#commander silver (oc)

[saucywendeee]

Selene Shephard

[the-royal-petals]

I would like to introduce you all to my clone OC squad, the 380th!

I hope you like them!

This is going go be a long post so please bare with me! I would appreciate it if you looked through everything 💕

Trigger warnings -Mention of suicide attempts [ Mentioned in Bob's section and Kirk's section ]

Click on the clones' names to see more pictures of them :D

A 💜 emoji means next to their name means they have a post about them

Who are the 380th?

The 380th is a subdivision of the 212th legion, led by General Kenobi and Marshal Commander Cody. Although Kenobi holds the rank of General, the day-to-day operations are primarily overseen by Commander Cody, ARC Commander Bob, and Captain Tim. The legion is referred to as 'The Ravens' as a tribute to their Mandalorian comrade, Paxel Tassia, who joined their ranks. This nickname serves to assist Paxel in coming to terms with her past and embracing her new path. Known for their lively interactions and knack for accomplishing tasks in the most chaotic manner imaginable, the group shares similarities with the renowned 501st.

In order to prevent further mayhem, the Jedi Council has placed restrictions on the 380th's collaboration with the 501st. The Council fears that the combination of these two units' unruliness would only perpetuate the chaos, a concern amplified by ARC Trooper Fives and Hardcase; this was also argued by Anakin, who was immediately shut down after the argument was made about him trying to recruit Captain Tim three months ago.

The colours of the 380th is primarily consisting of, Yellow/Orange, Pink/Purple, White and Grey. The clones based their colours of Commander Cody and their Mandalorian friend who was known for her bright pink armour, combined, they created a unique design which would make them recognisable among the clones who had a single colour scheme. The White and Grey were additional colours added by Clone Sergeant Silver who had made the changes overnight, but not wanting to remove the grey from the armour, the 380th kept it.

Oh also, the 380th fucking love watermelon. If you want to befriend them, give them watermelon. Like seriously, they go feral for that shit. It’s gotten so bad that Cody has to avoid planets that have that fucking fruit and even lure them to other places with watermelon as said bait.

The clones of the 380th

You all know who Cody is so lets kick it off!

💜 ARC Commander Bob - CC 80085-1

As much as Cody hates to admit it, Bob is the official 2nd-in-Command whenever Obi-Wan isn’t around. He is the most playful one out of the 380th, often seen as energetic and selfless. Bob is always willing to greet and hug new people, sometimes without warning.

He enrolled in the ARC Trooper program a year before Fives and Echo, which enabled him to be their ARC Commander when they first joined. Some suspect that’s where the two troopers got their chaotic nature from. Despite his chaos, he is a good leader who cares for his troops, always giving them something to smile about when times get tough.

When he was a cadet, he was teased for his CT designation number, being called ‘Boobs’ constantly, and while at first it annoyed him, over time he grew to accept the nickname, soon finding the fun in it.  He sees Cody as a strong and capable leader, looking up to him in many ways.  Despite their differences, they are great friends and often annoy each other with simple jokes and pranks. 

There was one time he was asked to deliver some information to the clone base on Coruscant. Cody had conveniently forgotten to tell Bob about the change of location, so he sent him on a massive errand run, lasting a good few hours before he found the base. Needless to say he doesn’t run errands for Cody anymore.

He is insanely protective of his brothers and anybody he considers as a close friend, going as far as putting himself in danger to protect the ones he loves. Whenever anybody is feeling down or needs any support, he is the first one to their side and will not leave them until their mood improves. This was the case when Cherry was murdered by a Jedi and Chase was listed as a fugitive, but also during the time when Kirk struggled with his mental health and attempted suicide. He gave him the proper support and assisted in Kirk’s healing from the experience.  

Captain Tim - CT-84923

Unlike other captains in the GAR, Tim is seen as a stern and strict leader, following the footsteps and influence of Marshall Commander Cody He is one of the most resourceful clones in the 380th; only when a plan goes to shit. He is usually seen as sarcastic and serious, having the mentality that things must be done exactly as ordered.  But despite the orders, he usually ends up following the lead of his men—much to his dismay.

He is insanely protective over the 380th. He can and will bully his brothers for fun, but the moment someone else lays a hand on them, he will be the first one to stand up for them. Tim is the embodiment of the “organised chaos;” he is the organised and his brothers are the chaos.  Whenever something goes wrong, he will take the blame for it in hopes it’ll extend time to fix the problem.

Tim understands his men and their strengths and uses them to the best as his ability on missions. Like Bits, he is analytic and quick on his feet, able to compromise when he can. Tim is also close friends with Rex, Wolffe, Cody and Fox, wanting to be as good as a leader to them; and he may have taken a few pointers from Rex on how to deal with chaotic clones.

Whenever he is off duty, he is catching up on work or taking some alone time so he can regroup and gather his thoughts. He is a firm believer in getting a problem resolved as soon as possible rather than letting it fester and get worse.

Clone Medic Kirk - CT - 44431

Kirk, the dedicated medic of the 380th, possesses not only his invaluable medical skills but also a talent for photography. Amongst the clones, he is known as the "War Photographer," assigned by the Jedi to capture crucial media pictures and document significant incidents on the battlefield. This is also so they could prevent future incidents. While most of Kirk's photographs focus on the less graphic aspects of war, there are some that depict the harsh reality that is not suitable for the faint of heart.

These photos also require him to capture haunting images of fallen comrades. The photos take a toll on Kirk's emotional well-being, often leaving him feeling helpless and burdened by the memories they evoke.

In an attempt to shield his fellow clones from the distressing imagery, Kirk  keeps the photographs locked away in a drawer, preventing others from stumbling upon them. Once the mandated time frame for retention expires, he burns them, allowing the painful memories to be released and moving towards healing.

While Kirk maintains a certain emotional distance from others to protect himself from attachment, he consistently watches over and supports his brothers. He constantly reminds them to look after each other and cherish what they have. Despite Kirk's attempts to keep a low profile, Bob, Cody and Chase support him with whatever they can, noticing Kirk's emotional distance. 

Kirk's selflessness is well known among the 380th, as he consistently places the needs of others above his own. He is always ready to provide whatever care there is necessary. While he has close friends with Chase, he is close friends with Commander Cody and with the 501st medic, Kix.

Kirk also has symbols on his armour. The red insignia and the semicolon in mando’a. The semicolon is a symbol of mental health and not giving up, but also a symbolism for those who have attempted suicide in the past; Kirk being one of them. Kirk put it on his armour to encourage himself to never give up hope, but also to keep going through his struggles of mental health. He hopes this inspires others to do the same. 

After his incident, Kirk had to be pulled out of service for a month until he gained control over his mental health and evaluated until he was fit for duty again.During this process he had Cody, Bob, Irony, Obi-Wan and Chase by his side. Now he is encouraging and supporting other clones who need the help.

ARC Trooper Chase - CT-54323

ARC Trooper Chase is the most serious and disciplined of the 380th squad.  He respects Commander Fox and Wolffe, embodying a strong sense of duty, he follows orders without hesitation. Chase's no-nonsense attitude can sometimes lead to irritation when his fellow clones deviate from established protocols. However, beneath his stoic exterior, he harbours a profound love and loyalty for his brothers.

He can be seen as the most protective clone in the 380th, more than Kirk or Tim. Chase is extremely distrusting of Jedi due to an incident that occured many years ago where an ex-ARC Trooper, Cherry, was killed by the hands of a Jedi master, being depicted as traitorous and a fugitive to the republic. 

Chase knew that these allegations were false, knowing his brother was framed and in the process of investigating, he too was depicted as a traitor; because of this, he lost trust in the Jedi and the people who were supposed to be protecting them. During those investigations, two Jedi came forward, Plo Koon and Obi-Wan Kenobi, who believed Chase and helped  clear his name from the charges.

However, despite everything, he is still seen as untrustworthy and unreliable. Only his brothers see him for who he truly is. (Along with Plo and Obi-Wan.) Since then, Chase has been insanely protective over his brothers, not allowing new people to linger too long near them. It takes him a while to get to trust people; but once you gain his trust, he will fight for you.  Irony was also another member in the 380th who helped to find out the truth behind the incident. It was soon revealed that Pong Krell was behind the attack and the killing of Cherry.

Lieutenant Silver - CT- 51723

Out of the 380th, Silver is the collector and the most child-like. He has a massive interest in anything metallic and shiny, with exceptions to some other things. He is awfully cuddly whenever he finds a new friend and is always willing to trade with anybody for trinkets; in return  he gives out rations or even any supplies he finds on his travels. Silver is intelligent, strong, and loves working with other people. While he can be rather childish at times, he is a loyal and reliable member. Whenever he trusts somebody enough, he will make them a small keychain with their name on it and maybe with a gem or something else that reminds him of that person. To get one of these is an honour in his world. 

Every member of the 380th has one and to get one means you are an official member and have passed the test. Despite his nature, he is resourceful and intelligent. Some people may see his trinkets as a mess or an interference on missions, but on multiple occasions, he has used them as a weapon (handed over to Bits) or included in explosives to help get rid of the enemy. He’s one of the best at improvising.

Silver is also someone who helps design and improve the armour with modifications and even assist in repairs with Meddel whenever he can. If the worst comes to worst, he will help be the back-up mechanic, though that is something Meddel wishes to never happen.

 Lieutenant Bits - CT-81754

Whenever he’s not on a high-risk mission, he is always trying to find things to blow up, even if there is no need to. Bits is the bane of Tim’s existence and if Silver’s constant hunt for shiny stuff isn’t the thing that gives him a migraine that day, it’s Bits. He is constantly on the move and leaving things about—if he’s not sorting out their arsenal, he’s studying separatist buildings, if he’s not doing that, he’s helping to create new weapons. 

He is seen to be the most chaotic out of the group. He is always coming up with new ways to better their strategies and much to Tim’s dismay is essential to the 380th’s success. Whenever possible, he’s giving people the chance to blow things up with him. 

Bits absolutely loves food. He is also one of the only people in the 380th who can actually cook something edible and prevent them from living on watermelon for the rest of their lives.

Sergeant Irony - 69423

Known for getting into Ironic situations, Irony is the pilot of the 380th. He is loyal, kind and has a massive love for ducks. He has the ability to be quick on his feet, and the ability to use humour to diffuse tense and difficult situations. Irony is one of the more relaxed people in the 380th, willing to crack a joke about how ironic something is and see things for how they really are. 

He is a realistic sort of thinker and doesn’t really like to have things sugarcoasted. Whenever there is a problem, he doesn’t stop at anything until he finds out the truth, even if it means going against orders to find it. (An example of this was when Cherry was framed for being a fugitive, soon being killed by a Jedi, did he assist in exposing the truth. It’s because of him that it prevented Chase from being executed or court martialled.) This sort of thinking has gotten him into a lot of trouble over the years, but it has always been for the greater good. He has a fear of heights, which earned him the “Irony” nickname by Meddel. They are close friends and grew up together in the cadets program.

Meddel was the one who encouraged him to become a pilot in the first place. Irony is a person who searches for any kind of adrenaline, doing whatever it takes to find the joys in life.

He is the original creator of the codenames: “Mother Duck” and “Duckling.”  Much to the dismay of the 380th, he is the creator of other code names and nobody can really argue with it.

Corporal Beetle - 833713

Beetle is known to be the hermit of the 380th, known for his introverted and ‘dark light’ seeking nature. He’s very stealthy and good at sneaking around even if he doesn’t mean to. Many clones have reported him ‘teleporting’ because they didn’t see him move. 

He is a very reserved and cuddly individual who takes an interest in anything bright and colourful, which is why he’s close friends with Bits. You can usually find him hiding under the table or in a dark place with his datapad in hand. Bits is good at problem solving and has a good knowledge of computer and security systems. He’s the go-to whenever they need someone to sneak into place. 

It takes a while for Beetle to get to know somebody, but once he’s comfortable you can find him sleeping on Bits, Bob or even Cody. Whenever he’s not doing anything, he is usually sleeping. He’s known for creating drawing ideas for Silver and even handing him unique shiny things. 

Whenever he is not cuddling someone, you can usually find him alone watching people. Beetle is also very aware of his surroundings and is able to understand people’s moods before everyone else. He’s insanely good at reading people’s body language.

Corporal Meddel - CT-84324

Meddel is the engineer of the 380th and the backup pilot for Irony. He is meticulous and has a good attention to detail, being someone who has pride in his word and one of the most important members within the team. Whenever he is not flying ships or is in meetings, he is making sure the gear, weapons and machines are working and up to standard.

Whenever they get inspections, he is the first person to check over everybody before the Jedi enter the barracks. Despite being an introvert, he is good at teamwork and collaborating with his fellow clones, especially Silver and Irony. 

Meddel is always giving Silver his tools to use whenever he wants to make things, but other times he finds his tools going missing. Despite that, Meddel is very protective over his stuff and will go feral whenever people move something he had put into place.

Usually, he is found lingering around the hangar or flying with Irony in the sky. His favourite ship is the x-wing and has been trying to get one painted the colour of his armour, but Cody keeps declining. He also really fucking likes watermelon. He will do anything to get that shit. Not to mention, he was the person who got the 380th into that fucking fruit. It has gotten so bad that Cody has to check in advance that the planet they go to does not have any watermelon on it. 

Who do you like the most?

[silverdragonoid]

Don't mind me shadow dropping the first chapter of my first fic for the @clonebang ! This is a collaborative work with @honeykiwis as beta and @mandalorianbrainweasel as artist about my clone OCs Commander Silver and Captain Rate.

Summary: Commander Silver was taught all the tactical and leadership skills a CC requires but has always struggled to connect with the other clones. When he meets Rate, the first person to try to befriend him, Silver is challenged to look inside and open up to new perspectives, individuality, and connection. He has a long way to go, but he doesn't have to walk it alone.

[inquisimer]

finally finished my proper playthrough for my mahariel and I am in PAIN 😭😭😭

[pyrotechnicdarts]

avoiding school work by drawing my weird little warforged fighter and her wife(cursed sword)

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Rage Becomes Her

Aemond x bastardTargaryen!female

Summary: of all the Targaryen bastards he could have underestimated, it should not have been her | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings: smut, Aemond being a fat douche, mentions of sex work, angst, oc described as having Targaryen features

No day was as cursed as the day her mother looked between her bloodied thighs, glancing up at the faces of her friends and common women, with shame and fright. The babe between her legs was pink and crying, their skin glistening with afterbirth, and a tuft of silver hair atop their tiny head.

What was survival, when the Gods had bestowed a Targaryen bastard into her belly.

Her own daughter lived as her mother did, learning the ways of the body and pleasure. She could recall the first time a man leered at her. Only two and ten and barely formed into the shape of a woman. Somehow the silver sheen to her hair made men think they could have her before her ripening. Plucked from the tree too early.

If only her mother could have resisted the irresistible pull of greed. Purses of gold coins lined her pockets, paid to her with the virtue of her only daughter.

An income. Nothing more.

It was only when she died, that she formed her own protection. Madame Sylvi gave her more freedoms than the usual whores. Bestowed upon as her ‘choice’. Something she had known little.

The brothel was tucked away in one of the narrow, winding alleys of King's Landing, a hidden enclave where nobles and commoners alike sought the pleasures denied to them in the light of day. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the low murmur of whispered promises. Sweet ones, from between the lips of whores.

The men who paid for the service or fucking a young woman with silver hair were usually all the same. Drunken fools with egos far bigger than their cocks, eager to stick whatever they pleased between her legs to make themselves feel like men.

She rarely spared it much thought. She moaned sweetly and whispered hushed mutterings to inflate their already fragile masculinity. Did what she had to do to survive, like so many around her.

But she would be remiss not to think about her most recent patron. One whom she had stolen from Madame Sylvi, who did not seem particularly precious about the loss, seeing as the One Eyed Prince simply crossed the threshold to her room instead. As long as business was within her four walls, she was content.

He was, at first, quiet and required work and effort to calm his fraught and tense muscles. But like most men, the second he sheathed himself inside her, he was a man driven by the inescapable warmth of not only her cunt, but by the comfort of what it provided. However false.

The night is seared firmly into her memory. His body heavy with Milk of the Poppy, he staggered as he pulled his clothes off, and for some time he was unable to become hard due to its calming effects. And she saw the familiar pang of annoyance most men got when their fleshy counterparts would not do as the mind commanded. 

She will never forget the look upon his face as she knelt in front of him, took his heavy manhood in her palm and pressed her lips to the shaft, stroking upwards with her touch and tongue. Beneath him like this, his face angled and sharp, one could be mistaken he was a statue. His skin resembled such porcelain. Made smooth by the hands of the Gods themselves. 

He had looked upon her as if she were an entity of the Seven Heavens. And when she took him into her mouth, his breath hitched, and his hands instinctively tangled in her hair. The sensation was overwhelming, a blend of pleasure and relief that washed over him in waves.

She moved with an expert's grace, her rhythm steady and unhurried, drawing soft moans from his lips. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist; there was only the warm, wet heat of her mouth and the exquisite torture of her tongue. He closed his eye, surrendering to the pleasure, feeling the tension in his body slowly melt away. Aemond's grip tightened as he guided her movements, lost in the sensation and the raw intimacy of the act.

He fucked in very much the same way. With urgency. As if someone were to take her away.

Was it some necessity this great man needed, away from the bustling court and the duties of his birth?

Or she reasoned he fucked her because he was simply bored of Sylvi.

But as it became more and more regular, she began to realise that her forbidden parentage played a more significant role than she had first thought. He wanted someone who looked so like his ideal, but someone who ultimately was destined to remain, steadfastly, inferior.

Aemond Targaryen pushed open the heavy wooden door, its creak swallowed by the hum of conversation and laughter inside. He pulled his hood lower, shielding his face from prying eyes. Though he was a prince, here he was just another man seeking escape. Several women crowded him, offering wine, their bodies and services with doe eyes and lips framed with rouge.

The back of the brothel was shrouded with silken curtains, providing no real privacy but rather giving one the security of feeling it. Pale pinks, lilacs, warm amber glows bounced off the stone walls, a warm emanating through the space as if walking through honey, and willing to be drowned in it. It was a dangerous feeling indeed. The warm, sticky call of a woman’s body.

The first time he saw her he did not like her. The whore with silver, golden hair. She had a bastard’s taint on her bloodline despite its noble sheen. There was a part of him that refused to admit that despite the muddied nature of her birth, that she was beautiful. He was still willing to be held by Sylvi back then, cuddled against the woman’s breasts like a babe.

It was different now.

Sylvi regarded him, using her body as somewhat of a shield, to part him and the heavenly depravity that lay across the threshold. She said nothing, and simply extended her hand, to show her palm. Aemond noted the surprised look in her knowing eyes when she felt the weight of the purse, the familiar tune of coins ringing true and greedily.

She fetched a hefty price compared to the others. One Aemond was willing to pay for her company.

When he pulled the silks aside and stepped within her lair, she was seated as usual, upon a chaise draped with rich fabrics, her posture relaxed and yet alert. Her hair, so much like his own, caught the flickering candlelight, like looking up to the stars when one was too deep in their cups, only to find the silver light stretching across their vision.

Only the muffled music was heard, and the rapid thud of his heart.

The fabrics lay like water on her skin, cinched at her waist. The translucent material had her rosy buds perk beneath it, the glimmering and blushing shade of pink almost alike to her own flesh in the low and intimate amber light. She did not need to show herself to entice, he thought.

“My Prince.”

She greeted with a soft, warm melody of enchanting, in a manner that eased his shoulders but not his soul. He regarded her face the same way Sylvi did to him. One eye glazing over her familiar features. 

His motions were easy to memorise. He would do no more than was necessary, as most patrons did. He would strip from his clothing, lay between her thighs and take her roughly. Preparation for someone as lowborn as her, and getting paid for it, was no necessity for a customer, nevermind a prince.

There were glimpses where it was enjoyable. But Prince Aemond was guarded, sometimes so much so she hardly thought him capable of the act. But he would surprise her. And once he was done, he would lay beside her, and he would talk, with only their flesh as comfort.

Sometimes, like right at this moment, he would just lay beside her, running her bright locks, ruffled from their salacious acts, through his long and slender fingers. She often thought he looked like a lost soul, eyepatch discarded and bared in this wretched place for her to lay her eyes upon. And then another thought lay under that still. The thought that this man before her had such hate in his heart for his half sister’s children, and yet visited her every other evening to sink into the haven that her own existence offered.

An existence she was sure he internally loathed.

But it seemed he loathed himself more than anything else.

“Do you dream of being more than you are.” Not a question. An inquisition shaped as a demand.

She hesitated, knowing that her answer must please him. "My dreams are inconsequential, my prince. My only desire is to serve you and to bring you comfort."

He smirked, satisfied with her response. "It is the natural order of things. Your role here suits you, providing solace to those of us born to higher stations."

She felt her brows furrow in annoyance, but tried to soften her features, his keen blue eye boring into her face. Your role here suits you. And what was that exactly? A whore who merely existed to be a sheath for men’s blades whenever it suited them. A vessel, nothing more.

"I would never forget, my prince," she said softly, her eyes downcast. "Your presence is the only thing that gives my life meaning."

Aemond reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. "Sometimes, I wonder if there is more to you than just your services to me."

Her heart quickened, but she kept her voice calm and composed. "I am whatever you need me to be, my prince."

Often, that was all it took to sate him. 

He would always come back, in varying moods, and she felt the reins on her white-hot temper begin to slip, the flames rearing to the roof of her insides the more delicate insults came out of his mouth. Those among her argued that he cared for her deeply. But how can a man care for a woman and say such hurtful words in exchange?

A bastard, indeed she was. But her existence strayed the line between demanding some semblance of respect, drawn to her by the milky skin and pale hair that he recognised in himself. She pondered this contradiction endlessly. Why did he come to her, night after night, seeking her presence, only to remind her of her inferiority? What was it about her that captivated him, despite his disdain?

Her thoughts often wandered as she prepared for his visits, trying to unravel the mystery of Aemond Targaryen. Did he see something in her that he could not find elsewhere? Was it the shared blood, tainted as it was by her illegitimacy? Or was it simply the thrill of asserting his power over someone who mirrored his own visage?

“You seem troubled.”

“It is nothing,” his response was cool, followed by the discarding of his hood, only turning when she urged a decently full glass of wine into his hand.

“You forget, my prince, that I am well-versed in the art of reading men. Tell me, what burdens you tonight?”

Stealing the wine from his lips, he cannot help the wandering of his fingers, tracing the golden spun locks of her hair that glow moonlit as he touches them. “Your features betray you,” he muses, “do you ever wonder what it would have been like, had you been born legitimate?" he asked, his tone laced with condescension.

She hesitated, searching his eyes for any hint of sincerity, but found only the cold amusement that so often accompanied his words. "It is not my place to wonder such things," she replied, her voice steady. "My fate was decided long before I drew my first breath."

He tilted his head, studying her. "And yet, you bear the mark of our blood so clearly. It must gnaw at you, knowing you could never rise above your station, no matter how much you resemble the dragonlords of old."

"Perhaps," she admitted softly, "but we all have our roles to play, my prince. Even those born amongst lust and lechery."

Aemond's fingers continued their path through her hair, his touch both gentle and possessive. "You speak wisely for one of your birth," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It is a pity you were not born to a higher station. You might have made an interesting rival."

"Or an ally," she suggested, daring to meet his gaze.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Or an ally," he conceded. "But as it stands, you are here, and I am there. The order of things remains unchanged."

"And you come here to see me," she retorted, her gaze unwavering. "What does that say about you, my prince?"

“I enjoy you.”

"Or perhaps the dragon seeks something he cannot find elsewhere."

Aemond’s expression hardened, his pride pricked by her words. "Do not presume to understand me. You are here because I allow it."

"And you are here because you need it," she countered, her voice a seductive whisper. "What drives you to seek solace in the arms of a bastard? A whore?"

He pulled back, his eyes narrowing. "You speak too boldly-"

"I speak truth," she said, her gaze unflinching. "Something even a prince cannot escape."

Aemond regarded her for a long moment, a mixture of contempt and fascination warring within him. She was a puzzle, a riddle wrapped in the enigma of her bloodline. He hated and desired her in equal measure, drawn to the mystery of her existence.

She let out a breath, surprised when his fingers wrenched around her face, tugging her towards him. But her expression never faltered. “I wonder who is the depraved cunt who sired you,” Aemond murmured, deep and low against her face.

“Prince Daemon or the late King Viserys, it does not matter. Half of the whores on the Street of Silk knew the shape of their cocks-”

Aemond's grip tightened, his eyes blazing with fury. "Watch your tongue," he hissed, his breath hot against her skin. "You may have Targaryen blood, but you are still a whore. Do not forget your place."

She winced but refused to look away. "And yet here you are”. Her voice was steady, defiant, challenging him despite the pain.

His eyes narrowed, the fury in them warring with something deeper, something he could not name. "I am a man who indulges in his whims," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Nothing more."

"Is that all it is?" she whispered, her voice softening, searching his gaze. "An indulgence? Because if that's true, you wouldn't keep coming back."

Aemond's grip loosened slightly, his fingers trailing down her cheek. "You know nothing of my reasons," he said, a trace of vulnerability slipping through his hardened exterior.

He looked at her for a long moment, the conflict within him evident in his eyes. "You remind me of what I am and what I can never escape," he said finally, his voice a raw whisper. "The blood we share, the legacy that binds us. You are a mirror, showing me my weakness. The weakness of my House."

"And you, my prince, are the reminder of what I could have been. The life I was denied, the nobility I can never claim."

Aemond's hand twitched, a sudden urge to pull her close, to feel the warmth of her body against his, but he forced himself to remain still. He could not afford to show that side of himself, not to her, not to anyone. In another world, she might have been born legitimate, a sister to him, one he could wed, bed and breed at his leisure.

And yet.

"You speak of nobility as if it is something you could ever grasp," he said, his voice softer, yet still laced with condescension. "You will never be more than what you are now. A whore, a bastard, a mere footnote in the history of my House."

Her eyes flashed with quiet anger, a smouldering fire that burned beneath her calm exterior. How dare he speak to her this way? He knew nothing of the struggles, the pain, the countless indignities that had shaped her life.

"How fortunate you are, my prince," she said, her voice measured but tinged with bitterness, "to never have known the struggles of those who are less fortunate. To speak so easily of things you can never truly understand."

Aemond's gaze hardened, but he did not interrupt her.

"You may see me as nothing more than a whore and a bastard," she continued, her words steady, each one a dagger aimed at his pride. "But you know nothing of the world outside your gilded cage. You have no idea what it means to fight for every scrap of dignity, to claw your way through a life that was decided for you before you even drew breath."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and something he couldn't quite name. "You forget yourself," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You forget to whom you speak."

"And you forget, my prince," she shot back, her voice unyielding, "that respect is earned, not given by birthright alone. And certainly not because you have a dragon."

A silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken truths and simmering tension. They stood there, locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to back down, both caught in the web of their shared blood and conflicting worlds. There was a strange respect in his gaze. As if he had seen the same flames that captivated him.

Slowly, she reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out the purse Aemond had paid her that night. She held it out to him, her hand steady. "Take it back," she said quietly, but firmly. "I don't want your coin."

He stared at her for a long moment, the purse heavy with silver between them. Slowly, he reached out and took it from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers. The touch was brief, but electric, a spark that neither could ignore. He could not help the smile that rose to his face, testing the weight of his coin in his palm. Looking down upon the woman in front of him with a cold but unyielding respect.

The events of that night lingered in Aemond's mind, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. The war was intensifying, and the tension within the Red Keep was palpable. It was during one of these tense small council meetings, that Aemond found his thoughts straying.

“Prince Daeron’s dragon, Tessarion, has at last taken to wing. Your brother expects to join the fight soon.” 

He half listened to Lord Wylde, his head half turned, eyes darting to listen to the cries of the smallfolk so loud it was as if they were in the room. Screams. Cries of terror.

“Dragon!”

“Get inside!”

“And when he does…the Hightower host will be unstoppable.”

He acted on instinct, feeling the hot whips of something he would not admit was panic at the back of his neck. The doors gave way to a bright, sunny afternoon. His one eye squinted to peer into the blue abyss, narrowed to the appearance of a great beast.

A dragon, its silver scales gleaming in the sunlight, descended from the sky.

Silverwing.

And there, riding atop the great beast, was her. Her silver hair flowed behind her like a banner for war, and her eyes, filled with determination, met his with an intensity that took his breath away. Aemond's mind raced, understanding dawning on him as he realised the implications.

Rhaenyra's recruitment of Dragonseeds had borne unexpected fruit.

She guided Silverwing to soar over King's Landing, her movements graceful and confident. She made several passes, almost as if she were flouting. The dragon's powerful wings created gusts of wind that rippled over Kings Landing, sending leaves and dust swirling, with smallfolk and merchants knocked off balance.

Aemond stood there, watching in a mix of awe and resentment. There was a part of him that couldn't help but admire the sight, the sheer power and majesty of the dragon, her commanding presence. But another part of him burned with anger. The idea of a bastard riding a dragon, flaunting her newfound status above the city, challenged everything he believed in.

What did that make him? How was he special if bastards could claim dragons? The exclusivity of his birthright felt tarnished, the unique status of House Targaryen diluted.

She seemed to sense his gaze, turning Silverwing to circle back and hover momentarily over the Keep. Her eyes locked onto his, a silent challenge in her gaze. She was revelling in her newfound power, asserting her place in a world that had tried to deny her.

Aemond's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white. He liked her, there was no denying that. She fascinated and infuriated him in equal measure. But the sight of her riding Silverwing, basking in her defiance, stoked the flames of his inner conflict.

As Silverwing ascended higher, leaving King's Landing behind, Aemond's eyes followed them until they were mere specks against the sky. He stood there long after they had disappeared, wrestling with the tumultuous emotions swirling within him. Admiration, anger, attraction, and resentment collided in a storm that he couldn't quell.

The sun was setting by the time Aemond reached Vhagar. The great dragon stirred, sensing her rider's agitation. Aemond's resolve hardened as he climbed onto her back. With a command, Vhagar spread her immense wings and launched into the sky, the force of her takeoff shaking the ground below.

The flight to Dragonstone was swift. The wind whipped through Aemond's hair, his mind racing as fast as the dragon beneath him. He couldn't let this challenge go unanswered. 

As Dragonstone came into view, the outline of Silverwing against the darkening sky confirmed his target. He urged Vhagar to increase her speed, but the older dragon's pace couldn't match Silverwing's agility. Aemond's frustration grew with every beat of Vhagar's wings, the gap between them refusing to close.

She watched him, the man who had insulted her, bedded her, wronged her, as he turned his great beast mid-air, her own dragon purring against her touch atop the peak of a tower of Dragonstone. Even from afar, she could sense his frustration, the simmering anger that radiated from him, and she revelled in this unique reaction, savouring the way it felt.

For a moment, their eyes met, and in that silence, a thousand emotions passed between them. He glanced back over his shoulder, watching as she sat firm atop her beast, the wind whipping her hair around her face. The tension in the air was palpable, but there was also a sense of resolution, a quiet acknowledgment of the lines they had drawn.

That this was no surrender.

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[sicutpuella]

Midnight Rain | Jacaerys x OC x Cregan

Chapter One.

Summary: Betrothed since childhood, Lady Aelyria Velaryon and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon journey to Winterfell under Queen Rhaenyra's orders; however, upon meeting Lord Cregan Stark, Aelyria finds herself torn between her duty to Jacaerys and an unexpected desire for the Northern lord. Now, she must choose between love, honor, and duty at a critical crossroads.

Series Masterlist [Previous Chapter, Next Chapter]

When Cregan was informed via raven that Prince Jacaerys, along with his betrothed, Lady Aelyria, was to visit the North for diplomatic affairs, he readied his castle with great care. He spent hours ensuring there was more than enough food for the feast that night; the day was consumed by his fussing.

As evening approached, word came that the Prince and his bride-to-be had arrived. He descended to the castle yard, where the entourage awaited.

"Prince Jacaerys," he said, "welcome to the North. I hope your journey went well."

Cregan first took in the prince’s appearance—tall, with sharp and refined features, brown curly hair neatly styled, and a strong nose. There was an unspoken elegance about him, a stark contrast to Cregan’s simple yet rugged looks.

Then he saw her—Aelyria. Her back was turned to him, long silver hair in a few braids. She was momentarily distracted by the children waving at her; they gawked as if she were a fairy from a tale.

When he saw Aelyria, his eyes widened; her beauty and the elegant way she carried herself took him by surprise. She seemed like a vision, a goddess incarnate, too perfect to be true. Her silver hair, cascading down in intricate braids, shimmered in the Northern sunlight; each strand catching the light like spun moonbeams. Her eyes, a vivid brown, held an allure that was both mesmerizing and intimidating. The children around her gawked as if she were a fairy from their tales, and Cregan could hardly blame them!

He had never seen anyone like her before—so unattainable, so ethereal. She was a true Valyrian beauty, embodying ethereal essence of her houses in every elegant movement. He felt his heart quicken, a sense of awe and reverence overtaking him. This was no mere woman or mortal, rather; she was a living legend, a dream made flesh.

He took a moment to look at her before speaking, his mind a little clouded.

"My Lady," he said finally, his voice low and hoarse.

Unknown to him, she too marveled at him. There he was, broad shoulders cloaked in a fur coat; the simple attire did nothing to hide his powerful frame. His longsword loomed behind his back, a silent testament to his strength. His brows were furrowed, as if analyzing her, his rugged looks captivating despite the absence of a beard. His eyes were a piercing gray, like the stormy skies of the North.

Aelyria felt her heart stop; he looked so... so masculine. The raw power he exuded, the sheer presence he commanded—every inch of him screamed strength and resilience. She was utterly smitten, drawn to him in a way she had never experienced before. This was a man forged by the harsh northern winds, tempered by the cold, and she found herself undeniably entranced by him.

Cregan's heart began to beat faster once more; an unfamiliar feeling stirred within him. He couldn't help but admire her beauty—her slender figure, the silver braid, the soft features on her round face, the way she smiled at the children…

He was taken aback by his own reaction. He had seen many beautiful women before, but none had affected him like this. Perhaps it was her Valyrian blood that made her so mesmerizing, or the way she radiated an aura of kindness and grace.

"You are more beautiful than I imagined," he said, his voice low.

"Oh… she truly is." Jacaerys interrupted his thoughts, walking closer to Aelyria, his hands intertwined with hers.

Cregan's eyes flickered to their hands, a pang of jealousy stirring within him. He knew she was betrothed to the prince, but it didn't stop him from feeling a sharp jealousy at seeing them so close.

He forced a smile, though it felt cold. "Indeed, my Prince. You are a lucky man."

"Truly." Jacaerys' hands gripped hers.

"Good afternoon, my Lord." Her voice, like honey; she bowed gracefully.

Cregan couldn't help the way his heart skipped a beat when she spoke. Her voice, soft and sweet as honey, mesmerized him. His gaze lingered on her, taking in every detail.

He bowed back, a bit awkwardly, feeling out of his depth. "Good evening, my Lady. I hope your journey here was pleasant."

"It was… My Prince and I enjoyed the sights."

Cregan felt a pang again; his eyes darted to their intertwined hands once more.

"I am glad to hear that," he said, his voice coming out a little gruff. "We have prepared a feast tonight in your honor. I hope you will both enjoy it."

"You are far too kind, my lord," Jacaerys spoke.

Cregan forced a smile. "It is the least we can do, my Prince. You are our honored guest, after all."

His eyes flicked to Aelyria again, taking in her soft curves and delicate features. He could see why Jacaerys was so besotted with her.

Lord Cregan gave them a tour of the place, hoping Aelyria would not be too bored. She seemed to enjoy it—or was she merely being polite? Why was he overthinking it?

The tension lingered. As much as he tried to ignore it, Cregan could feel it every time he looked at them together; how easily Jacaerys' hand found her waist; the way they shared brief moments of laughter…

Cregan subtly shook his head, as if to banish all those unseemly thoughts of the lady.

She is to be wed, Cregan! Pull yourself together.

Yet, despite his attempts, Cregan found himself unable to keep his mind from wandering back to the lady. He tried to focus on the conversation, to ignore the way her eyes seemed to shine in the light of the corridor; the way her laughter filled the air; and the way her hand fit perfectly in Jacaerys’.

He found himself lost in a confusing mix of guilt and longing, his mind at war with his heart. He tried to remind himself constantly that she was betrothed—to his guest of honor, no less…

Cregan’s hands were slightly nervous upon shaving his growing beard. He wanted to maintain some semblance of youth, even though the Lady and the Prince were close to his age—or perhaps it was an effort to look presentable in front of the Lady? He shook his head as his hands continued to shave. He ensured his guests of honor had time to prepare and rest before the dinner.

“Fuck.” He inhaled sharply; he cut himself, just a tad bit.

His fingers rubbed the cut, feeling a pang of frustration at his own clumsiness.

He looked at himself in the mirror, taking in his appearance. He was handsome, strong—a true Northman. That was how he had always thought of himself. Yet now, as he stood there in the mirror, he couldn't help but feel a pang of self-doubt. He had never felt this way before, never before had he cared so much about how he looked.

“Damn it…” he muttered to himself.

He was first in the dining hall, ensuring all was well for tonight’s dinner. His guests were of royal, Valyrian blood, after all.

The dining hall was meticulously prepared for the occasion. The tables were set with the finest china and silverware. Fresh blooms adorned the tables, filling the air with a pleasant fragrance. The food was a feast fit for royalty, each dish a testament to the North's bounty and hospitality.

As Cregan waited, his thoughts kept drifting towards her. The Lady Aelyria, with her silver hair and brown eyes. He couldn't shake off the memory of her soft laugh and her sweet scent.

The door was slowly filling in with his bannermen, his guests, his squires. The doors to the dining hall opened, and the room slowly filled with the sounds of hushed conversations and the clinking of silverware.

His bannermen were in attendance, their proud, stern figures a stark contrast to the lavish setting. They took their seats, whispering amongst themselves, their eyes discreetly flickering towards the door. Cregan stood near the head of the table, his eyes darting to the entrance, waiting for the arrival of the Valyrians.

Then— The door opened. All eyes turned towards the door as it opened. Cregan's heart skipped a beat.

There she was, just as beautiful as before, but now she was dressed in a gown that seemed to accentuate her feminine curves. She looked like Valyrian royalty; her silvery hair cascaded over her shoulder in waves; her eyes sparkled with a soft light.

Cregan watched as she walked towards the head of the table, accompanied by the prince. Jacaerys was a gentleman—a true, well-mannered royal. Aelyria and Jacaerys politely greeted everyone in attendance. As Aelyria and Jacaerys greeted each person in attendance, Cregan found his gaze drawn to her. He watched as she smiled politely, her voice soft and pleasant as she spoke to each guest.

Her elegance was undeniable; every movement she made seemed graceful and poised. He felt a pang as he saw the prince’s hand on her waist, pulling out her chair like a true chivalrous prince. Cregan clenched his jaw.

“Good evening, my lord… my, the dinner is truly magnificent,” she smiled, the reds in her dress bringing out her eyes.

“Good evening, my lady,” he managed to say, his voice a bit hoarse. He was aware of the other men in the room, some of them stealing glances her way as well.

“Lord Stark,” Jacaerys greeted, his voice smooth and courteous. “Thank you for your generous hospitality. The feast looks splendid.”

Cregan inclined his head, acknowledging the prince’s words. “It is our honor to host you, Prince Jacaerys. I trust your chambers were comfortable?”

“They were,” Jacaerys replied with a smile. “We rested well. Your keep is as warm and welcoming as it is grand.”

Cregan nodded, satisfied. “I’m glad to hear that. Please, take your seats.” The three of them settled at the head of the table.

“Aelyria here enjoys fish,” Jacaerys mentioned, pointing out the plate of fish to Aelyria.

Cregan’s eyes followed his gesture to the plate of fish. For a brief moment, his mind wandered to the idea of personally catching and preparing a fresh fish for Aelyria. But he quickly pushed the thought away, realizing how ridiculous it was.

“Ah, fish…” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “We have the finest salmon from the streams of the North. I hope it is to your liking, Lady Aelyria.”

“We rarely get good salmon in Dragonstone, so this is truly wonderful for me.” She smiled, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she looked at the salmon.

Cregan felt a pang of pride at her words; he couldn’t help but feel pleased that he could offer something new and special to her.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his voice a little gruff. “We Northerners take pride in our fish, especially salmon. It is a staple in our diet, especially during the winter.”

“Then, Aely, I suppose you should vacation here during winter,” Jacaerys smiled at her.

Cregan's mind briefly imagined Aelyria visiting Winterfell during winter—dressed in furs, cheeks flushed from the cold, laughter in her eyes. He quickly pushed away the thought, feeling guilty that he was indulging in such fantasies.

“Yes, the North is quite a sight during winter,” he said, forcing a smile. “But the cold is not for the faint-hearted.”

“I have a dragon… it can make me a pyre,” she jested.

Cregan chuckled, surprised by her jest. The sound of her laugh echoed in his ears, making him want to hear it again.

“Ah, I suppose that is true,” he said, his smile widening. “With a dragon to keep you warm, the North wouldn’t seem so cold after all.”

The dinner was splendid. Cregan enjoyed it—but he enjoyed looking at her sweet smile even more. He enjoyed Jacaerys’ company as well; the prince was quite intelligent and dignified despite being young. He truly was made to be a prince.

Throughout the dinner, Cregan found his gaze drawn to Aelyria again and again. He hung on every word she spoke, every time she laughed, every gesture she made. He conversed with Jacaerys as well, finding the prince to be a good conversationalist. Despite his young age, Jacaerys was intelligent, charming—a true prince. Cregan couldn’t deny that he was a good match for Aelyria.

Despite his best efforts to enjoy the dinner and the company, Cregan found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything but Aelyria. The sound of her laughter, the way she smiled at Jacaerys—it all filled his mind, making it hard for him to focus on anything else. He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as he watched them. They looked so perfect together, a true match, a future couple destined for greatness. The thought sent a pang of pain through his chest.

Cregan and Jacaerys quickly found a comfortable understanding, their banter flowing easily as they sipped their mead.

"You Northerners certainly know how to brew a fine drink," Jacaerys commented, raising his mug in a toast.

Cregan chuckled, raising his own. "Aye, we have to. The cold makes a man appreciate a good, strong drink."

They exchanged stories, Cregan sharing tales of the harsh Northern winters and the battles fought against the Wildlings; Jacaerys spoke of the courtly intrigues of King's Landing and the fierce loyalty of the people of Dragonstone. The prince's laughter was infectious, his wit sharp and easygoing, making Cregan feel more at ease than he had in years. As the evening wore on and the mead continued to flow, Cregan found himself growing more unguarded. He was drinking a little more than he should; the alcohol made him feel a bit loose and unguarded.

"What is it like living on Dragonstone?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of slur.

“Salty,” Aelyria spoke first. “If you stand still enough, you’ll taste the salt on your tongue.” She added, her tone light and playful.

Cregan chuckled at her answer, imagining Aelyria standing still, tasting the salt in the air.

"Ah, so it's quite the salty place then," he said, his eyes studying her face. "I imagine the castle must be built to withstand such conditions… after all, the Targaryens have called it home for centuries."

Jacaerys shared more about Dragonstone, painting a picture of a strong, proud, and ancient castle. As he spoke, Cregan listened intently, his eyes flickering between Jacaerys and Aelyria.

“You should visit one day,” Aelyria spoke softly.

Cregan's heart thudded at her words. Her soft, sweet voice was like a caress, making it even harder for him to think straight.

"Visit Dragonstone?" he repeated, his voice rough. "I… I would love to, my lady."

The thought of seeing her in her home, seeing her on her own turf, stirred something in him. It was a dangerous idea.

Unknown to Cregan, Jacaerys’ hand squeezed hers tighter.

“Tell us more about the North,” Aelyria continued, her eyes following him.

Cregan felt his heart race at the sound of her voice, her eyes fixed on him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"The North," he started, his voice still a little shaky. "It's vast, unforgiving, and beautiful. We have endless forests, snowy mountains, and icefields. It's the coldest region in Westeros, but the Northmen are hardy folk. We thrive in the cold—it's in our blood."

"Then there is the Wall," he said, his voice growing softer. "A colossal structure of ice that spans the length of the continent. It's the first line of defense against the Wildlings and the terrors from beyond it. The Night's Watch, an ancient order sworn to defend the realm from those threats. It's a formidable place—cold and harsh, just like the North itself."

“Terrors?” Jacaerys nearly chuckled.

Cregan gave Jacaerys a wry smile, realizing that tales of White Walkers might sound like a strange concept to a man from the South.

"Yes, terrors. Creatures from beyond the Wall, creatures of ice and cold. They are called the White Walkers, or the Others. They are said to bring with them the cold and the dark—a darkness that can last for years."

He paused, his eyes flickering to Aelyria's face, hoping she wouldn’t belittle or laugh at him.

Aelyria’s lips pursed, clearly in a bit of thought.

“Oh, you humor me, my lord,” Jacaerys witted.

Cregan bristled at Jacaerys’ comment but held his tongue. He knew that the prince was jesting, that he didn't believe in the tales of the Others. Many in the south didn't, and Cregan couldn't blame them; it all sounded like legends and fairy tales.

But the thought of the prince dismissing it so lightly made him feel another pang of… something he couldn't quite name.

“Darling, if dragons exist… surely there might be something else?” Aelyria looked at Jacaerys, then at Cregan, seemingly agreeing with the lord’s tales.

Throughout the dinner, Cregan found his gaze drawn to Aelyria again and again. He hung on every word she spoke, every time she laughed, every gesture she made. The sound of her laughter, the way she smiled at Jacaerys—it all filled his mind, making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

Cregan felt a strange sort of relief at Aelyria's words. Her agreement made him feel a little less foolish, a little less like the northman whose tales were seen as barbaric and primitive. But another part of him bristled at the endearment she'd used for Jacaerys—"darling." He found himself gritting his teeth.

"You see, my lady understands," Cregan said, his voice betraying a tinge of irritation.

He watched as Jacaerys placed his hand on Aelyria's waist again; that casual, familiar gesture set his teeth on edge.

“But, let’s not hope such terrors become our priority,” she added.

Cregan nodded, his irritation slightly quelled by her words. "Indeed. We should not hope for such horrors to come to pass."

He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions swirling within him.

“I pray that they get lost by the snow somehow,” she chuckled.

Cregan couldn’t help but smile at her soft, musical laugh. It sent a little thrill through him; he found himself wanting to hear it again.

"Ah, perhaps the snow will confuse them. They’ll wander around in circles until they get so cold they’ll simply freeze to death."

"Or better yet, maybe they'll try to attack a polar bear and get their heads bitten off." He chuckled at his own joke, hoping to get another laugh out of her.

“Prince Jacaerys!” A bunch of young boys came upon him, eager to show the prince something.

“Well, the young need me,” Jacaerys chuckled, and left a kiss on her cheek, sighing as he stood up to face the young boys, “I’ll leave you to the company of Lord Stark.” Jacaerys smiled at Aelyria first, then waved them both farewell.

Cregan watched as Jacaerys left, his eyes narrowing slightly at the kiss Jacaerys left on her cheek. He found himself clenching his jaw again, his jealousy flaring. With Jacaerys gone, he turned his attention to Aelyria, a sense of nerves and desire stirring within him. He was alone with her, and he couldn’t deny the thrill that gave him.

"So… now it is just the two of us," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. He glanced around, seeing that the others around them were engrossed in their own conversations, paying them no mind.

“Oh yes…” she smiled; he could sense she was a bit nervous as she sipped some of the wine.

Cregan took note of her nervousness—the way her fingers fidgeted with the stem of her goblet, the way she avoided his gaze. Knowing that she too was feeling the same tension he was only heightened his own desire.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my lady?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.

“I have been enjoying myself,” she smiled. “Your people’s and your hospitality is lovely.”

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, his heart thudding in his chest as her smile made him feel a little breathless. He leaned a little closer, drawn to her like a magnet, wanting to be nearer.

"Is there… anything else you have been enjoying?" he asked, his voice a little gravelly.

“Ooh! The food, yes… the salmon was delightful—I think I may have overeaten.” She smiled.

Cregan chuckled, amused by her description. "You enjoyed the salmon, did you?" he repeated. He found himself enjoying just listening to her talk; her voice was so pleasant to listen to. He reached out to refill her goblet, his fingers brushing against hers for a moment.

He liked hearing her talk… about anything.

“Oh… and the pig too,” she smiled, continuing.

Cregan took a sip from his own goblet, his eyes never leaving her face. Her smile was enchanting, her cheeks slightly flushed from the wine and the heat of the fire.

"The pig, of course," he echoed, his voice lower.

He wanted to touch her, to reach out and pull her closer to him, to feel the heat of her skin against his fingers. But he held back, not wanting to be too forward.

"You seem to have enjoyed quite a bit of our food," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

He took another sip of his wine, watching her over the rim of his goblet.

"I suppose that's a good thing, it means you're not… unsatisfied with our hospitality."

“Oh, you are all so kind… the customs and attitudes are definitely different from the south— but it’s not a negative one. But rather, better,” she said with a diplomatic tone.

Cregan raised an eyebrow at her comment. Better, she said.

"Better, you say?" he repeated, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He found himself amused by her diplomatic tone, but also strangely pleased to hear that she preferred the North to the South.

“I suppose, I’ve been used to the courtly manners of acting kind upfront while being a monster behind you,” she chuckled candidly.

Cregan nodded, understanding her point perfectly. He had never much cared for the politics and scheming that were so common in the South. He preferred honesty and directness, things that were valued in the North.

"We don’t have much use for fake pleasantries in the North,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “We say what we mean and mean what we say."

“There’s always a hint of fakery and dishonesty down south.”

Cregan chuckled, her words making him feel even more comfortable in his own skin.

"Sounds exhausting, having to put on a false facade all the time," he said, his eyes tracing the line of her jaw, admiring her profile in the firelight.

“Oh, and you cannot— I repeat cannot make a mistake. Even a spelling writing in your parchments will surely have everyone questioning your intelligence,” she chuckled.

Cregan chuckled along with her, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Question your intelligence over a spelling mistake?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “We’ve got more important things to worry about in the North, like not freezing to death."

He leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering again.

"We don’t sweat the small things here, it’s not worth the effort."

“I suppose… perhaps the pampered life has over sensitized us…”

Cregan chuckled again, his eyes glinting with humor and something else. He liked her more and more, the more they talked.

"That’s what it is. You Southerners are too soft, too used to living a pampered life," he teased. "You’d never survive a northern winter."

“I have a dragon. I think I’ll manage Lord Stark.” She smiled.

Cregan chuckled again, enjoying her clever response.

"Ah, yes. Your dragon," he said, his eyes roaming over her face, taking in her every feature.

He found himself wondering what it would be like to ride a dragon, to feel the wind through his hair as he soared through the sky. But he pushed the thought aside, focusing on her.

"Yes, a dragon would keep you warm, I suppose. But you’d still have to eat northern food… and drink northern ale."

“I’d love to eat northern salmon all day… everyday… the ale? I cannot say positively about it, I get drunk rather fast.”

Cregan laughed heartily at her admission, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"You get drunk fast, eh?” he said, a bemused smile on his lips. "You might want to be careful then, our ale is strong enough to knock a grown man off his feet."

“When I turned 15… my granduncle Corlys gave me dornish wine… he had to carry me 4 flights upstairs because I passed out!” She laughed.

Cregan couldn’t help but laugh along with her, picturing the image she painted.

"Dornish wine, eh? No wonder you passed out," he said, his tone light and teasing. "That stuff is strong, but even I wouldn’t give it to a girl who’s just turned 15."

“Oh and I vomited on a few maidens…”

Cregan’s eyes widened in surprise, a burst of laughter leaving his lips.

"You vomited on your handmaidens?" he repeated, still chuckling. "Ah, that must have been quite the scene."

“Oh Granduncle Corlys still won’t let me forget… even Jacaerys who was one of the poor audience of my drunkenness.”

Cregan chuckled, imagining the look on Jacaerys’ face.

"Poor Jacaerys, having to witness your drunken escapade," he said, his tone playful. "I can only imagine what his reaction must have been."

“How about you my lord? How are you when you’re drunk?” She smiled.

Cregan chuckled, his eyes meeting hers.

"Me? I can hold my liquor well enough, if I do say so myself," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

He paused for a moment, studying her face again, feeling that familiar stirring in his chest.

"But sometimes... when I've had a few too many ales, I tend to get a bit... bold."

“Hmm? Like… how? I know some men who tend to start a fight.”

Cregan chuckled, shaking his head.

"Oh no, I’m not a brawler. I’m just... more honest when I’m drunk," he said. "I say things I wouldn’t normally say, I act on my impulses more."

He paused, his eyes roaming over her face, his gaze lingering on her lips.

"I might... say things I wouldn’t normally say to a lady I'm interested in," he added, his voice lowering.

“Ooh… pray tell… which lady here has caught your eye?” She could tell she enjoys gossiping.

Cregan smirked, enjoying the playful lilt in her voice.

"Ah, well, there is one lady..." he said, playing along.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if he was sharing a secret with her.

"She is beautiful, intelligent, and kind. She has eyes as deep and dark as the night sky, and a smile that could rival the stars themselves."

“My lord, I believe you are… drunk!”

Cregan chuckled at her response.

"Perhaps I am, my lady," he said, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

He took a sip of his ale, his eyes roaming over her face.

"But I am still perfectly aware of my thoughts and feelings," he added, his gaze growing a little more intense, more heated.

“Please do not vomit all over my dress, the silk came from Essos.” She sighed dramatically.

Cregan laughed, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Oh, I’m not that far gone, I assure you," he said, lifting his ale-filled goblet in a toast.

He paused, his gaze moving from her eyes, down to her dress, drinking in the soft material, the way it hugged her curves.

"Wouldn’t dare ruin such a lovely dress with my vomit."

He took a moment to collect himself, his eyes moving back up to her face.

"Besides, it would be a shame to ruin something so... beautiful," he said, his voice lowering again, a hint of huskiness in his tone.

"Red and black..." he repeated, his eyes roaming over the dress again.

He was even more aware of how closely it fit her frame, how the color brought out her eyes.

"It suits you," he said, his voice lower than usual. "You look... stunning."

“Oh… thank you, my lord.”

Cregan felt a pang of desire shoot through him as she thanked him in that sweet, polite tone. He took a mouthful of ale, trying to calm himself, but his eyes kept straying to her, taking in every little detail of her face, the way her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, the fullness of her cheeks. He found himself wanting to say something more, something bold, something that would express exactly how he was feeling in that moment.

He had never felt this way before, this intense, almost overwhelming desire for someone. He was a northern lord, after all, used to living in the cold, unforgiving North.

And yet here he was, sitting next to a southerner girl, a dragon rider of fire, blood and the sea, whose eyes could disarm him with a single look.

He took another large gulp of ale, trying to steady himself, but he could still feel the heat radiating off his skin, the way his pulse drummed in his ears.

“Jace is taking a bit too—“

“You look incredibly beautiful,” he interrupted.

“Huh… oh?… oh.”

Cregan chuckled at her flustered response, his eyes flicking over her face again, taking in her cheeks slowly turning pink.

“Did I surprise you, Aely?” he teased, a smirk on his lips.

“I did not expect you to be so… bold.”

Cregan chuckled again, the sound low and rumbling in his chest.

"You have no idea how bold I can be," he said, leaning in a little closer.

He was taking a risk, he knew, but he was feeling a little tipsy, a little more confident than usual. The ale and the heat in his veins had given him a certain... recklessness. He loved looking at her perfect face. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her face, the perfect shape of her cheeks, the rosy color on her lips. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to feel the softness of her skin under his fingers.

He took another sip of ale, trying to calm himself, but the heat in his veins was only growing stronger.

“Is there something on my face?” Cregan thinks he might have stared a little too long.

Cregan chuckled, a hint of sheepishness in his expression.

"No, nothing on your face," he said, shaking his head. "I was just admiring your beauty."

He let his eyes roam over her face again, taking in every little detail, the curve of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes. He knew he should stop staring, but he just couldn't help it. He couldn't get enough of her. He sees the way her expression changes.

Cregan raised an eyebrow at her reaction, sensing a subtle change in her expression. Was he being too much? Was he making her uncomfortable? He leaned back a little, giving her some space, but his gaze was still fixed on her face.

"Is everything okay, Lady?" he asked, his voice low.

“I’m fine…” she spoke, he noticed a little tinge of anxiety.

Cregan furrowed his brow, sensing the hint of anxiety in her voice. He knew he needed to be careful, to tread lightly. He set his ale goblet on the tabletop, giving her his full attention.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his tone softer now. "You look a little... uneasy."

But he couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t care that she was betrothed. The thought of her being betrothed didn't sit well with him. He knew he was a northern Lord, and she was a southern dragon lady. It was completely improper for him to have these feelings for her.

But the ale had made him bold, and the desire that was coursing through his veins made it difficult to care about propriety. He wanted her. He tried to push the thought away, but it kept resurfacing, like a wave breaking against the shore.

“Gods, I wanna kiss you right now.” He blurts, his words slightly slurred.

Cregan's eyes widened as the words left his lips before he could stop himself. He had not intended to say that out loud, but the ale had loosened his tongue, and the desire that had been building within him was too strong to ignore.

He studied her face again, seeing the surprise and the hesitation in her eyes. It was not a polite thing to say, certainly not to a betrothed girl. But he couldn't take the words back, and a part of him didn't even want to. Her eyebrows furrowed, her mouth dropped.

“My lord… you are… so drunk!” She nervously laughs, and her body faces away from him.

Cregan chuckled at her reaction, the slight slur in his voice more apparent now.

"Aye, I may be a bit drunk," he conceded, his eyes roaming over her face, not quite able to look away.

He noticed her body turning away from him, and it sent a pang of disappointment through him. He had overstepped, and now she was pulling away. He reached for his ale again, taking a long gulp to soothe the dryness in his throat and the nerves in his body.

"But... " he said, his voice low and a little rough. "I meant what I said."

The ale had made him reckless, and he was past caring about propriety or what was right. All he could think about was the way her lips would feel against his, the way her body would feel in his arms.

“I should go look for Jace…”

Something in him flared at the mention of Jace’s name, a pang of jealousy. He didn’t want her to go looking for the other man. He wanted her to stay with him, to keep talking to him. He reached out, his hand darting out to grasp her arm, gently but firmly.

"No, wait…" he said, his voice low, his grip tightening, preventing her from leaving.

Cregan's hand was still gripping her arm, holding her in place. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin material of her dress, and it only served to intensify his desire. He leaned in closer to her, his face just inches away from hers. His ale-soaked breath fanned over her face as he spoke.

"Stay with me a little longer," he said, his voice a soft, commanding whisper. Cregan's heart thudded in his chest as she sat back down. The knowledge that she was staying, that she wasn't leaving to find Jace, made his pulse race. He released her arm, but kept his gaze fixed on her face, his eyes roaming over her features like he was trying to commit them to memory. The ale had made him bolder, more confident, but it had also heightened his desire for her. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to take her in his arms, to kiss her senseless.

“Just for a few minutes… I want to know if Jace is alright.”

Cregan's eyes narrowed a bit at the mention of Jace again, but he tried to push the annoyance aside.

"Aye, a few minutes," he said, his voice a little gruff.

He took another long swig of ale, trying to calm his racing heart and his restless hands. He wanted to touch her, to pull her closer, but he knew he had to restrain himself. For now. She remained silent, self-conscious as Cregan drunkenly looked at her. Cregan's gaze lingered on her face, his eyes tracing the curves of her jawline, the slope of her cheeks. He was drunk, and the ale had made him completely forget about propriety and what was appropriate. He had never wanted anyone so badly in his life.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his words a bit slurred. "Can't take my eyes off you."

His hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. The skin was soft, as soft as he had imagined. He wanted to touch more, to explore every inch of her body. But he knew he couldn't, not yet. He needed to maintain some semblance of control, no matter how difficult it was with the ale coursing through his veins.

“Thank you, my lord… perhaps you can keep your hands to yourself?” she smiled as she pulled away.

Cregan's hand froze in mid-air, hovering a few inches from her face. He felt a pang of disappointment as she pulled away, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he had overstepped.

"Aye," he muttered, dropping his hand back down to his lap. "Forgive me, Lady. I’m afraid the ale has made me a bit… forward."

“It’s fine…” she sighed.

Cregan took another gulp of ale, trying to steady himself. He had come on too strong, too fast. He should have known better, but the alcohol and the desire he felt for her had clouded his judgment. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow exhale.

"I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," he said, his voice sounding a bit more clear now. "I just… I can’t stop thinking about…"

He trailed off, his eyes roaming over her face again.

“Please don’t be inappropriate again…but it’s alright... just not again.”

Cregan nodded, realizing that he was once again overstepping his bounds. The ale was still coursing through his veins, making it difficult to think clearly, but he tried to rein in his impulses.

"Aye, I understand," he said, his eyes downcast. "I’m sorry for being so forward."

He took another sip of ale, trying to control his trembling hands. He wanted to reach out and touch her again, to feel her skin under his fingers, but he knew he should keep his distance.

“I must remind you that I am to be wed to the prince…” she spoke.

Cregan's expression darkened at the mention of her betrothal to Jace. He had nearly forgotten about that for a blissful minute. He clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his tankard. He knew he had no claim on her, no right to harbor feelings for her.

"Aye, I’m aware," he said, his voice gruff. "But that doesn't stop me from wanting you."

Cregan realized his slip too late. His words had been more honest than he had intended, and he saw the look of surprise in her eyes. He stared down at his hands, his fingers trembling slightly. It was all so damn frustrating. He wanted her so badly, but he knew he could never have her.

"It's not fair," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Then, the doors opened, revealing a rather happy-looking Jacaerys.

“My loooove,” he sang out, clearly tipsy enough to miss the tension.

Cregan's heart sank as Jace burst into the room, looking all too cheerful. The sight of him only served to fuel the fire of his jealousy.

He watched as Jace sauntered over to her, his arm wrapping around her waist possessively. Cregan clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists as he fought the urge to punch the other man in the face.

He noticed how immediately relaxed Aelyria looked…

“My dear. How’d it go?” She smiled again, the tension from her face disappearing slightly.

Cregan watched as Aelyria leaned into Jace's embrace, her body relaxing against his. He could see the affection in her eyes as she looked at him, and it made his heart twist with jealousy. He took a long gulp of ale, trying to calm his racing heart and his growing anger. But it was difficult to ignore the pang of jealousy that stabbed through him every time he looked at them together.

"It went well," Jace replied, his voice a little slurred from the ale. "Everything is all sorted out."

He tightened his arm around Aelyria, pulling her closer to him. Cregan couldn't help but notice the possessiveness in the gesture, and it only fueled his jealousy more.

Cregan's grip on his ale tankard tightened as he listened to their playful banter. He could feel his jealousy growing stronger with every word. He wanted to be the one she was laughing with, the one she was leaning into.

“Did the kids make you drunk?” She giggled.

Jace chuckled. "A little bit," he admitted, his voice still slightly slurred. "They were relentless in their drinking games. I had no choice but to join in."

Cregan's grip on his ale tankard tightened as he listened to their playful banter. He could feel his jealousy growing stronger with every word. He wanted to be the one she was laughing with, the one she was leaning into.

“Come… we should go upstairs.”

"Aye, good idea," Jace agreed, his arm still securely around her waist.

Cregan watched as the pair prepared to leave the room, his heart sinking lower with each passing moment. He knew he had no claim on her, but it didn't make the pain of watching her leave with Jace any less painful.

"Wait," Cregan blurted out, the word leaving his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Oh yes— my lord, me and Jacaerys will be going upstairs now?” She spoke.

Cregan's eyes flicked between Aelyria and Jace, seeing the possessive way the other man held onto her. It only fueled the jealousy that burned within him.

"Aye," he muttered, his voice low. "Go on then."

He couldn't bring himself to protest further, knowing it would be pointless. He watched as they turned to leave, his heart heavy with unfulfilled desire.

“We’ll see you tomorrow?”

Cregan forced a tight smile onto his face, trying to hide his jealousy and hurt.

"Aye," he replied, his voice gruff. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He watched as they left the room, his eyes following them until the door closed behind them. He was alone now, with only his jealousy and unrequited feelings to keep him company.

He could only imagine what the two will be doing tonight… and he gripped his tankard so hard the wood chipped at his nails.

Cregan's mind began to race with images of Jace and Aelyria together, in each other's arms, in a tangled web of limbs and desire. The thought only made the jealousy and anger burn hotter in his chest. He took another long swig of ale, trying to drown out the images and the unwanted thoughts in his mind. But even the strong ale couldn't completely erase the pain and longing in his heart.

He threw the tankard across the room. The tankard hit the wall with a loud thud, sending splinters of wood and droplets of ale flying everywhere. Cregan sat there, breathing heavily, his body tense with anger and frustration. He clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

The sound of the shattering tankard echoed through the room, Cregan runs a hand through his hair… “fuck.”

All photos sourced through Pinterest, dividers made by @cafekitsune

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[goddessofvalyria]

RIDE OR DIE pt.1 | Aemond Targaryen x fem!oc

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

Summary: Aemond Targaryen is the owner of a famous strip club, the Blue Pearl. One night he visits the club and asks for the best girl, unaware of the consequences of his choice…

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, the fem!oc is named Maddy with long brown hair and blue-green eyes, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, SMUT, sexual tension, sex, sex, sex, Modern Aemond in Modern AU.

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 4122

The Blue Pearl is buzzing with its usual electricity, the low hum of conversation mixing with the sensual rhythm of the music. Tonight, though, there's a different kind of tension in the air. Word has spread quickly among the dancers that Aemond Targaryen —the elusive, powerful owner of the club—has made an unexpected appearance.

The dancers steal glances toward the VIP section, where Aemond Targaryen sits, his presence commanding the room without a word. He's dressed in an immaculate black suit, his silver-blond hair slicked back, the eye patch covering his left eye only adding to his enigmatic allure. He surveys the club with a cool, detached air, but there's a sharpness in his gaze, a sense of control that radiates from him.

Madame Sylvie, the woman who runs the girls, is quick to act. She approaches Aemond with the confidence of someone who’s been in this business for years, yet with the respect that his position demands. "Mr. Targaryen," she greets him, her voice smooth. "What can we offer you tonight?"

Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver as he responds, his voice low and authoritative. "The best girl you have."

Madame Sylvie nods, not missing a beat. "Of course, her name is Maddy"

She knows exactly who he wants, who the best is. Without another word, she gestures for Maddy.

Maddy is the club’s jewel. With long, flowing brown hair and mesmerizing green-blue eyes, she’s the sexiest, most sought-after girl at The Blue Pearl. Her beauty is unmatched, but it’s her confidence, the way she moves, that truly sets her apart. Men pay top dollar for just a few minutes of her time, and tonight, she’s about to perform for the boss himself.

As the song "Ride or Die Pt. 2" begins to pulse through the speakers, Maddy steps into the private room where Aemond is waiting. The space is dimly lit, the flicker of red led casting a warm glow over the luxurious surroundings. She’s dressed in a stunning set of lingerie—an expensive bra and thong adorned with Swarovski crystals, loose hair, high heels amd each movement sending a shimmer of light dancing across her skin.

Maddy knows the stakes are high tonight. Aemond Targaryen isn’t just any client; he’s the owner, the man behind the empire that is The Blue Pearl. But she doesn’t let it show. With a sultry smile, she begins to move, her body swaying to the rhythm of the music. Her dance is a seductive blend of grace and raw sensuality, every step calculated to entice, to captivate.

Aemond watches her with an intensity that makes her skin tingle. He’s silent, his expression unreadable, but his eye never leaves her. There’s a predatory edge to the way he looks at her, as if he’s assessing every detail, every movement. Maddy can feel the weight of his gaze, the way it seems to strip her bare, even more than the delicate lingerie she wears.

She twirls and arches her body, the crystals on her outfit catching the light, reflecting the opulence of the room. As she drops down low, her hands sliding up her thighs, she locks eyes with Aemond. For a moment, the world outside the room ceases to exist. It’s just the two of them—the dancer and the boss—caught in a dance that’s as much about power as it is about pleasure.

Aemond’s expression remains stoic, but there’s a subtle shift in his posture, a slight leaning forward as if he’s drawn closer by an invisible force. Maddy notices, and it fuels her confidence. She knows she has his attention, knows she’s living up to the reputation that Madame Sylvie has built around her.

The song reaches its peak, and Maddy’s movements become more fluid, more intense. She’s a vision of temptation, her body moving in ways that are both hypnotic and provocative. She ends the dance by crawling slowly toward him, her eyes locked on his, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

As the last notes of the song fade into silence, Maddy rises to her feet, standing before Aemond with a poise that belies the heat of the moment. She doesn’t say a word—she doesn’t need to. Her performance has said everything.

Aemond finally speaks, his voice as cool and composed as ever. "Well done, Maddy" he says, his tone carrying a note of approval that’s rare from him.

Maddy smiles, a small, triumphant curve of her lips. "Thank you, Mr. Targaryen."

Aemond stands, his tall frame towering over her as he reaches into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a thick envelope, placing it on the table beside her with a finality that suggests their encounter is over. But as he turns to leave, he pauses, looking back at her with that same intense gaze.

"I’ll be seeing you again."

With that, he’s gone, leaving Maddy standing alone in the private room, the soft glow of the red lights still flickering around her. She exhales slowly, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Aemond Targaryen might be the boss, but tonight, she had been the one in control.

As the door to the private room closes behind Aemond, Maddy takes a moment to compose herself, the adrenaline from the dance still buzzing in her veins. The thick envelope filled with money he left behind is a reminder of the power she holds, but it’s the lingering tension in the air that captivates her thoughts. There was something in the way he looked at her, a flicker of something more than mere approval.

Just as she’s about to leave the room, her phone buzzes in her clutch. She pulls it out, surprised to see a number she doesn’t recognize. Instinctively, she knows who it is.

"Maddy," comes Aemond’s low, controlled voice when she answers. His tone sends a shiver down her spine.

"Mr. Targaryen," she replies, letting her voice drop to a husky purr. "Did I leave you wanting more?"

There’s a pause on the other end, a silence heavy with intent. "Come to my office" he commands, but there’s a softness in his voice that wasn’t there before. A hint of something more personal, more vulnerable.

Maddy smiles, a slow, knowing smile. "Are you asking, or are you telling me?"

Another pause, longer this time. "I’m asking," he finally says, the admission sounding like it costs him something. 

She feels a rush of satisfaction. "I’ll be there in five minutes."

The walk to Aemond’s office feels longer than usual, each step echoing with the unspoken tension between them. When she reaches the heavy, oak door, she hesitates for just a second before pushing it open. Inside, the room is dimly lit, much like the private room, but there’s a different energy here—something more intimate, more charged.

Aemond is standing by the large window that overlooks the city, his back to her. The moonlight casts a silver glow over his form, highlighting the sharp angles of his shoulders and the precise lines of his suit. He doesn’t turn around when she enters, but she knows he’s aware of every move she makes.

Closing the door behind her, Maddy saunters across the room, her hips swaying slightly with each step. She knows how to use her body, how to command attention, and right now, she intends to use every ounce of that power.

"You wanted to see me?" she asks, her voice silky smooth as she stops just a few feet behind him.

Aemond finally turns to face her, his expression unreadable, but there’s a tension in his posture, a tightness in his jaw that betrays him. "I wanted to talk" he says, but his voice lacks its usual firmness.

Maddy tilts her head, letting her hair cascade over one shoulder. "Is that really all you wanted, Aemond?" she teases, deliberately using his first name, stripping away the formalities.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on hers, as if searching for something he can’t quite find. The intensity in his eyes makes her heart skip a beat, but she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she takes a step closer, her hand reaching out to lightly brush against his chest.

"You were watching me so closely during the dance," she whispers, her fingers tracing the edge of his lapel. "I could feel your eyes on me, like you were trying to memorize every move I made. Did you like what you saw?"

Aemond’s breath hitches, and for the first time, she sees a crack in his composed exterior. "Yes," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I did."

Maddy smiles, a seductive curve of her lips as she closes the distance between them. She can feel the tension radiating off him, the way his body is taut with restraint. Her hand slides up to his neck, fingers lightly grazing the skin just above his collar. "Then why don’t you show me?"

He looks at her with a mix of longing and hesitation, the usual confidence in his gaze replaced by something more raw, more exposed. "Maddy," he begins, but his voice falters. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Please."

She raises an eyebrow, her smile widening. "Please, what?"

There’s a vulnerability in his expression now, a need that he can’t hide, no matter how hard he tries. "Please... kiss me."

The request is soft, almost desperate, and it catches her off guard. She hadn’t expected him to surrender so easily, but there’s something disarming about it, something that tugs at a part of her she didn’t know existed.

But Maddy doesn’t let the moment slip away. Instead, she leans in slowly, letting the anticipation build as her lips hover just inches from his. She can feel his breath on her skin, warm and unsteady, and she knows she has him completely under her control.

When she finally closes the gap, her lips brushing against his, it’s soft at first—tentative, almost tender. But then Aemond responds, his hands coming up to grip her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens. There’s a hunger in the way he kisses her, a desperation that surprises her, but she matches it, letting herself get lost in the heat of the moment.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, and she feels him shudder beneath her touch. The power shift between them is palpable, the dynamic from earlier now reversed. He might be the boss, the man who runs The Blue Pearl, but right now, he’s the one begging for more.

When they finally pull apart, both of them breathless, Maddy looks up at him, her heart pounding in her chest. Aemond’s eye is dark with desire, his usually controlled demeanor completely shattered. 

"Is that what you wanted?" she whispers, her voice laced with both seduction and something softer, something she hadn’t intended to show.

Aemond nods, his grip on her waist tightening slightly as if he’s afraid to let her go. "Yes," he breathes. "But it’s not enough."

Maddy’s smile returns, a slow, seductive curve of her lips. "Then I guess we’ll just have to see where this goes" she murmurs, leaning in to kiss him again, this time with all the intensity she had held back before.

Because in this game of power and seduction, she knows she’s already won.

୭̥⋆*。

The next evening arrives with an unexpected twist. The Blue Pearl is closed for the night, its usual lively energy replaced by an eerie stillness. No patrons, no music, just the empty halls of the club shrouded in darkness. But for Maddy, the night is far from over.

Madame Sylvie calls her earlier in the day with a specific request. "Maddy, Mr. Targaryen wants you tonight," she says, her voice leaving no room for negotiation. "He’s willing to pay handsomely for your time. It’s just one more private dance."

Maddy hesitates, glancing around the cramped apartment she shares with her older sister and their sick mother. The bills are piling up, and the money Aemond Targaryen offers could make a difference. With a deep breath, she agrees, knowing this isn’t just about the money—it’s about something deeper, something that has been building between them.

As the evening comes, Maddy prepares herself, slipping into a simple, yet provocative outfit—nothing but black heels and a delicate thong. Her long brown hair cascades freely down her back, a sharp contrast against her bare skin. Tonight, the stakes feel higher, the tension thicker.

When she arrives at The Blue Pearl, the silence inside is almost deafening. The club’s usual pulse is replaced by an intimate, almost surreal atmosphere. The only light comes from the dim glow of the overhead fixtures, casting shadows that dance across the empty floor. 

Aemond is waiting in the center of the main room, seated in a leather chair with an air of calm that belies the tension simmering just beneath the surface. He’s dressed in a dark suit, his sharp features highlighted by the faint light. His presence fills the room, commanding attention even in the silence.

Maddy approaches him with deliberate slowness, the click of her heels the only sound echoing through the space. When she stops in front of him, she sees the way his gaze rakes over her body, the hunger in his eye unmistakable.

Without a word, the music begins—a slow, sensual beat that fills the room, creating a private world for just the two of them. Maddy starts to move, her body swaying to the rhythm, every motion deliberate and controlled. She knows what he wants, knows the power she holds over him, and she uses it to her advantage.

Her dance is a blend of elegance and raw seduction, every movement designed to entice. She can feel Aemond’s gaze on her, the way it follows her every curve, every turn. There’s a tension in the air, a charged energy that makes her heart race. But she doesn’t falter. Instead, she loses herself in the dance, her body a perfect instrument of temptation.

As the song reaches its midway point, Aemond shifts in his seat, his hand subtly gesturing for her to come closer. There’s a command in his motion, but also a plea—an unspoken request that she can’t ignore.

Without hesitation, Maddy steps forward, her eyes locked on his as she climbs into his lap. She straddles him, feeling the heat of his body through the fabric of his suit. Her hands rest lightly on his shoulders, her face just inches from his. The tension between them is almost unbearable now, a taut string ready to snap.

Aemond’s hands find her waist, holding her as if she might disappear at any moment. His voice is low, almost a whisper, but the desperation in it is unmistakable. "Please, Maddy… kiss me."

There’s something in his plea, something vulnerable and raw that cuts through the air. For a moment, Maddy just looks at him, seeing not the powerful owner of The Blue Pearl, but a man stripped bare by his own desires. She hesitates, feeling the gravity of the moment.

Then, without another word, she leans in and presses her lips to his. The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but it quickly deepens, fueled by the pent-up emotions between them. Aemond responds eagerly, his grip on her tightening as if afraid to let her go.

The world around them fades away, the music, the empty club—all of it disappears, leaving just the two of them lost in the moment. Maddy can feel the intensity of his need, the way it mirrors her own, and she gives in completely, letting the kiss consume them both.

When they finally pull apart, both are breathless, their faces flushed with the heat of the moment. Aemond’s eye is dark with desire, his control shattered, replaced by something far more primal.

Maddy smiles, a slow, sultry curve of her lips as she leans into whisper in his ear, her voice barely more than a breath. "Is this what you wanted, Aemond?"

He nods, his voice hoarse as he replies, "Yes, but I want more."

Her smile widens, and she kisses him again, this time with all the intensity she’s held back. Because tonight, there are no rules, no boundaries—only the raw, unfiltered connection between them. And in this moment, they both know there’s no going back.

Maddy is excited, on top of him she feels the center of her legs moist, the wet thong and Aemond's fingers, exploring her naked body. Aemond moves her hair behind her back, she on top of him is a divine vision. Maddy moves her hips over those of her boss, she feels the hard erection in his pants. She starts to unbutton his shirt, she kisses him on the neck, Aemond's chest is hard and with defined muscles, his toned arms. Between her thighs she is soaked, it almost hurts her, she continues to kiss him while Aemond with both hands squeezes her breasts and stimulates her already sensitive nipples. Maddy moans under his touch, she whispers his name and he encourages her to do so by increasing his movements.

Aemond sighs, he is so excited that his masculinity hurts. Maddy looks at him with hungry eyes, moves her hands to his belt who nods and ends up taking off his boxers and pants. His erection is big, hard, veiny and his balls are sore and full. Maddy wraps her hand around his length and moves it gently, slowly she gets up from him kneeling in front of him.

"Look at me, Mr. Targaryen" she whispers persuasively, then she licks him, takes him between her lips, all the way to her throat. She sucks him all the way down, between her legs she feels so wet it's hard to bear. She wants to put a hand between her thighs and pleasure herself, the man under him is simply extraordinary, beautiful, dangerous. Maddy squeezes her thighs together, rubbing them. Aemond notices this and even though he is lost in pleasure, he signals her to get back into his arms. Maddy nods, Aemond brings his hands to her hips and slides her thong off. "You're so wet" he whispers, but then he gets up. "Sit on the chair" he orders, she does as he orders. Aemond kneels in front of her and then he bury his face into her wet thighs.

She can’t stop it, it feels too good.

She can’t help but sob under him, watching him desperately as his hips begin to grind against her face, his nose hitting your bundle of nerves each time. Without warning, his long index finger slides inside her, eliciting a small cry of pleasure, mixed with a little pain from the sudden stretch. His finger begins to pump in and out of her gently, his lips trying to ease her pain and apparently it works.

“Aemond, Aemond, oh, Aemond!”

Aemond makes her come on his lips and fingers, Maddy's legs tremble with pleasure. "Sorry" she whispers embarrassed, but Aemond retorts. "You have nothing to apologize for, pretty girl" he stands up, Maddy stands up and looks at him: naked, with his hair loose, the body of a God.

Aemond offers her his hand, Maddy stands up, his hair covering her body in such a sensual way. Aemond sits on the chair, invites Maddy to climb astride him. "Ride or die, remember pretty girl?" he teases her, takes his erection covered by a condom in his hand and Maddy slowly climbs into his arms, lets herself go down on him. He is big, invasive, fills her up to her ass. She rides him, places her hands on his chest, Aemond tightens his hands on her thighs. She is wonderful, heavenly, she is simply his.

The way her pussy grips his cock and tightens around him makes him lose his mind, hitting deeper and deeper inside her until, finally, he hits that spot that makes her scream his name and moan loudly. Maddy begins to see stars with him hitting that spot over and over again, making her completely drunk on him. She feels an incredible knot in her belly as she moans under him louder with every thrust he gives her.

"So fucking good, so fucking tight for me" he praises her.

"Oh god, Aemond" Maddy whispers against his neck holding him tight before her pussy tightens around him. "From today, you will perform only for me" Her own words and the feeling of her nails scratching his back send him over the edge itself, burying his face in her neck, biting her as he comes and fills the condom, releasing his hold on her.

The once-empty club now feels like the most intimate place in the world, their connection deeper than either of them expected.

The soft light from the overhead fixtures casts a warm glow over them as they lie together on the plush seating in the center of the main room. Aemond holds her close, his arm draped around her, his breath still ragged from their lovemaking. Maddy, nestled against his chest, feels a strange mix of contentment and curiosity. 

For a while, they just lie there in comfortable silence, but eventually, Maddy’s gaze drifts to the patch over Aemond’s left eye. She hesitates for a moment, then softly asks, "Aemond… will you take off the patch?"

Aemond tenses slightly, his body going still beneath her. It’s a vulnerable request, one he’s not used to. He’s quiet for a moment, and she can feel the conflict within him. But then, with a slow exhale, he nods and reaches up to remove the patch.

As the patch comes away, Maddy’s breath catches in her throat. Where his left eye should be, there’s a brilliant sapphire, glowing faintly in the dim light. The gemstone is beautiful, mesmerizing, yet also a stark reminder of something painful.

She reaches up to touch his face gently, her fingers tracing the edge of the sapphire. "What happened?" she asks softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Aemond looks at her, his expression more open than she’s ever seen it. "My nephew… when we were younger, he assaulted me. It was a cruel game, a show of power. This…" He gestures to the sapphire. "This is what was left."

Maddy’s heart aches for him, for the pain he must have endured. But more than that, she sees the strength it took to survive, to wear that sapphire as both a reminder and a shield. "Aemond," she whispers, "you’re wonderful. You don’t need to hide this from me."

Aemond’s eye searches hers, looking for any hint of pity or disgust, but all he finds is acceptance. It’s a rare thing for him—someone seeing beyond the scars, beyond the wealth and power, to the man underneath.

In that moment, something shifts between them. Aemond, who is always so controlled, so guarded, lets down his defenses completely. "Maddy," he begins, his voice softer than before, "would you go out with me? A real date, just you and me."

Maddy blinks in surprise, taken aback by the simplicity and sincerity of the request. "Aemond, I… I’m not rich. I don’t have anything to offer you."

Aemond silences her with a gentle kiss on her lips, pulling back just enough to speak. "I don’t care about that, Maddy. I care about you."

Her heart flutters at his words, and she feels a warmth spread through her chest. She’s spent so long believing that her worth was tied to what she could offer, what she could earn, but here is Aemond, the man who could have anything he wants, choosing her for who she is.

Maddy searches his face, looking for any sign that this is just a game, but all she sees is sincerity. Slowly, she nods. "Okay," she whispers, "I’ll go out with you."

Aemond’s face breaks into a rare, genuine smile, one that lights up his entire expression. He leans in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss, this time filled with a softness and affection that’s different from the hunger they shared earlier. It’s a kiss that speaks of promises, of possibilities, of something real and lasting.

As they pull away, Aemond rests his forehead against hers, his hand gently cupping her face. "You are so dangerous and beautiful" he murmurs.

Maddy smiles, her own hand reaching up to cover his. "You're so sweet."

In that quiet moment, surrounded by the remnants of their passion and the stillness of the club, they both realize that something new has begun—something neither of them expected, but both are willing to explore.

And as Aemond kisses her again, this time with all the love and tenderness he’s kept hidden for so long, Maddy knows that this is only the beginning of their story.

[temporarily-your-saint]

Dull Blades Pt. 2

benjicot blackwood x targaryen oc

word count: 2.6k

warnings: slight spoilers from Fire & Blood book, blood/war description

tropes: slow burn, angst, forbidden lovers??

PART 1: https://www.tumblr.com/chels-cosplay/754806134048800768/dull-blades

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The campsite was riddled with mud and bloodthirsty men spread throughout as the princess made her way back. This was war, she thought to herself. So many men lined throughout the grounds ready to die for her family, for her mother’s right to the throne. She found pride in it yet a strain of sadness pinged inside her chest at the thought. A sorrowful notion enveloped her mind as she realized the reality of it all. Many of these men, if not most, will die. But there wasn’t time to dwell for she needed to be strong and prove to these men that it was worth it, that her mother, and that she too was worth it. And she was here to help.

Heads turned toward her as the silver-haired princess threw open the tent flap. Respectful bows followed with mutters of “princess” followed as she passed the men inside to take her position at the head of the table. Her eyes fell down at the map in front of her. It wasn’t quite the extravagant, fire-glowing map she had at home but it would do.

“Princess, the Lannister army holds fast and we’re running out of time. The Kinslayer could fly over at any moment with that beast of his. We must act immediately,” Forrest Frey’s words broke her away from her thoughts. Forrest Frey, or known as Fool Frey, lead his house with nearly eight hundred men.

“Why do you think our queen sent me this way, Lord Frey?” Her words were harsh, challenging the man next to her. Of course she knew they were running out of time. Her dragon, Valax, was the only one that could even come close to challenging Vhagar. And for this reason was the only way she was able to fully convince her mother to send her to the Riverlands to fight.

Lord Frey’s lips parted as if to begin speaking but was quickly interrupted as the tent swung open. Deep brown eyes found Rhaelana’s as she sized up the familiar figure that approached the table.

“Good of you to finally join us, Lord Blackwood,” sarcasm teased the princess’s words as her face remained stoic, gaze never leaving his.

“Princess,” he responded with nod, a mischievous smirk itching at the corner of his lips.

Her eyes scanned across the table to the other lords and then landed back to Lord Frey. “As we were discussing…Yes, time is not our ally at the present. The Lannisters have the disadvantage being on these lands though their numbers are impressive. More than impressive. If I was informed correctly, they stand with nearly twice as many bodies. And as stated before, Vhagar could be in the skies at any moment,” She sighed as she stated the unfortunate facts. The defense of the Greens was a terrifying factor to swallow but they had the North, and she knew they fought like no others.

“Lord Roderick, you will take your wolves to the front. You’ll be leading us.” Her arm reached across the table to move the marker in position. “Lord Frey will follow with his knights and infantrymen on either side to enclose the Greens. And Lord Blackwood,” her voice breathed, meeting those familiar eyes once again. “Lord Rivers will set your archers on the north. We’ll march south to meet the Greens where we’ll attack near Gods Eye.”

She took a deep breath as her voice lowered. “I need all of your fighters to push the Lannister army as close to the water as possible. I came here with my dragon to aid you in this battle but I will not set these lands aflame. These are your kin’s land and I will not dare turn it to fire and ash.”

The lords watched her, understanding her command. Her eyes searched theirs, looking to find respect or horror or disgust, anything to help gage where she stood amongst these men. Then her eyes found the young lord’s across the table once again. He watched her in awe, determined to fulfill her orders and win this war for her mother, for her. She turned her gaze away, a slight blush reaching up her neck to her cheeks from the intensity of his gaze.

“Best make an end to these lions before the dragons come, Princess,” Sir Roderick spoke up, breaking her from her train of thought.

“Ready your forces, my lords. We march at dawn.”

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“It’s over, princess.”

Rhaelana’s eyes darted around the battlefield. It was like casting one’s eyes over a red sea—blood staining the grass as far as their eyes could witness. Death surrounded them.

Water dripped from the princess’s face as rain began to fall. It was as if the heavens cried for them. Gods, it was a cruel world.

Lilac eyes found the lord next to her as he spoke. She nodded, agreeing with him. “Yes,” she began, reaching up towards her own face to wipe splattered mud and blood from her face. “But more is coming. We will need to prepare but tonight we rest, Lord Blackwood.”

"The men have earned it. Rest that is," Benjicot's head turned to meet Rhaelana's gaze, taking in the sight of the princess with a hint of melancholy.

He was an unwaveringly loyal supporter of his queen and had grown quite fond of her daughter, the princess that stood before him. His respect for her only grew during the battle as she fought alongside the men and women that gave their lives for the true crown. The fire that grew within her, a pure dragon through and through, was also impressive and a sight to behold. One that he would remember for the rest of his days.

His gaze dropped to the mud, flecked with red and brown, at their feet. Rhaelana’s eyes found his face, studying the young man. He was handsome with his high cheek bones and rounded face. A slim figure but a mighty and brutal force on the battlefield. She had quickly learned why he adopted the name “Bloody Ben” from the rest of the men.

“We can rest while we hold a funeral pyre tonight, princess. My men deserve that, at least. We have lost more than not. If you’ll permit it, that is.”

The princess’s eyes fell to the saturated ground as he mentioned the funeral. So many had given their lives. Her heart silently broke for those now laying before her amongst the muck. More than half of their men was gone.

“Listen to me, Lord Blackwood,” she spoke softly, almost in a whisper. “Every fight. Every battle you survive, you have to see the end. You must gaze upon those that are now gone.” Her voice hitched at the last word. “We at least owe them that. And we must never forget what it cost us.”

With that, she glanced at the young man next to her and reached out to touch his arm, almost as a condolence. Or maybe she needed to touch someone in that moment that was living, just to find some sort of warmth and comfort.

She then nodded her head toward him, dismissing herself as she strode past him and into camp.

Benjicot’s gaze followed her as she walked past him. He couldn’t help but miss the warmth that radiated from her hand as she left. Gods, and the comfort. It was only for a mere second but he ached for that comfort again, ached for any sort of relief from this hell he stood in. The young lord had seen death before but not like this. Never like this. Bodies of boys, barely even reached manhood scattered throughout the carnage now engraved into his brain. Rain drops hit his face, mixed with salty tears that trickled down, falling onto the blood-soaked ground.

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As the sun finally set, Benjicot’s thoughts kept drawing him back to Rhaelana. He thought of the melancholy look in her eyes and the tremble he'd heard in her voice. Her words echoed in his brain, not able to draw himself out from the memory of her.

The lord felt an odd sense of protectiveness towards the young princess. A protectiveness he loathed to ever admit out loud, especially since he knew she could hold her own. He had seen her fierceness first-hand on the battlefield, so it was almost comical to feel as if he needed to be the one to protect her. She had come to the Riverlands to do exactly that but for the North and for his men.

After eating a few bites of bread and smoked venison, Benjicot rose from his tent and picked his way through groups of men, looking for the Queen's daughter.

Rhaelana sat near the fire that was at the center of camp. The log below her dampened her legs and tunic but the flame before her kept her warm and dry enough. Luckily the rain had let up before nightfall but the chilly air still brushed along her face. Her cheeks appeared rosy, a flush spreading from her there up to her nose from that cool breeze. She certainly was not used to the chillier and wetter climate that the Riverlands provided.

She brought the mug she held to her lips, drinking in the strong ale and allowing the alcohol to warm her as well.

Benjicot's eyes continued to scan the camp until he caught sight of the young princess sitting by the campfire. Her silver hair and small frame was near impossible to miss. He approached her, stopping behind her toward the side.

"You will catch a chill," he drawled, his voice playful though a hint of worry was there. He stood behind her to shield her from most of the still-cold night air.

A smirk played at the corner of her mouth. She took one more sip and then turned toward the man next to her. The princess recognized his voice before she even turned her gaze toward him.

“If a cold takes me then I think that would be the least of my worries, my lord,” she teased as her purple eyes found his.

She tilted her chin toward the fire as she spoke, “Come, join me, Lord Blackwood.”

A smile tugged at his lips in response to her jape and Benjicot made a show of sighing before rounding the fire and sitting down next to Rhaelana. He boldly sat close to the princess, their legs almost touching.

"I dare say you're only asking because of the warmth I may offer," he teased back, watching the embers dance across her face.

Rhaelana’s smile never faltered as he teased while he made his way to sit next to her. She hadn’t quite gotten used to his wit and brazenness but was always pleasantly surprised by the young lord.

She adjusted her posture and brushed his leg with her own, playfully taunting back. A quickened pulse drummed in her ears as a light blush spread over her. His proximity was intoxicating and the alcohol she sipped only heightened her own boldness.

“And maybe I would like to enjoy some company,” she teased back.

Feeling the princess move closer, Benjicot dared to shift a bit closer to her as well. He knew they needed to behave for her sake, for her honor. She was the princess after all. But gods, did she captivate him.

Her words made the young lord look at her, taking in the slight blush that spread over her face. Despite her being age eight and ten, more than marriageable, in that moment she looked like a young girl flirting with peril.

"What sort of company would you like?" He asked, his voice lower and slightly breathier than usual, daring her to answer.

Her eyes fell from his stormy eyes to his lips. She traced over his handsome features with her own lilac ones. She memorized the scar that lay above his lip, the crook of his teeth as he smiled, the way his eyes beamed toward her with eagerness. He felt so familiar, so comfortable to her.

Her gaze then met his once again as she spoke, “Yours, specifically,” she stated boldly, her words falling from her lips in a whisper.

The answer surprised him and yet it didn't. Benjicot had noticed the glances she'd given him when she thought he wasn't looking. The way her hand lingered on his arm when she needed him to stay by her side after the battle. The way her eyes had trailed to and settled on his face every time he spoke.

As she sat next to him now, with their thighs and knees pressed together, he felt as if his heart was suddenly lodged in his throat. He swallowed once, hard.

"And what does my specific company entail, princess?" He asked quietly.

Of course she noticed that he was nervous. Or maybe excited? Both? She understood for her own nerves ran through her body and electrified her. The princess had never been this close to him before or any man for that matter. That fact made her heart pound in her ears, almost sure that he could also hear it.

Her voice didn’t rise above a whisper as she answered his question. “You are to keep your princess safe, Lord Blackwood,” she responded, the teasing never leaving her tone.

Benjicot’s mouth quirked to one side. In her playful tone he could hear her bravado, her attempt at hiding her own nervousness.

He moved even closer, closing nearly all the space that was between them.

"Well, that is my duty...my lady,” as he spoke, he reached upwards carefully. His hand hovered over her cheek for a few beats before gingerly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

His fingers lingered on her skin, just above her cheek, feeling the warmth from her body.

He moved closer, so close that he could smell the sweet scent of lavender and ale that emitted from the young woman. She was intoxicating. He was close enough to count the minute freckles that dotted her nose as his eyes scanned her face.

“Benjicot. Or, Benji. You can call me Benji," he said quietly, gaze finding hers once again, then drifting down to her lips.

He suddenly felt very, very nervous. For the first time in his life, Benjicot Blackwood had no idea what to say or do next.

Rhaelana’s mind raced. He was so close, so close she could move just a mere couple of inches and she’d—

“Princess,” his voice whispered, snapping her from her thoughts. “We should turn in until the morrow.”

Gods, he wanted her to oppose him. He wanted to stay here, warming the princess during the bleak night. But he knew better. He knew they couldn’t risk unsolicited eyes surveilling their current position.

The princess’s heart sank as she drew back away from Benjicot at his words. Of course, how could I be so careless? Maybe it’s the ale… Did I read into him wrong?

She took one last sip of her ale, emptying the cup and stood from her seat next to him. Disappointment clung to the inside of her chest, causing her heart to ache as it clenched around it with every beat.

“Goodnight, Lord Blackwood. Until the morning,” Rhaelana nodded her head towards him and then turned away to strode towards her tent, dismissing herself.

Benjicot sat dumbfounded, disappointed, and confused. He knew he had done the honorable thing, especially by preventing any sort of gossip that could potentially spread if the wrong eyes gawked at them. But why did he feel so discontent?

He decided then that he would make things right with the princess in private where wandering eyes couldn’t defile hers or his reputation.

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HI, HELLO! I was so excited to write a second part and now that we’re here, I am even more thrilled to continue on with a third one. I truly thought I was only going to do a one-shot but uh, I live for a slow burn romance. Thank you all for taking the time of day to read this little blurb that’s been stuck in my brain. I am clearly still all aboard the fancast Benjicot train. :’) We only know pain here, huh?

[leodette]

Hello! Would it be possible to get some Max + 49? Thank you very much!

no. 49 - holding onto the other’s shoulders for support

Please, I’ve Been On My Knees | MV33

fandom: Formula 1

pairing: Max Verstappen x OC (not named)

names/faceclaims: -

summary: she needs small helpful hand before leaving for FIA Award Ceremony

warning: -

requested: yes / no

**********

“Baby, did you see my phone?” Max yelled from the bedroom, looking around for the familiar case with a cat face on it.

“It’s in my clutch already, Maxie. So you wouldn’t loose it,” his girlfriend answered, walking out of the bathroom, applying the final layer of lip oil.

They were in Baku, at the annual FIA Award Ceremony. Basically said - if you were a rookie, or top 3 in the championship, you had to be there. Max attended the ceremony two times already, claiming his two world championship trophies, but he was always accompanied by a family member. Either his mom, or his grandma, or his sister. This year it was the first time he would have his girlfriend with him. They met at the last year’s ceremony, her being the daughter of one of the patrons. Flashforward, and this year she was by his side, her father sending her in his stead.

She was hiding her dress from him, murmuring that it was a surprise and he didn’t need to match since he only needed a black tuxedo and a black bow tie. But despite that, Max knew that his girl would look awesome, and that was confirmed when she entered the room, closing the pocket mirror and looking at him. Max was like he saw a ghost - mouth open, not able to think properly. Because he didn’t expect a long silver gown that covered her body like a waterfall, with a deep cutout at the back that almost showed the top part of her gorgeous bum.

“Did the dress come with a sleeping mask as well?” he asked finally, coming to his senses. She stopped in her tracks, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Why a sleeping mask?”

Max smirked. “Hope you don’t expect me to allow anyone else to ogle you,” he put his hands on her waist, pressing a kiss on her neck.

“Oh stop it you muppet,” she giggled, pushing him away.

“Note to self - don’t allow her to spend so much time with Norris, his vocabulary rubs on her,” Max murmured under his breath while picking his suit jacket, throwing it over his shoulders and taking her bag.

“Shall we go?” he offered her his arm, but she she smirked.

“You want me to go barefoot? Seriously?” she motioned for a pair of silver heels on the other side of bed, making a step in their direction.

“Don’t,” Max stopped her, picking the shoes and lowering himself on one knee in front of her, gently grabbing one of her soft calves.

“May I?” he looked up at her. She had her lip between her teeth, blushing slightly.

“Mhmmm,” she hummed and grabbed his shoulders for stability when he lifted her leg and put the shoe on her foot, tying the satin ribbon around her shin.

“Second one, please baby,” Max motioned for the other leg, and she lifted it on his command, allowing him the same treatment as the first time. He tied the bow, not too tight but not too loose, and pressed a kiss on the inner side of her knee.

Her breath hitched.

“Behave,” she whispered breathily, and Max smirked, knowing well what affect he had on her.

And he wanted to continue when his phone in her bag pinged, announcing the arrival of their car. It broke them out of the heated bubble, the pair exchanging smiles before finally picking all their necessities and walking out of the room, her allowing Max to lock the door.

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Love Flames

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Female OC

summary: Daemon Targaryen simply loves his wife.

Word count: 2,8K

Warnings: Smut, Cunnilingus, movement restrain, slight body worship

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

The morning sun bathed the chambers of the Red Keep in a warm, golden light. Marleina Harroway moved gracefully through the opulent halls, her footsteps echoing softly on the polished marble floors. The Red Keep, home to the Targaryen dynasty for generations, was a place steeped in history and power.

As she made her way toward the private chambers where her sons were receiving their lessons, Marleina couldn't help but feel a sense of reverence for the ancient fortress. The Red Keep had seen the rise and fall of kings and queens, and now it was her family's home.

Entering the room where Maester Elyas was instructing her three sons, Marleina's presence commanded attention. Aenys, Maegon, and Baelon, the Targaryen princes, looked up from their studies, their eyes brightening at the sight of their mother.

"Good morning, my lords," Marleina greeted them with a warm smile. Aenys, the eldest and the spitting image of his father Daemon, nodded respectfully. Maegon, with his dark hair and keen intellect, acknowledged her with a nod as well. Baelon, the youngest and most spirited of the three, practically bounced in his seat.

Maester Elyas bowed respectfully. "Lady Marleina, a pleasure, as always."

Marleina returned the gesture before focusing on her sons. "How are your studies progressing, my loves?"

Aenys spoke first, his voice steady and assured. "We are delving into the history of the Red Keep, Mother, and learning about the responsibilities that come with our lineage."

Marleina's violet eyes gleamed with pride. "A worthy subject, Aenys. The Red Keep is a symbol of our house's enduring strength and legacy."

Maegon chimed in, his analytical mind at work. "I find the intricacies of court politics intriguing, Mother. It's like a never-ending game of strategy."

She nodded approvingly. "Indeed, Maegon. Understanding the game is essential in the world we live in."

Finally, her gaze turned to Baelon, who was practically bursting with enthusiasm. "And you, Baelon?"

Baelon's eyes shone with excitement. "I want to ride dragons like Father one day!"

Marleina's heart warmed at her youngest son's dream. "One day, my sweet Baelon. But for now, remember that knowledge and wisdom are the true sources of power."

As Marleina watched her sons absorb the lessons imparted by Maester Elyas, she knew that their upbringing within the Red Keep would shape them into formidable leaders of House Targaryen. In the heart of the Red Keep, surrounded by history and tradition, her family's destiny was being forged.

Daemon Targaryen, her husband and their father, was a man of ambition and charisma, but it was the love and guidance they received from their mother that would prepare them for the challenges that lay ahead.

Marleina was determined to ensure that the Targaryen legacy endured, even within the formidable walls of the Red Keep.

After ensuring that her sons were settled into their lessons, Marleina decided to check on her husband, Daemon Targaryen. It was unusual for him to be absent from his morning training sessions with the sword. Daemon was known for his unwavering dedication to honing his combat skills, even in times of peace. His absence from their shared chamber was a rare occurrence.

As she approached the door to their private quarters within the Red Keep, Marleina's steps grew cautious. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. With a gentle push, she entered their chamber, her eyes immediately falling upon Daemon.

He sat by the window, bathed in the soft morning light, his gaze fixed on the sprawling city of King's Landing below. His usual armor and weapons were nowhere in sight. Instead, he wore a simple robe, and his long silver hair cascaded down his back in disarray.

"Daemon?" Marleina's voice was filled with concern as she approached him.

Daemon turned his head slowly, as if pulled from deep contemplation. His violet eyes, so like those of their sons, met hers, and there was a weariness in them that Marleina had rarely seen.

"Marleina," he said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he rose to his feet. "I didn't expect you back so soon."

She stepped closer, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek. "Is something troubling you, my love? You've missed your training this morning."

Daemon's shoulders slumped slightly, and he sighed. "I needed some time alone, to think."

Marleina studied her husband's face, her concern deepening. "About what?"

He hesitated, then took her hand in his. "About the future, Marleina. About the burden of our name and what it means for our sons."

Marleina knew that the weight of the Targaryen legacy was a heavy one. The realm was always watching, and the expectations placed upon their family were immense. But she had never seen Daemon so affected by it.

"Daemon," she said softly, "we will face whatever challenges come our way together. Our sons are strong and capable, and they have a mother and father who love them dearly."

Daemon nodded, his grip on her hand tightening. "You're right, Marleina. I mustn't let my worries consume me. We have a duty to our house and our people."

Marleina leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "And we will fulfill that duty, my love, as we always have."

As they held each other close, Marleina couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of determination. The challenges of ruling the Seven Kingdoms as House Targaryen were formidable, but they had faced adversity before and emerged stronger.

Daemon being himself couldn't keep up the intimate image. His arms tightened around her waist pulling her closer to his body. Their marriage may have not been one of love in the beginning but now it surely was.

"Daemon" Marleina warned. Her words went straight over his head and captured her lips silencing her. His kisses were always rough and passionate.

"Shhh, dārilaros" Princess. Daemon shushed her. His calloused fingers slowly began undoing the bodice of her dress. Marleina ceased complaining, she never truly hated the idea of bedding him, even from their first night he showed her nothing but pleasure.

"I'll take good care of you, dārilaros" Daemon whispered against her ear. Marleina basically melted in between his arms at that point.

In minutes Daemon had her fully naked on their bed. His eyes wide and pupil blown with lust. Marleina guided his head closer to her, kissing him straight on the lips. Daemon moved his head down needing more than the taste of her lips.

Marleina's head fell back with pleasure when he took one of her nipples in his mouth. Daemon was anything but gentle, he was a monster in bed. His teeth sank into the flesh earning a cry of both pain and pleasure from Marleina. She enjoyed the pain he inflicted on her way too much.

Daemon pulled away from Marleina to watch her reaction. She had her eyes closed merely enjoying his touches. Daemon smirked and moved off the bed completely. Marleina whined disappointed with the lack of his touch.

Her eyes flew open when she felt him grab her wrist and tie something around it. She looked down to find a silk like rope in his hand. He raised his eyebrow when their eyes met. He held open his palm for her other hand.

"What are you doing?" She asked confused. Daemon wiggled his fingers asking silently for her other hand. She hesitantly gave him her other hand. He tied her wrist with the other one before raising them above her head.

She squealed in surprise. He tied the rope to the head board of the bed chuckling darkly at her reaction.

"Shhh sweet dārilaros" Daemon placed a finger on her lips. He pushed it into her mouth. Marleina sucked on his sole finger in her mouth. Daemon groaned at the feeling.

"Dirty girl, probably imagining my cock" Daemon smirked when she nodded her head. His cock twitched in his trouser. This woman was everything to him, she was his wife, she was the mother of his children, children he intend to have more of from her.

He moved to climb on top of her, slowly pressing kisses to her neck, teasing her. His lips trailed down, completely ignoring her breast much to her annoyance, she was just too sensitive there ever since she had their first child.

His lips continued their way down her navel, pushing her legs open Daemon wanted to dive right into her soaking cunt but held himself back. His lips littered the inside of her thighs with kisses, sucking and marking them, He wanted to devour her if possible.

"Daemon" Marleina cried, growing even more annoyed with his neglect.

"Patience sweet dārilaros, let me love you, let me love your body" Daemon placed a hand on her belly and pushed down when she attempted to push her hips in his face.

Daemon trailed kisses up from her knee to the corner of her lower lips. Marleina's breath got caught in her throat, heart beating faster with anticipation.

Daemon finally placed his lips on the area that was crying for his touch. A loud moan escaped Marleina's lips when his lips placed a small kiss to her pearl. He took it between his lips sucking gently, her whole body shook at the feeling.

"Taste so good" Daemon prasied. His tongue ran through her foold, maoning at the taste of her on his tongue. Marleina's back arched when his tongue pushed.

The feeling of his wet muscle teasing her inner walls sent shock waves through her body. She wanted to claw at her own flesh, she wanted to claw his flesh but she couldn't her hands were tied.

She tried to fight against the restrains, she wanted to escape. Her wrists began to hurt with each tug but to no use they wouldn't come out. He was a soldier, he knew how to make a good knot, one that would never unravel, he know how to restrain movement.

"Bad girl" Daemon delivered a quick slap to her pearl when she tried pushing her cunt closer to his face. Daemon's demeanour changed and he dived in with all he god.

"Fuck, your body is perfect" he whispered. Hand running up her side, feeling every curve, every extra layer of skin from each pregnancy. She was an angel, she was just perfect for him.

"Daemon, please" She pleaded, hips trying to rock into him. He climbed back up to lay on top of her.

"Shhh" Daemon nuzzled his nose against hers. She didn't notice him reaching down to grab himself. She didn't see him place his tip against her entrance, too deeply concentrated on the kisses he was placing on her neck.

Her shocked gasp tickled Daemon's lips from their closeness, the way her eyes widened was comical to Daemon who chuckled. The second he pushed his cock in, he pushed the entire thing, he just shoved it inside of her.

It was painful, painful as hell even with preparation, but Marleina loved pain, loved his pain. The mere move of him shoving himself inside of her sent her spireling down a hole of shakiness, her orgasm moving through her body along with her blood.

"So tight" Daemon's head fell back at the feeling of her walls contracting around him. Her legs rose to wrap around his hips, locking above his bottom pulling him even closer.

"So perfect, Daemon, so full" Marleina whimpered in his ear. Daemon with his face buried in the crook of her neck, hand trailing up to hold the knot he made around her wrists, the other hand holding her thigh in a bruising grip, began moving his hips.

No rocking, no gentle movement, straight to slamming into her. Her screams of his name echoed around the room bouncing against the walls in a race with his own groans and moans of pleasure.

"Daemon! Please please please, more" She cried. Daemon's finger hooked around the knot pulling at it releasing her wrists free. He wanted to feel pain, he wanted her to scratching, hold him and scream in his ear.

Hands free went straight to wrap around him, scratching down his back, definitely drawing blood. Daemon groaned in her ear at the feeling, he loved so much. His hips moving in a pace no one could imagine, she just felt so good around his cock.

"I'm coming" She warned. Daemon pulled away from her neck leaving behind bruises that she will surely be mad about once her head was clear again. He looked down at her face, eyes tightly closed hiding eyes rolled back, mouth open letting through screams of his name and warnings of her coming soon. Tears rolling down her cheeks he leaned down to kiss away loving the salty tang in his mouth from them.

"Come for me, come on my cock, let your perfect cunt come around me" Daemon sat up on his knees, hand on her hips raising them to the same level as his cock letting it reach new depth inside of her.

"Daemon!" She screamed, whole body going into another dimension, shaking and spasming in his arms.

"Fuck" Daemon groaned, her orgasm made her walls the tightest they could ever be. He felt his whole body going numb at the feeling, falling on top of her, balls deep inside letting his cum shoot deep inside of her painting her walls white.

"Fucking hell" She cried too oversensitive. Her hips squirming under him trying to get away from him but all the movement did was make her feel even more pleasure, pulling a quick second orgasm for herself without even meaning too.

Daemon chuckled pulling out of her gently and rolling to lay by her side, cock softening. She immediately rolled into his arms, head on his chest and arms circled around him, one leg draped around his waist. Daemon wrapped his arm around her, finger trailing down to her bottom giving it a quick squeeze before continuing down to her cunt, touching it from behind, feeling his spend leaking out of her and gathering some. She whimpered at the feeling of his fingers on her wiggling a little. Daemon pulled his fingers back up and shoved them in front of her face, she didn't waste a second to take them into her mouth sucking them like the good girl she was.

"Perfect wife" He praised, kissing her forehead gently. She giggled snuggling deeper into his embrace.

Nine months after that fateful night, the Red Keep was filled with the joyous cries of a newborn. Marleina had given birth to a daughter, and the entire Targaryen household celebrated the arrival of little Visenya. The baby girl was a bundle of energy and happiness from the moment she entered the world, her cries echoing through the castle like a song of hope.

In the chamber where Marleina held her daughter for the first time, Daemon stood by her side, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and tenderness. Aenys, Maegon, and Baelon gathered around, their faces filled with awe as they beheld their little sister.

"Her name suits her," Marleina whispered, her voice filled with affection as she gazed at the tiny girl in her arms. "Visenya, the princess of our hearts."

Aenys, being the eldest, was the first to reach out and gently stroke his sister's cheek. "She's beautiful, Mother."

Maegon nodded in agreement, his analytical mind already considering the implications of a sister in their lives. "What does this mean for our family, Mother?"

Marleina smiled at her sons, realizing that this new addition would indeed bring changes. "It means that you now have a sister to protect and cherish, just as you have each other."

Baelon, who had been eagerly waiting his turn, finally got a chance to hold Visenya. His eyes sparkled with delight as he cradled the baby in his arms. "I'll protect her with my sword when I'm older, just like Father."

Daemon knelt beside Baelon and ruffled his hair affectionately. "That's the spirit, my boy. But for now, you must protect her with your love."

Visenya, oblivious to the discussions about her future, continued to gurgle and coo, her tiny fingers reaching out to grasp at the world around her. In her presence, the worries and responsibilities of the realm faded away, leaving only the pure and unbridled love of a family united by a new life.

As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, Visenya became the heart of the Red Keep. Her laughter echoed through the halls, and her siblings doted on her endlessly. Marleina and Daemon, despite the challenges of their position, found solace and joy in the innocence of their youngest child.

With Visenya's arrival, the Targaryen family was more complete than ever before. The boys, once an army of brothers, now had a little sister to protect and guide. The Red Keep, filled with history and tradition, had a new princess to grace its ancient halls.

[lady-ashfade]

My Oath

day six of celebration marathon

Percy Jackson x platonic!demigod!reader. (God of the unknown because I can’t help myself, he is a oc of mine for my pjo series)

-£ plot: Your father has learned of a new forbidden child. As his number one he sends you to do his bidding. until your loyalty is challenged.

-words: 1k

-£part two?

-£ warnings: angst, plot of murder, new plot, slight spoilers for readers father in “a love watered by blood”, god of the unknown, (Big spoilers. Reader is sent to kill Pecy) , also the song from Epic:the Troy sagas “the horse and the infant” is what this is based off of.

you were no oath breaker.

you bowed at your fathers feet as he sat upon his throne. the place you called home was dark and misty, your fathers doing, it was a place of mistrust but undying loyalty to him. it was you who was called on often as you served at his hand, you proved your worth as a demigod and you became something more when he took you into his ranks. no other gods dared to speak to him and he liked it that way, no fuss or chatting.

they had many secrets. and he could spill them all.

he hated his “family” and they knew it. wars have been taught over centuries and he picked a side with little care. but he did love secrets and nothing was kept from him even in the smallest corner in the world. every whisper was his to hear.

“what is needed of me.” your eyes stayed on the marble floor beneath your knee, your arms thrown over and await his command.

“i have found a forbidden child, again,” he picked at his nails, his body slumped against the throne.

“a son of poseidon, perseus jackson. make his death quick, but i don’t care if it’s painful.”

you slowly looked up at him, you examined his calm and carelessness behavior. a forbidden child was not unheard of to you, as you have been sent to watch a few over the many years. killing was easy for you, no harm came to your mind as the thought of displeasing your father outweighed any death you caused by your hands.

“tell me where to go.” you agreed to the quest.

earth was a strange place, especially since you grew up in a different time. though you watched the mortal realm in the mirror in your room, finding peaceful places and happy memories being created. but it was a curse, no matter how hard you tried to fight it, when your eyes closed you would dream about the horrors of life. maybe it was a way of life getting back at you for being the cause of destruction— a weapon to be used.

creeping into the apartment building, the widow was not able to keep you out since you had many tools. you’ve done things like this, sneak and kill, return and repeat at his command. you never failed— in fear of being destroyed yourself, a gods wrath was a hard punishment for anyone.

the room was dark and only the light from the moon shined in, making things noticeable. the clothes sticked to your skin from the weather that night. drawling your dagger, preparing to kill your next victim and without causing destress or a fight. but it wasn’t a man you saw. it wasn’t a bed.

it was a crib, a few shells hanging above the babes sleeping body.

stepping back in shock and hesitation you stare at the infant. he was so small. he looked healthily. how is he going to cause any harm? you couldn’t kill a child- a baby. someone unwilling to make decisions for themselves. your doubts and thoughts caused your ears to start ringing, the drums getting pressure built on them.

“I can sense you have your doubts,” the deep voice makes your body shiver and look down at the bracelet on your wrist. the only thing your father gifted you, a silver band with a mirror attached in the center. he could see what was happening anytime without fail. all mirrors are a portal for his eyes.

“He’s just a boy- what kind of threat does he pose?” you kept your voice low and hushed to not awake the mother of the babe.

“he is a forbidden child, you know what that entails. you’ve seen it with your own eyes the damage they cause, the wars started with unfair advantages. that child will grow into a soldier, cause chaos everywhere he steps and gets good people killed. you know I am right.” each point he made was the same he used before to justify his actions.

“don’t make me do this.” you plead. you’ve never begged before, never spared a life in all your years. but never, have you been sent to kill someone so innocent.

“you dare beg for his life to be spared? I have given you a order, so do it.”  your father snarled. not many times were you under his accusative tone. you could hear his voice echoing through the throne room along with a slam of his hand.

“i have done everything you asked of me,” you sounded so small in defeat, “but I can not do this.”

just like that you were willing to risk everything you have built. a place at your fathers feet, above others. a place to live and thrive. and for what? the answer is when you looked at him there is nothing to defend, nothing but a open book waiting to be filled.

“you don’t have a choice,” he roared through the mirror and you could feel the vibration. “kill him, now.” he demanded as his nails scratched at the chair he seat mighty on.

“after years of faithful service, I obeyed every order and command, I live alone each day in a room filled with people. you may have made me for a weapon to use, to do your job for you but I will no longer be a slave.” for the first time you spoke back.

“one day he will die, but not by my hands.” taking the watch on your hand and slipping it off of you, then letting it fall to the ground. the last thing you see is your father shouting at you, his face grim and frustrated. stomping your foot on the floor you break the glass, the item becomes useless.

glancing over to the babe who looked peaceful and wrapped up in a tight blanket. it’s been forever since you were this close to a baby. as a little girl you wished for a family of your own, only you had a life of a demigod.

but looking at him made you sick to your stomach. a pit of anger for the boy who had cost you everything. the world was his to explore.

you were left with no home, no family to go to. and you had broken a oath. you swore yourself to never fail a quest or go against his wishes but you had, for a son of poseidon?— world must have been coming to a end.

you tried to hate him, you really did. but there was no one left to fight for. the decision was yours to make, his life was worth more then yours could ever be. you left quickly after that, afraid you had been to loud.

and one day, you’ll meet the boy he became.

Taglist: @itzmeme @ravenmedows @maria699669 @purplerose291

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (11)

Prayer

Faced with the possibility of their separation, Aemond joins Arianwyn in prayer.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: description of injuries and medieval medical procedures

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

“I think that it is long past time for Arianwyn to come and live with her father – and her sisters. When you leave for King’s Landing in the morning, brother, she will remain here. With me.”

Arianwyn felt as if the very ground beneath her feet would crack open and swallow her whole into the darkness below.

She wished it would.

For this was much, much worse.

After more than a decade of silence, punctuated that very day by taunting, cruel words, her father only sought to lay claim to her now?

It was surely not out of love or a sense of familial duty. If Daemon had ever possessed either, he would have come for her sooner - or never abandoned her at all. To claim her now, he must have another purpose. But Arianwyn had not inherited her father’s penchant for malice – she could not begin to imagine what his reasoning might be.

All she knew was the fear and rage crackling in her heart like frost and the stinging of tears washing over her wounds. She was so godsdamned tired of crying.

“I will not!” Her eyes of silver – the eyes of House Royce – never left her father’s. She looked at him with all the hatred she possessed, and still, it was less than he deserved.

But Daemon had seen that same look in those very same eyes before. It did not sway him then, and it would not sway him now.

“It has been a difficult night for you, my girl,” he said. Though his lips played in a pout of pity, his eyes flashed with hatred as he glanced at his younger daughters. Was that it? Was stealing her away some sort of punishment for fighting them? She hadn’t even hurt them. “So, I will forgive your unbecoming behavior. You will be coming with me – as your father, I command it.”

Arianwyn shook her head, hand instinctually reaching out to the empty space on her left. But Aemond was not there. He still stood with his mother, her arm cradling him as they both looked at Arianwyn with fear in their eyes. “Help me,” she mouthed.

“What right have you to command her?” The Queen stepped forward, releasing Aemond from her grasp and nudging him toward the maesters. He stumbled as he ran, trying to turn back to Arianwyn, but Maester Kelyvn held him firm as he wrangled her back into the chair. His remaining eye was wide with despair as he looked at her.

Aemond had been her guardian for so long. She had been for him, too, in her way. But he had just lost an eye trying to protect her, and now, he was helpless. They both were.

“Since Arianwyn was only weeks old, the king and I have been her guardians,” Alicent addressed the gathered crowd as much as she did Daemon and her husband. “Her late mother, Rhea Royce, even as she lay dying in the birthing bed, was more parent to her than you have ever been. Arianwyn stays with us.”

Daemon’s lip curled as he faced the queen. “And I offer my sincere gratitude to the both of you,” he snarled, struggling to keep the spite from his voice, “for fulfilling my duties in my absence. But having just lost my beloved wife, I have resolved to rededicate myself to my family – including my firstborn.”

Arianwyn was so disgusted by her father’s brazen lies that she could vomit. Surely anyone with even a shred of sense could see through his sickly-sweet façade. Surely, the king would not allow this to happen.

But when she turned to him, she found him heaving with exhaustion from the unending calamity of the night. Once more, he lowered himself into the Driftwood Throne. He looked at Arianwyn, his eyes apologetic.

No. No, he couldn’t send her away. She shuffled toward him. “Kepus, kostilus. Jon jaelon daor!” Uncle, please. I don’t want to go.

The king said nothing. Then, with a great sigh, he turned to Ser Westerling.

“Clear the room,” he ordered. “I must speak with my brother and my wife. Alone. Now!”

Arianwyn was so enraged at being excluded from the conversation to determine her fate that both Ser Criston Cole and Ser Warren Crayne were required to carry her from the throne room. She did not make it easy for them. She twisted her shoulders in their arms to try and escape, but whenever she finally escaped one of their grips, the other was ready to catch her again.

“Let me go!” she demanded while she kicked her legs against Ser Criston’s shins, seeking to knock him down as she had watched Aemond do to Jace earlier.

Criston sighed, entirely unaffected by her attempts to bring him down. “I will let you go, but only if you promise to remain calm and stay out of the throne room.”

“But I can’t let him take me!”

“The queen will do everything she can,” Warren said, his voice frustratingly even. He didn’t even blink when she yelled in his face. “You are still but a girl. It is not your place to petition the King.”

“I am not just a girl!” she screamed, still fighting to free herself. “I am the Lady of Runestone, like my mother before me!”

The men exchanged a look and finally let her to the floor.

But before she could run away, Warren grabbed her shoulders once more and turned her to face him. “You are, my lady,” he raised his hand to cup her cheek. “But you are also a girl. The power of your position will not be yours for years to come.”

She pouted, though she did not fight him. “Cregan Stark just reclaimed Winterfell from his uncle, and he is only three years older than me. Why must I be made to wait? It is not fair!”

“It is the law of the land,” he said, “as it has been since long before Aegon the Conqueror landed in Westeros. It does not have to be fair.”

Arianwyn’s head drooped as she stepped into Warren’s embrace, for she knew his words were true. She could only be grateful that her thrice great-grandfather had let the old laws of the Vale that allowed her to inherit at all stand.

Criston stepped forward. “I am ordered to return you to your rooms, Arianwyn. But if you promise to behave and tell no one I’ve disobeyed my orders, I will take you to Aemond instead. Let you spend time with him…”

He did not have to finish his sentence; she knew how it would end.

While you still can.

Aemond returned not to the guest chambers he shared with Aegon but to the Maester’s Tower, where he could continue to be looked after. He laid in a bed that had been brought in for him, with several pillows stuffed at his back to keep him upright. The bed was too hard, the pillows too scratchy, and the entire room smelled like seaweed.

He thought about slipping away while the maesters had their backs turned – they had finished dressing his wound and were now whispering by the fire. But when he tried to stand, his legs felt distant from his body and would not obey his wishes. So he resigned himself to the uncomfortable bed, but not without complaining to Orwyle.

“I want to go back to my room!” He demanded.

Orwyle didn’t even look at him. “You must remain here, my prince, where we can best care for you.”

Aemond didn’t understand why they could not do so in his room. It surely wouldn’t be so difficult to move their supplies. At least the maesters would then disturb Aegon’s sleep as much as his own.

As if the thought summoned him, Aegon appeared in the doorway, his face drawn in an expression Aemond had never seen before.

“Why are you here?” The milk of the poppy had apparently loosened his tongue. He had never been so bold around Aegon before. Doing so would prompt hours, if not days, of teasing.

But the elder prince said nothing. He simply stood there – no smile on his face, no gloating, no trace of anything that would hint that he had come here to torment Aemond. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he looked away, kicking a foot against the wall. “And for… everything before that. I should’ve protected you. And Aria. I’m just… sorry.”

Aegon frowned, and his eyes grew dark. Was that… anger? Shame? Guilt? All emotions Aemond did not know his brother could feel. Could this be some hallucination? Aemond’s addled mind creating the image of the brother he wished Aegon had been? No, he could not even imagine such a thing. So this, as unbelievable as it was, must be real.

“I…” What could he say? In this moment, his brother was a stranger. Eventually, he settled on “Thank you.”

With a half-smile and a nod, Aegon walked away.

“Aemond!” Arianwyn shouted as she burst into the room. Sers Criston and Warren were behind her but lagging behind. Their armor slowed them down, and her desperation gave her speed like she couldn’t believe.

He was lying on a bed, propped up by pillows. The maesters had dressed his wound so Arianwyn did not have to gaze upon the horrid gash. She was glad of it. If he was to leave without her tomorrow, she did not want his injury to be her final image of him.

She approached the bed, looking to Orwyle for permission before perching on its edge.

“How do you feel?” she asked. It seemed like the right thing to say, even if it felt like a foolish question.

Aemond shrugged, fiddling with his blankets. “I can hardly feel much of anything, to be honest. Orwyle gave me more milk of the poppy when we got here.”

That was good. Even though Arianwyn knew his heart was certainly aching, at least his pain was gone. She smiled and waved her hand in front of his face. “Can you even see me right now?” she asked, “Or is your vision filled with ghosts and faeries?

He laughed, reaching out to catch her hand. It took him three attempts to finally snare it. “I can see you. Though not as well as I would like.”

Of course – his eye. Guilt wrenched through Arianwyn’s heart as she laid their hands between them. “I’m sorry, that was cruel of me.”

Aemond shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I know you did not mean it cruelly.”

“Will you be able to fly tomorrow?”

“I think so,” he said. “Vhagar knows King’s Landing, and there will be three other dragons for us to follow… I hope.”

Arianwyn swallowed her budding tears. “Hope is all we can do tonight. And pray.”

Moving to intertwine their fingers, Aemond stared deeply into her eyes. “May I pray with you?”

She nodded. “I would like that. You’re much better at it than me.”

“I know. Now, close your eyes.”

Arianwyn obeyed. But rather than clasp her own hands in front of her, she kept her fingers laced with his.

“Father, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Warrior, Smith, and Stranger,” Aemond began. “Grant us all your strength now. We have never been in such dire need of your aid. Heal our wounds, inside and out. Help us leave those who would harm us far behind and strengthen our bonds with those we love and who love us in return.”

He opened his eye, gazing at Arianwyn’s beautiful face. Her eyes were closed, her brow knitted together as she concentrated on the prayer. The thought that she may be taken from him stung sharper than any knife.

She couldn’t leave him. He could not bear it. If she was taken away from him…

“Protect us.” He begged of the Seven and any other god that might be listening – he could need the help of anyone who could hear. “Wherever we may be tomorrow and in all the days to come, keep us safe and whole. And no matter how far we may be, let us always­ find our way back to each other.”

After the prayer, neither child made any mention of what decisions may be made by their parents. They chose instead to talk of simple things. The odd seafood they were served at dinner. The books they were both reading. If Vhagar would like Emrys and if he would like her.

They talked for what seemed like hours, though it was only minutes until the milk of the poppy took its final hold on Aemond, carrying him gently into a peaceful sleep. Arianwyn stayed by his side even then. She lay beside him, running her fingers through the tangles in his still sandy hair.

The queen arrived just as she finished straightening his silver locks. “You are meant to be in your own rooms, Aria,” she scolded, though her heart warmed to see the girl here.

“Ser Criston brought me here,” Arianwyn replied, “though I was not supposed to tell you that.”

Alicent smiled. “That man’s heart has always been his weakness. Though I have never been able to find fault in that.” She came to sit at the end of the bed, watching her son rest.

Arianwyn did not want to know the answer, but she had to ask. “What did the king decide?”

Devastation crossed the queen’s face as she reached for the girl’s hand. “I am so, so sorry, Aria.”

The gods had not listened to Aemond's prayer.

Author's Note: Sorry :(

[silverdragonoid]

I just reached one hundred playlists on Spotify and have been wanting to share some of them for a while now, so I'll start with my Star Wars-related ones. I currently have 10.5 in total but can't share all of them yet cause they're related to fanfics I haven't published yet, but I'll add them eventually. Masterlist below the cut (pls tell me if something doesn't work)

My Star Wars Playlists - Masterlist

Clones

dedicated to all clone troopers in general - mainly about the Clone Wars Era and a bit (post-)Order 66 (not ordered)

2. Path to the Dark Side

not like my normal villain playlist but with a focus on the moment when and the reasons why one would turn to the Dark Side (not ordered)

3. Codywan

what it says on the tin - throughout all events & possible reuinion (not ordered)

4. POV: you're in love with Captain Rex

what it says on the tin - throughout all eras (the first and arguably my best) (not ordered but the first eight songs are crucial imo)

OC Stuff

5. Commander Silver

this is about one of my original clone characters. I haven't published much about them yet but I swear there's so. much. in the works. (not ordered)

6. Captain Rate

this is about my other original clone (not ordered)

I hope you discover something you like. More will be added but that depends on how fast I can finish my stories oof. If you have any suggestions please tell me<3

[sotwk]

Taken (Eomer x unnamed OC )

Part 1 of 3

Part 2 / Part 3

Love Confession feat. Eomer Eadig

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: The lone shield-maiden in Eomer's Éored has been secretly in love with him for years, but has long accepted that that he can never share those feelings. At the feast of King Elessar's coronation, she is surprised to learn that there may yet be hope.

Prompt: "It's like you never really see me. I'm standing right in front of you and you don't see me!"

Requested by and Dedicated to: @writefortherain-blog Thank you for making this request and giving me the opportunity to write for Eomer!

Word count: 2.4k

Content: Romance, angst, mutual pining, oblivious to love, jealousy, forbidden relationship, class division, shield-maiden, King Eomer, post-RotK

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Some sensuality

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken 

Third Age 3019 May 1

Minas Tirith

PART ONE

Downing that fourth cup of wine had been a mistake. Or was it the fifth? Sixth? The ridiculous dress with its rib-crushing bodice and neckline positioned nowhere near your neck, had also been a mistake, even though the local clother had insisted to you that it was in the "proper" Gondorian fashion. The entire evening and its inconveniences had all been for a failed end. 

You finally jostled your way out of the packed feasting hall and stumbled outside to the courtyard, your compressed lungs and flushed skin rejoicing at their contact with the cool night air. One hand rose to massage your throbbing temple, and the other clawed irritatedly at the boning that caged in your unacceptably unfeminine frame. 

"Never again," you seethed under your breath, as you crossed the white-stone pavement to move even farther away from the chaos you escaped. 

It had been a painful decision to ride out to Minas Tirith with the rest of your Éored and attend the coronation of the returned King of Gondor. You despised grand affairs, knowing well enough the requirements rules of court would impose on you, unwieldy formal attire being just one of them. These were at least tolerable within Rohan, where you could find some comfort amongst familiar faces and settings. But as the lone female who rode in the company of the Third Marshal, you refused to be excluded from any undertaking by your Éored, however dangerous or unpleasant. Whether it broke your arm or shattered your heart.

"I can just go," you thought, casting a quick glance back at the great hall, alive and alight with the merry cacophony of a thousand revelers that would surely last until dawn. The two hours you already spent mingling to the best of your limited ability had to suffice, and it was doubtful your presence would even be missed. 

But the call of a deep voice stalled your retreat, loud and commanding and instantly recognizable even across a distance as it shouted your name. The soldier in you succumbed to the instinct to obey your Marshal, to honor the oath you had sworn on your knees years ago.��

The flickering flames of nearby torchlights reflected against the carved silver panels of the breastplate he donned over his lavishly embroidered tunic. Famously handsome even when caked in blood and grime, Eomer was breathtakingly resplendent bearing the regalia that befitted his station. King Eomer now, you reminded yourself, as you dipped your head in a bow. 

“My lord.”

“Is something amiss? Why did you leave?” His narrowed eyes upon you were penetrating, his tone demanding rather than concerned. Lying to someone you had spent practically every single day of your adult life with was difficult, and even more so with an addled brain, so you knew you had to mince words carefully.  

Fortunately, you had years of practice doing exactly that. 

“I underestimated the potency of their vintage, and downed one cup too many.” You scrunched up your features in a grimace that just slightly exaggerated your pain. “I thought it best to excuse myself and retire for the night.”

“Perhaps if you rested a while and ate some food…” He rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. “It is much too early and the quarters would still be empty. I know you detest fraternizing, but just sit at the table with the rest of our men.”

You released a graceless guffaw and a puff of wine-tinged breath. “Half of them are already deeper in their cups than I, and getting sloppier by the second. I finally had to remind Héothain of his manners the second time he tried to sneak a hand down the front of my dress.”

“He did what?” Eomer’s sudden growl awakened you to your own carelessness and slip of the tongue. Smooth-cheeked Héothain was the youngest and newest addition to the Éored, and remained sorely lacking in experience with women. He should not be held accountable for his awkwardness amplified by insobriety. 

“It was a silly mistake that caused no harm,” you insisted, pulling back as Eomer attempted to lead you off by the elbow. “Two sprained fingers taught him a lesson he shall not soon forget.” 

Eomer glowered at you but remained silent for a pause, as he did whenever running through courses of action in his mind. “Then you can come sit by me at the King’s table.”

Your laugh in response to that suggestion was shrill and nervous, as he looked so serious making it. “I most certainly cannot… my lord.” You stated your defiance firmly, baring a toothless pertinacity against your leader, and underneath it a silent plea that the friend in him would understand. “There is no place for me amongst such esteemed company and truly, there is nothing in the world I would enjoy less at this moment.” 

You sighed and braced one hand below your rib area, massaging a spot where the corset dug into a still-tender battle injury. 

“Please. Let me go back to my room where I can be rid of these dreadful garments.”

“No.” The immediacy and sharpness of his refusal made you blink in surprise. “Not until you explain yourself to my satisfaction.”

“Pardon, my lord?”

“Hah, there! That is what I am speaking of.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand--”

“When did you cease to call me by my name in private conversation? Or last bother to converse with me at all?!” You took too long to answer, and he barreled on, hazel eyes flashing with the sudden rise of agitation. “Let me enlighten you, since I recall it well. It began after Theodred’s death, accompanied by a host of other changes in your behavior towards me that you think I have not noticed!”

You scrambled to concoct a rebuttal, another feint to keep him from uncovering your secrets. Alas, your dulled mind had frozen completely in the face of the horse-lord’s fury, which had never been directed at you in such a manner.

“You are misreading things, my lord, or else imagining them. I cannot say that I--”

“You cannot even look me in the eye these days of late!” Eomer snapped. “Nor can you stand to be in any room I am in for long.” He threw out his arm in the direction of the great hall. “Even now you rebuff any attempt I make to spend time with you.”

“I…I…” You stammered, rendered helpless before his unexpected wrath, cursing yourself for the poor timing of your inebriation. How could you put up your shields when your mind was struggling to pick out your own lies from the truth?

“If you are angry with me, I would have you admit to it now. I will no longer be played for a fool.”

Indignation pooled in your gut, crawling upward until it deepened the coloring of your already flushed face. “I confess to nothing! For what cause do I have to be angry?”

“Because you loved him!” Eomer erupted. As you gaped at his outburst, he gripped a fistful of his hair, and took in one sharp breath, steeling himself. “You loved Theodred,” he finally said, in a voice gone cold and quiet. “And you place blame on me for his death.”

The fire in your belly flared at the terrible accusation. “Theodred was murdered by Saruman, and only a traitor would fault you for that vile cur’s deed.” You shook a finger at him emphatically. “I am no traitor.”

“Did you love my cousin?”

“Of course I did,” you said stoutly. The prince’s demise plagued you still, for you had been the one to spot Theodred’s body amongst the corpses that littered the fords. And after he’d been borne away to Meduseld, you never saw him alive again, and all you could do was weep in the privacy of your quarters, which you did for weeks, mourning the loss of so much more than a dear friend and mentor. 

“No one has ever shown me greater kindness than Theodred.” You held a hand over your heart as a different ache rose in you. “He believed in me at a time when no one else would, not even you." 

Eomer had fallen silent, but you saw his cloaked shoulders rise and fall, broad chest heaving in the manner so familiar to you. It was the way he looked on the battlefield, where his blood ran hottest, and he was fighting to balance out the genteel lord and savage killer that both resided within him. He was so thoroughly upset with you. 

“If I have made you feel like your cousin’s fate was in any way your fault, I am truly sorry,” you said. "But what sort of questions are these, and why are you asking them now?"

His gaze flicked back in your direction, leaden with anguish. "You should know why."

“I am telling you I do not, my lord, and I must beg you to explain why you are speaking so cryptically."

“You wish for me to explain in words something I have been trying to show you for years now?!” He gave a strangled laugh and raised his eyes and hands to the night sky. "Bema…"

“It is as though you never really see me,” he muttered, almost as though speaking to himself. “Here I am, standing right in front of you, and you do not see me!"

But you did hear his mumbled complaints, and suddenly it was all too much. Your sickening weariness, your aches both physical and emotional, your befuddlement caused by the six drinks and this man's unhinged raging as he launched yet another ludicrous accusation at you.

"Not see you?" you repeated, and something about just saying it rammed open the gate behind which you had caged up every real thing you ever wanted to say to Eomer, Son of Eomund. 

"If such a thing were possible, I would wish it upon myself immediately!" you exclaimed. "But you are all I ever see, even when I do not wish to! Even when I flee from your presence, I can never escape a face that refuses to leave my thoughts!" 

Oh Valar, no. STOP. Panicked, you bit down on your lip to imprison the words fleeing your mouth, so hard you tasted blood. But Eomer suddenly moved forward, encroaching on the space you desperately fought to maintain for your own protection, and his hazel eyes locked into yours to wrench away the last of your defenses. 

"It hurts too much, can you not understand?!" you cried, managing one step back. "To remain in the presence of the one thing you most desire but will never have, to be taunted by a dream that will never be fulfilled, to watch as it falls into the possession of another while you can do absolutely nothing!"

He spoke your name, his voice oddly hoarse, and shame finally came crashing down inside you. Your hands flew up to hide your face and suddenly he grabbed your wrists, tugging your arms away only to replace your hands with his own, warming your cheeks with his calloused palms. 

“Then see me now,” he ordered. “And know I have always understood how that feels. What great fools we have both been all along to deny ourselves our true desires.”

“Eomer, what--” The stroke of his thumb over the corner of your mouth drove the rest of the words away, and the parting of your lips and flutter of your eyes gave him the approval he sought. 

His kiss tasted more glorious than they did in a thousand daydreams combined. It did not surprise you that he was completely unlike the other men you had kissed before. Whereas lesser men were greedy and sloppy in their hunger, the caress of Eomer’s mouth was deep and languid, almost worshipful in its exploration of your lips, as though he aimed to savor every small sensation and intended to carry on doing this with you forever. 

His one arm looped around your waist to hold you covetously against him; his broad left hand traveled from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, his long fingers burying themselves into your hair, tips grazing your scalp. It fired up a new heat in you that you had never felt before, not with such raw intensity, and a tremulous whimper escaped your throat. 

But the sound of your own pleasure was your undoing, for it triggered an alarm in your head, one that caused you to break away from Eomer’s passion. You mumbled against his lips the words you had conditioned yourself for years to think around him. 

“My lord, I cannot…”

He paused, his eyes still dazed and unfocused, caught in a state of bliss--one that you caused, you realized with a shiver. “You cannot… what?” he said thickly. Without waiting for an answer, he dipped back in eagerly to trail his mouth up your jawline, his tongue skimming the tender pulse underneath your ear. 

You gave a small cry and pushed against his chest with more force, immediately waking his attention. His arm around your waist remained stubbornly secure however, and it took you physically prying the powerful limb off for you to slip free. Either due to shock or lingering delirium, Eomer did not resist. 

“I cannot…” Your voice broke even as you clung to your resolve. “I cannot have you.”

His heavy brows furrowed. “What?” Within seconds the confusion lifted to uncover his dismay, layered with anger. “You would speak lies and nonsense again, after everything I told you?”

“It is the truth, Eomer!” You started backing away already, stepping faster and faster as he began to move and reach out for you. “You can never be anything more than a dream to someone like me. I cannot have what is already taken.”

“Taken? What--wait! No!” He started to run, but you had already turned heel and were sprinting full-speed towards the Citadel Gate. You had always been faster on your feet; there was no hope of him catching up if you refused to heed his orders. “Stop!”

His shouts of your name faded quickly, drowned out by the noise of the milling crowd you plunged into and the thunder of your own frantic heartbeat. You slowed to a walk but kept a quick pace, weaving haphazardly through the throng and on and on until you’d descended at least two levels. Only then did you duck into a side street and survey your surroundings.

Your escape succeeded. Neither Eomer nor any Rohirrim were anywhere to be found, at least for the moment.

You collapsed upon the nearest doorstep, exhaustion and aches finally overcoming you. As the chaotic whirlwind within you settled, so too did the reality of what just occurred sink in. 

Eomer desired you, perhaps even loved you as you did him. But the King of Rohan’s love was not for you, a common soldier, to take. You had known that all along, and he did too. It was unkind of him to give you such false hope. 

Raising your fingers to your swollen lips, you felt the ghost of his perfect kisses on them, and finally burst into tears over yet another memory that will grieve you until your trampled heart could bear no more.

To be continued...

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[theenchantresx]

The Dance of Conquest

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!OC reader

Word Count: 1,225

Trigger Warnings: sexual tension, suggestive language, power dynamics, implied sexual themes and innuendos

The great hall of the Red Keep was buzzing with quiet conversation as lords and ladies dined beneath the glittering light of chandeliers. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filled the air, and yet, despite the lively atmosphere, your attention was elsewhere—focused entirely on the man seated across from you.

Aemond Targaryen, the Prince, was a figure both striking and impossible to ignore. His sharp features, the silver hair that cascaded down his back, and the single eye that gleamed with intelligence and something darker made him the center of every gaze. Yet tonight, he had eyes only for you.

It had been this way for several nights now—Aemond watching you, tracking your every movement with an intensity that made your skin prickle with awareness. You had felt the weight of his gaze from across the table, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth whenever you caught him staring.

Tonight, however, was different. Tonight, his attention was not subtle, and it felt as though the entire hall could sense it. You shifted slightly in your seat, the low murmur of conversation becoming little more than background noise to the tension building between you and the prince.

Aemond raised his goblet to his lips, his eye never leaving yours as he drank slowly, savoring the wine. When he set it down, his voice was quiet but carried through the hall like a soft command. "You're hardly eating, my lady."

The way he said "my lady" made your heart skip. His tone was deceptively casual, but there was a note of challenge beneath it, something that hinted at more than just concern over your meal. You picked at your food, aware that he was waiting for a response, but before you could find the right words, Aemond spoke again.

"Do I make you nervous?" he asked, his voice lower now, meant only for you.

Your breath caught, and you quickly glanced around to see if anyone had overheard. But no, the conversations around you continued, oblivious to the current between you and the prince. When you turned back to Aemond, his gaze had darkened, a hint of satisfaction tugging at his lips as if he already knew the answer.

"Hardly," you managed to reply, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Aemond chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a thrill down your spine. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing as if stripping away the barriers you had carefully built. "Good. I'd hate to think my presence unnerves you."

"It doesn't," you replied, your words firmer this time, though your pulse quickened under his intense scrutiny. The prince had a way of drawing out the truth with nothing more than a look, and even now, you could feel yourself unraveling under the weight of his attention.

Aemond’s lips curved into a slow smile, one that promised mischief. "No? Then what is it that has kept your gaze on me for most of the evening?"

Heat rose to your cheeks at the accusation, though you couldn't deny it. You *had* been watching him, just as he had been watching you. There was something about Aemond—something dangerous, alluring, that drew you to him in ways you couldn't fully explain. But you were not about to admit that to him, not here, not like this.

"I could ask the same of you," you countered, tilting your head slightly, hoping to throw him off balance, though you doubted such a thing was possible with Aemond.

His smile widened, but there was a predatory gleam in his eye now, one that sent a shiver down your spine. "Perhaps I find the company more... engaging than the meal."

His words were like a caress, subtle and dangerous, and you felt yourself leaning ever so slightly toward him, drawn in by the way his voice wrapped around you like silk. It wasn't just the words themselves, but the way he said them—each syllable dripping with suggestion, each pause pregnant with meaning.

Aemond’s hand moved, slowly, deliberately, as he reached for his goblet again. But instead of bringing it to his lips, he offered it to you, his eye never leaving yours. "Taste it," he murmured.

For a moment, you hesitated. There was something intimate, something forbidden in the gesture, as if accepting the goblet was a silent acknowledgment of the game being played between you. But the heat in his gaze left you with little choice.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his as you took the goblet from him, the contact brief but electric. Bringing the rim to your lips, you took a small sip, the wine rich and heady as it slid down your throat. When you handed the goblet back to him, Aemond’s fingers lingered against yours for just a moment longer than necessary.

"You've tasted mine," he said softly, his voice low and full of intent. "Now I wonder how you would taste."

The breath left your lungs in a rush, your heart pounding in your chest as the full weight of his words settled over you. There was no mistaking his meaning now—Aemond wasn’t playing coy anymore, and neither were you. The room around you seemed to fade, the laughter and chatter of the other guests dimming as the air between you crackled with tension.

"Bold words, Prince Aemond," you whispered, trying to maintain your composure even as your pulse raced.

He leaned in closer, his gaze locking onto yours with a fire that made your skin burn. "Bold actions, if you allow it."

Your breath hitched, and you felt the full force of his presence bearing down on you, the challenge in his voice daring you to take the next step. There was a hunger in his eye, one that mirrored your own, and in that moment, the carefully constructed boundaries between you began to crumble.

You leaned in, your voice barely audible as you met his gaze head-on. "And if I do?"

Aemond’s smile was slow, dangerous, and utterly captivating. He reached out, brushing his fingers against your hand in a way that sent a jolt of heat through your body. "Then I will show you the meaning of conquest."

The unspoken promise in his words left your heart racing, the world around you slipping away until there was only him, only this—Aemond Targaryen, and the game you had both been playing for far too long. And in that moment, you knew that this was no longer just a dinner. It was the beginning of something far more dangerous—and far more exhilarating.

The tension between you and Aemond hung thick in the air as his words settled between you like a challenge—one you weren't sure you were ready to face, yet your body screamed in anticipation. The din of the great hall seemed a distant hum, as though the world had shrunk down to just the two of you. Every flicker of candlelight reflected in his violet eye, turning the prince into something more than just dangerous. He was intoxicating.

You held his gaze, your pulse fluttering in your throat. The meaning of conquest. The way he said it, with that seductive smile and the promise in his tone, made your skin burn with heat. He was toying with you, but there was no mistaking his intent. You felt the way his gaze raked over you, the hunger in his eye barely contained. He wanted you—and gods, you wanted him, too.

But two could play at this game.

You leaned in slightly, your lips just barely curving into a smile as you allowed your gaze to flicker over him. His broad shoulders, the curve of his jawline, the way his silver hair fell loosely around him, making him look both regal and untamed. You met his eyes again, not shying away from the simmering tension between you.

"And what would your conquest entail, my prince?" you asked, your voice low, a playful edge to your words as you dared him to make his next move. You weren't going to make this easy for him.

Aemond's lips curled into a slow, predatory smile, as if he knew you were challenging him, and he welcomed it. He leaned in even closer, the warmth of his body radiating across the narrow table that separated you. The look in his eye was dangerous, full of desire and something darker, something you couldn't quite name.

"To conquer means to take, does it not?" he murmured, his voice smooth, though there was an undeniable edge to it. His hand, which had been resting casually on the table, slowly inched closer to yours. The tension grew, the gap between your hands narrowing until his fingers brushed against your skin in the lightest of touches.

You shivered at the contact, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head, your eyes never leaving his. "Is that what you wish?" you whispered, daring to use his name. "To take me?"

He smirked, his fingers grazing your skin again, this time with more purpose. "To take, yes. But not as you think," he whispered, his voice soft yet filled with meaning. "I would take my time with you." His voice lowered, so only you could hear. "Taste every part of you. Learn every secret your body holds."

Your heart hammered in your chest at his words, your mind spinning. Aemond had always been intense, but tonight, there was something different, something more deliberate in his approach, as if he were setting a trap and you were walking straight into it. And yet, there was no part of you that wanted to stop.

"You speak as though I am yours already," you replied, your voice barely a whisper, but you could feel the shift in the air, the game you had started now teetering on a dangerous edge.

Aemond chuckled softly, the sound rumbling low in his chest. His fingers finally closed over your hand, firm and possessive, as he leaned in even closer, his face inches from yours. The scent of wine and something distinctly him filled your senses, and you felt your pulse quicken as his thumb lightly traced circles on the back of your hand.

"Am I wrong?" he asked, his voice a soft, seductive purr.

Your breath caught in your throat. He was close now, too close, his face hovering near yours, his lips just a whisper away. Your mind raced, trying to keep up with the rapid beating of your heart. The heat between you was unbearable, the tension thick enough to cut through, and every nerve in your body was on edge, waiting, wanting.

You swallowed hard, trying to regain control of the situation, but it was slipping away with every passing second. Aemond was winning this game, and you knew it. But something in you refused to give in just yet.

"If you wish to claim me, Prince Aemond," you whispered, your voice bolder than you felt, "then you will have to do better than this."

His smile widened, and the challenge in your voice only seemed to fuel the fire burning behind his eye. He didn’t pull away—instead, he brought his face even closer, so close that his breath fanned over your lips. His thumb pressed more firmly into your hand, the touch sending sparks of electricity through you.

"Trust me," he murmured, his voice barely audible but filled with promise, "when I claim you, you will know it. You will feel it in every part of your body, and you will beg for more."

The words sent a shockwave through you, your body responding before your mind could process the full weight of what he had said. Your breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, you felt yourself teeter on the edge of giving in.

But just as quickly, you snapped yourself back, your pulse racing as you pulled your hand away from his, though the space between you was still charged with energy. "Bold words," you said softly, though there was a tremor in your voice that betrayed the effect he had on you.

Aemond watched you carefully, his smirk deepening as if he knew exactly how close you were to surrender. He leaned back slightly, giving you the barest bit of space, though the air between you was still thick with unspoken desire.

"This is not over," he promised, his voice low, full of certainty. "You may resist now, but the night is long."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, the intensity in his gaze making it clear that this was far from over. Aemond Targaryen was a man who got what he wanted, and tonight, it was clear that what he wanted was you.

"Perhaps, Prince Aemond," you said, a smile tugging at your lips as you rose from your seat, knowing full well that this dance was far from its conclusion. "But you’ll have to catch me first."

With that, you turned and left the table, feeling his gaze burn into your back as you walked away. The night was indeed long—and the game had only just begun.