounded you.

You felt sullied, but more than that, you felt utterly lost.

You couldn't understand why your father was looking at you with such severity, especially when he was the one who had arranged your betrothal to the crown prince. It was even more perplexing to realize that he had made this arrangement behind your back, fully aware of the ominous rumors circulating through the stone corridors of Casterly Rock-rumors depicting Jacaerys Velaryon as a man of ruthless ambition, a volatile temperament, and a sense of duty that often bordered on cruelty.

The rumors your father shared about the crown prince were disturbing, to say the least. Though you had never met him personally, you had heard from your father and the other lords about his boundless ambition and unpredictable temperament. It was said that he was a man whose sense of duty often veered into harshness, driven by a calculated pursuit of power that sacrificed compassion and humanity for his goals, exactly like his mother, and the idea of marrying someone so dedicated to conquest and control only heightened your apprehension. 

Nevertheless, the decision your father made left you stunned. How could he, who always claimed to act in your best interest, force you into such a cruel and desperate position? How could he send you to face someone whose reputation for cruelty he himself had helped to spread?

You couldn’t understand how the father you had trusted so deeply could impose such a harsh and merciless future on you. He wasn’t perfect, but you had hoped he would at least fulfill his role and be a good father. Yet, he proved you wrong.

The weight of betrayal and helplessness was overwhelming. The silence that enveloped the room seemed to amplify your sense of being trapped in a situation not of your making. Every distant whisper and glance now felt like a direct assault, heightening your feeling of isolation.

The reality of your predicament pressed down on you, making the silence almost unbearable. You could feel the tension in the room, thick and suffocating, as if the very walls were closing in, leaving you nowhere to turn.

When one of the lords shifted in his seat, the sound startled you, causing you to flinch. Unable to meet his questioning gaze, you kept your eyes on your lap, trying to memorize the gold and red patterns on your dress, struggling to ignore the constant, gnawing presence of scrutiny.

And even without the whispers, the weight of every gaze felt tangible, as if silent condemnations hung in the air. Your father's unwavering, cold stare only deepened your sense of betrayal, making you feel small and insignificant in an atmosphere that already felt suffocating and heavy.

After a few minutes, as if finally sensing that the moment—or perhaps you—had reached its limit, your father moved abruptly in his chair, letting the sun beam shine into his eyes, making him complain slightly. This small disturbance was enough to shift the attention of everyone in the room, who turned their gazes from you to Lord Lannister with a mix of curiosity and subtle apprehension.

"Leave us." He ordered after a few seconds, cutting through the oppressive silence that had settled in with a sharp, commanding tone. He didn't even spare a glance at the others in the room; his furrowed brows and the rigid, unyielding posture made it abundantly clear that he wasn't about to entertain any questions or objections. His mere presence commanded immediate obedience, and no one dared to challenge him. No one would be foolish enough to challenge Lord Lannister in his own home.

Biting your lip anxiously, you kept your gaze fixed on your lap, tracing your finger over the small lions in the dress’s pattern. As the lords began to rise, their footsteps echoed off the stone floor, their murmurs—now almost audible—starting up again as they moved toward the exit. Yet, you kept your head lowered, focusing on steadying your breath and straining to catch the distant sounds of the wind outside, desperately trying to fend off the anxiety gripping your insides.

As the lords' footsteps faded, the weight of the moment seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. The sense of being on the brink of a life-altering decision was overwhelming. You felt isolated, powerless to change the course of events, and faced with an almost tangible sense of the unknown pressing against your chest.

When the last lord left and the heavy doors shut, their echo reverberated through the stone walls like a warning. With only you and your father left, the room felt like it was closing in. The air was thick with the tension that hadn't faded with the others' departure. The silence that followed wasn't comforting; it was a suffocating weight, pressing on your chest and making it harder to breathe, pushing you to steady yourself in a struggle to regain control.

Looking up, you met your father's unyielding gaze. He watched you with cold, judgmental detachment as you anxiously bit your lip, and the icy intensity of his stare on your nervous behavior made you release your lower lip as a shiver ran down your spine. His rigid posture, assessing you with merciless precision, made it seem as though he didn't see his daughter but merely a pawn in a ruthless game of power, to be moved regardless of what it meant for you.

The feeling of betrayal cut deep, though you had long stopped expecting anything different.

Then, shattering the oppressive silence in the room, your father rose from his seat and began to walk toward you. Each step echoed with a weight that seemed to reverberate through the very walls, his boots hitting the floor with such force that they nearly drowned out the frantic beating of your heart.

Stopping in front of you, your dad scratched his throat lightly, prompting you to take a deep, pouty breath. You turned to him, your expression a mix of confusion and hurt, causing him to wrinkle his nose slightly. He lifted his chin with a smug air, his cold gaze unwavering.

"If you are awaiting an apology," he began, his voice edged with disdain, "you may as well abandon the expectation now." You struggled to maintain your composure, fighting the urge to glance at the opulent decorations on the wall for any distraction from the harshness of his stare.

Of course, an apology would never come from him; you hadn’t held any hope for it.

Fixing his gaze on your fingers, nervously tracing patterns on the fabric of your red dress, your father rubbed his forehead in irritation. For a brief moment, a flicker of doubt seemed to soften his stern expression.

"I did what was necessary," he spoke again, his voice carrying a rare touch of gentleness, aware that your silence was unyielding, but despite his softer tone, the firmness and gravity in his words remained unchanged. "You are a woman, and above all, a Lannister; marrying into greatness or being part of it is in your blood.”

His declaration felt like a crushing defeat, and the bitterness in your mouth made it hard to tell whether the weight of his words or your own desolation was more oppressive. Noticing your head once again bow in defeat, his gaze grew even colder. His eyes, which had offered a hint of softness, briefly fixed on the golden paintings on the walls of the room, as if seeking distraction from the sentimental conversations he disliked. However, the coldness in his gaze remained unchanged, almost as if he wanted to reinforce the possibly unhappy future he had laid out for you. 

Lord Lannister took a step back and lightly adjusted his clothes, noting that you were clearly not going to speak. You nearly sighed with relief as you saw his shadow move slightly away from the table.

“You may find this difficult now, daughter,” he said again, the sound of his boots echoing as they entered your ears along with his sharp voice. Yet, your heart seemed to skip a beat when he called you "daughter." “But in time, you will understand that this was for the best. What you are about to do is part of something much greater, something beyond what you can see right now.” He continued, and you bit your lip once more, unable to lift your gaze from the fabric of your dress.

The marriage, your father’s indifferent treatment of it, and the daunting reality of becoming the future queen consort and mother to the future ruler of Westeros felt like a weight too great to bear. For a fleeting instant, you wondered if your betrothed had faced a similar turmoil when he first heard the news. But you swiftly dismissed such thoughts, haunted by the tales of his ruthless nature. Too afraid to have a second thought.

Lord Lannister took another step toward the door, his cloak trailing like a dark shadow over the cold stone floor. “Make your preparations,” he instructed, and you glanced up just enough to see him open the door, his back resolute, his gaze unfeeling. “In a few days, you will depart for Dragonstone.” With a final, authoritative word, he closed the door behind him, the sound resonating through the walls and making your heart ache.

Finally left alone in the room, you curled into yourself, drawing your knees tightly to your chest. With your head bowed, the tears you had kept at bay for so long finally began to fall.

The weather was not pleasant in Kings Landing.

For three interminable weeks since your arrival at the Red Keep, the skies had remained perpetually overcast, and the relentless rain had not ceased for even a moment.

Wish as you might, it was peculiar to say the least—despite this being your first visit to the Capital, you had always been told by merchants and villagers that the Capital’s weather was milder than that of the Westerlands, though its people were more arrogant and petty. Yet, to your chagrin, you found both claims to be mistaken.

You had not had the opportunity to meet many people within the Red Keep. Your interactions were limited to a few servants who, unlike those in your own household, extended a measure of respect towards you. You also encountered some nobles who, despite their aloof demeanor and occasional condescension, chose to withhold their judgments and refrain from speaking of you in whispers.

On the other side , your betrothed's family proved to be a pleasantly unexpected surprise. Although you had met them, their treatment of you was surprising. Despite your initial reservations, you found yourself genuinely appreciating their demeanor more than you had anticipated.

His younger brothers were charming and exhibited a genuine warmth towards you. Whenever you exchanged words with them, your heart would quicken at the thought of having such affectionate and adorable siblings like Lucerys, Joffrey, and, of course, the little twins, who, despite their tender age and limited speech, were always eager to play with you. 

In contrast, when you arrived at the fortress, his cousins, Rhaena and Baela, made a strong impression. They were the first to greet you, guiding you through the stone corridors with ease and engaging you in lighthearted gossip. Their linked arms and gentle smiles created a welcoming atmosphere, helping you to feel more at ease amidst the grandeur of the fortress.

The impression left by the Queen and King consort was notably different. Their presence conveyed undeniable authority, and their demeanor naturally inspired a sense of apprehension. This reflected some of the rumors you had heard about them. Despite this, their treatment of you was unexpectedly kind, providing a surprising degree of comfort amidst the formality and gravity of their status.

Yet you had not had the opportunity to meet your future husband. Despite your attempts to learn about him, the family that had welcomed you so warmly consistently avoided any discussion of his person. Whenever his name arose, they quickly changed the subject, a practice that only heightened your unease. This persistent evasion led you to ponder whether the rumors of his alleged cruelty might indeed have some truth to them.

You hoped that this was the reason you now stood before the towering wall, your wedding cross firmly clutched in your hand, after hastening through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep. It seemed as though the cross might offer the comfort and strength that your heart so desperately yearned for.

However, though the cross afforded you a measure of solace, the imposing wall before you offered nothing but a stark contrast. With a deep breath, you resolved to go ahead, turning with determination toward the tree beside you, intent on scaling it to reach the other side.

And even though doubts about your decision were increasingly overtaking your thoughts, your pride would not permit you to retreat. Not in that moment.

Taking tentative steps toward the tree, you hesitated, adjusting the cross around your neck one last time. With a deep breath, you lifted your dress and began to climb the tree awkwardly, nervously watching your feet as you ascended.

Truth be told, you had never engaged in anything of the sort before. While you had observed your older brothers undertaking various daring exploits, your own experiences were vastly different. Forever engrossed in books or strolling through the gardens of your home, you had never ventured into their adventurous pursuits, and even despite your yearning to join them, they consistently excluded you, insisting that girls lacked the courage for such undertakings.

Yet here you were, clambering up the tree with hasty but clumsy efforts, striving to escape a grim destiny after being sold as a mere pawn by your own father. So absorbed were you in your plight that you failed to perceive a pair of brown eyes drawing near, observing you with a hint of quiet amusement.

You could already see the sea on the other side of the wall and feel the sudden wind hit your flushed face gently. For a moment, you were so distracted that you barely noticed your foot that was now stepping lightly on the back of your dress, and before you could realize anything, you lost your balance.

Just as you began to fall, strong arms seized you mid-descent, pulling you back before calamity could strike. The stranger had moved with startling swiftness, and before you could fully grasp what had transpired, you found yourself securely held in his embrace, your feet barely brushing the ground.

His hold was firm yet gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to still, as did your breath. You looked up, startled, and met a pair of amused yet strangely beguiling brown eyes, close enough for you to discern an indescribable color within them. A faint smile played upon his lips as he aided you in regaining your balance, watching intently as you dusted the hem of your red skirt; his expression still touched with quiet amusement.

Still, you couldn’t help but notice how strikingly handsome the young man was.

You opened your mouth to offer your thanks, but the stranger interjected with smooth courtesy. “It seems the tree bears you no favor, my lady,” he remarked, his voice tinged with refined irony. As you took a step back, his gaze remained unwavering, and he continued with an air of gentle provocation, “May I inquire what grand quest compelled you to seek what lies beyond the wall?”

You blinked in embarrassment, your fingers instinctively gripping the cross around your neck, unwilling to disclose the harsh reality of your future. Meanwhile, the stranger's lips curled into a subtle smile as he noted your reaction, though you remained unaware of his quiet amusement.

It was a rare sight to see a lady in such haste, particularly when she was his betrothed.

“So?” He inquired with a casual tone, a hint of mockery in his voice as he observed the flush of annoyance rising to your cheeks.

Raising your chin, you tried to meet his gaze with composure, though you faltered slightly when he remained unmoved. “I do not see how this is any of your concern, my lord,” you finally said, irritation clear in your voice as you tightened your grip on the cross. Jacaerys, upon hearing your words, tilted his head back and laughed heartily, leaving you bewildered; his evident satisfaction seemed to grow with the sharpness of your response.

Jacaerys had not anticipated that his betrothed would be so defensive, yet he could not deny that he was intrigued by the tone of your voice. “It appears,” he began, his voice taking on a measured curiosity as he studied your face and felt his own heartbeat quicken while he noticed how the wind gently tousled your hair, “that you possess a spirit I had not expected. This surely bodes well for our future encounters.” He attempted to flirt, clearing his throat slightly to hide a smile when he saw your confused expression directed at him.

You clearly did not grasp the meaning behind his words, nor did you have any desire to understand his intentions. The day had already been fraught with mishaps—first, you had narrowly escaped injury from a fall, and now you found yourself in the garden of your betrothed’s castle, unwittingly admiring the presence of a man you had thought was a stranger.

Sweat dampened your palms, and your heart pounded heavily. For a moment, you thought you were enduring the torment of sinners, and a wave of shame overtook you.

Perhaps this was a divine punishment from the Seven for daring to flee the fate that had been decreed for you.

"What do you intend by that?" you inquired, releasing your wedding cross and lightly folding your arms in front of your chest. Jacaerys had to exercise considerable self-discipline to refrain from briefly casting his gaze upon your bosom. You’re too pretty, too hot to be true. You are far too beautiful, too captivating, for reality to bear.

“Me? Nothing at all, my lady. Save for the fact that I had not expected to meet my betrothed under such... curious circumstances,” the prince replied with a casual air, his voice tinged with wry amusement, as though the matter were of no import. The moment his words reached your ears, your breath stilled, a sudden wave of disbelief washing over you—he must surely be toying with you.

Your hand rose once more to the cross at your neck, fingers trembling as your gaze fell upon him, and there, hanging from his throat, gleamed a matching cross. Your heart, before steady, now raced with a force that echoed through your very being.

Before you stood none other than the crowned prince, a man whose reputation, stained by dark tales and bloodshed, echoed throughout the Westerlands, and even worse, the man destined to become your future lord and husband. To deepen your dismay, you had made a spectacle of yourself in a vain attempt to escape the impending marriage set for the following week. It felt as though some celestial force took cruel delight in your misfortune.

Jacaerys let out a soft chuckle, his gaze still filled with amusement as it lingered upon you. His eyes drifted to your neck, now flushed with embarrassment, yet he remained silent, merely folding his arms across his chest and waiting for you to break the silence.

You blinked slowly, striving to fully grasp the weight of the revelation you had just received. As the truth settled within you, your eyes widened in surprise. Releasing the cross from around your neck, you performed a courteous bow, murmuring, “I—I deeply apologize, my prince.” You shut your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for the anticipated reprimand or punishment. Instead, you felt a gentle touch on your hand, and when you finally dared to look up, you met your betrothed’s gaze, now softened with unexpected tenderness. He drew you gently to your feet and brought you close to him.

“Apologies are not needed, my lady,” he said with sincere warmth, drawing closer in a way that might have seemed improper were it not for your betrothal. Yet he cared little for such formalities, his heart quickening as the soft scent of you reached his nostrils.

"Besides, I must confess that this first encounter was quite unexpected." He paused, his gaze softening as he regarded your startled expression and parted lips. "Yet, it is most gratifying," he concluded with a sincere smile. Noting your visible discomfort, his smile softened into a tender frown, and he took a step back to afford you more space.

Jacaerys was well aware of Lord Lannister’s disdain for him, and he had no illusions about the sentiment being mutual. He knew of the cruel rumors Lord Lannister spread about his true nature—rumors that, though largely unfounded, were completely absurd and far from the truth of his character. It was no secret, despite Lord Lannister’s attempts at discretion, that the man harbored a deep-seated loathing for the Westerlands.

The fact that you had been sent to him, despite your evident fear, only served to deepen the prince’s dislike for the man. What sort of father would cast his daughter away when he had spent a lifetime cultivating her fears?

He was aware of your fear; upon his return from travels, his first action was to inquire about your well-being from his mother and cousins. Their accounts were unwavering: you feared the union and, indeed, feared him. This knowledge weighed heavily on him. He had been pledged to you not as a source of dread but as your protector, meant to soothe your anxieties, not to heighten them. The thought of causing you such discomfort was nearly unbearable to him.

“So you vow you will not harm me?” You asked after a few moments, your voice trembling with uncertainty. Seeing him shake his head in denial, you took a hesitant step toward your bethrothed.

The prince did not seem so cruel up close; indeed, he appeared rather charming—too charming.

Jacaerys moved closer to you as he saw your posture visibly relax, his cold hand quickly resting on the curve of your neck while his thumb gently caressed your throat. This made your cheeks flush furiously, and you instinctively leaned into his touch. “I am prepared to offer you all my love” he confessed, his voice low yet gentle, sending a shiver through you and deepening your blush. “And I hope you will do the same.” He admitted, and without realizing it, you took another step toward him.

“What if I cannot?” you dared to ask in a hushed tone, feeling his fingers gently trace the cross upon your neck.

He smiled, lowering his head close to your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he placed a soft kiss, causing you to bite your lip in response. “If you cannot bring yourself to love me, even just a little,” he murmured against your skin, his cool breath stirring a shiver within you, “then I suggest you hate me entirely.” He concluded with one final, lingering kiss near your wedding cross.

Stepping back with deliberate grace, Jacaerys turned away, casting one final glance over his shoulder. He left you standing alone in the midst of the garden, your heart racing.

And though you might not yet admit it, the urge to flee had waned, and in its place, a budding resolve to love him began to grow within you.

The next few days passed quickly.

Amidst the whirlwind of preparations for your union with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and the steady arrival of lords from across Westeros, time slipped away like sand through your fingers. So absorbed were you in the endless tasks and the moments shared with your betrothed and his family that you barely noticed a full week had passed since that fateful, improper encounter, and the thought of fleeing King's Landing had quietly drifted from your mind.

In truth, thoughts of home were the furthest from your mind. Since that inescapable encounter with your betrothed, he had made it a point and effort to be by your side in every spare moment both of you had.

Jacaerys proved ever thoughtful, ever watchful, always a step ahead to anticipate your every need; his hand extended before you could even ask. Though his temper seemed quick in the few council meetings you had witnessed, the patience he reserved for you was a tenderness unlike any other, a quiet devotion that made your heart soften with each passing day.

Now, as his gentle hand held yours and he led you through the halls, you couldn't help but feel silly for believing your father's harsh words. Nothing your father had said seemed true. How could he be the monster you'd feared when his every glance was so full of tenderness, making your heart flutter and warmth spread through your chest?

He was kind, and none who genuinely knew him could contest that.

“Do not be so fearful,” he encouraged, casting a reassuring glance over his shoulder as you nervously bit your lower lip. “Come now, Vermax means you no harm,” he promised, his gaze softening as it fell upon the small cross hanging from your neck.

“Jace, I am quite uncertain about this,” you murmured softly, your heart pounding with a fervor you could not wholly place—whether due to the warmth of his touch upon your hand or the prospect of meeting a dragon. Either way, a flush of heat crept upon you, warming your cheeks with apprehension.

Your future lord husband halted suddenly, causing you to stumble and lightly press against his chest, the wedding cross grazing gently against your forehead. As you looked up, you found yourself caught in the depths of his warm, hazel eyes, which regarded you with their usual blend of tenderness and amusement.

“There is no need for fear,” Jacaerys said softly, his voice laced with gentle charm as he spoke your name. His hand cupped your face, and his thumb caressed your cheek soothingly. “Vermax is loyal to me and tends to favor those I hold dear.” He added, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his touch and his endearing words made a rosy blush rise to your cheeks.

With a tremulous sigh, you acquiesced, unaware of the pleased glint in his eyes. “Very well, I place my trust on you,” you declared with earnest and apprehensive commit. Before further words could be spoken, Jacaerys gently took your arm, guiding you towards the dragon pit, where soon the majestic form of Vermax appeared.

The dragon lay majestically upon a bed of straw and scattered bones, and you instinctively grasped the prince’s arm, a gesture that seemed to please him. The dragon’s emerald scales gleamed softly in the dim light, and as its eyes opened, they fixed upon you and Jacaerys. The heir greeted the beast with a small smile, which prompted the dragon to respond with a gentle, approving rumble, causing Jacaerys’s smile to broaden even further.

You observed Jacaerys reluctantly extricate himself from your embrace, casting you an apologetic glance as he approached the great beast. He murmured softly in an unfamiliar tongue, his voice a soothing murmur against the backdrop of the dragon’s deep, rumbling breaths. The massive creature turned its head to regard you with a curious gaze, causing you to hold your breath in trepidation.

He was too big for a young dragon.

“Wait a moment,” Jacaerys said gently, stepping closer as he beckoned Vermax to advance. The dragon’s enormous head lowered in response, yet Jacaerys’s gaze, filled with warmth and reassurance, remained steadily upon you. You instinctively touched the cross around your neck, striving to steady your breath as Vermax approached. Jacaerys’s hand gave your arm a brief, reassuring squeeze. “He possesses a loyalty grand as his size.” He murmured softly, his voice imbued with a calming reassurance.

As Vermax drew closer, you instinctively sought out Jacaery’s hand, finding solace in his steadfast presence. He tightened his grip reassuringly, his own heart echoing the intensity of the moment, and his touch provided a grounding comfort amid the dragon’s grandeur. “There is no need for fear,” he murmured in a quiet tone, his gaze tender as he observed you. “He's gentle, despite his appearance.” You took a hesitant step forward, your heart racing as Vermax’s large, watchful eyes met yours.

You swallowed hard at the sight.

Your betrothed’s thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, offering silent encouragement. Yet he could not help but cast a quick glance at the neckline of your dress and the way you clutched the small cross, shaking his head to clear the indecent thoughts that had entered his mind. “He is not so different from me,” he said almost abruptly, trying to dispel the images from his mind while meeting your apprehensive and fearful gaze. “Gentler than the tales might suggest.” Hearing this, you let out a soft laugh despite the situation, recognizing the subtle hint in his sentence.

Jace couldn’t help but feel relieved when he heard your small laughter.

He let out a soft, reassuring chuckle, his grip on your hand tightening to anchor you to the moment, and you instinctively returned the squeeze. Vermax, now only a few steps away, lowered his massive head, his watchful eyes observing you once again both with a serene curiosity as though acknowledging the connection forming between you and his rider. He seemed too smart for a giant beast.

Jacaerys stepped closer to the dragon, gently drawing you by his side. His voice, steady and tinged with pride, broke the silence. “See? He is at ease with you.” His gaze shifted back to you, a warm smile playing on his lips. “You have nothing to fear.” He said softly, his eyes never leaving yours as you once again focused on the young dragon.

As you drew nearer, the warm breath of the dragon stirred the air, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Yet, with Jace by your side, you felt a sense of calm. His hand, still holding yours, provided constant reassurance, and you could feel his thumb tracing gentle, reassuring circles on your skin.

As you approach the dragon, its warm breath stirred a gentle, soothing breeze against your face, heightening your anticipation. Drawing a deep breath, you extended your trembling hand towards the dragon, your fingers brushing against the cool, smooth scales of its vast snout. The texture is both unfamiliar and captivating, the dragon’s scales feeling like a blend of polished stone and supple leather beneath your touch.

You could almost hear Jacaerys holding his breath behind you.

Vermax remained still, his large eyes half-closing as if acknowledging your gesture, his steady, rhythmic breath resonating through the chamber. When he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, you widened your own eyes in wonder, your mouth slightly agape as you glanced back at Jace, who struggled to stifle a chuckle.

“By the Seven!” you exclaimed, blinking slowly. “I did it!” you nearly shouted, gripping your betrothed’s hand tightly, which drew a hearty, amused laugh from him in response to your delight.

“I told you,” he murmured softly amidst his laughter, squeezing your hand reassuringly. His eyes, twinkling with both amusement and something more profound, regarded you with tender warmth.

As you and your betrothed made your way back to the castle, your hands remained intertwined, a detail neither of you seemed to notice amidst the comfort you found in each other's presence. The corridors of the castle, bathed in the soft light of flickering torches, seemed to contract, leaving just the two of you in your own world. The only sounds were the gentle rhythm of your breathing, the passage of time unnoticed, and the cool air that lightly brushed against your faces.

Jacaerys, however, could not help but steal occasional glances at you, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of your face and form. His eyes lingered on the neckline of your dress, the softness of your lips, and the small cross around your neck—the emblem of the union to come tomorrow. For a brief moment, he reached with his free hand to touch the cross, feeling a warm flutter in his chest as his fingers brushed the delicate metal.

The prince blinked slowly, his heart pounding with anticipation at the thought of the wedding to come. He could hardly contain his eagerness.

“I must say,” Jacaerys spoke gently, finding any excuse to linger near you as you stood by your chamber door. “You’ve been a delight in the dragon pit, especially considering it’s your first encounter with dragons.” He chided himself internally for the awkwardness of his words, yet his smile remained tender and sincere, his eyes reflecting genuine admiration.

You blushed and blinked slowly, a touch of bewilderment in your eyes, though your heart raced at his tentative praise.

“I am glad to have shared the experience with you,” you replied sincerely, noticing how he swallowed hard, as if wrestling with an unspoken urgency and desire.

Little did you realize, Jacaerys’s heart ached with a longing as deep as the ancient woods. The thought of waiting until tomorrow to share your first kiss at the altar felt like an eternity of torment. He yearned to taste the sweetness of your lips in a moment that was uniquely yours, far from the prying eyes of the court. Perhaps that was merely seeking any excuse to close the distance between you, his heart aching to turn his longing into a cherished reality.

Regardless, Jacaerys drew closer, his hand gently releasing yours to rest upon your neck. As his thumb softly caressed your throat, a wave of memories from the past week washed over you, bringing a delicate flush to your cheeks. Despite your growing shyness, you stood still, your breath mingling with his as he leaned in. “There is something I have longed to do,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a yearning tenderness. “I need this, I need you.”

Before you could utter a word, his lips met yours in a fervent kiss, tongues entwining and teeth brushing lightly. The world around you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sensation of his warmth and the pressing desire of the kiss you shared. You felt his fingers pressing firmly against your throat and his hand gently grasping the small cross around your neck, and you swiftly mirrored the action, drawing him closer as the kiss deepened.

Jacaerys's heart beat in unison with yours, the kiss growing more intense, and both of you felt a growing warmth as the passion heightened. Yet neither of you cared, too lost in the taste of each other's mouths to think of anything else.

When at last he pulled away, his breath was heavy, his eyes searching yours with a tender yearning that made your heart race.

“Thank you for another amazing day.” He whispered, his voice soft and full of affection, as though the words themselves were a caress. He lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, his lips lingering there, sending a shiver through you. Your breath caught, and you bit your swollen lip, every part of you longing for his touch once more.

“I can hardly wait for being completely yours,” he murmured, stepping back slowly, as though reluctant to part from you. His hand fell from yours only when necessary, and you turned toward your chamber door, heart still fluttering. As you crossed the threshold, you glanced back to see him standing there, a soft, private smile touching his lips.

You could hardly wait to be his, too.

The atmosphere was filled with warmth.

At the great table laid out for both your families, Jacaerys beheld you from across the room, his gaze alight with a tender affection. His smile conveyed the warmth and admiration he felt, as if he were savoring the very sight of you amidst the grandeur of the feast.

The vows of your union had been spoken mere hours past, and though he had already basked in the wondrous sight of you in your bridal attire, Jace could not help but be entranced by you. His eyes roamed over you, captivated by how the gown clung to your form, as if shaped by divine hands. You appeared as if sculpted by the gods themselves.

It took all of Jacaery’s self-control not to kiss you as he had the night before or to press his lips to your neck and savor the softness of your skin. He was also haunted by the countless times he had anxiously clutched that cross, now missing from both of your necks.

Yet, though the cross that once adorned both your necks was no longer present, the crown prince could not stifle his smile. The torchlight danced upon your fingers, casting a radiant gleam on the ring that now symbolized your union. It was a silent proclamation of your bond, mirrored by the way he placed his hand upon the table, a reminder that declared his heart and soul belonged to you.

Jacaerys still recalled the first time he beheld you, some three years past, on the day of his mother’s coronation. He remembered your father’s countenance darkening with displeasure as the crown was set upon his mother’s brow. Yet, more vividly, he recalled you: the timid maiden who sought to retreat from the prying gazes of the court.

He still remembered how, towards the end of the coronation feast, you had quietly slipped away to the garden. He had followed you from a distance, drawn by a curiosity he scarcely understood. From the shadows, he had observed as the moonlight cast a gentle glow upon your face. In that moment, seeing you bathe in such soft radiance, he felt his heart race with fervor he had never known before. However, he was too afraid to speak to you.

When the queen spoke of the union between you and him, Jacaerys had been taken aback too surprise to say a word, yet he was far from opposed. Indeed, his heart had nearly leapt from his chest upon learning that the bond between both of you was to be secured.

He was glad for the marriage, and from the smile his mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, bestowed upon him, he could see that she, too, was delighted by his joy.

Turning his gaze away from the gathered company, Jacaerys furrowed his brow in concern. When he looked back and found you missing from view, he felt a pang of worry. Yet his anxiety was swiftly eased when he noticed you slipping through the crowd of lords and saw the door ajar. A soft chuckle escaped him as he ignored the glances, and he followed your retreating form toward the door.

The prince followed after you, his footsteps resounding against the cold stone walls, mingling with the fading echoes of the banquet's revelry. His mind stilled when you glanced back, gifting him a playful smile that stirred something deep within him, urging him to quicken his stride. But before his hand could reach yours, you took off, lifting the delicate fabric of your wedding gown as you ran, leaving Jacaerys momentarily stunned. But it took him only a heartbeat to recover before he surged forward, chasing after you with determination.

Both of your laughs, now distant from the fading echoes of the banquet, echoed through the castle halls. As you and Jacaerys raced through the corridors, your hearts pounded and your breaths came in quick bursts, the joyous sound of your chase reverberating through the echoing stone halls.

You swiftly reached the garden, the cool night air embracing you as you stepped outside. Yet, before you could proceed to the heart of the garden, Jacaerys closed the distance, his hands gently resting on your waist. His touch sent a shiver through you, eliciting one more merry laugh from your lips.

His playful gaze met yours with a mischievous glint, and you placed your hands upon his chest, feeling his heart beat as strongly as, or perhaps even more than, your own. His breath brushed gently against your face.

“Do you intend to run from me all night long, my love?” Jacaerys inquired softly, his voice tender as he sighed deeply, feeling your chest press against his. You merely blinked, slightly surprised by his affectionate term, but a smile still blossomed on your lips.

You tilted your head gently, a faint blush rising to your cheeks, while your eyes shyly averted from his. “Perhaps I enjoy being pursued by you,” you teased, though Jacaerys saw the truth in your words.

He was certain you would be his ruin, but he was ready to embrace it willingly.

“Good for you, because I am willing to follow you everywhere you go,” he whispered softly. Your heart fluttered, and for a moment, you felt foolish for ever believing the tales your father had spun about your lord husband. In his embrace, you discovered warmth and protection unlike anything you had known before.

Jacaerys was all that your father was not: respectful, honest, a man of virtue and loyalty. For a fleeting moment, you were moved to seek forgiveness from the gods for your attempt to flee days earlier. To wed Jacaerys now seemed a divine blessing, and despite the brevity of your time together, you felt assured that the future ahead would be bright with him by your side.

You raised a hand to smooth a stray curl from his brow, feeling him lean into your touch. “I’m not sure I could ever escape you,” you said, meeting his gaze with a playful glimmer. “Even if I tried.”

Jacaerys chuckled softly. “And indeed, you made quite an effort, did you not, lady wife?” His teasing tone brought a delicate blush to your cheeks. As you lowered your hand, his laughter subsided, and he regarded you with a more subdued, yet still playful, expression. “Are you upset with me, my love?” he inquired, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You bit your lip, striving to conceal the flush of embarrassment and the laughter bubbling within you. Yet, despite your best efforts, a laugh escaped, echoing through the garden. Your husband looked upon you with wonder and delight, soon joining in your laughter.

Neither you nor Jacaerys knew how long your laughter had lasted, but when it finally subsided, he pressed his forehead to yours. A smile lingered on his lips, growing even wider as you rubbed your body against his as he gently tightened his embrace around your waist.

You could burn in that moment.

“You cannot fathom how long I have yearned for this union,” he confessed with a soft sigh. You held your breath, reluctant to disturb the moment. “You know not how deeply I wish to continue loving you,” he continued, his eyes still closed, as if he lacked the courage to speak those words while gazing into your eyes.

Your mind seemed to cloud, and your heart pounded against his chest. “Do you love me?” was all that escaped your lips. The moment the words were spoken, you felt a pang of foolishness for your sudden question.

Yet, he just chuckled a little dryly.

“If I do love you?” Jacaerys asked, his eyes opening slowly to reveal a depth of feeling that made it impossible for you to look away. “My heart is yours,” he said, his voice soft. “If you command it to still, it shall obey; if you tell it to depart, it will go. Whatever you ask of it, it shall do. Every part of me belongs to you, for you to guide as you wish.”

He paused, his gaze earnest as he searched for the right words. “To say ‘I love you’ hardly captures it; my soul is wholly and desperately yours.”

You blinked slowly, deeply touched by his words, oblivious to the almost desperate look he wore as he searched your face for any sign of doubt or hesitation.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of his confession, you leaned in and sealed your lips with his. This kiss was unlike the passionate embrace you had shared the previous night; it was imbued with a tender and soft love that transcended mere desire. It was so right, so warm, that Jacaerys felt as though he might dissolve into your embrace, just as you felt you could in his.

He could feel that you were beginning to love him, and he cherished every second of that kiss.

As you slowly withdrew from the embarace, you felt his hands once again gently encircling your throat, his thumb tenderly caressing your neck. His eyes remained fixed upon you, brimming with a love so profound that it quickened the heartbeat of anyone who beheld it.

“I desire that my soul be wholly consumed by yours,” you declared softly, watching as his eyes widened in astonishment and his grip around your throat tightened ever so slightly.

“What are you trying to say?” Jacaerys asked, though he already knew the answer. His voice was rough yet soft, and his eyes darkened as his breath quickened. "Are you certain, my love?" he inquired, even though it was clear that this was his deepest longing in that moment and had been since he first beheld you.

“Lead me to our chambers husband.” you commanded with unwavering certainty, pressing yourself closer to him as if seeking to become one.

Jacaerys leaned in to place a tender, slightly lingering kiss upon your neck, a smile gracing his lips. “What my lady wife desires,” he murmured softly against your delicate skin, “she shall have.”

And you definitely did.

2024 © do not repost or translate my work anywhere else.

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[gtgbabie0]

-Cregan Stark x Reader

{You learn that your husband is a very affectionate drunk}

I’m so back… Enjoy my lovelies! 💕

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Northern men know how to drink, it’s something you learned from first-hand experience on the night of your wedding. How the lords and ladies danced and drank together throughout the night, slurring their words and spilling their ale.

Today was no different, a celebration for your husband's name day that has been going on since the sun had started to rise. You couldn’t complain about it, it was nice to see Cregan not overwhelmed with his duties.

The dining hall is dimly lit with candles that are littered everywhere, the white wax melts in clumps on the wooden tables that are stained with ale and wine. You notice how much calmer the atmosphere seems to be, now that the evening has approached, as you lean back into your chair.

Most of the guests had taken their leave by now and only a few Lords and Ladies remain, and even their faces were visibly exhausted. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you glance over to Cregan, who is already looking at you with soft, glossed-over eyes.

“You look beautiful” he whispers, his words are slurred from his drunken state, but they still carry so much honesty and love that it melts you.

The smile that teeters on your lips is uncontrollable and it only makes Cregan admire you even more. He leans back in his chair whilst he drinks the sight of you in with hungry eyes.

You rest your hand over Cregans as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Have you had a good day?” You ask as he nods his head, his big hand caressing your thigh lazily.

“The best… thanks to you my lady” he says with a soft chuckle at the way you give him an almost shy smile. He can’t help but adore everything about you… you’re beyond perfect, 'a gift from the gods' as Cregan always says.

“I’m glad, though, perhaps it is time to call it a day now?” You tell him as you take his calloused hand within yours. He hums in agreement as his thumb soothes against your palm.

Getting him back to your shared bedchambers was a very humorous challenge. You were practically dragging him along as he leaned onto you for support, his hands soothing against your hips and waist whilst you guided him through the cold halls of the Winterfell castle.

The fireplace warms your bedchambers, bathing the cosy room in a soft light, as it crackles and pops. Cregan watches you take off your jewellery before changing into your nightgown with a soft smirk, his eyes gleaming with fondness.

“Gods, look at you… an absolute goddess” he says, his raspy voice just above a whisper. He wastes no time in approaching you clumsily, his hands grasping needly on your body as he tugs you closer to him.

The giggle that escapes you leaves Cregan breathless and it certainly doesn’t help when your fingers begin to brush through his hair as you stand between his legs. He looks up at you with a smile as you cup his face gently… he simply can not get enough of you.

“You should sleep,” you tell him softly knowing how awful his morning fog will be. He shakes his head softly as he rests against your stomach, his hand still grasping at your hips.

“Not before I thank you properly… my queen” His tone is teasing as he lets out a soft chuckle at the way you gasp.

“Shh… your words are dangerously close to treason” you whisper softly as your hand moves to clasp over his mouth, you look down at him with an almost shy smile.

"My words will only be treason if someone hears them... and we are alone." He pulls your hand away from his mouth, his fingers caressing your wrist. The way you look when he praises you makes him crazy. Your eyes, your smile, you are beautiful.

He hugs you close, pressing a kiss on your cheek. "But you are my queen. You rule over my heart. No one could ever take that place from you."

The honesty and love that are woven within his each and every word takes you back, your expression softens and your eyes start to well up with tears. It’s an overwhelming feeling that warms your chest and makes your skin tingle.

You take a seat on the bed beside him with a soft sigh. His thumb wipes away your tears as he presses another kiss to your cheek. “Don’t cry… you’re far too pretty for that” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours.

A bright smile teeters on his lips at the sound of your precious laughter, he brushes your hair behind your ears before pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“I love you, Cregan.” The words feel so natural and he absolutely relishes in the way you say it. He buries his face into the crook of your neck with a boyish smile.

“I love you too… my queen” he replies, his tone heavy with exhaustion as the alcohol starts to weigh on him however that doesn’t stop him from pressing lazy kisses all over your face, his hands soothing against your hips and waist whilst he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

Cregan will soon find sleep, with his arms wrapped around you and his face buried into your neck. You’ll have to tease him tomorrow about how much of an affectionate drunk he is.

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[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝟰 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗔𝗗𝗘 𝗛𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗘

　　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N is the only person who can make Matt smile genuinely; OR 4 times that Y/N made Matt smile.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anons.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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1. Had Matt shaved his beard?

The morning started like any other in the triplets' house. The sun had barely risen over the horizon when the three found themselves in the typical kitchen, each of them still fighting sleep but ready to face another day of recording.

Nick was busy preparing breakfast, while Matt and Chris lounged lazily around the table, Chris with his head lying on the wooden surface.

"Smells good, Nick. What are you making?" Matt murmured, rubbing the drowsiness away from his eyes.

"Waffles and bacon." Nick responded in a low, slow tone, stirring the strips inside the ceramic frying pan.

"Bacon with waffles?" Chris grimaced, yawning loudly as he lifted his head, laying his body haphazardly on the chair.

Meanwhile, Y/N was still in her own world, enjoying a peaceful sleep in her shared room with Matt. However, her sleep was interrupted by the sound of a plate hitting the sink's marble counter, followed by a loud curse.

With a yawn, the girl slowly sat down on the bed, running a hand through her messy hair and running her sleepy eyes around the room, already having the idea that Matt was in the kitchen, where the sound had echoed from.

Seconds later, she got out of bed and headed to the bathroom, ready to start her morning routine. But something immediately caught her attention as soon as she entered the smaller room. On top of the sink was Matt's beard trimmer, an object she recognized all too well.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she looked around, trying to process what she was seeing. Had Matt shaved his beard?

With her heart beating fast, Y/N ran back to the bedroom, grabbing the pajama shorts thrown on her boyfriend's gaming chair, quickly putting them on and finally leaving the room, completely ignoring her own messy appearance.

Back in the kitchen, the brothers were busy devouring the breakfast Nick had prepared. They barely noticed when Y/N walked out of the small hall that connected the room to her bedroom, her eyes fixed on Matt.

"Matt..." Her voice came out in an incredulous whisper as she approached, stopping in front of him and staring at his face intensely.

Matt looked up from his plate, smiling big when he saw her awake.

"Good morning, babe. How did you-" He interrupted his own sentence when he saw her condition, frowning in confusion and worry. "Hey, did something happen?"

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to maintain her composure, but the sight of Matt without a beard was too much for her. With a fake sob, she knelt before him, her eyes shining with false emotion.

"Matt, baby, how could you do this?" She whimpered, dramatizing every word. "You shaved your beard... The beard that I loved so much!"

The other two brothers watched the scene with wide eyes, not knowing whether to laugh or be worried about Y/N's reaction, unlike Matt, who took a few seconds to process what she had said, before a loud laugh escaped from his lips, his hands letting go of the food he was holding.

"We're done!"

Matt continued laughing, shaking his head in bewilderment.

"Y/N, did you hit your head?"

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2. Girls' night (with a masculine touch)

The night was warm and cozy in the triplets' house as Matt, Nick, Chris, and Y/N gathered in the living room. After a long day of recording and, on Y/N's part, studying, they decided it was time to relax and have fun together.

"What are we doing tonight?" Chris asked, throwing his phone onto his lap and looking around at the others, lowering his body onto the upholstery.

"Can we do our nails?" The suggestion escaped Nick's lips quickly, his eyes shining with excitement. "And maybe do some skincare."

"Like a girl's night?" Y/N smiled, straightening her posture quickly, feeling just as excited.

"Why not?" Matt shrugged, staring at his nails with a contemplative look. "But I've never done my own nails before, I always do them with Analysse."

"It's just painting your nails, like watercolor. It's not difficult, honey." Y/N waved her hand dismissively, getting up from her seat and running to her shared room with Matt, looking for her box of nail polish and nail's tools.

With their gear gathered, they arranged themselves comfortably and strategically on the couch, ready to begin their impromptu night of beauty.

Y/N led the way, skillfully beginning to paint her own nails as she explained the process.

"First, you need to apply a base coat to protect your nails." She explained, opening the base coat and carefully applying it, being quickly followed by Nick.

The brothers watched with interest, watching each movement with concentration.

"That seems easy enough." Chris commented, taking the little bottle from Y/N's hand and starting to apply it to his own nails.

Meanwhile, Matt was carefully examining the available nail polishes colors, trying to decide which one to choose. Y/N's eyes found his figure, a smile growing on her face, feeling great love for his appreciation and care for the moment.

"How about a black one with white details?" Matt suggested, holding up two bottles in the mentioned colors, showing them to Y/N with a proud smile on his face.

"It's going to look amazing, my love."

Chris quickly picked out his own nail polish color with Nick's help, returning to his seat while swinging his legs eagerly.

They dipped their brushes into the nail polish bottles with determination but soon discovered that painting their own nails wasn't as simple as it seemed.

"This is harder than I thought." Matt grumbled as he tried to paint his nails without smudging, his fingers shaking slightly as his tongue lolled slightly out of his lips in concentration.

Chris nodded, his lips pressed tightly together as he tried not to move his hand too much.

"I think I'm doing this wrong..."

"You two are doing pretty well for beginners." Y/N laughed softly, watching the brothers fondly.

After some errors, everyone finally finished painting their nails, each proudly displaying their own piece of art, even if it was a little smudged.

"Look at us, a bunch of nail professionals!" Nick joked, blowing on his freshly painted nails with a smile.

"Yeah, I guess we could consider a new career." Matt contributed, admiring his nails with a satisfied expression before raising his hands, his nails facing Y/N as he wiggled his fingers excitedly.

"It's perfect, babe, congratulations!" Y/N praised, leaning towards him slightly and sealing the back of his right hand with her lips lightly, exhaling the fresh smell of nail polish and acetone.

"Maybe we should open our own men's salon." Chris smiled, shaking his hands to dry the nail polish faster.

Matt laughed out loud, imagining the scene of them painting other men's nails with the same determination and enthusiasm they had moments ago. It would be comical.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

3. Video as a couple

Matt was nervous as he prepared to record his next video for his personal YouTube channel. It was still one of the first videos he posted there, and despite his enormous desire to make more content for his own channel, he felt an anxiety growing within him every time he thought about creating something new on his own.

Therefore, he decided to invite his girlfriend, Y/N, to participate with him in that specific one, taking advantage of the opportunity to introduce her as his girlfriend.

It's not that fans didn't know Y/N was his. They knew, and they knew it very well, but Matt never got around to introducing her as such officially.

"Are you ready for this?" He asked, looking at Y/N with a nervous smile.

"I should be the one asking you that." Y/N smiled small before nodding, holding his free hand affectionately. "But yes, I am. There's nothing I want more than to be said to be your girlfriend, baby."

With a nervous sigh, Matt began to set up the camera on the dashboard of the car, while Y/N settled into the passenger seat next to him, trying to calm him with words of encouragement.

"You'll do amazingly well, hon. I'm sure of it." Y/N said, leaning over the car console and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.

Finally, everything was ready, and Matt began recording, his voice a little shaky at first but soon becoming more confident as he got used to the camera without his brothers around him.

"Hey! Welcome to my personal YouTube channel." He began, smiling slightly at the camera. "Today I have a very special guest for you to meet."

He turned his face to Y/N with a twinkle in his eye, who waved at the lenses, opening a shy smile.

"This is Y/N, my girlfriend." Matt continued, looking at her with big heart eyes. "Most of you already know her as our best friend, and maybe you already know about our relationship, but now we're finally going public to make it official... Well, she agreed to participate in today's video, so I hope you enjoy getting to know her a little better."

Y/N smiled as she watched her boyfriend introduce her as his, her cheeks taking on a reddish hue, feeling a little nervous and shy, but happy to be there next to him.

To make things more fun, Matt decided to answer some questions asked by fans about the two of them together or individually. He selected some of the funniest and most interesting questions and read them out loud for the two of them to discuss.

"Okay, first question." Matt began, looking at his phone in hand. "How we met?"

"Well, we actually met at a friend's birthday party from our school in elementary school. Matt was trying to impress everyone with his basketball skills, but he ended up hitting the ball over one of the girls' heads." Y/N laughed, remembering the story fondly.

Matt blushed at the memory, shaking his head and looking down, trying to hide the involuntary smile that took over his face.

"Next!" Matt cleared his throat, his voice coming out high-pitched from the shyness of the previous event. "What's the secret to a long-lasting relationship?"

"Oh, great question!" Y/N clapped her hands in excitement, lifting her legs and pressing the soles of her feet onto the seat, keeping her knees bent and tights against her chest. "For me, the key is communication and mutual support. It's important to always be honest with each other and literally be there through the good times and the bad."

"For sure, I also think it's essential to have understanding and empathy for each other. Being willing to listen and understand your partner's needs makes all the difference." Matt contributed.

He looked at his girlfriend, waiting for approval and receiving a big smile in return, which was accompanied by a nod.

"What's the most memorable memory you've had together?" Matt read the next question quickly, before looking up, his eyes alight with nostalgia. "There are so many wonderful memories to choose." He reflected, thoughtfully. "But one of my favorites was when we made our first unplanned trip together almost two years ago and ended up getting lost in a small town in Italy."

"Oh my God, so true!" Y/N threw her head back, laughing loudly at the memory. "That was an unforgettable experience. I remember we went to ask for directions at a small restaurant right on the corner from one of the alleys, and there were several pastas hanging, drying. I just asked the main chief what that was, and boom, we passed all day in that restaurant, tasting different types of fresh pasta and discovering more of their culture together."

As the video continued, Matt and Y/N shared more stories, laughs, and loving moments. They answered questions about their funny habits, their favorite couple traditions, and even their future plans together.

In the end, when Matt ended the video with a warm thank you to the fans who would watch it when posted, he turned to Y/N with a beaming smile.

"Thank you for doing this with me, petal." The brunette whispered, leaning over the car console and pulling her into a tight hug, smiling widely. "It meant the world for me."

"I'll always be here to support you, Matt. And I can't wait to make more videos together in the future." Y/N smiled, feeling happy to have shared that moment with Matt.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

4. Kittens day

Y/N woke up excitedly that morning, knowing it was the day she would volunteer at the cat kennel like she always did every Tuesday. It was an activity she loved doing, and she always invited Matt to join her, but his work with YouTube always ended up interfering.

However, this time, Matt had surprised Y/N by making room in his schedule to join her. She couldn't wait to share this experience with him.

When they arrived at the kennel, they were greeted by the soft sound of meows and purrs. Y/N smiled when she saw the felines playing and snuggling on their colorful scratching posts of all possible sizes.

"It's so good to be here." She said excitedly to Matt, taking his hand as they walked through the decorated halls. "Cats are so adorable and deserve so much love and affection."

Matt smiled as he listened to her chatter about the felines, watching them and her with fascination.

The couple spent the day taking care of the cats, feeding them, cleaning their litter boxes, and, of course, playing with them. Y/N taught Matt the proper way to hold and pet kittens, and he was soon having as much fun as she was.

"I never want to leave again." Matt suddenly commented as, sitting side by side on the fluffy rug, they watched a group of kittens playing with a fur ball. "I understand why you love coming here every week."

"It's a special place, with special cats... You know, I'm really glad you're here with me today." Y/N smiled, lifting her head slightly to look at him better, feeling her heart warm when she realized that Matt was just as involved in the activity as she was.

"I'm glad too."

At the end of the day, as they were about to leave, Matt suddenly stopped, looking at a cat in one of the cages. It was an orange cat with bright blue eyes that stared back at him curiously.

"Wow, he is perfect." Matt whispered, slowly approaching the cage. "He seems so friendly."

"You like him, don't you?" Y/N smiled, following him towards the feline, noticing the immediate connection between Matt and the cat.

"Yeah, I really do." Matt nodded, his eyes shining with determination. "What do you think about having a cat?"

Y/N felt a wave of emotion and happiness wash over her when she heard him, taking a few seconds to process if she was creating things in her head, realizing she wasn't when she noticed Matt looking at her with expecting eyes.

"Oh my God, really?" Her voice came out louder than expected, slightly scaring the kitten. "Oops, I'm sorry, little kitten."

With beaming smiles and clasped hands, they went to the kennel staff to begin the adoption process. While Y/N filled out the forms, Matt kept his eyes fixed on the cat lovingly, imagining their days with the new addition.

"What will be his name, my love?" His girlfriend's voice sounded behind him, breaking him out of his reverie. Matt shook his head slightly, focusing his attention on Y/N again, an easy smile stretching across his face.

"Snuggles. His name will be Snuggles."

taglist:

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(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[evie-sturns]

wrong room - Matt Sturniolo

summary: you recently met nick through social media, he invites you over to his house for the night. while walking to the bathroom you accidentally enter the wrong room, walking in on matt masturbating.

contains: smut, caught masturbating, soft!dom matt, swearing, light choking.

a/n: this fic will contain different pov's between yours and matts, but it will have a little text so you will known when.

—----------------┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐----------———

i met nick just the other month at taras party, we instantly clicked resulting in him inviting me round today. i've been hanging out with him around his house his whole day with one of his triplet brothers, chris, i think.

(y/n's pov)

i lean against nicks countertop as he has a poor attempt to cook, "nick- nick no!" i laugh, grabbing the bag of flour as he repeatedly hits it with his elbow while mixing the dough.

"oh god, my fault" he says with a a grin as chris walks over, he spanks the cookie dough which is inside the mixing bowl, earning a slap from nick.

"okay- i'll give it a go." i decide to finally step up, nick steps out of the way as i look into the bowl, its somehow completely unmixed even after hes mixed for a solid 5 minutes.

i look over my shoulder, my eyebrows knit in confusion as i lock eyes with nick, "i'm actually not sure how i managed that."

"its okay baking isn't for everyone." i tease, he scoffs as chris laughs, "how do you mix for 20 minutes and all the ingredients look the exact same as when we put them in the bowl." chris says,

nick mocks him with a finger in the air and a nerdy tone, chris punches his shoulder.

i step away, "do you guys have a bathroom?" i ask, "nah we shit in the woods." chris says.

"yeah, we use the bark off the trees to wipe then bury it with our hands." nick adds on, unlocking the backdoor and opening it for me.

i go to walk out slowly, chris grabs my shoulder and spins me around, "down the hallway, and the last door on the left."

"oh-" i say with a loud laugh as i walk down the hall, i hear the metal of the bowl collide with the wooden floor from behind me "shit!" nick says.

i get to the end of the corridor and look to my right, the door is shut. i grip the handle and open it,

my eyes widen as i instantly grow hot, the third triplet, matt, is laying across the bed. hes wearing a green shirt and a necklace hangs loosely around his neck. his sweatpants are tugged down to his mid thighs as he's repeatedly running his hand up and down his length with his head thrown back.

(matts pov)

"fuck- fuck fuck-" strings of whimpers exit my mouth as slick noises fill the room, i brush my fingers over my sensitive tip before continuing to run my hand up and down my cock, the cold metal of my rings dragging against the veins.

"oh my god 'm- please please-" i whine, squeezing my eyes shut as i throw my head back against my headboard. my ears ring,

i dont even register the click of the door opening until i hear a feminine gasp "shit-" i hear.

my eyes spring open as i abruptly stop all hand movements, she stares at me in shock. her face is white and her mouth is open, after a few seconds she scrambles out of the room with several 'sorry's'

i sigh as my cheeks grow red, i didn't even cover myself. my hand is still wrapped around my length.

i stand up out of bed, my legs weak. i'm still hard but i've completely lost my train of thought, too embarrassed to think about finishing now. i hear the bathroom door slam shut, meaning that this girl has now found the bathroom.

i pull up my sweatpants, grabbing hand sanitiser off my bedside table and clean up my hands before pulling up my sweatpants.

"matt!!" i hear nick call from the kitchen. i open the door of my bedroom before making my way up the corridor.

(y/n's pov)

i unlock the door to the bathroom before walking back up towards the kitchen, the 3 triplets are there.

"we got the cookies in the oven but it turned to fucking liquid as soon as we put 'em in." chris says, pulling out the chair to the dining table and flopping down on it,

"this is matt, i don't think you've met him yet." nick says, matt and i lock eyes and he sticks his hand out for a hand shake.

i hesitate before shaking his hand, "formal ass greeting" nick says, elbowing matt and sitting down at the table, "sorry- 'm matt" matt says, running a hand through his hair "no worries, im y/n!" i say chirpily

all four of us gather at the table, matt is directly opposite me and i can feel his eyes lying on me, we keep making eye contact as chris and nick speak with each other about god knows, hes painfully attractive i have to admit, his tatoos, rings, awkward persona.

"its almost midnight, do you wanna start headed to bed?" nick asks me, i nod before walking off with nick towards his room.

"are you okay?" nick asks me as soon as the door shuts, "no- no i'm fine."

"is it matt?" nick laughs slightly as he pulls on a crewneck sweater and leaps into his bed. "yeah- no- i mean it's just i've met him before..?" i lie through my teeth, nick nods suspicously.

"well i'm tired as shit so i'm gonna cut it" nick says, "cut it?" i laugh, laying down beside nick.

"go to sleep? cut it....?" he smiles with a shrug.

-

nicks fast asleep, i just now remember the fact the cookies have been in the oven for over 35 minutes. i jump up, speed-walking out of the room and into the kitchen. i take out the metal tray, the 'cookies' are just lumps of charcoal now.

with a groan i exit the kitchen, i can see through the crack in his bedroom door that matt's still awake.

i don't know what posseses me but i knock softly on the door, "come in." i hear.

i open the door, matts shirtless in bed, still wearing those sweatpants from earlier.

(matt's pov)

my eyes widen as i see her walk into the room, "hi, uh- i just wanted to apologise for earlier." she says, i stand up out of bed to get closer to her, she shuts the door behind her. she’s only wearing a loose and long shirt which looks like a dress on her, with panties, which show every time she lifts up her arms.

"i should've knocked." she continues, i smile and shake my head.

"no i totally get it, honest mistake" i reply, "wasn't the best way to meet you so i'm sorry about that." she laughs slightly.

"its all okay," i say, "so you're not mad at me?" she asks shyly. "i would never be mad about that?" i sigh, pulling her into a hug.

theres a thick tension in the air, i don't know where it's come from but i know we are both feeling it.

she looks up at me, my arms are still loosely wrapped around her back.

she grabs my jaw before colliding our lips together, her lips are soft, i hesitate before kissing her back, my hand lacing into her hair.

i guide her back, she falls backwards onto my matress as our lips stay joined, our tongues now fighting for dominance.

her hands reach down and start tugging down my waistband. i pull away for a second, “are you sure?” i ask her, she nods frantically “please- yes.”

“arms up.” i say, she puts her arms above her head as i reach down, pulling off her loose tshirt. my eyes fall to her tits as my cheeks flush, she squirms on the matress impatiently.

i tug off her panties, discarding them somewhere across my room. she’s fully bare infront of me, her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

i lean over her to reach my bedside table, fiddling around in the drawer for a condom, “i’m on the pill,” she says grabbing my wrist and pulling me away

“oh shit okay!” i say, sounding a little too excited. she laughs slightly.

“you gotta be really, fucking, quiet.” i stare into her eyes, “nick is through that fucking wall and chris is the other side, if you get too loud i’ll stop mhm?”

she nods frantically “yes- yeah okay”

i line myself up with her, my hand travels down to grip her waist and i hold her hand with my free hand.

i push inside of her, instantly feeling her grip around me. i immediately worry, there’s not a single chance i’m lasting past a minute with her being this tight.

she lets out a delicate moan, holding herself back as she presses her lips together. i give her a minute to adjust before thrusting out to my tip, then pressing deeper inside of her.

with each thrust i pick up my pace as i stay concentrated on the wall, trying not to instantly cum.

she throws her head back, arching her back off my bed as every so often she lets out a shaky deep breath. i take the hand that’s on her waist and press down on her lower abdomen, seeing how far i can push her before she makes a noise.

i stop holding her hand with my other hand, and start tracing figure 8’s on her clit.

she finally breaks, letting on a desperate moan which seemed to come out louder than expected. i quicken my movements before slamming a hand over her pretty mouth. i hear a muffled ‘close’ and i continue to toy with her clit, keeping a hand plastered on her mouth.

she clenches around me, a whimper falls from my mouth as i feel her release, screaming my name.

i take my hand off her clit and place a hand on her throat, pressing lightly as she comes down from her high.

i pull out of her, finishing in my hand.

i flip down next to her, pulling her ontop of me and rubbing her back soothingly as i attempt to catch my breath. “matt..” i hear her say quietly,

“mhmm?” i reply, “can you walk me back to nicks room.” she says, sitting up on my thighs and reaching for her shirt.

“yeah, of course.” i say with a smile.

she crawls off of me to retrieve her underwear, which landed on my computer keyboard.

i sit up, pulling on my sweatpants and a soft shirt before grabbing her hand.

i creak open my bedroom door, she follows close behind me. i open the door to nicks room where he’s spread out on his bed, fast asleep. i pull down the covers and sweep her off her feet.

i lay her down on the bed, adjusting her head on the pillow before pulling up the duvet, i press my lips to her forehead before leaving the room.

————————-

(y/n’s pov)

9:38am

i wake up to the sun blaring on my face, i roll over, my legs still hurting from last night. i sit up, “nick” i tap him, he shoots up in bed.

“jesus!” i laugh, “how the fuck did you get up that fast- were you awake??”

nick erupts into laughter, “you scared me that’s all!” he says, i scoff before standing up out of bed, nick follows behind me as i open the door to his room.

i walk into the kitchen where chris and matt already are, leaning on the kitchen counter.

“good morning!” i say, matt shoots me a stupid smile “guess what.” chris says blankly, my heart drops, did he hear matt and i last night?

“what.” i instantly reply, looking over at matt who looks equally as nervous as me.

he walks over to the stovetop where the tray of ‘cookies were’ he picks them up and walks over to nick, matt and i.

“oh yeah- you dumbfucks left ‘em in the oven so i took them out.”

“what. the. FUCK is that” nick laughs, backing away from the burnt excuses of cookies.

“are they edible still?” chris genuinely asks, looking over at me for an awnser.

“chris what do you think.”

——————-

[lovelytsunoda]

my fun // oscar piastri

(gif is by @/oscarcito!)

summary: it’s not every day that a first date lands you in the emergency room, or gives your date a concussion before the food has even left the kitchen

pairing: oscar piastri x female reader

warnings: hospitals, blood, the awkwardness of a first date. low key inspired by season 1 episode 3 of the big bang theory when leonard and penny go on their not-date

yn yln must have been dreaming.

as she sat on one side of the wooden table inside the smokehouse, arms crossed in front of her as she looked over at her date, there was a part of her that kept telling her that there was no way it could be real.

she was quiet and smart, and could recite the entire periodic table in order from memory, and the boy sitting across from her was leagues prettier, with an athletes body and the ability to control a room with one singular lame joke.

he’d moved in across the hall from her earlier that year, and she and her friends had immediately dropped everything to watch shamelessley as the young man and his chiseled athlete friends and carried cardboard boxes up four flights of stairs.

oscar piastri was thinking the same thing. how a big famous athlete like him got someone as sweet and humble as yn to agree to date with him. sure she was awkward, and sometimes very shy, but at her core, she was sweet and funny and kind. not to mention the simple beauty of someone who never wore makeup (not to say oscar wouldn’t have adored it if she did, he just knew that she was pretty without it as well).

neither party really knew what to say, sitting in a nervous silence with the menus spread in the table, a glass bottle of water from the waiter sitting next to two half-full glasses.

oscar reached for the popcorn, a sweet and salty mix he quite enjoyed, trying not to tip the bag over as he contemplated what size brisket to order.

“hey, do you want to see something neat?” oscar blurted, picking out for decently sized pieces of the sweet popcorn. “do you know how to juggle?”

“juggle?” his date asked hesitantly, eyeing him over the popcorn. “you do?”

“went to a circus camp when i was seven.” oscar shrugged. “there’s not much to do in my part of australia to be fair.”

it took a few tries for oscar to get started, but soon enough, he was juggling with the popcorn, the kernels delicately passing through his pale, calloused hands.

and believe it or not, yn was impressed. she broke out in a wide smile, giggling from her seat as she watched the young man in front of her. he had a goofy smile on his face, and seemed well in his element. he caught her eye across the table, stuttering his movements as he shot her a wink, losing two kernels. the kernels rolled under the table, and the boy cursed.

“don’t worry about it, that was really impressive.” yn laughed. “nobody has ever juggled popcorn for me on a first date.”

oscar laughed. “glad to be of service.” he took a small bow before accidentally knocking the steak knife off the edge of the table, wincing at the sound of metal hitting floor.

he cursed, pushing his chair back. “I should probably pick that up, shouldn’t I?”

“can you reach it with your foot? it might be easier.”

“don’t worry, I’ve got it!” oscar insisted, slipping off the chair.

“are you sure?” yn asked hesitantly, bare knees pressed against the cool cast iron that was holding the slats of the table together.

oscar slipped under the table, on his hands and knees in the dark smokehouse as he fumbled around the the steak knife, crushing two kernels of popcorn underneath his khaki pants in the process.

yn, meanwhile, was hyper aware of the fact that her date, who she barely knew, was crawling around under the table, in public, near her slightly parted legs.

oh my god, she thought. do they think he’s going down on me?

there was a bang under the table, the slats shaking. she reached over the menus to grab the glass water bottle as it threatened to topple over.

“oscar?” she shouted “you alright?”

“yeah.” his voice came out strained, almost as if he was hurt. “hey, did you happen to spill any ketchup?”

she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, as a droplet of something warm fell against her toe through the lip of her sandals. “no. there isn’t any on the table.”

“fuck. I think I might need an ambulance.”

————

the emergency room is not where she wanted to spend her first date. it smelled like antiseptic soap, the lights too clinical and the plastic chairs too stiff. her neighbour looked pale, skin stained red from where he had bled.

as she understood it, oscar had hit his head on the cast iron hard enough to draw blood, but not enough that he was at risk of trauma or hemorrhaging.

or at least, that’s what the off-duty medic seated two tables over had said.

“how much blood do you think I’ve lost?” oscar wondered aloud, almost certain he was concussed. “if it’s less than a pint, I should be fine.”

yn laughed, rubbing him on the shoulder. “oscar, you’re fine. you still have most of your blood.”

“I’m so sorry our date ended like this. I ruined everything.” he exhaled, leaning to rest his head against the wall, still clutching g the bag of frozen peas given to him by kitchen staff against his cut.

she smiled to herself, reaching for his free hand. “what makes you think you’ve ruined anything?”

“the fact that there’s blood streaming down my face? or that were in the emergency room instead of sharing a hot chocolate fudge cake?”

they both laughed at the sheer absurdity of their situation, and yn resisted to urge to rest her head on his shoulder.

“you’re quite the man, oscar piastri. maybe you can make it up to me? I’m sure the smokehouse will be tripping over themselves to give us a free meal after tonight.”

oscar laughed lowly, a look of pain crossing his eyes. “you’d still want to go out with me after tonight?”

“of course I would, you adorable idiot.”

oscar looked like he was about to say something else when a tired-looking nurse in pink scrubs came rushing out of a hallway.

“mr and mrs piastri?”

yn flushed, her face heating up under the nurses gaze. “oh no, we’re not married. not even together, really.”

with all the energy he could, oscar winked at her before shakily getting to his feet in the sterile room. “wait for me, my love.”

yn laughed, watching him walk towards the nurse.

as far as first dates go, this one wasn’t bad at all, was it?