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queers-gambit · 11 months

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Not All That Glitters is Gold

prompt: during your engagement dinner, you learn from your fiancé's niece that he holds choice words about you. or finding out he calls you clingy behind your back.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 3.1k+

warnings: cursing, draaaama, mild angst, AU timeline technically, hurt and comfort (reader don't play those games i guess), relationship angst, half edited.

His cloak was a shimmering beacon of golden glimmer even in the dark of night. It promoted an air of confidence and swagger, something independent from his usual cockiness. No, with that gold cloak, he walked as if the very air you all breathed was produced by him; being silent and domineering in his presence. It had been something you were initially attracted to, his alluring mystery and overwhelming stoic self-awareness.

He moved around the Throne Room like wings were gifted to his feet, carrying him with lithe movements to look as if gliding. All eyes were on him, whether out of admiration, jealousy, confusion, or lust - eyes followed him no matter where he went, no matter what he did, who he interacted with. You lifted the heavy gold goblet to your lips, taking a careful mouthful of wine before setting it down, swallowing, and standing from your seat at the banquet table.

You wanted your lover, so, you got up to satisfy your craving.

You approached him as he spoke to a pair of noblemen, slowing your gait to ease your arrival and not cause a surprise. Your dress was something a little more alluring, more revealing than you'd usually wear, and as you approached the men, the eyes not belonging to your new fiancé nearly bulged from their skulls.

Daemon turned his head and saw you, smirking as his arm opened and he welcomed you into his side. "I was beginning to wonder where you got off to," you told him softly, one arm around his hips as the other planted your hand against his chest. "The Aunties have descended and are becoming insufferable, I fear I needed reprieve."

Daemon grinned, sounding amused, "It was a matter of time before they found you. Stick with us, darling, the Aunties will stay away."

"They're about to serve dinner," you told him, "perhaps we should find our seats?"

He nodded, looking at the men he had been speaking to before you showed up. Daemon bid politely, offering no other explanation besides, "Excuse us, gentlemen."

They bowed out of their Prince's way, letting Daemon lead you toward the head banquet table (again) where his brother, King Viserys, was sitting with other prominent members of court. The night had been pleasant, everyone rejoicing in the upcoming nuptials between you and the Rogue Prince. For years, he'd been something chaotic and shunned; and after the passing of his first wife, Rhea Royce, he was like a kite cut from string. Loose and set adrift. Wild and out-of-reach. And then you came back into Daemon's life after not seeing one another since you were ten-and-six, and all of a sudden, the Rogue Prince was something more domesticated.

It was a refreshing change, albeit totally uncharacteristic for Daemon.

Viserys was the most shocked of them all, constantly praising you for whatever you had done to his brother to reel him into a controllable pace. He thought you and Daemon were perfect for one another, likened you two to fit-together puzzle pieces. The King had been more than happy to host the celebrations, starting with tonight, an engagement party! You had to play part of dutiful fiancé and upstanding citizen since you were to inherit a royal title; being poised and collected at all times with either a calm, passive expression or one of bright entertainment.

"Here, love," Daemon whispered, pulling your chair out for you. He waited until you were sat before taking his own seat, sighing when he glanced around the table only to settle his gaze on you.

"What's wrong, my Dragon?" You asked softly, leaning in to place your hand over his on his lap; pressed into his side despite the wooden chair arms between you.

"Just amusing," he mused, "most of these Lords and Ladies had much to say about my first marriage, and now, they break our bread to celebrate us."

"Cannot be the first time someone's tried to suck up to you," you chuckled, moving your conjoined hands in your lap. "The dragon does not concern himself with the opinion of the sheep," you advised smartly, "they only tolerate the sheep because one day, the dragon will need to feast - hmm?"

Daemon smirked, "When did you become so insightful, darling?"

"I've always been, you're just pussy-whipped now that I make a lot more sense."

He laughed, letting a servant pour your wine. In your ear, he mused, "Jest all you want, but you were meant to be a Targaryen. Once we are wed, I will plant my seed, and bind us together for eternity."

"Our marriage wouldn't doing exactly that already?"

"A child is more tangible - it's a bloodline."

You shrugged as a plate of blood-red lobster was set in front of you. Viserys truly went all out - giving a wide variety of foods to taste. "A marriage is for life, though," you countered.

"So is a child."

"Until they are married off."

Conversation continued, flowing easily between the family members and patrons of court. Viserys looked pleased, enjoying the celebration as his ailment often caused him grave pain and he could not attend events. He hardly had reason to smile, but when he watched you feed a bite to Daemon, he let his lips spread without thought. Queen Alicent clocked the King's expression, glancing at you and Daemon, then smiled fondly before reaching for her husband's hand.

Throughout the dinner, Rhaenyra watched you and Daemon with a bitter glare on her face; jaw locked and lips pursed. You ignored her obvious displeasure in favor of your husband, both too enraptured with one another to ever pay attention to the Princess' distain. When the meal was over, the dancing, mingling, drinking, and musical portion of the evening commenced.

And cake. Cake was to be served.

Daemon's golden cloak swept around guests as you both played dutiful host for your party, and mingled with those who arrived tonight to celebrate your upcoming nuptials. You did your best to keep up with the plethora of Lords and Ladies, like Daemon did so effortlessly, but it was a lot. You still held your own, but by Gods, there was a lot of people in attendance tonight and there was noway you could remember any names.

Thankfully, while Daemon was caught in a conversation with Ser Gerold Royce, you eventually made it to a small group of familiar faces: Princess Rhaenyra, Ser Harwin Strong, his brother, Larys, Lady Laena Velaryon, and her twin, Ser Laenor.

You graciously received the compliments, well-wishes, and joyful greetings of them all, but acutely noted the Princess did not offer even so much as a polite greeting. "This dress was made for you, it's just darling," Laena complimented, petting the bodice. "It must've cost a fortune."

"It was a gift from Daemon," you told her with a soft smile. "And the necklace, too! See?" You showed her, "He had it custom made, it's Valyrian Steel with embedded jewels."

"The perfect combination of your Houses, and a gorgeous piece of art to hang on such a gorgeous neck," she praised, but it was Princess Rhaenyra's scoff of annoyance that peaked your interest.

You thanked Laena Velaryon before eyeing Rhaenyra. "Princess?" You questioned. "If I may ask you something, plainly?"

"By all means."

"Have I... Upset you in anyway?"

"You mean beside my uncle spending the Crown's coin to buy you something exquisitely made; being a fleeting, lady interest of the Princes'? No, no, nothing's wrong," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"What is this distain you hold towards me - towards my relationship with Daemon?" You demanded, the alcohol in your system spurring you on despite knowing the looming consequences of offering a member of the Royal family sharpened words.

"Truly? You wish to know why I do not fawn over you as others?"

"They do not fawn, oh - " You stopped yourself, sighing deeply and correcting yourself, "Of course I wish to know what the issue at hand here is, Princess, I do not wish for ill-will between us. I wish to resolve this."

"In truth, I simply do not understand it, this - this sham of a wedding," she snapped. "Daemon might buy you pretty things, but it's only out of guilt."

"What guilt could he possibly - "

"He finds you overwhelming, overbearing, suffocatingly clingy. So, with his distain, he, too, felt fleeting guilt - being why he showers you with gifts, it's for his own conscious. But if you ask me why I host such distain towards this union, it is because I know my uncle is not happy with your overwhelmingly clingy behavior. He's voiced his displeasure many-a-time. Not just to me, but to the King and Queen, as well."

You felt shell-shocked, acutely aware of the lingering eyes of the audience around you. You worried: how many of them had heard this rumor, how many secretly pitied you? Finding your voice, you managed to squeak out, "I beg your pardon?"

Rhaenyra only shrugged, "You asked, I answered."

"I see," you cleared your throat. "And your answer is that my betrothed has, what, started to slander my name behind my back?"

"Indeed. His chief complaint is how you seem to cling to him more and more, and he doesn't have the heart to push you away more than he already has. You're the one daft enough to not take a hint."

"And where do you get your information from?"

"Daemon, himself."

Your mind raced with all the little things: how Daemon would release your person during public events, avoid physical touch, ignore you sometimes, shut down your woes (call that gaslighting), how he stiffened at times you took his arm, how he seemed to shut down and only offer bored 'mmhms' when you spoke to him about your life. Your heart sank to your feet as you realized there were some truths to Rhaenyra's words.

You nodded slowly as Daemon chose that moment to approach your awkward group. His arm slithered around your waist, but you were silent as the grave and stiff as the corpse in said grave. Your mind raced with the idea that Rhaenyra could just be fucking with you, but the also with the idea that all she said was true.

"I'm going to retire for the evening, I've a headache," you told Daemon, finding an easy way out of his grip, "but you stay, enjoy the celebration. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am just tired."

He agreed and gently kissed you - sure to remain modest but still affectionate. "I'll visit you tonight," he muttered in your ear.

"No, I am truly tired," you told him softly but sternly. "We'll see each other tomorrow."

He hummed, "Then I shall walk you out - "

"No, you're needed here to save face. Go, mingle, play nice," you dismissed him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

You bid whoever you came across a good and safe night; thanking them for their attendance tonight. After thanking the King for hosting the party, you disappeared, taking a few secret passages to avoid the main hustle-and-bustle of the feast. When you arrived in your room, you slammed the door, bolted it, and leaned against it for a good long moment. Your mind was reeling with all kinds of thoughts regarding your intended, his niece, all of it suddenly feeling very overwhelming.

You were exhausted, so, you swiftly stripped, unpinned your hair, refused your maid's help, and soaked in a long, hot bath. After, you settled into bed with a book, and tried not to overwhelm yourself with the anxiety tomorrow would bring.

About an hour later, you heard Daemon knocking at your passage door. You paused, not making a sound, hearing his muffled voice, "Love? My love, are you awake?"

You didn't answer.

"Please, sweet girl, let me in," he begged quietly.

When you wrenched the door open, you seethed, "NO!"

"What - ?"

"I heard plenty tonight from your niece. In your moments of frustration, you know what? Sure, complain about your woes - but to find out you call me clingy when in regard to my affection - that's not something I'm going to be happy hearing, Daemon!"

"I know, but let me explain - "

"What? What will you say? That you just needed someone to talk to? To vent your feelings? I get that - I really do. But you fully offered slander to my name, to our relationship; to who I am as a partner. Your poisoned words of your irritation is soaked into your family, in the courts. And now, I must endure the pity those will offer knowing my husband truly holds distain for me!"

"No, you've got it wrong, I don't - "

"Then why!?" You demanded, voice cracking. "Why say those things? Why not come to me and communicate you're not comfortable with this and that behavior!? I won't know unless you tell me, so, instead of talking your shit to the courts and your family, why not just speak to me!?"

"I should have!" He admitted quickly. "I should have, I know that, and it was my mistake, my love. But I regret it, I regret feeling so, so - I don't know! Sure, let's call it frustrated, irritated, I don't care, I just needed it off my chest!"

"I understand that fully, but being as we're to marry one another, I should be the one listening to you when you need something off your chest. You should talk to me. And if I'm the one you need to speak about, choose more trustworthy confidants that do not need further reason to despise me!"

"What're you...? What? What does that mean?"

"Rhaenyra, Daemon! Your niece, Rhaenyra! Every-fucking-thing you've said to her, she remembers, and holds it against me! You forget, when you speak to family about the woes of your relationship, that's all they remember. You get to make up with me, we get to move on, but because you needed t'vent to them, that's what they can hold against me. Do you even wish to marry me, still!?"

"Of course, I do!"

"Then something needs to change," you deadpanned, exhausted by this. "I refuse to be belittled, spat on, and disrespected by your niece any longer."

"I will speak to her."

"Yes, you will! This is far too out of hand! She has weaponized your frustration to drive a wedge between us, and she chose a public event with an audience to lob it all at me!"

"What truly happened with Rhaenyra? What was so bad?"

"Daemon, she called me out for 'being clingy' in front of an audience! At our engagement celebration! Do you know how humiliating that was!? I'm more embarrassed than angry!"

He nodded, "I'll handle this. I swear, my darling, this will be resolved."

"You know what?" You breathed. "Do whatever you please because I've realized something. Not only did Rhaenyra spew our business to others, but you... You said it in the first place. You said those words..."

"Out of anger - "

"But you still spoke them!"

"I was foolish to do so!"

"You are a fool for many reasons, Daemon, but this is one act I am not willing to forgive so blindly. Wear your jester hat all you'd like, but it will take more than pretty words to make this up to me."

"I'll do what it takes to fix this." He tried to step into the room with you, but you held your ground in the doorway. "My love, please, how can I make it up to you if you do not let me in?"

"You must find any other way to do this because there's no chance in any of the Seven Hells that you share my bed again - married or not." You offered him a look of distain, musing, "You know what, I've decided: I simply don't care what you or your family thinks. I am extremely proud of who I am, and there's not a soul alive that can make me feel lesser than. Your words hurt, they cut deeper hearing it from the Princess, but that's simply your opinion," you eased. "I refuse to modify myself, but it's good to know you don't like my affection - I can always reserve it for whoever I choose to warm my bed. What was it you said?" You quipped venomously, "Marriages are political arrangements?"

"Not ours," he snapped.

"Oh? We're so different, are we?" You laughed.

"Of course we are, there's nothing I'd change. Hear me? Nothing," he sounded angry. "I was a fool to speak out of term, but you're right, I should talk to you about it - I am simply unequipped to having a wife I've chosen."

"Oh, spare me - "

"It's true," he insisted, "what woman in my life has loved me as you do? Has encouraged me to be so - so - loving and safe?"

"Apparently, I've been clingy and not as encouraging as I thought."

"I spoke out of turn," he insisted. "You're right - I can't go and take back what I've said. But I will do all I can to ensure I change their opinions on you, to mop up whatever verbal mess I've made."

You laughed without humor.

"And I will set Rhaenyra straight about all of this, I will ensure she knows that there's no room for such tension, jealousy, hatred."

"You swear to clean up all your messes?" You wondered earnestly.

"I swear."

"Good," you mused, "after that, how do you intend on rebuilding my trust?"

Daemon blinked, "You do not trust me anymore?"

"Of course not," you assured, "not since finding out how you speak of me so hatefully without my knowledge. That's where trust comes in, Daemon, but you proved me wrong, and now, that trust is gone."

Daemon looked confused, mouth opening and closing rapidly, shaking his head, "No, no, no, love, don't do this. We're okay, all right? We're fine, things with us - we're fine. We're okay."

"Saying it doesn't make it true."

"Do not tell me," He snapped. "H-Have I lost you?"

"Mhm. Not saying you can't fix things between us, but as of now, there's nothing about you I can trust."

"And if you cannot trust me, can you love me?"

You paused, considering his words. Honestly, his betrayal was something that hurt worse than anything you've endured before. "I'll have to think about that one," you whispered. With a saddened look, you hugged the door, sighing, and bid, "Goodnight, my Prince."

"My sweet - don't shut me out. Don't do this."

"Find a way to make this all up to me," you demanded, "because I'd hate for either of us to eventually resent this marriage, too."

He tried to argue but you shut the door on him forcefully; loudly locking it from the inside to prevent him from following you. You felt yourself brimming with anger, but nothing was like the betrayal coursing through your heart and veins. There was no sleep that night, there was a lot of tears, a lot of pacing, and a lot of grumbling to yourself.

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flowerandblood · 1 year

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Brother, Lover, Son (Oneshot)

The Impossible Choice Series Special Chapter

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[description: Aemond is sent to Storm's End by his father to be trained in the nature of battle and warfare under Borros Baratheon eye, in preparation for his future role as commander of his brother's army. He is to choose one of his daughters as his future wife, but Borros only allows him to choose between four of them when his true desire is awakened by his fifth and youngest child.]

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

This oneshot is an alternate reality from The Impossible Choice Series where, according to Aemond's words in Chapter 49, he is sent to Storm's End by his father when he is still just a child. It shows what would happen and how it would affect Aemond and Lady Baratheon, what his relationship with Borros, Royce and her other sisters would be like. This chapter stands apart from the main story and is a big, long "what if". This is very long oneshot (over 15.000 words).

Part two of this oneshot: To desire, to love, to care Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister

Brother, Lover, Son Inside Alphabet

Moodboards before you start reading and want feel the mood:

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

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

Main story and my other fics: Masterlist

______

He was unable to understand his father's decision. The night after their conversation, after the King had conveyed his will to him he had cried with rage, lying with his face pressed against his pillow, his barely healed scar from Luke's cut burning and itching more than usual.

"I've decided that you will spend a few years in Storm's End, preparing for your role as commander under the tutelage of Lord Borros. After what has happened you need a change of environment, son. It'll do you good."

He wept quietly, remembering those words for the hundredth time. He thought with grief that what he needed was not a change of environment, but a father who would come in time, save him from his nephew's cut, support him later in front of everyone, hug him and comfort him.

Meanwhile, despite the fact that he had managed to tame the largest dragon that now walked the earth, his father was getting rid of him.

He thought that the lack of an eye made him now forever defiant in his eyes and he wanted to hide him somewhere far away from the world, condemning him to oblivion.

His mother begged his father to change his mind, but he said that his son was already eleven years old and would soon be a grown man, and she could visit him whenever she wanted.

Whether he wanted it or not, a week later he was standing in the courtyard wrapped in his crying mother's arms – Aegon yawned, uninteresed, looking around, Helaena was staring at her hands, thoughtful, and small Daeron sobbed loudly, not understanding why he had to leave.

He only grunted, looking at them, not knowing what to say – he simply nodded, turned and walked away, not wanting to cry in front of everyone like a little child.

When he reached Storm's End on Vhagar a heavy rain was pouring down all around him, through which he could see very little. He struggled to land near the fortress, and travelled a long distance on foot before encountering guards who came out to meet him and led him straight into the great stone stronghold.

Frozen and with a pounding heart he stepped inside – the keep seemed huge and cold to him, his wet footsteps echoing loudly and disturbingly all around him.

He was led into a large circular hall and saw a tall, massive, bearded man before him. He was strongly built, his shoulder-length hair was as dark as his beard, his thick eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, which he recognised that he was the reason for.

"What is the meaning of this? Why haven't you given him dry clothes yet?" He almost roared at his guards, who only nodded, moving immediately back towards the corridor.

"Royce!" The man called out in a voice so tubular that it echoed loudly throughout the hall, making him swallow heavily. He tried to keep an indifferent face, but he could feel his legs trembling.

Suddenly, a boy, taller than him and reminding him a bit of Jace, ran into the hall through a side entrance. He had short, curly hair and big brown eyes.

"Lead Prince Aemond to his chamber. Let him rest, and then both of you come to the feast." He said in a firm, unobjectionable voice from which his heart trembled.

His father-king had never spoken like this and he did not know how to act.

Royce, however, did not seem at all bothered by his father's harsh tone. He approached him with a light step and bowed, looking at him curiously.

"Follow me, my Prince." He said, and he simply moved behind him, snorting quietly with his nose.

They moved up the grand, richly carved stone staircase. He was walking so fast that it was hard to keep up with him – they turned into one of the main corridors, then Royce opened a wooden door and invited him inside.

He stepped into his chamber and realised to his surprise that this room was even bigger than the one he had lived in the Red Keep – there was already a fire in the fireplace, the warmth of the flames making him tremble a little less. Royce looked at him and opened the dresser, pulling out a linen shirt and breeches, glancing at him.

"Get changed. Unfortunately such fine weather here is normal. You'll have to get used to it. The supper will begin in an hour, father doesn't like anyone to be late. Make yourself comfortable." He said and patted him on the shoulder, stepping around him and walking out, leaving him with an embarrassed expression on his face.

No lord had ever touched him so brazenly or spoken to him so directly, but yet he felt some kind of relief after he had done so.

He thought that perhaps such gestures were made between friends, brothers, and swallowed quietly.

This was not his family.

He had been sent here as if to some great stone prison.

After a few minutes or so, the servants brought trunks with his belongings, which had been brought in several carriages, and he changed into an attire he thought appropriate for supper. A plump, smiling woman then walked into his chamber and informed him that she would be his servant and that he could ask her for anything he needed.

He felt strange.

He knew they were kind to him because he was a prince, because his father and Lord Baratheon had decided that he would one day marry one of his daughters.

They could not offend or discourage him.

He pressed his lips together at the thought and decided that he would not fall for this cheap pity.

He wondered for a moment how he was supposedly going to get to the chamber where the supper would take place, but a few minutes before the appointed time Royce knocked on his door asking if he was ready.

They went there together.

They entered a great hall from the ceiling of which hung a huge candlestick, behind a long table stretched a fireplace from which a fire gushed, on an oak table spread a whole lot of dishes he had not seen before.

He noticed, surprised, that Lord Borros had already eaten, ignoring the fact that not everyone was yet at the table, nor that he, the Prince, had yet to sit down. He swallowed quietly, sitting down in the seat Royce had indicated to him, the curious glances of his sisters made him lower his head, embarrassed.

They were looking at his eyepatch, at his scar.

He wanted to hide, to disappear.

Suddenly he heard a squeal from under the table that Royce had just ducked under. He pulled out a little girl laughing so loudly he felt uncomfortable – he tried to pull away from her brother, but he held her tight and pinched her flushed cheek.

"This is where you hid, little rascal. I'm sorry, this is no longer your place, from now on Prince Aemond sits here." He explained to her, and she stopped squirming, looking at him with furrowed brows and tightened lips.

He glanced at her, thinking she was about to start crying as loudly as she laughed, but she glanced back at Royce.

"Fine. He can sit there, but you can't." She burbled, jabbing her brother in his arm with her finger, stepping under the table again and appearing on the other side, taking the empty seat next to her other sister, the only fair-haired girl, who sighed heavily as she looked at her.

"Sit down. Don't act like an animal." She said, correcting her on the seat, her younger sister looked at her resentfully but said nothing.

"What do you want to eat?" She asked her as if she were her mother, and the girl pointed her finger at the roast. Lord Borros' low, firm voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"Eat. Don't be shy. This is your home now." He said, glancing at him with his piercing brown eyes, putting some more meat from the platter beside him and handed it to him.

He swallowed hard, nodded and took a bit for his plate.

Throughout the supper he had been frustrated by the attentiveness of Lord Borros' daughters, except perhaps the youngest, who was too savage to concentrate on anything.

He had hardly slept through the night, curling up in his bed, trying not to cry from sadness and longing – he wanted to return to King's Landing, to a place where the sun greeted him every day, not rain and clouds, where was his library to hide in, his garden, his mother and his heritage.

He felt lost, lonely, forsaken.

His maid brought him his meal in the morning, warm milk with a platter of rolls and vegetables he liked.

He wondered how she knew this and whether Lord Borros had asked his mother about it before.

Then Royce came into his chamber and said that in an hour he would be training with his father in the courtyard and he could join them if he wished.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

He was afraid of humiliation.

However, he recognised that Lord Borros could not see him as a weak coward, so he went downstairs, having previously dressed in the garments designed for sparrings, stepping into the courtyard from the side, through the cloisters, and stopped, looking at the view in front of him in disbelief.

Indeed Lord Borros and Royce were practising, both of them with wooden swords in their hands, all sorts of targets and shields around them, on tables surrounding them weapons he had not even seen in King's Landing.

What he did not understand, however, was what his youngest daughter was doing there with them.

"Stand firmer on your feet. Improve your posture." Borros shouted loudly at her as she pushed against Royce with vigour, her wooden sword even smaller than his, her dark hair tied up in a braid, determination and focus in her big, bright eyes.

Royce deflected her attack and with a single, powerful blow knocked her wooden sword out of her hand far away. She immediately ran after it, picking it up off the ground.

"Are you holding that sword or not?" Asked frustrated Royce, throwing his sword over his shoulder. "You need to have a stronger grip, focus."

"I'm trying!" She called out, running back to him and stopped, spotting him standing in front of the fortress entrance.

"Prince Aemond is here!" She exclaimed joyfully, and he blushed and lowered his head, embarrassed, feeling as if he had been caught in the act, even though he had done nothing wrong.

Borros and Royce immediately turned their gazes towards him, Lord Baratheon running the hilt of his sword over the sand.

"Come here." He said in a commanding voice, without any further pleasantries.

He pressed his lips together at the thought that Criston had always addressed him with respect, not forgetting his titles.

He swallowed loudly, walking towards them with his head lowered, pale, prepared for humiliation. Royce threw a wooden sword in his direction, which he caught in flight.

"Ready?" The boy asked him, and he nodded. Royce thrust at him suddenly, his blow swishing through the air, but he jumped back, spinning, trying to hit him from the side.

Royce blocked his blow and pushed him away, but he swished his sword once more, hitting him with all his strength on the shoulder. Royce hissed and recoiled, furrowing his brow, and he froze and stopped, swallowing loudly, looking at Lord Baratheon in horror. His daughter who stood beside him clapped her hands, a wide smile on her face. Borros nodded.

"Good. Royce, what did you do wrong?" His father asked, and Royce sighed heavily.

"I didn't dodge on my knees." He said resignedly. His father hummed under his breath.

"Exactly. How many times do I have to tell you. Footwork is key! Again." He ordered, Royce sighed, the expression of displeasure gone from his face.

They had had several duels with each other, already more evenly matched, Lord Baratheon after each one giving them remarks or showing them what they were doing wrong. He swallowed loudly as he turned to him.

"You have very good technique, but you are too tense in your shoulders. Relax them and your swing will be wider, you will be able to reach your enemy from a greater distance. Do you understand?" He asked and he nodded, unable to get the words out, his heart was beating like crazy.

His advice worked – he could feel in his hand that his sword was reaching farther, he hit Royce in the chest and he caught himself and hissed. Lord Borros came up and patted him firmly on the shoulder.

"Good. Just like that. Royce, legs." Borros said to him, and he felt his cheeks turn red, his belly filled with some kind of pride he didn't want to feel.

When they had finished and Borros said they could go and rest, he thought Royce would lurk somewhere in the middle of the fortress and beat him up for the warm words from his father.

Aegon always took it out on him later when he won some sparring organised by Criston Cole, saying that he had humiliated him in front of everyone.

Royce, however, seemed to have forgotten all about the training, hot and sweaty, saying he was thirsty and hungry. He told him they could go to the pantry together, and he nodded, although he'd never been in such a place before.

They went down into the underground – there were many servants walking around them, but they didn't seem to pay any attention to them, as if Royce's presence was normal for everyone. Royce went into one of the rooms and took two apples for them, on the way one of the servants asked him if they preferred to eat something warm.

"No." Said Royce, throwing him the other apple, turning back. They ate as they walked down the long, stone-cold corridors.

He wondered if he could ask him about it, but he couldn't hold his curiosity any longer.

"Do you have a library here?" He asked feigning indifference, biting into the sweet flesh of the fruit.

Only now did he feel the stress leave him, his stomach growling with hunger.

Royce looked at him puzzled.

"Yes, but it's rarely used. I can show you where it is if you want."

As promised, Royce took him to a gigantic room made up of huge stone bookcases filled to the brim with dusty tomes. Indeed, the place looked as if no one had looked there for a long time.

He knew that Lord Borros could not read, however, he wondered if his children couldn't do it either. He glanced at Royce and wondered if it was appropriate for him to ask such things.

So far Royce had been nice to him and was the only boy his age he could speak with about anything.

He figured he'd phrase the question so as not to give himself away.

"Don't you like books?" He asked casually, eating further, strolling across the room with him. Royce shrugged his shoulders.

"I like books about the war, but they have a lot of difficult words that I don't understand. My mother explained to me that they were difficult books for adults and that I could try to go back to them when I was older." He said calmly, and he swallowed loudly, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Their mother was dead, but he wouldn't dare ask what had happened to her.

He hummed under his breath at his words and nodded.

"Sometimes I take books from here to read to my sister before bed. The youngest one you saw in the courtyard today." He said, taking one of the books from the shelf, looking through it without much concentration. He looked at him thoughtfully.

"Why is your little sister practising with you?" He asked, completely not understanding what she was doing there, having never seen any girl their age in King's Landing take an interest in such things before.

"And why not?" Royce replied with a question to question, shrugging his shoulders. He was surprised by this answer and did not know what to reply.

"She cried terribly when I didn't want to take her with me. She insisted on sword fighting and that's it. Didn't one of Aegon the Conqueror's sister-wives fight with a sword?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

He pressed his lips together, refraining from saying that the Targaryens were not like other people and not to compare them, but he decided it was rude and left the subject.

From then on, he found his asylum in the forgotten library of Storm's End, where he spent his afternoons after training with Royce and writing off his mother's letters.

Although he still felt lonely, Royce was good company, not imposing on him, having his barriers, respecting his space – he wasn't spiteful and didn't look down on girls the way Aegon did, didn't beat him surreptitiously when his father wasn't watching, didn't play silly jokes or mischief on him.

He was a good friend.

He liked to climb up to the small half-floor of the library from which he had a view of the whole place, settling in there with a few books and something to eat, spending long hours there.

One day, however, he heard, startled, as the door to the room opened, and Borros's youngest daughter ran inside like a storm, approaching one of the bookcases. She struggled to pull some book off a shelf she couldn't reach, and he watched her efforts without a word.

He wondered if he should help her, and then decided he didn't need to do anything for her.

The girl finally took the chair and stood on it, this time grabbing what she wanted. He blinked as she got off the chair and sat down on it, looking through some sort of large, colourful book, he could see from a distance how many illustrations it had.

He thought curiously that he would take it as soon as she had gone, however, she sat down comfortably and browsed further, wiggling her legs that did not reach the ground.

He sighed quietly and flipped the page of his book, discouraged, and she then lifted her head high and spotted him. He squeezed his eye shut when he heard her get up suddenly and run upstairs to him.

He thought he could bid farewell to silence and peace.

"What are you reading about?!" She asked, sitting down next to him at the table above which her head barely protruded.

She opened a large but rather thin book in front of him, with an ornate red cover on which a dragon-like shape flashed before his eye.

He didn't answer her question, pushing the book closer to himself, beginning to look through it quickly.

"I'm reading this!" She squealed in pain, wanting to take it from him, but he pushed her hand away.

"Be quiet." He growled, flicking through page after page, feeling his heart begin to pound.

Tales of the ancient Rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.

Beautifully illustrated scenes of nuptials, dragons, battles, his ancestors on gilded, coloured illuminations.

In the Red Keep he had never seen such a book before.

He flipped its pages back to the beginning, wanting to start reading, but felt her hand tighten on his arm, her breathing uneven, as if she were about to cry.

"…I read it…." She mumbled, looking at him with big eyes full of tears, her face expressing as if she had never suffered so much in her life as she did in that moment.

"I'm reading it now. When I'm done I'll give it back to you." He said dryly, looking away.

He thought she was going to run off crying to complain to Royce or her father, pressing his lips together at the thought, but she drew in a loud breath, trying to hold back the loud sobs that were pushing at her throat.

"− and can I − uh - can I sit next to − and you'd read to me, and I − I − I'd like to −" She spoke incoherently and with difficulty, and he clenched his eye knowing that she wouldn't leave him alone. He sighed heavily, pushed her chair closer to him and moved the book to the side.

"Do you see anything?" He asked impatiently, looking at her, and she sat up on her knees to raise herself higher, looking at the open book curiously, her face completely changed its expression back to contented and gentle, although she was still red from tears.

"Yes."

He sighed heavily and began to read.

"Once upon a time there was a mysterious land called Valyria. It was known for its great sorcery and magic, and the most enchanted creatures of all had to be the almighty dragons, great flying reptiles breathing fire that resembled lizards in appearance. They had been invincible for thousands of years, sowing fear and confusion among humans who tried to tame them with prayers and gifts." He read in a calm voice and realised after a moment that she was listening to him as if enchanted, looking along with him at the text.

She glanced at him when he stopped reading, her gaze expressing joyful anticipation.

She really thought he was going to read the whole book to her now.

He didn't know how he felt about that thought.

It frustrated him that he had to exert himself for her just on her whim.

"Read on." She said softly, squirming on her lap in anticipation. "I really want to learn more about dragons."

He swallowed quietly at her words, lowering his head, looking blankly at the text in front of him.

Even though her sisters were trying with all their might to make contact and conversation with him, he could see them trying to avoid looking at his eyepatch, afraid they would say the wrong thing or offend him.

He was tired of it.

They pretended all the time.

But she wanted nothing more than for him to continue reading a story that interested her.

So he read on.

✦ - ✦ - ✦ A few years later ✦ - ✦ - ✦

When his mother sent him a letter that Helaena had finally given birth, he flew to King's Landing for a few days to see his nephews. He was pleased, although he did not particularly show it, that his sister had endured the hardships of labour well, being able to get out of bed almost immediately despite giving birth to two children rather than one.

He stood over the two beautiful, ornate wooden cradles in which the two white-haired infants lay and pressed his lips together, knowing that these innocent creatures had just pushed him in line to the throne.

He had inherited nothing.

All he had was Vhagar.

He knew everyone thought so − as he walked the corridors of the Red Keep he felt the stares of the lords and ladies of the court, he knew they were whispering about him. He appeared in King's Landing infrequently and always aroused a general curiosity that made him want to return to Storm's End at once.

There he didn't feel like an intruder, he thought with pain.

Despite his mother's pleas for him to stay for a few weeks, he decided that he would return to Storm's End as planned, remembering his promise to Lord Baratheon to return to the fortress before his Name Day.

The last supper he spent in the Red Keep was quiet and peaceful, the only people at the table who had the strength to speak were his grandfather and his mother.

Although the evening went on as usual, he could not get rid of the feeling that everyone around him was grey and dead, without energy or joy.

He recoiled from it.

Although he had always sought silence and solitude in Storm's End, suppers there were full of loud conversations and laughter, usually through the banter between Borros, his son and his youngest child, sometimes joined by Ellyn.

Cassandra usually pressed her lips together, looking at him with shame, perpetually worried that he was unhappy or embarrassed, trying to mother everyone, much to his frustration.

Ellyn was sweet and kind, but everything frightened her − she was close to tears when he and Royce had fierce duels during which she almost begged them not to hurt each other.

Maris was withdrawn and immersed in her thoughts, paying no attention to him after he had growled at her several times not to enter his chamber in his absence.

Neither of them frustrated him as much as Floris did.

As he walked down the corridor she tried to catch him under his arm, turning his journey from point to point into a romantic stroll. She constantly asked his opinion when it came to choosing a gown for the feast, to which he didn't feel like answering, uninterested.

Her approach tired him.

However, on the whole, he felt surprised and sad when he caught himself thinking that he was returning to Storm's End with relief.

He felt like a stranger, like an intruder in his own home and felt rage mixed with disappointment.

He returned on Vhagar to Storm's End late at night, flying in the middle of a terrible storm, entering the fortress all soaked.

He rolled his eye when he saw that Floris was waiting for him, dressed only in a slightly transparent night robe, holding some cloth in her hands.

"You're soaking wet, my Prince, let me help you." She said, looking at him with big eyes.

"No need. Don't follow me." He said dryly, heading to his chamber and locking himself in to make sure she would definitely not come after him.

He changed into dry clothes and collapsed on his bed, falling asleep almost immediately, hearing the loud thunder outside his window.

He woke up as always before dawn, looking tiredly at the grey, overcast sky – he murmured under his breath seeing that it wasn't raining and rose, putting on his breeches, dressing his boots lazily.

He liked to practice in the morning, in solitude, before everyone else was up – dueling with Royce was interesting and over the years they had formed a wordless, close bond, however he liked to train alone sometimes, wanting to surprise him later with an unexpected blow.

He stepped out into the courtyard and was immediately struck by the crisp, pleasant, refreshing air. He picked up one of the long swords and turned it around a few times in his hand, wanting to check that it lay well in his hand.

He shuddered and almost fell over when he felt someone suddenly jump onto his back.

"– brother! –" He heard a happy girlish squeal, someone's arms were embracing his neck from behind, her legs clenched around his waist.

"− fuck! − gods −" He hissed, feeling his heart pounding like a mad, looking back over his shoulder, although he knew perfectly well who he was going to see.

He felt her warm breath on his cheek, her pleasant floral scent filled his nose, her cheeks warm and flushed from the cold, her bright eyes shining with genuine joy at the sight of him.

She giggled seeing the look on his face.

"Where is your vigilance?" She asked amused and he snorted.

"Get off." He growled in frustration and pushed her away so that she had to slide back off the ground.

He looked at her frustrated, his lips pressed together into a thin line in shame.

"Can you finally stop doing that?" He said coolly, looking down at her, but she only smiled wider, putting her hands at her sides, not making anything of his words.

Only now did he realise that she too was wearing her training attire, tight black breeches, a buff white shirt, and over that an embroidered corset pleasantly hugging her waist, her long dark hair tied in a braid.

He swallowed loudly as he looked at her, wondering helplessly why he always lost his confidence in her presence.

She was driving him off balance.

"Forgive me. I couldn't help myself when I saw you." She said meekly, walking up to him with a light step, standing in front of him, her face gentle and happy.

She was glad to see him.

She was glad he was back.

He felt embarrassed at her words and looked away, pressing his lips together. She saw how tense he was and obviously felt remorse, because she lowered her gaze.

"I thought you'd come back last evening." She said softly, looking up at him again, her eyes big, sincere, warm.

She was always direct, always spoke straight from her heart, but there was no pressure or expectation of reciprocation, of an answer.

Her sincerity straddled him and he usually didn't know what to make of it, embarrassed and confused by her words.

"Something kept me in King's Landing." He replied briefly and dryly, looking at the hilt of his sword, turning it steadily in his hand, pressing its tip to the ground.

"I hope the Princess' delivery was quick and easy and that her children are healthy." She said softly, with genuine interest and concern.

"Mmm." That was the only thing that came out of his mouth. He felt an uncomfortable silence ensue between them, as it always did, but she seemed to make nothing of it.

"Will it bother you if I practise archery next to you?" She finally asked politely, looking at him expectantly, shifting from foot to foot.

"Do what you want." He said dryly, rolling the hilt of his sword in his hand and turned his back to her, striking one of the targets with its blade.

She answered him nothing to this, standing in silence for a moment, and then he heard her move as she approached one of the tables, taking from it the bow she always chose, given to her by her father. She positioned herself sideways to him, aiming at the shield from a long distance and hit the target immediately.

They practised like this in silence until Royce finally joined them.

She and Royce formed a very strong bond between them, which manifested itself in their constant conversations and closeness. He watched from the side as Royce embraced her, picked her up, leaned against her while standing next to her and felt embarrassed, never having been this close to Helaena himself, and even if he had been, he would not have had the courage to show it to her in this way.

She knew she couldn't afford the same type of closeness to him and didn't even try. She circled around him with an amused, joyful expression though, her eyes shining brightly at the sight of him, making him feel a squeeze in his throat.

He could not stop the rapid beating of his heart and the heat that spread through his body as her hand lightly touched his arm when she asked him something or wanted to comfort him.

She loved to surprise him, appearing in front of him out of nowhere, almost giving him a heart attack, and walking away laughing out loud at his expression, leaving him overwhelmed with embarrassment.

She repeated that his face was always stony and indifferent and that she was only checking how much she could get out of him.

The exchanges between them were usually unpredictable and chaotic – she never said what he expected of her and it made him perpetually tense in her presence.

He didn't even know when she stopped being a child, changing just like him, the height difference between them even greater than before.

It seemed to him as if she were a small wildflower that bloomed day by day, her shapes becoming more and more girlish, embarrassingly pleasing to his eye. Unlike her sisters, she didn't try to look older than she was – she allowed herself to mature slowly, without unnecessary haste, without killing her innocence, joy and lightness.

Pretty soon he began to see with horror that looking at her from the side was working on his mind, drawing reactions from his body that he was ashamed of.

He never lay with any woman, being like his mother a faithful follower of the Seven, believing that as a man he should be able to control himself and his desires completely.

He tried to avoid her, but at the same time he couldn't stop the squeeze of excitement in his stomach when she came to him in the library or during their joint training sessions – he never knew what she would do, what she would say, so he pretended to be indifferent, trying not to think about how hard his heart was pounding.

Nevertheless, he did not know what drove him to follow her one evening when, returning from the library, he saw that she was running down to underground crypts in nothing but her nightgown and robe tied loosely around her waist with a candle in her hand.

He thought he'd go and scare her like she had done to him, to make her feel what it was like.

That he'll teach her a lesson.

He followed her quietly, watching his every step, feeling like a predator trying to stalk its prey – he saw the faint light of her candle right in front of him, saw her silhouette standing in front of one of the crypts, her head bowed in thought.

He didn't know what possessed him to grab her by her neck with his hand, embracing her waist with his arm and pull her to him so violently that her body slammed into his, a sudden, high-pitched squeal escaped her mouth.

"Fucking unpleasant, isn't it?" He hissed into her ear, feeling her whole body tremble, her breathing accelerated and terrified – his hand tightened on her neck, the closeness of her body made his manhood pulse hard in his breeches against her buttocks.

"I wanted to see if you are able to make other than a happy, laughing face." He whispered mischievously into her ear and felt a shiver run through her body, her hand clamped on his arm.

She turned her head towards him, her eyes big, terrified, red, full of something he couldn't describe, her lips parted wide.

They were both breathing unevenly – they had never stood so close to each other before, a silence fell between them that terrified him.

A silence full of tension.

Say something, he thought, say I'm a nasty bastard, hit me, push me away.

He swallowed loudly when he felt her put her hand on his, her skin soft and warm.

"Today it is ten years since my mother passed away." She whispered in a trembling, soft voice, looking down, and he felt his heart stop.

He lifted his gaze to the sarcophagus with the large stone statue standing on top of it and recognised in it the face of a woman holding a book in her hands.

He felt an instant of shame, of guilt, of embarrassment wash over him.

He let go of her, pulling away from her, feeling his heart pounding like mad, terrified that he had gotten completely hard from their momentary closeness.

What was he doing?

He swallowed loudly, feeling like running away, sinking into the ground, disappearing, but he was unable to move.

"I come here often to pray to her to watch over us. Over our whole family. Over you too." She said in the end, and he swallowed silently, staring at the stone floor, unable to look at her, overpowered by shame.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'll never do it again." She whispered and turned away, moving towards the stairs, leaving him with the burning candle.

Since then, she has never startled him again.

Lord Borros celebrated his Name Day sumptuously, inviting first his subordinate lords and vassals to a great feast in Storm's End, and then setting out with his entire retinue for several days hunting in the forest.

He and Royce walked into the great hall together through a side entrance closest their table, set perpendicular to the tables where the other lords and guests were seated.

"I'm sure old Lord Errol and Lord Seaworth will get into a fight again. The wine is bad for their minds and they get mad. I don't understand why Father always seats them so close together." Royce said amused, sitting down in his seat.

His face involuntarily stretched into a smirk at the memory of how Borros had to separate them when Lord Errol started slamming Lord Seaworth's head against the oak table, demanding an apology.

"Were they by any chance companions on one of Father's expeditions?" He asked indifferently as he sat down next to him and swallowed hard noting how the word father had involuntarily slipped from his lips.

Not 'our' father.

Not 'your' father.

Just father, he reassured himself in his head.

It didn't mean anything.

"Yes, they were best companions, but you know how it is. When there's no war they get bored, so they create reasons for themselves to fight." He said with amusement, reaching for his wine-filled cup, taking a sip from it. He nodded his head.

He was unable to describe what kind of relationship he had with Royce – he never acted as if he was lower or higher than him, never let him feel his jealousy of his father, never took it out on him for his failures.

Royce simply accepted his presence on the very first day he appeared in Storm's End, and this state of acceptance continued through the years.

He couldn't imagine spending time with Aegon in the way he did with Royce. Royce, unlike him, knew exactly how much he could drink and when he should tell himself enough.

He did not read as much as he did, however, he was a man of intelligence, like his father often throwing in apt remarks – Royce was a good observer, better than him, so in a way they complemented each other on a daily basis.

He looked around the room – Lord Borros was discussing something with concern with his servant, apparently about the order in which the dishes were served or a problem with the wine, which, after all, could not be lacking in his house.

His gaze traveled further and he swallowed loudly, feeling his heart hit harder when he spotted his youngest daugther conversing with Ellyn, a wide smile and joy on her face, her eyes glowing.

He noticed that she didn't wear gowns like her older sisters who followed fashion of King's Landing – the neckline of her gown did not begin until below her breasts, which were covered only by her undershirt, the sleeves of her gown buff and partly slit, tied with bows from under which the white material of her nightgown shone through, her hair tied in an elaborate braid.

Her attire was so impressive to him because she usually dressed similarly to them whether she was training with them or attended her father's hunts.

Lord Baratheon's other lords and vassals gave her paternal affection, often laughing that Borros had not one son, but three.

Comparisons to men, however, did not take away her confidence, for she seemed to subconsciously understand that all her femininity and girlhood was released when she laughed and smiled, her face always gentle and warm.

He began to notice with frustration that men liked to make speak with her, finding her an interesting and entertaining companion, unafraid of uncomfortable topics. She would occasionally meet his impatient, tense gaze and he would then turn away, tightening his lips, feeling like a fool.

He pretended not to feel relieved and satisfied when, usually after a while, she sat down next to him, turning to him with some question, her knee pressed against his.

He took a deep sip from his cup, looking away.

Lord Borros finally arose and began his speech, thanking those gathered for coming, mentioning some important battles and people, before formally inviting everyone to eat and dance. With music blaring around them, Royce handed him a plate of roast meat that had literally just appeared on the table in front of them.

He tried to pretend he didn't see young Lord Wylde approach Lord Baratheon's youngest daughter asking her to dance, to which she agreed with a soft, wide smile. He tried not to glance surreptitiously as they circled around each other in the dance, her movements nimble, gentle, innocent, her hand barely touching his.

He took another sip of wine, feeling the artery in his throat pulsate, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

He felt relieved when the dance was over and they bowed to each other, but he tensed, however, clenching his hand into a fist as he noticed the young boy leaning over her, whispering something to her ear.

He felt anger.

He felt frustration.

He felt tension.

He tried to reassure himself with the thought that she was innocent and naïve, and he was making sure nothing happened to her, like the good big brother he actually wasn't.

"What happened?" Royce asked, clearly seeing the tension painted on his face, and he grunted low.

"Young lord Wylde seems to have taken a liking to your sister." He said offhandedly, feigning indifference, hoping Royce would take an interest in the matter for him. He, however, blinked, glancing at them, then shrugged his shoulders.

"My sister is wise, she can handle him if he's too insistent. Let her have her fun." He said lightly, taking a sip of wine, finishing off the leftover meat on his plate. He averted his gaze, feeling a squeeze in his stomach at his words.

When he saw out of the corner of his eye Floris standing up from her chair he also immediately stood up, knowing that she was going to torment him by speaking about topics that he was completely uninterested in.

Royce only laughed out loud when he told him he was going to go out into the fresh air for a while, knowing exactly who he was running from.

He went out a side entrance and heard Floris come up behind him, so he changed his plan and instead of the cloisters he headed for the library, knowing that she hadn't peeked in there and certainly wouldn't even stop to look.

He walked into the dark room and climbed the stairs to the half-floor where he always sat when he was a child, sitting down on the ground against the wall, running his hand over his face.

He wondered what was actually happening to him, feeling tired and discouraged.

He knew that eventually he would have to choose one of Borros' daughters to be his wife, but the Lord of Storm's End had let him know that he was to choose from four, not five.

"As I understand it, you will not consider her. She is still so young and childish, she would not do well in the Red Keep or as your wife. You know her nature: it's like locking a wild bird in a cage. For the rest, I am sure you are certainly interested in more mature women." He said and patted him on the shoulder with some expression of masculine tenderness from which he felt a tightening in his throat. He nodded only, unable to look him in the face.

He couldn't admit to him that thoughts of her invaded him at night, when he touched himself, when he fucked himself with his hand.

That he imagined she came to his chamber in the middle of the night, scared, innocent, warm, and he took her, slowly and tenderly, placing wet kisses full of desire and devotion on her soft face, listening to her sweet moans, assuring her that she was safe in his arms.

He squeezed his eye shut at the thought, swallowing loudly, feeling his cock pulsate hard at the thought.

He jumped up terrified when he heard the quiet creak of the door and cursed in his mind thinking that it was Floris who had finally found his hiding place.

However, he saw in the faint light of the torch from the corridor that the figure who was looking up at him from below was wearing a completely different dress.

He felt his heart begin to beat like mad, a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

"Brother?" He heard her quiet, worried voice, she spoke almost in a whisper, as if she was afraid someone would hear her. His voice caught in his throat.

He couldn't get anything out.

Go away, he thought pleadingly, but she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

She walked slowly upstairs, lifting her gown with her hands to avoid trampling on it, and knelt down next to him on the floor with a loud rustle, her scent immediately hitting his nostrils. He turned his head away, terrified, feeling that he was already completely hard, his chest rising and falling anxiously.

"Are you unwell?" She asked uncertainly, glancing at him, but he didn't dare look at her. He shook his head slowly and heard her swallow quietly.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" She asked again after a moment, and he pressed his lips together, feeling that his whole body was fighting not to throw himself at her, his breath heavy and anxious.

He answered nothing.

"I missed you." She whispered at last, and he felt a squeeze in his heart, a pain as if someone had stuck a needle in his chest. "When you're gone something is missing. Royce too…"

"Stop it." He growled colder than he would have liked, frustrated and terrified.

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked impatiently, looking at her suddenly, breathing hard, his hand clenched into a fist as if he was about to hit her.

He saw her frightened, warm gaze, saw that she couldn't understand him, what frustrated him and what pleased him.

She swallowed loudly, surprised by his sudden outburst.

"You think I want to listen to this? I'm not your brother. Have you forgotten who I am already? Do you feel better when you forget that you should bow before me?" He exhaled in one breath, feeling the poison gathering in his heart fly out of him like a bloodthirsty wave, drowning everything around them, including her and him.

He felt a pang of remorse as he saw her face contort in pain, as if he had slapped her across the face. She blinked rapidly, tightening her lips, pulling away from him slightly, raising her arms as if in a gesture of defence, her body breathless all over. She swallowed quietly, her mouth quivering as she spoke her next words.

"To me, you will always be my brother." She said in a trembling voice, and he felt anger and hopelessness at her words.

He did not want to be her brother.

Not when she wasn't a Targaryen.

Not when he wanted to fuck her.

She squealed loudly as his hand brutally clamped down on her hair and pulled her close with a sudden movement so that she just slammed into his body, falling over, catching his arms to keep her balance. They both breathed loudly as they stared at each other for a long moment, he felt his head spin from the smell of her.

He felt a shudder pass through him as her hand touched his scarred cheek, his erection swelled painfully hard, leaving him breathless. Shivers ran down the back of his neck as her fingers slid slowly down his skin to his lips, pulsating and swollen. He pulled her face closer, making their foreheads touch.

He glanced at her lips, soft, pink, full, and then again at her eyes, warm, misty, surrounded by her beautiful dark lashes like a veil. His hand inch by inch drew her closer and closer, he could feel her accelerated, hot breath enveloping his face – the tip of his nose ran over her soft cheek and they both trembled, a quiet, sweet sigh escaped her lips, her fingers ran down his cheek.

When his lips brushed hers they both froze, looking at each other with misty eyes, breathing loudly. He waited for her reaction, for her to pull away, to shake her head and tell him no, but she didn't move an inch, her whole body quivered, her mouth parted as if invitingly, encouragingly. He leaned towards her, his thirsty, puffy lips pressed against hers, soft, fleshy, wonderfully moist.

She whispered his name quietly, and he kissed her again, each time more surely, more deeply, drawing her closer, her hand tightening on his cheek. Their hot, swollen lips danced with each other with a sticky, wet clicks that sent shivers through him, his free arm hugging her waist and pulling her closer, forcing her to sit on his lap.

They both panted into each other's mouths feeling their hands travel uncertainly over their bodies, his fingertips touching hair, the nape of her neck, her cheeks, her waist, repeating it all over again.

His manhood twitched in his breeches so hard that once in a while a low, helpless groan of pleasure ripped from his throat straight into her mouth, her lips responding timidly to his caresses, her hand trailing through his hair and down his neck.

Aroused to the limit, with a pounding heart, he tentatively slipped the tip of his tongue into her parted lips as if to see how she would react, whether it would be too much. He felt her tremble all over and draw in a loud breath, her fingers clenching tighter on his hair.

He repeated the flicks of his moist tongue and got the same wonderful reaction out of her – he moaned loudly when he felt tips of their tongues come into contact and lick, a strong shudder ran through his body, his hands tightening on the material of her gown.

They both flinched and pulled away immediately, looking at each other in horror when they heard someone grab the doorknob and then the door swung open with a loud creak. They both stood up, swallowing loudly, noticing Royce who was frowning through the lack of light and only saw them on the balcony a moment later.

"I've been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing here?" He asked surprised and amused, seeing their faces.

"I felt unwell. The wine made me sick." He choked out wearily, avoiding her, feeling like his heart was about to leap out of his chest, running down the stairs.

"I'm better now, let's go." He said, stepping out into the corridor, trying to stop his body from shaking and the sights he saw before his eyes.

He was glad his tunic was long enough to cover what was going on inside his breeches.

Her soft lips pressed against his, her hand in his hair, her flowery, fresh scent, her warm breath, her tongue licking his.

He swallowed loudly, stepping back into the great hall, immediately bombarded with questions from Floris as to where he had gone for so long. He didn't answer her, sidestepping her, sitting down in his seat, taking a few deep sips of wine to calm himself.

What had he done?

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What if she tells Royce? Or Father?

He ran his hand over his chin at that thought, feeling a tightening in his stomach, glancing nervously at the entrance.

He thought Borros would kill him if he found out.

A moment later, she and Royce also walked into the room, her face pale, though she tried to smile.

She didn't tell him, he thought with relief.

Their gazes met and he immediately looked away, feeling her soft, wet tongue between his lips again, his cock throbbed painfully in his breeches, demanding to be relieved at last.

Never before had he come so quickly fucking himself with his own hand as he had that evening – the loud, low groan of relief and delight that broke from his throat was silenced by the pillow into which he pressed his face, his body trembling in spasms. He involuntarily whispered her name as he slowly came down from his peak, his eye tightened, a quiet panting came from his mouth.

He was disgusted with himself and what he had done.

He was disgusted at how pleasant it felt.

She was so innocent.

In the morning he felt crushed by remorse, by the fact that he had frightened her, that she herself did not know what had happened between them.

That she thought for certain he wanted to take advantage of her, to profit from the pleasure of her body and nothing more.

He knew she would go hunting with them, she always went, helping Borros instead of his servants.

He did not know how he would look her in the face.

He decided he would try to go to Lord Borros and convince him somehow to let him stay in the fortress.

"This is time for you and your children." He said to him, Lord Borros' servant was just helping him put on a tunic of thicker, warmer material designed for being outside in cold temperatures. Borros snorted at his words.

"My four daughters are staying and that I can understand, but you? Both my sons are to participate in the hunt." He said more commanding than stating. He looked at him, pretending to feel nothing at his words.

"I am not your son."

Borros pressed his lips together at his words – he waved his hand impatiently and ordered the servant to leave them alone. After a moment, the door closed behind him and a tense silence fell between them. Borros looked at him, wrinkling his wide, dark brows.

"You are not my son by blood, but I raised you. I made you a man. You and Royce are to come with me. Do you understand?" He asked low and clear, with the impatience characteristic of him when he was frustrated. He swallowed loudly and nodded his head.

You are not my son by blood, but I raised you.

I made you a man.

He did not want to admit to himself how much relief he felt at his words.

He no longer knew who he was and who he wasn't.

A dragon prince would never be an mere stag.

However, why was it that whenever Borros spoke in his presence he felt a respect and awe for him that made him unable to stand up to him?

That he didn't remind him of who he was, how he should address him?

Part of him wanted to be Royce's brother, wanted to be Borros Baratheon's son.

But he also wanted something else.

Someone else.

He wondered, riding his mount beside Royce through the dense forest whether she would agree if he asked for her hand.

Would she give up everything she loved for him and leave with him to the Red Keep, to the inheritance that was his by blood and law.

He swallowed quietly, ashamed of the direction his thoughts were taking.

He was desperate.

When they arrived in the field where the large tents slowly floated, he spotted her from afar, speaking quickly with his father about something. He lowered his head, terrified, dismounting from his horse, thinking only of what he had done the night before.

However, as Borros approached them in her company, he began to speak about where they would be going and what they were hunting, his voice focused and pleased with the weather and the fact that it was not raining.

He swallowed loudly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She turned her head away as soon as she noticed he was looking at her.

She didn't tell him, he thought with relief and regret at the same time.

Perhaps if he found out the truth and required an explanation, he would have the courage to take her for himself and demand her hand.

He was not surprised when Borros ordered that all three of them and a few companions from his old days would accompany him on a deer hunt.

His youngest daughter was, as usual, armed with a bow, much to her father's delight hitting a partridge from long distances. Borros patted her firmly on the back so that she bent under the powerful strokes of his broad palm.

"Very good." He said lightly, walking on, ordering them to move north. He saw her give him a quick glance and then immediately turn her head away, tightening her lips, all red, and run after her father.

The hunt was a success and they returned to camp with enough meat to feed all comers. Large bonfires were lit in front of the tents, the cooks skinning and quartering the animals before his eyes. Royce and he sat down under one of the trees, exhausted.

Royce called out to his sister when he spotted her from afar to rest with them, and he felt a twist in his stomach, looking away, feigning indifference.

His younger sister approached them uncertainly, trying to converse lightly with her brother about something, her hands clenched on her lap. After a moment, Borros called out to his son from a distance, saying that he needed his help, so he got up at once and ran towards him, leaving them alone.

They both turned their heads away, unable to look at each other, a protracted, uncomfortable silence all around them.

He looked at the sun setting in the distance which he could see between the trees, feeling his heart pounding hard.

It seemed to him that what had happened between them earlier in the night was just a figment of his imagination.

"I will not disturb you, my Prince." She said in pain, lifting herself from the grass, and he looked at her surprised, his jaw clenched in a held breath at her words as he watched her walk away.

My Prince.

When Royce returned he told him he needed to drink some wine.

He drank more than usual, watching her from afar like a predator, seeing her cast him an uncertain, frightened glance once in a while.

He was frustrated and full of anger that he didn't know what to do with.

He decided to go to bed early, drunk, tired and discouraged. Royce urged him to stay up, that the campfires would burn late into the night, but he had neither the strength nor the desire to feast.

He moved towards his tent and went inside, slowly undoing the buckles of his tunic, pulling it off and throwing it indifferently on the grass beside his bed.

He heard someone come inside and thought it was his servant, so he loudly dismissed him, but the person who had walked inside did not move from his place.

"− brother −" He heard her quiet, uncertain voice and froze, his body went through a shiver.

He turned slowly to her over his shoulder, his gaze expressing shock – his mind was foggy, his hands involuntarily clenched into fists.

"What are you doing here?" He asked coldly. She swallowed loudly, her large, warm eyes full of terror and uncertainty.

She opened and closed her mouth several times but nothing came out of her throat, she rubbed her fingers against each otehr in a nervous gesture.

"− I − what happened yesterday −" She mumbled out, but he interrupted her in mid-sentence afraid of what she wanted to say.

"− forget about it −" He replied, turning away from her, untying the his breeches, wanting to get rid of them before lying down on the sheets. "− something else? −"

She turned her head away, embarrassed and hurt by his words and what he was doing, swallowing loudly, her brow furrowed as if in pain.

"− I want you to know that I won't tell anyone about this − that's all −" She whispered turning away and walked out, leaving him with a pounding heart and a feeling of overwhelming shame.

He ran his hand over his face and, in a gesture of anger, threw all his dishes off the table, which fell to the ground with a loud clang of steel.

Why did it have to be her?

He put his palms on the table, leaning his head forward, unable to calm himself, breathing loudly through his mouth.

Why couldn't it be Ellyn?

She was sweet, pretty, modest, well-read, quiet.

So why?

He came out of his tent like a living fury and stormed aggressively into her tent, heard her squeal of surprise as she jumped up on her bed, covering herself with a furs, sitting up in only her nightgown.

She looked up at him with her mouth open and her eyes wide as he ripped the furs from her hands, revealing her body peeking out from under the thin white material in front of him, her breath caught in her throat as he lay down on top of her, pressing her body against the bedding, his cock twitching hard between her thighs.

"− brother − what are you −" She whispered terrified, shivering all over, clasping her hands on his shirt.

"− tell me to stop −" He breathed out grabbing her trembling thighs in his hands, lifting them slightly and spreading them out in front of him, panting along with her, looking at her face full of disbelief. "− tell me to stop or I'll take what I want −"

He said in a raspy voice, his tongue invading between her swollen lips bringing out a helpless, drawn-out, surprised moan, her hands still clenched on the material of his shirt. He ran his hard, throbbing manhood hidden under the material between her thighs and she trembled all over, whimpering into his mouth.

He pulled away from her with a loud, wet click, looking at her like a madman, panting loudly along with her, parting her lower lip with his thumb, his hips rolling against her body in a slow back and forth motion.

"− say it −" He whispered weakly, looking down at her, her face flushed and red, her lips parted in a ragged breath, a quiet moan came from her mouth each time he rubbed against her womanhood again.

"− please, make me stop − please −" He growled out helplessly, but her lips only parted more at his words, her thighs spread wider in front of him, her soft hand running over his hot cheek.

He squeezed his eye shut, feeling her lower lip brush his, her hips tentatively began to respond to his movements, rubbing against him, driving him wild. He felt like he was about to explode.

"− please −" He panted into her mouth, the tips of their tongues licking each other, a sweet, lingering mewl came from her lips. His trembling hands slid from her thigh to her buttocks, squeezing them uncertainly, he sighed in delight feeling how indecently soft her skin was.

"− please − please −" He gasped in a trembling voice, but her hands weaved into his hair and drew him closer, her fingers trailing down his neck, slipping under his shirt, running over his bare back, leaving goosebumps in the areas of her touch. They both began to moan quietly and pant into each other's mouths, their kisses messy and loud, wet, sticky from their saliva.

"− marry me −" He exclaimed helplessly, lifting her nightgown higher, revealing to him the bare skin of her thigh and what lay between them. Slowly he slid his hand there, trembling along with her, her body quivering at his words, a loud sigh escaping her lips.

"− say you'll marry me −" He whispered, running his nose over her cheek, sliding down to her ear and then to her neck, placing slow, wet kisses on her skin. They both moaned helplessly as his fingers ran over her fleshy, slick folds, so intimately hidden, so now exposed, her expression of complete trust in him.

He sighed wearily when he felt her moisture on his fingers, warm and sticky, again and again running his hand over her puffy slit, her skin there hot, pulsing with heat. He felt her fingers tighten on his back, writhing beneath him each time his palm ran over the little bud hidden between her folds, a helpless sob escaping from her throat, her lips parted wide, droplets of sweat running down her skin.

"− Aemond −" She whimpered pleadingly, as if she were crying out to him for help, as if she were asking him to save her. He trembled all over at the sound of his name spoken so directly, so unashamedly, intimately, he felt as if his cock would explode with arousal.

He began to deliberately stroke her where his touch was driving her mad, his fingertips spreading her moisture all over her plushy womanhood, his swollen lips clinging to hers again, trying to silence her increasingly loud moans.

"− hush, my little one − someone will hear us − shhh −" He silenced her by sliding his tongue deep between her lips, almost to her throat, her hips began to rock faster and faster towards his hand, searching for any source of friction.

"− Aemond − what are we doing −" She mumbled quietly between sticky kisses and the licking of their tongues, his fingers massaging area around her pearl in a circular, sure motions, running over her hot entrance once in a while. He tentatively slid the tip of his finger into her throbbing, moist insides, and she trembled all over, drawing in air loudly.

"− what husband and wife do − what we're going to do every night −" He breathed out into her mouth and a quiet, sweet, surprised moan escaped her throat, he felt her wetness flowing from her slit into his palm, he felt her body on edge, her thighs were quivering all under his hand, her hips pushing greedily against his hand. He slid his finger into her with a wet click of her juices as his thumb continued to tease her puffy bud.

"− I − gods, it feels so warm − it tickles me so much inside −" She mewled, panting loudly, clearly feeling the tension gathering in her lower abdomen, and he thought with delight that she was about to come on his hand.

"− say you'll marry me −" He said in a raspy voice, watching as her body wriggled in front of him him in pleasure, her mouth wide open, her eyes looking at him in a way from which he felt like just throwing himself on top of her and sliding inside her.

"− I will − I will, please −" She cried out and suddenly froze, leaning back, pressing her cheek against the pillow.

An exasperated, pleading, startled moan erupted from her throat, she clenched her eyes shut as if what was just going through her body was too much − waves of pleasure shook her body, and he watched the sight in disbelief, seeing female fulfilment for the first time in his life.

His hand involuntarily slipped out from between her thighs and slid into his breeches, gripping his painfully hard erection. He forced her to look up at him by clamping his hand over her cheeks and he pressed himself into her lips, panting along with her, squeezing his fat cock intensely and quickly. He felt his fulfilment approaching embarrassingly fast, her scent, the touch of her lips and what he saw was enough to keep him on edge.

"− my sweetest − gods − oh, fuck −" He growled out into her mouth panting hard as he felt his hot spend spill over his hand, a wonderful relief and pleasure filled his whole body and lower abdomen − he could hear her loud breathing, her hand gently stroking his hair and cheek, calming him, soothing him.

He collapsed on top of her at last, panting hard, not believing it had really happened.

They lay like that, both of them breathing loudly, not saying a word, all around them the voices of drunken men arguing with each other and discussing loudly. He could feel their bodies trembling, hot with fulfilment − he pressed his face to her cheek, his lips against her ear.

"− do you want me to leave? −" He asked in a trembling voice, terrified of what he had done, what she would think of him now, what their father would think if he found out. He felt her small hands tightening on his shirt, her hand running through his hair.

"Stay with me."

So he stayed.

When he woke up, her warm body was snuggled against his chest, her fingers tightened on the material of his shirt as if she was afraid he would change his mind and leave her in the middle of the night.

He embraced her with his hands, his face snuggled into her hair, his nose filled with her wonderful scent.

He had never felt so fulfilled before.

So peaceful.

So safe.

He only gently disentangled himself from her sleeping embrace before dawn, not wanting anyone to see him leaving her tent and jump to hasty conclusions.

He also needed to speak to their father.

He had never before seen Lord Borros so furious as when he told him he had made his choice.

His foster father prowled around the tent like an enraged animal as he sat in a chair, tense, playing with his fingers.

"She's just a child. I thought you had more sense." Borros hissed at him, and he threw him a cold, displeased look.

"She is no longer a child. Would you rather she married a stranger instead of giving her to me? To your son?" He asked, his voice trembling uncertainly at his last words. Borros looked at him furrowing his eyebrows.

"I will not hurt her. She will be safe with me." He said calmly what he really thought. Borros snorted at his words.

"In King's Landing, between one fire-breathing dragon and another fighting for crown and power? I don't want to see my youngest child perish in the flames of Targaryen greed!" He exclaimed in a low breaking voice, and he felt a pain in his chest, swallowing loudly, taken completely by surprise by his words.

I don't want to see my youngest child perish in the flames of Targaryen greed.

"It's her or none, Father." He said coldly, clenching his hands into fists, not looking away even though he wanted to.

He heard Borros growl with rage, furiously turning to his servant to summon his youngest daughter at once.

He felt discomfort at the thought that perhaps she had changed her mind.

That she had only agreed under emotions, and now regretted it.

He was unable to look at her when he heard her walk into the tent, Borros immediately turned to her, his voice raised and impatient.

"Prince Aemond asks for your hand, daughter. Did you know about this?" He asked menacingly, referring to all the confusion he had caused with his decision. He felt his heart pounding as he waited for her words, his hands clenched into fists.

"Yes. I...I have already agreed." She whispered so quietly that he barely heard it. He swallowed loudly glancing at her finally, she was pale and frightened, looking at her father pleadingly, terrified of his anger.

"You have no idea what you agreed to, child." He said, half furious, half terrified, running his hand over his face, shaking his head, still pacing around the tent, unable to control himself.

"I do not want anyone else." She mumbled with difficulty, looking pleadingly at her father on the verge of tears. He felt heat in his chest at her words and pressed his lips together.

I do not want anyone else.

Without opposition from his daughter, Borros really had no choice. When they confirmed several times that they knew what they were doing and that it was what they wanted, he gave up, heartbroken, and ordered to summon a scribe, wanting to send a letter to King's Landing.

Neither he nor she had the courage to tell anyone what had happened.

Word of his decision spread like wildfire, however, and he had to deal with a barrage of questions from Royce, shocked and unsure if he was doing the right thing.

"But why her, brother? She is so young. I mean…I was sure you'd choose Ellyn." He said, scratching his chin, just as embarrassed as he was by this conversation. He didn't know what to say to him.

"I think I knew it from the beginning." He muttered, running his hand over his face in shame, all tense, glancing at Royce, who stared at him in disbelief.

His reaction was nothing compared to the despair and bitterness that gripped his sisters.

Cassandra took it best, with dignity, though her face twisted in pain as their father informed them of his decision at the evening feast. Maris turned pale and pursed her lips, but said nothing. Ellyn let out a loud, breaking sob, got up and left, unable to look at him.

Floris asked if he was mocking them.

He looked at his betrothed, pale and on the verge of tears, weighed down by what was happening around her, by what he had condemned her to.

"The King and Queen have decided that the nuptials will take place in two months." Their father continued, ignoring his daughter's brazen questions. Floris interrupted him again.

"My Prince, is it true? Did our father force you to make this decision?" She asked in disbelief, it was clearly beyond her mind that he could make such a decision of his own free will. He took a sip of wine from his goblet and set it down with a loud clang of steel.

"Quite the opposite. Your father tried to dissuade me from this decision, to no avail." He said coldly, his eye fixed on the one he desired, the one he chose – she looked at him, her eyes sad and terrified.

He pressed his lips greedily to hers, pinning her against the cool stone wall of the corridor as soon as they were alone, wiping tears from her face as they ran down her cheeks, absorbing her every silent sob.

"Tell me you haven't changed your mind." He gasped into her mouth, brushing them and caressing them with a loud, sticky clicks. She threw her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with such ferocity that he moaned low into her throat.

It was her answer.

To his relief, his betrothed wished their lives to go on as before – she didn't make him take romantic walks together on the cliff's edge, didn't expect flowers, letters, or other evidence of constant interest and love from him. Everything she wanted she could see in his gaze, which did not leave her for a moment.

Affection.

Thirst.

Desire.

He didn't have the courage to tell her how much he already wanted her all to himself, how much he wanted her to be the mother of his children.

He couldn't find the words to describe the heat and pride that overwhelmed him at the thought that she would be his wife, that he would be able to touch her shamelessly in front of everyone.

That he would be able to pick her up, embrace her, lean over her, touch her warm cheeks and hands the way Royce did.

No one but them knew that they both sneaked out of their chambers late at night and went to the library, shutting themselves up there, slowly discovering the pleasures and secrets of their bodies. He let her small hands slide his eyepatch off his head, let her place warm, tender kisses on his scar, holding her close.

They lay down on sheets and fabrics that they had scrupulously hidden under one of the shelves behind the books, finding lying on the stone floor very uncomfortable.

He did not dare to pull off her nightgown, wanting to show her respect and make her feel safe, but the mere sight of her naked body through the translucent material was enough to stimulate his senses completely and drive him mad.

He let himself kiss her soft, plump breasts through the thin fabric and she let out sweet sighs of delight every time, her hand stroking his hair as she pressed his face closer to her chest, signalling him not to stop.

He had no experience with women before her, so he wanted to understand exactly what gave her fulfillment, what touch or movement of his fingers made her spasm, what his words whispered in her ear made her suddenly come on his hand with a sweet sobs of pleasure.

He felt embarrassed and aroused when she whispered to him one night if she could touch him there.

Their lips connected and parted in sticky, lustful kisses as her trembling fingers untied his breeches, timidly slipping her hand underneath them. They both froze and inhaled loudly as her fingers traced againt his long, throbbing length, a low, helpless, guttural moan escaping his lips.

"− fuck −" He gasped into her mouth, surprised at how intense the sensation was, how pleasantly soft and gentle her hand felt.

He saw her timid gaze fixed on his face, her cheeks red with shame at what she was doing, at the feeling of his hard, twitching cock under her fingers.

"− do you want me to stop? −" She asked softly between their tender, sweet kisses.

He responded by taking her hand gently in his, squeezing her fingers around his manhood, guiding her up and down, his erection throbbing painfully hard in her embrace.

"− no −" He whispered in response, panting with her, his hips involuntarily rolling to the rhythm of her hand, searching for any source of rubbing.

"− how will it look like − on our wedding night? −" She asked softly, her voice slightly trembling, looking at him with dreamy eyes, what she was doing apparently aroused her as much as him.

His cock pulsed harder in her hand at her question, leaking from his precum − he licked his lips involuntarily, imagining what he would be able to do with her.

He didn't know how to describe it without scaring her.

"− I − ah − I'm going to touch you between your thighs − and then −" He gasped, pressing his lips together, feeling shivers all over his body, his hips rocking faster and faster in her hand, which squeezed his thick cock with a steady, firm strokes.

"− fuck − and then I'll put this inside you −" He whispered in a shaky voice into her mouth as he pressed his forehead against hers, gripping his hand tighter over hers on his erection.

He heard her draw in a sharp breath, she stared at him wide-eyed, unsure of what she thought of what she had just heard.

"− will it be painful? −" She asked with fear, and he kissed her again, slipping his slick tongue between her fleshy lips, drawing a soft moan from her. He broke away with a wet click, looking at her with his mouth slightly parted, feeling the heat and tension growing in his lower abdomen.

"− no − I − I'll do anything to not cause you pain −" He mumbled helplessly, their lips pressed together again in a lewd, sticky kiss, her breath heavy and uneven.

"− can you − can you do it now? − just for a try −" She whispered softly and he froze, staring at her in disbelief, his heart pounding like crazy.

"− I − we shouldn't before our nuptials −" He muttered hesitantly, though his whole body was screaming for him to throw himself at her and just slide it inside her. She swallowed loudly at his words.

"− I know − I just − I wish I knew what it felt like − so I wouldn't be afraid −" She mumbled helplessly and his heart clenched, a million of his thoughts fighting together at the same time in his head. He propped himself up on one elbow, laying between her thighs, gripping the fabric of his breeches.

"− just for a moment − agreed? −" He said in a trembling voice, his whole body quivering. She nodded quickly, breathing heavily, trustingly allowing him to lift the fabric of her nightgown higher.

They both gasped loudly as he slid his breeches down enough to release his hard, throbbing manhood. He leaned over her soft, warm face, placing a gentle, tender kiss on her lips, directing the fat, pink head of his cock to her wet, throbbing slit.

"− spread your thighs wider − yes, just like that −" He praised her, brushing her lips again, terrified of what he was about to do, yet feeling like he was about to explode with lust and desire.

They both moaned in surprise as he pressed his length against her entrance and slid a little inside her − she was so tight and hot that he was out of breath, her lips tightened, as he forced his way deeper into her harder, her eyebrows arching in discomfort.

"− fuck − breathe deeply − relax − does it hurt a lot? −" He whispered in a trembling voice looking at her, with remnants of his free will refraining from any movements. She shook her head.

"− n-no − I mean − a little − just − it's so big −" She mumbled out, a blush of embarrassment on her cheeks, her gaze warm, her lips puffy and pink with emotion. He licked his lips involuntarily at her words, feeling pride and shame at the same time.

"− you did this to me − always make me so fucking hard −" He exhaled in a trembling voice, his hands sliding down between her thighs, gently parting the folds of her entrance with his thumbs, trying to help himself and her. He felt her draw in a loud breath and clench her eyes shut.

He heard her swallow hard and begin to breathe loudly through her mouth, inhaling and exhaling, her body shivering all over under him. He felt her walls stop pressing down on him so panicky, and he pushed deeper into her, sighing loudly, her mouth parting wide at the feeling of so intense filling. Hearing no objection from her, he thrust his hips again, entering her all the way in with a loud groan.

He stared down at her, breathing hard, letting her get used to this strange, intense feeling, and then he pulled out slowly only to thrust into her again. They both gasped loudly as he began to move inside her, slowly, hesitantly, telling himself he would stop soon.

"− you're so warm −" He panted in a trembling voice, delighted at how amazing it felt to be squeezed from all sides by her hot, tight, fleshy wet walls, all sticky with her moisture, feeling a woman's insides for the first time in his life.

Her mouth parted wide and she mewled loudly as slowly his hips began to accelerate, thrusting his thick cock into her with a loud, sticky slaps, a quivering, low gasp of pleasure emanating from his throat.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled helplessly, her body trembling with each of his thrusts, panting louder and louder with him, her hands clenching on his sides. He threw her legs over his back, wanting to feel her deeper, streching her throbbing insides to the limit with his length. She sobbed loudly at the feeling, throwing her head back.

"− just a little longer −" He panted with difficulty, feeling only pleasure, only wonderful tension and her pulsing walls that brought him closer and closer to fulfillment.

He knew he should stop, but instead he fucked her harder and harder, feeling her walls clenching on his cock, sucking it inside, sticky, wet sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the stone room.

He knew he was on the verge of fullfilment.

"− don't stop − please, don't pull it out −" He heard her whimper underneath him from which his lips parted wide in shock, her body going into spasms each time he slid into her again, pressing her walls, clearly giving her immense pleasure with these movements.

A helpless groan ripped from his throat at her words, as he slammed into her with a sharp, quick thrusts, clamping his hands tightly on the soft, sweaty skin of her hips. He felt a shudder run through him as her hips began to respond to his thrusts, coming up to meet him.

"− I have to, little one − shhh −" He whispered into her mouth sliding his tongue between her lips, licking their swollen, fleshy texture, the taste of her saliva spreading across his palate like the sweetest juice.

"− I − I'm about to −" She mumbled with difficulty, her thighs responding greedily to his every thrust, rolling and rocking, as he panted loudly along with her, feeling her core begin to tighten and pulsate against him.

"− go on − come on my cock, sweet girl −" He cooed encouragingly, wanting nothing more than that, to see her fulfil, himself being on the edge, his thrusts messy and sloppy.

His words were enough to make her insides clench around his length tightly, then again and again, letting out of him an almost animalistic groan, her body leaning back as if trying to escape from him. He had to cover her mouth with his hand to silence her loud, high-pitched sobs.

"− you did so well − oh fuck, little one −" He growled out, with the remnants of his strong will sliding out of her, coming hard on her nightgown, his warm seed spilling over her nightgown while he was still squeezing himself with his hand.

She stared at him with wide eyes, breathing heavily, her whole body trembled from the fulfilment and waves of pleasure that continued to flow through her. He swallowed loudly, looking down at her with misty eye, licking his lips.

"− did it hurt? −" He asked in a shaky, low voice, and she blinked and pursed her lips in embarrassment.

"− only − only at the beginning −" She mumbled softly and he hummed under his breath, proud to see that he had given her pleasure, that she enjoyed what they had done as much as he did, and tied his breeches back up.

He leaned over her and brushed her lips gently, tenderly, her mouth swollen and wet with arousal − he ran his thumb over her hot, rosy cheek, looking at her with a pounding heart filled only with his affection for her.

Only with love.

"On our wedding night, not a drop will be wasted."

_____

Note from the author:

Lady Baratheon and Royce call Aemond brother, but this stems from their desire to shorten the distance between them. Calling him 'a prince' already seemed too staid at one point for them, and addressing him by his first name was unthinkable. However, it is only she and Royce who do this, their sisters still addressing him as 'my prince', not wanting to call "brother" their possibly future husband - which is why Aemond is so frustrated when Lady Baratheon calls him this, as if she is willfully rejecting him as a candidate for the role.

Aemond calls Borros "father" but does not see him as a replacement for Viserys. Viserys is his blood father, who has given him a legacy of which he is proud and with which he completely identifies. Borros, however, is a father figure to him, someone whose opinion Aemond counts with, whom he respects and values for what he has done for him over the years. Aemond has an affection for Borros that he was never able to develop towards Criston.

Despite Lady Baratheon and Royce's very close relationship, they did not relegate Aemond to the background or distance themselves from him. According to Lord Borros and his friends, they formed a trio. Royce was always where Aemond was, loving to watch his mischievous reactions to various events, and Lady Baratheon was always where Royce was, so they usually ended up together.

Aemond usually pretended he didn't care about their company, but the truth was that he got impatient when they disappeared from his sight for too long, simply getting bored without them.

Part two of this oneshot: To desire, to love, to care

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

_____

I can't express my love for this reality, I could keep writing this oneshot but I would make a book! This is probably my most beloved fanfic baby. Leave it some love if you enjoyed it! I'm so curious what do you think. 💐

_____

Taglist

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @ahristata @menaosama @queenofshinigamis @dark-night-sky-99

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andcars · 5 days

Text

MASTERLIST . . . TAGLIST . . . AO3 REQUESTS : 12 / 15

──── 🗒 request me on my inbox! i don’t do custom prompts but i will update this list occassionally and you’re free to mix up the prompts however you please. take in mind that i'm mostly available on the weekends so it may take a while for me to finish in fics! especially if it's socmed fics [ SOME OF THESE TAGS MAY BE TRIGGERING FOR SOME ] a '★' is placed before a potentially triggering tag as i cannot add a spoiler texts on tumblr. there are six potentially triggering tags in this.

INSTRUCTIONS . . . # you can select multiple dialogue prompts as well as multiple tags! for the additional tags/car model. for multiple tags, simply put a dash (-) between them! (1A4B-0112). for drivers ship requests, please specify which one bottoms (if nsfw, ofc) by saying they're 'in the passenger seat'. or the top is 'driving'.

EXAMPLES . . . # 'max verstappen on a porsche and rolls royce , 1A1E-2714. it's for a race!' ── (translates to: max verstappen "i don't wanna seem like a stalker..." + "remember your safe word..." tags: masc/bottom reader + famous reader + obsessive behaviour)

'lewis hamilton and max verstappen on a honda and a lambo, model 072936 w/ max on the passenger seat!' ── (translates to: max verstappen/lewis hamilton "you want me to beg..." + "you were fast years ago..." tags: rivalry + one night stand + power imbalance with bottom max)

( 💋 ) DRIVERS

#33 Max Verstappen

#44 Lewis Hamilton

#63 George Russell

#3 Daniel Ricciardo

#16 Charles Leclerc

#2 Logan Sargeant

#81 Oscar Piastri

#55 Carlos Sainz

#43 Franco Colapinto

#333 Max Verstappen/Daniel Ricciardo

#3344 Max Verstappen/Lewis Hamilton

#3316 Max Verstappen/Charles Leclerc

#POLYDRIVE Driver/Driver/You (basically just put your ship here!)

( 🏎️ ) CAR BRAND / dialogue prompts

PORSCHE “I don’t wanna seem like a stalker but… I think I know you”

HARLEY-DAVIDSON “Mommy/Daddy… it’s my first time so please—!”

BMW “I still remember the way you taste”

ASTON MARTIN “You're not usually my type but fuck, you look so good"

JAGUAR “Do you like scary movies?”

FERRARI “He was just my summer boy”

AUDI “My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it”

BENTLEY “We can run away together. Somewhere far away”

CHEVROLET “Don’t you ever think that there is anything that I will ever put in front of you”

LAMBORGHINI "You were fast years ago. You know that rookies like me always prove themselves to be better, right?"

MASERATI "You've been staring for a while"

FORD "Don't go... not yet, not now, preferably"

NISSAN "I wish things were different"

TRIUMP "We'll only be caught if you're loud"

HONDA "You want me to beg? I don't think a winner should beg"

MERCEDES-BENZ "This is a strange request, but can you pretend we're dating for a while?"

BUGATTI "Wait, you're famous?"

ROLLS ROYCE "Remember your safe word, because I'm not fucking stopping"

ALFA ROMEO "It seems like we've got a bit of teammate rivalry happening"

LEXUS "Almost forgot I'm getting paid"

CHRYSLER "I didn't mean it but I did, in fact, kinda reveal us to the public"

CADILLAC "It's complicated."

ACURA "You wanted to be seen? You wanted to be caught? You're so fucking turned on right now."

LAND ROVER "Take it slow—shit! You're eager"

GENESIS "You came" "You called"

( 🍒 ) CAR MODEL / additional tags

1A male/masc reader (he/him)

1B female/femme (she/her)

1C gender neutral/nonbinary/androgynous (they/them)

1D top!reader

1E bottom!reader

1F dominant reader

1G submissive reader

01 breeding kink

02 sugar daddy

03 daddy kink

04 age gap

05 degradatory kink

06 praise kink

07 rivalry

08 secret relationship

09 leaked sex tape

★ 10 non-consensual

★ 11 dubious consent

12 size kink

13 bareback/unprotected sex

★ 14 obsessive behaviour

15 virginity kink

16 anal sex

17 vaginal sex

18 body worship

19 consensual drugging

★ 20 non-consensual drugging

21 alternate universe — not f1 drivers

22 pining

23 friends with benefits

24 scent kink

★ 25 infidelity

26 alternate universe — cam/porn/sex worker

27 famous!reader

28 just the tip

29 one night stand

30 omegaverse

31 porn tropes

32 pregnancy

★ 33 mind break

34 touch starved

35 teammate!reader

36 power imbalance

37 thigh fucking

38 public sex

39 semi-public sex

40 baby fever

41 jealousy

42 riding

43 cum play/inflation

44 face sitting

00 andi's choice/surprise me!

( 🍒 ) PURPOSE / type of fic

FOR A RACE WEEKEND fanfic

DISPLAY socmed and/or texts

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . please do not harass any requesters, especially if they request a tag that triggers you. again, do not engage in content you know that you will not like. my blog is a safe space for everyone and i do not shame anyone, and i hope you do the same as well. ˎˊ˗ ᝰ.

#' 📍 ' important info #smut prompts #prompt list #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 fic #max verstappen x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #george rusell x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #charles leclerc x reader #logan sargeant x reader #oscar piastri x reader #carlos sainz x reader #franco colapinto x reader #maxiel #3344 #lestappen

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 2 months

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Here are ten more lesser-known facts about Bentley and Rolls-Royce:

1. Bentley's Le Mans Dominance: Bentley gained fame in the 1920s for winning the 24 Hours of Le Mans race multiple times, including a streak of four consecutive wins from 1927 to 1930.

2. Rolls-Royce's Silent Engine Test: Rolls-Royce famously tests their engines in a specially designed room called the "Silent Room" to ensure they operate silently and smoothly.

3. Bentley's Connection to W.O. Bentley: Bentley Motors was founded by Walter Owen Bentley, known as W.O. Bentley, in 1919. He was deeply involved in the design and engineering of Bentley cars until the company's acquisition by Rolls-Royce.

4. Rolls-Royce's Bespoke Options: Rolls-Royce offers extensive customization options for their cars, allowing customers to create truly bespoke vehicles tailored to their preferences, from materials to finishes.

5. Bentley's Continental GT Lineage: The Bentley Continental GT, launched in 2003, revived the Continental name which was previously used for Bentley's famous racing cars and luxury coupes in the 1950s.

6. Rolls-Royce's Parent Companies: BMW acquired the rights to the Rolls-Royce brand in 1998, leading to the formation of Rolls-Royce Motor Cars Ltd., while the original Rolls-Royce plc continued as an aerospace company.

7. Bentley's Crewe Headquarters: Bentley Motors is headquartered in Crewe, England, where all Bentley cars have been manufactured since 1946. Crewe is also known for its long tradition of luxury car production.

8. Rolls-Royce's Goodwood Factory: Rolls-Royce Motor Cars operates a state-of-the-art manufacturing plant in Goodwood, England, where every Rolls-Royce car is meticulously handcrafted by skilled artisans.

9. Bentley's Continental Flying Spur: The Bentley Continental Flying Spur, a luxurious four-door sedan, was first introduced in 2005 as a companion to the Continental GT coupe, sharing its platform and design ethos.

10. Rolls-Royce's Phantom Name: The Rolls-Royce Phantom nameplate has been in continuous use since 1925, making it one of the longest-standing models in automotive history and synonymous with luxury and prestige.

These additional facts further illustrate the deep heritage, craftsmanship, and unique characteristics that define Bentley and Rolls-Royce in the automotive industry.

#bentley #rolls royce #car #cars #Rolls-Royce Phantom #Bentley Continental GT

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deadpresidents · 1 year

Note

Gerald Ford vs. Teddy Roosevelt, no holds barred MMA fight. Who wins?

Despite his portrayal as a clumsy oaf, Gerald Ford was almost certainly the best athlete to ever serve in the White House. He was a legendary college football player who won two national championships at the University of Michigan, and was MVP of the team in his senior year. Ford turned down contract offers from the Detroit Lions and the Green Bay Packers, but turned down a career in the NFL in order to attend law school. Ford was a avid skier until his 80s and continued swimming regularly for exercise into his 90s, and he would have had a notable size advantage over Theodore Roosevelt.

However, if someone genuinely knows what they are doing during a mixed martial arts fight, they are going to be very difficult to defeat -- even against an opponent who might be a superior athlete in every other sense. That has been a lesson learned throughout the growth of MMA as a mainstream sport dating back to Royce Gracie easily handling much bigger opponents in the early UFC with his Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. Or Rickson Gracie calmly controlling and systematically dominating literally everyone he fought in Japan, no matter who Pride FC threw at him.

Theodore Roosevelt would be giving up quite a bit of size and athletic ability against Gerald Ford, but TR was an early student of martial arts. As President -- in the White House itself -- Roosevelt kept active with wrestling (always the best foundation for a mixed martial artist) and boxing. And he was among the first Americans to actually train in jiu jitsu and judo, receiving lessons directly from the legendary Yamashita Yoshiaki. Because of that experience, I think Theodore Roosevelt probably would have given any of his fellow Presidents a rough day at the office if they had an MMA fight, no matter how big or strong or athletic his opponent might be.

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xdaddysprincessxx · 1 year

Text

Sweet Creature

Vamp Ezra x SW!f!reader

Warnings: Dark/Dead dove, tw: sexual assault (it’s not explicit but it is there, sex work IS NOT glamorous) Vampirism, sex work(reader is a high end escort), finance bro talk (idk it’s like one sentence), boot riding, blood, p in v (wear a fucking condom my dudes), neck biting, oral (f receiving), I believe that’s it, lightly edited, all mistakes are mine.

A/n: if you can’t tell by now that I have a raging boner for vampires, well then idk what to tell you.

Moodboard made by moi 😇

The cold, winter air hits your face as you walk out of the Hilton hotel. You pull your faux fur coat tighter around your body as you make your way to the car sitting at the curb waiting for you.

Opening the back door and ducking your head as you lower yourself into the black Rolls Royce your mistress sent for you. Sliding over the black leather seat, you quickly got comfortable and relaxed as your driver pulls off to take you back to your shared townhouse. About two years ago, you met this beautiful woman named Serena and the two of you became friends. She knew of this “job opportunity” and told you how perfect you’d be for it. She explained how all you had to do was go on a date with this old, rich guy. He’d pick you up, take you to dinner and drop you back off at home after. He would pay for everything and all he wanted was your time and attention. Easy right? Wrong. You went on that date with what’s his name? Richard or something? He picked you up from her place, took you to this super fancy restaurant, ordered pasta and lobster for you and made sure to keep your wine glass full. After dinner, once the two of you were in his car instead of going towards your friend’s apartment where he picked you up from, he took a different route leading to a sketchy ass looking hotel. You weren’t in the most sober mindset so it didn’t really occur to you to be scared or nervous. Richard had been lovely all night. You followed him inside and it became a huge regret of yours very soon. You see Richard was not a nice man at all. It didn’t matter that you said no. You said yes to going to dinner with him. You said yes to spending his money just fine. After he had his fun, he left you laying on the bed covered in his spend and tears running down your face. He did leave you six thousand dollars in an envelope on the dresser for you. The money didn’t take away the pain but it did help dry your tears some. And that’s how you found yourself working for Serena as one of her girls. You’ve managed to make a name for yourself in the escort industry. Billionaires, athletes, actors, if they had money and a dick, they asked for you. By name. You had the best pussy and you weren’t this little submissive girl to them either. You had a sassy mouth on you and you weren’t afraid to tell them where,what,how and why. That was part of your appeal. You were effortlessly cool and dominating in a way that these men liked and craved from a woman. All too soon your ride came to an end as you pulled up to your townhouse. Braving the cold once again, you got out and walked up to the door and let yourself in.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Another Friday night and you unfortunately found yourself stuck going to this gala as some finance bro’s date. All you wanted to do was stay home, lay around in sweats and eat junk food and watch your fave true crime shows. But here you are in a gorgeous black, floor length strapless dress with a high slit on the side. The gala is held at the Four Seasons Hotel and you already know your date has a room ready for after the event is over. Your walking around with a flute of champagne while you listen to these old, rich dudes talk about whatever out of touch shit they talk about. That’s when you spot this little patch of blonde hair attached to these beautiful brown curls. Ezra. You’ve never gone on a date with him but he runs in the same circle as the guys who do hire you so you’ve met him before. He’s always such a mystery to you. There were rumors about him. People always said they’ve never seen him during the day, he only shows up to events at night, he refuses to be photographed, and a few have said he’s a biter. One girl you knew from working for Serena, she had gone on a date with him except she said he never ate in front of her, only drank a little wine and claimed he bit her neck. She even had these weird little puncture marks. Unfortunately like a couple of days after that she went missing. The rumors never bothered you though, a lot of the men who frequent Serena’s are very weird. You have noticed how he always seems to undress you with his eyes every time you see him. A huge part of you wished he would call for you and whisk you away from this lifestyle. Standing with what’s his face, Derek? No. Steve maybe? Anyways You get lost in your little daydream about the man you wished you came with when you suddenly feel the eyes of someone watching you.

“Well hello gentlemen and ladies.” You hear a southern, husky voice say. You turn your head to the left and see Ezra has made his way over to your little group. Standing there in an all black tux, eyeing him up and down, your cunt clenching when you saw the boots he had on. As dominant as you are with your clients, Ezra is the one man you want to submit too. The one you want to kneel down for and do as he says.

“You look extra delectable tonight birdie if I do say so myself.” Ezra says to you, causing your cheeks to heat up as you blush

“Oh thank you Ezra, your flattery is always welcomed.” You say back, doing your best to brush off the fact this man affects you greatly.

“Ah Ezra how are you? We were just discussing the current stock market situation and who should be dropping what stocks. Care to chime in?” Your date says.

“As much as I would love to discuss the stock market I actually came over to whisk your lovely date away for a quick word.” Ezra replied as he held out his hand towards you, hoping you’d take it and leave with him.

Taking his hand and thanking whatever god is out there for this rescue, “Of course, I’ll be right back honey” you tell your date, handing him your champagne flute before you walk hand in hand with Ezra out of the gala.

Once the two of you were out of the ballroom, you cleared your throat, “So what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“I saw how beautiful you looked tonight and couldn’t let you continue to go to waste out there. Those men never deserved you birdie.”

His words caused a deep blush to cover your cheeks. Finally he’s calling on you. He wants you! You’ve been waiting on this for what feels like forever. Ezra is actually whisking you away even if only for the night.

The two of you finally stop in front of suite 108, Ezra let’s go of your hand to grab the key out of his pocket and quickly unlocks the door, ushering you inside. Taking a few steps in, Ezra comes up behind you placing his hands on your hips as he guides you over to the king sized bed. As the two of you come to a stop at the foot of the bed, you notice a floor to ceiling mirror directly in front of the bed, along with these gorgeous blood red roses sitting in various vases around the room. Some roses were even laying on the bed. Turning around in his arms you lift your arms around his neck,

“What’s all t-“ Ezra cuts you off, placing a finger over your mouth.

“Shh no more questions. I’ve been watching you for awhile now birdie. Always with a different man, selling your body. I know you hate it. I’ve been waiting for the right time but unfortunately there isn’t a right time so I’m taking you. Make you mine. Mine to love and feed on and use as I please.” He says before ducking his head down and leaving a kiss on the base of your throat. He makes his way up your neck, leaving a trail of kisses, causing your brain to shut off almost instantly.

“You always smell so divine my love. I can hear your delicious blood flowing through your body, your heart beating as if to say it’s mine for the taking,” he says in between kisses, “mm yes you will be the most tasty little treat I’ve had the pleasure of having.”

Now that’s a very weird way of saying he wants you. What exactly does that even mean? He can hear my blood? You aren’t exactly vanilla when it comes to sex but blood play is a new kink for you. Tilting your head back to allow him more room, Ezra starts to suck right below your ear earning him a beautiful soft moan to tumble out of your mouth. Soon his mouth leaves your neck as he starts to guide you down towards the floor.

He’s still standing, just bent over as you are almost on your knees in front of him. He pushes the tip of his boot in between your legs.

“Sit down birdie. Go on. I’m not a patient man.”

Without hesitation, you straddle his boot, sitting all the way down. You can feel it all along your wet cunt. Looking up at Ezra, who’s now standing straight up again, you can’t help but squirm ever so slightly as he reaches down and swipes his thumb on your bottom lip.

“That’s it pretty girl. Show me how well you can ride my boot.”

You begin to rub your cunt on his boot just as he asked, taking his thumb in your mouth. You lightly suck his thumb as you hold onto his leg and ride his boot. You can feel yourself get wetter by the second. The dominance he’s showing over you is the biggest turn on ever. All you want to do is show him how good you can be. You keep your eyes locked with his the whole time. You start to feel him tap his foot up, hitting your clit as you ride. Your little red lace thong you had on was completely soaked at this point. It barely covered you to begin with, now it’s practically useless but you love it. You can feel the sleek black leather, the little ridges of the seams, all it does is make you start to ride him faster wanting to feel ecstasy.

“Oooh that’s it birdie. Rub your sweet little cunt just like that. I bet you’re soaked aren’t you? Ah yes. Yes you are aren’t you birdie? Look at you. Riding my boot and sucking my thumb wishing it was my cock. What a beautiful sight you are.”

You have drool running down your chin and you just know his boot is soaked from your juices. You’re so close it’s almost embarrassing how quick it’s taken you just from rubbing yourself on his boot. It makes you feel like a damn virgin discovering your clit for the first time. Ezra removes his thumb, pinching your face as he pulls you up off his boot and turns you in his arms to face the mirror.

Forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror that’s when you notice, you can only see yourself! But Ezra is right there! Why isn’t he in the reflection looking back at you too?

Still holding your face, Ezra runs his nose up the side of your neck, inhaling deep. “Scared yet birdie? You really should be.” He says in a low gravelly tone. Once he spoke those words, your eyes went wide as he opened his mouth wide exposing his fangs as he bites down on your neck.

You try to scream, your mouth dropping open as this searing pain heats up your whole body. You try your best to flail your arms when the pain changes to a sweet sweet sensation that you find you never want to go away. Raising your arm, you find his head and card your fingers through his hair. Gripping onto his luscious brown curls, you do your best to keep his head right where you want him.

All too soon Ezra lifts his face away from your neck, blood dripping down his chin. His entire lower face is covered in the liquid. It’s the most erotic sight you’ve ever seen. With your hand still in his hair, you push his face towards yours, kissing him deeply. You feel him push his tongue into your mouth, tasting the metallic liquid you can’t help but want more of it. You suck his tongue best you can, continuing to kiss him as if your life depended on it.

Ezra pulls away, blood colored saliva strings connecting you two. His lips all plumped and bruised from the intense kiss you two shared. You feel his hand pull on your dress zipper as his other hand roams all over your body. In an instant you feel your dress fall exposing your bare breasts and soaked thong. Ezra slowly moves down, taking a breast in each hand. He gives each nipple a gentle suck before he continues on his way down.

Ezra’s on his knees in front of you as he looks up giving you these big puppy dog eyes. You reach down and cup his messy, beautiful face. He lifts one of your legs so it bends,

“Such a sweet, beautiful creature you are birdie,” he says before placing a kiss on the inside of your knee, “Now you’re a child of the night. You’re mine for the rest of eternity.” He tells you as he goes to peel your thong off your body. You help by stepping out of it, placing your hands on his shoulders for stability.

“And you’re mine Ezra. If I’m yours, you are mine.”

He growled in response, his eyes rolling back in delight. “Of course my love. We belong to each other now.” He says as he goes to lick a wide stripe up your wet slit. His big hands gripping the globes of your ass as he starts to lick into your cunt, exploring your entrance with his tongue. Your fingers card through his hair, gripping tight and pulling him more into you as you begin to rub your pussy on his willing mouth. You’re mesmerized looking at Ezra on his knees, eating your cunt like it’s his last meal. He looks up at you as he puts his lips around your clit and sucks. You’ve been ate out before but for some reason this is the greatest feeling you’ve ever felt. In fact everything feels better than it ever has.

Just as soon as you get close once again, Ezra pulls away. It’s as if he knows your close and he’s just teasing you. You let out a frustrated whimper as he pulls you down onto the floor with him. Laying you on your back, he climbs on top of you as he goes to kiss you again. Your tongues licking into each others mouths, you can taste yourself on him making you moan out loud. You can feel Ezra’s free hand go down and start to unbuckle his pants. He pulls away as you both go to work to free his cock from their confines. As soon as you see his thick cock you let out a gasp as you go to wrap your hand around him. He’s easily the biggest you’ve ever seen, your hand doesn’t even fit around him. Giving him a few pumps, he goes to move your hand away as he takes over, rubbing his cock through your soaked folds, collecting your wetness on himself before notching himself at your entrance. He pushes into you in one swift motion before he begins just pounding the shit out of you. His heavy balls slapping on your ass as his thick cock stretch’s you out like you’ve never been stretched before. It takes your breath away, all you can do is lay there with your arms wrapped around him tight and just take what he gives you. He dips his head down and starts sucking and leaving wet open mouth kisses on your neck. The only noise in the room is the wet slapping of your bodies meeting and the soft moans and grunts coming from you both. Ezra slows his thrusting down, grinding his cock deep inside of you making your eyes roll back. The two of you lost in the all of the sweet pleasure. Ezra’s face is hovering over yours as the two of you stare deep into each others eyes. The feeling of his cock massaging your walls has you both doubled over in ecstasy.

Without speaking, Ezra picks up speed again thrusting deep in your pussy. His forehead falling on yours as his eyes close, you feel him snake his hand down and his thumb gently circling your clit is your undoing. You hit your high, screaming out loud as he lets out a loud moan, laughing a little, “That’s it birdie cum for me. Soak my fucking cock my sweet creature. Nngh that’s it baby fuck I can feel you choking my cock. Just like that baby that’s it ooh. Oh fuck,” he grunts out as he hits his high. You can feel his cock throb and pulse deep inside you, his thick load coating your walls. His face still pressed to yours, his aquiline nose smooshed next to yours as you both lay there, catching your breath. You smile, breathing out a little giggle before you kiss the side of his mouth.

“So forever huh? I get to enjoy this for the rest of my days?” You say as you open your eyes to see him above you with a silly little grin on his face.

“I told you birdie. We’re children of the night. I’ve made you mine. And I have no problem reminding you every day and night that your mine and mine only.” He said punctuating that last few words with a deep grind of his cock.

“That’s fine with me.” You say with a breathless giggle. The two of you lay like that for awhile before he got hard again. He took you in every position on every surface that night. The next day you two stayed in bed, curtains closed. Once night hit, you left with Ezra, hand in hand, ready to spend eternity with him.

A/n: okay sooo we will def be seeing more of these two again!! I hope y’all like this! Every like/reblog/comment makes my day and I appreciate every single one of you babes!

Tagging my fellow vampire lovers: @patti7dc @multiversed-daydreamer @lumoverheaven @iamasaddie @toxicanonymity @bonezone44 @survivingandenduring @neverwheremoonchild

#vampire #vampire ezra #pedro pascal #ezra prospect #pedro pascal cinematic universe #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #spooky fic #dead dove do not eat

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crissiebaby · 11 months

Text

The Pampered Curse: Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: This story contains diaper usage, humiliation, domination, masturbation/diaper sex, hyperwetting, mental regression, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

Commissioned By: BlossomBitchDolly

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“No…Nonono! This isn’t happening!” screamed Edan, who was awestruck by the large, white behemoth resting between his thighs. These were not the boxers he’d fallen asleep in last night. How did he end up diapered? Moreover, WHY did he end up diapered?! Did someone sneak into his house? A million questions circulated in his head, none of which had clear answers.

The one thing Edan knew for certain, though, was that he didn’t want to be diapered for a second longer. He moved to unstick one of the tapes, deciding that his next step once freed from his padded confines would be to take a long and thorough shower. However, much to his confusion, the tapes felt like they’d been glued on with Edan failing to get a fingernail under any of the four tapes.

Frustrated, Edan climbed out of bed and moved to yank the diaper off his body by force. After all, it was just a diaper. A bit of tugging should be enough to pry it off without removing the tapes. Sadly, after a few feeble attempts to slide the diaper around his hips and buttocks, the diaper had barely moved an inch in any direction. “UGH! C’mon, please!” he grunted before throwing his hands up and huffing an aggressive breath through his nose. Whoever had diapered him had made sure that he would not be removing the padding on his own.

Looking around his room again, Edan meekly cried out, “O-Okay! Funny joke! Christina? Royce? Whichever of you fucks did this better come out right now and get this off me!” Expecting to see one of his buddies burst out of his closet or through his bedroom door, he sat down on the side of the bed and waited. But as time slowly ticked by, so too did his patience, “Alright, fuck you! I’m done with this shit!”

Storming out of his bedroom with his enraged fists balled, Edan stomped his way into the kitchen and instantly moved to retrieve the kitchen sheers from his knife block. He then sat down on the tile floor with his legs spread wide and began hacking away at his nappy’s waistband. Or at least he would have had the scissors managed to slice through even one millimeter of the plastic-coated diaper. For some reason, his incredibly sharp kitchen shears were nowhere near strong enough to cut into his new, bulky undies.

Furious didn’t even begin to describe how Edan was feeling as he gave up on piercing the waistband and started jabbing at the base of his diaper, hoping to poke a hole large enough to rip the diaper open with his fingers. Much like with the rest of the diaper, this failed to do anything more than make him feel foolish. In a moment of rage, he chucked the scissors across the room, creating a small hole in his drywall.

Glancing around his room anxious and helpless, Edan couldn’t feel more utterly defeated by his humiliating predicament. He sunk down and placed his head in his hands, doing everything in his power to keep from bursting into tears. He refused to let himself cry, though, stabbing his canine teeth into his tongue to prevent the waterworks from kicking on.

Once he had his emotions under control, Edan let out a painfully long sigh, clearing out both his lungs and his head. The last thing he needed to do right now was panic. Unfortunately, it wasn’t like he had much to be cheerful or calm about, with his only solace being that it was a Sunday and he didn’t have to worry about confronting his boss in diapers. Fixing a hand on his chin, he contemplated how he could’ve possibly ended up in a diaper in the first place. It wasn’t like this was something he’d voluntarily wear. Only a total weirdo would…do that…

Recalling his bizarre interaction from the night before, it suddenly dawned on Edan that the reason for his padded state may be supernatural, as crazy as that might sound. A new kind of fear rose inside his chest as he stared at his padded confines. That woman being a ghost would certainly explain the disappearing act she pulled last night. But he didn’t actually believe in ghosts…did he? “Um…shit, what was her name?” he scoffed at himself, realizing he’d never asked the strange woman what her name was, “...let’s see, uh…magic ghost-spirit, I-I would like to humbly apologize if I insulted you last night! If this is all to teach me some big lesson, well, consider the lesson well learned! Haha!”

Edan’s forced laughter only made it more apparent how ridiculous he felt. Being trapped in a ghostly diaper? There was no way that could happen. And yet, he failed to come up with any alternate explanation. He needed to find a way to confirm or disprove that something paranormal was at play here.

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“Please return all archive materials to the desk when you're finished,” said the elderly librarian as she placed a set of documents on one of the many empty tables for Edan to browse through. It had taken him all morning to track down anything he could about that house and its owner online, only to be met with dead end after dead end. It wasn’t until he stumbled upon an online record of his local library that he discovered a promising lead.

Sitting down at the table, Edan started sifting through the various public records and newspaper clippings associated with that cursed house as he struggled to keep his paranoia at bay. He frequently found himself checking over and tugging on his baggy outfit to ensure that his hoodie and sweatpants kept his diaper well hidden. All the while, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, adding to the anxiety he felt over his attire. Misery didn’t even begin to describe Edan’s mental state. Pushing those vicious thoughts to the far recesses of his mind, he buried his nose into his research on the house’s mysterious owner.

Madam Petunia Wick. That was the name that was listed on the final deed of ownership, which was signed almost 60 years ago. While living, she was well-known throughout the town to be a very perverse woman with an insatiable sexual appetite. She housed a number of kinky guests and would frequently throw lavish parties, much to the rest of town’s dismay if the numerous hit pieces written about her were to be believed. It also happened to be the exact person that Edan had run into the night before, at least if her photo was anything to go off of. Only, that shouldn’t have been possible considering she had died nearly four decades prior, fueling his conspiracy that the being he’d met last night was no longer of this world. Shaking off the eerie feeling that came with such dreadful knowledge, he continued reading.

Surprisingly, despite the house remaining unowned since Madam Wick’s passing, there was a whole mess of stories written in the local paper that were all dated around the turn of the century. According to an article written in October of 2002, a young man named Thomas Landing ran screaming into the police station declaring that a spirit had placed a chastity cage on him. He was sent to a mental asylum after he became irate and refused to let up on his outrageous story. It’s said the chastity cage was never removed as there was no key and no way to cut it off without risk to his genitalia. Specifically, Landing named the same mansion that Edan had stumbled across as the location of his ghostly assault, though no evidence was ever discovered. If even an inkling of this man’s crazy story were true, then it was likely whatever ghost placed a chastity cage on him was the exact same one who had magically diapered him overnight.

*Twinge!*

Scrunching his legs closer together, Edan had been fighting off the urge to piss for several hours now. However, over the past ten or so minutes, his need to relieve himself had become far more pressing, making it virtually impossible for him to focus. Resting his head on the pages of archive materials, he knew continuing to ignore his aching bladder was an effort in futility. He closed his eyes and wrangled in his breathing as he slowly began to push.

Much to Edan’s astonishment, it was far harder to willingly use a diaper even with how badly he needed to go. He applied as much internal pressure as he could but barely managed to dribble out a few drops. As if the act of wearing a diaper wasn’t bad enough without his body fighting him at every turn. Blushing slightly, he pulled out his phone and quickly looked up, “How to pee in a diaper when your body won’t let you.” Thankfully, several results popped up, with the most doable advice being to stand up and pretend he was in front of a toilet.

A very remorseful Edan scooted away from the table and slowly got to his feet, finding himself once again scanning the area to make absolutely certain that no one was nearby. Other than the librarian, who was stationed at the front checkout desk, the coast was clear. Not that he was exactly thrilled about that. Groaning dejectedly, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to envision the apartment bathroom. All he had to do was let go…let go…let go…

*hss…hsss…hssssssssss*

After a few pained attempts, Edan relaxed into his urination as he finally managed to muscle through his years of potty training to relieve himself. The warmth that grew in the front of his diaper caused him to stop momentarily a few times, unable to fully believe what he was doing. He was also a tad shocked by the sheer amount of pee that was coming out of him. It felt like he’d been pissing for a full two minutes before the flow finally slowed to stop. A beleaguered sigh escaped his lips now that the strain on his bladder had washed away. Sadly, his relief wasn’t meant to last.

*Bzzzzzzzzzzzz!*

Immediately after his wetting came to an end, Edan was sent crashing to his knees as the supernatural diaper started to vibrate without warning. “Stopstopstop!” he said frantically, struggling to keep his voice to a whisper as a horrifying, yet undeniably pleasure overtook his diaper area. It was as if the padding were alive and reacting to its own newfound sogginess. He had no choice but to moosh his hands into the base of his diaper in an attempt to stem his diaper’s horny advances, but all that did was amplify the sensations that were leveling his body and his resistance.

As much as Edan didn’t want to admit it, the euphoric touch of his diaper had him desperate to cum. Deciding to hell with it after enduring nearly a minute of non-stop buzzing, he began to rock his hips back and forth while perched atop his nappy, kneading his cock into the mushy, pliable diaper fluffy. Tragically, right as he was getting into a good rhythm and could feel his pending orgasm rise, the vibrations halted. Not wanting to give up on the much-needed climax, he grinded against his pulpy diaper a few more times but ultimately fell short of getting over the final hump. Frustrated and disgusted with himself, he let his arms fall to the wayside and leaned back against one of the table legs. Misery was no longer the word that was most closely associated with Edan’s mental state. Not when “pathetic” was so much more apt.

Stumbling on shaky legs, Edan collected his materials and returned them to the front desk before beelining straight to the exit. He’d learned everything he could from what the library had to offer. Sticking around now would no doubt only lead to further embarrassment. The best thing he could do now was barricade himself and his blue balls inside his house and wait for this whole mess to blow over, though he had to confess that he was using the word “best” rather liberally.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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bronzefuryfic · 1 year

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Bronze Fury

When the only child of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce is brought to King's Landing to meet with the rest of her family, she finds herself caught in a crisis of succession. The Greens battle for her support... and her affections.

Chapter Two: To King’s Landing / Previous Chapter / Directory

After suffering a great loss, Rhae is summoned to King’s Landing to meet her estranged Targaryen family members. Far from home and alone in the dragon’s den, it is up to her to determine friend from foe.

It was a full month of bedrest and recovery before the Maesters would allow Rhae to make the journey to King's Landing.

"The skin is still healing, Lady Rhae. The risk of infection is still at its height!" Maester Willem chided her one afternoon, as she picked impatiently at her bandages. "Travelling by boat is dirty and cramped. You won't receive the same care as in a castle." Maester Willem whacked her fingers with the wooden spoon he was using to brew one of his remedies. "Which means it must stay clean!"

"I'll be fine, Maester Willem," Rhae scowled. She'd have loved to fly to King's Landing by dragon-back, but fate had other plans in store for the young heir.

Unable to use her bandaged hand to rub her now-aching knuckles, she began kicking her feet restlessly underneath the covers. Rhae had never been confined to her bed this long before. She longed for her bow and wondered miserably if she'd still be able to aim it properly.

She was still missing a lot of skin on her left hand and forearm. From what glimpses she caught between wrappings, the flesh was still raw and waxy looking. All the blisters had popped by now, and a hard crust of new skin had scabbed over most sections.

The farther up the arm you travelled, the more severe the burn grew. She could hardly move her shoulder, which was still charred down through her bicep. They had started peeling off the damaged skin, an excruciatingly painful process, so that a new layer could grow back. The only time she slept soundly was the rare instance she'd accept the milk of the poppy.

On most nights, Rhae lay awake into the early hours of the morning, hot tears spilling down her face onto the pillow, feeling feverish as her arm itched. It was what she deserved for her failure outside Gulltown—Ser Gerold's burns had been far worse.

"How goes Ser Jon's preparations?"

Ser Jon was Rhae's elder cousin—a man of four and twenty that had thus far resisted his House's council to wed. Rhae knew it was likely he never would—Ser Jon had taken a fancy to his squire.

"He is learning quickly," Maester Willem said. A slight twitch of his eye hinted to his deeper dissatisfaction. Rhae knew the Maester disapproved of Jon's personal ventures. "He lacks the same vigor as your late uncle, but his decision-making has been... satisfactory."

Rhae rolled her eyes.

"Would you have me push for one of Lady Mysa's boys?" She demanded. Her great aunt had not yet accepted Rhae's decision, having petitioned for her eldest to hold Runestone's seat in Rhae's absence instead. Lady Mysa visited her niece nine times since her injury, each time with honeyed words and exaggerated loyalty. Rhae's patience with her aunt was growing thin—Mysa made similar proposals against Rhae's claim as a child. She doubted her great aunt would willingly relinquish any acquisitions upon Rhae's return.

"Of course not, my lady," the Maester bowed.

"Good," Rhae narrowed her eyes at him. "I expect you to support Ser Jon as you supported Ser Gerold, and as you are dutifully bound to support me."

In the meantime, Rhae continued her correspondence with the Queen. She was thankful, if for nothing else, that her dominant arm remained uninjured. Writing was one of the few tasks the Maesters allowed her to perform unsupervised.

All the letters more or less said the same—the Queen was sorry to hear of her encounter with Sheepstealer, but insisted she must not despair. Rhae's anxieties eased slightly when she learned that the Queen's son Aemond had not claimed a dragon yet, either.

Furthermore, she wrote, preparations were being made to recieve Rhae at King's Landing. Their Maesters were more than capable of continuing treatment for her injury, and lessons were already being prepared to catch her up on the history and language of Old Valyria.

"She makes little mention of the King and Princess Rhaenyra," Rhae confided to Ser Jon the evening before her departure.

In the last week, the Maesters had allowed Rhae to walk the castle at her leisure. An exercise of strength, and though Maester Willem refused to admit it, trust. Her arm itched terribly, as it did most days, but she made sure not to loosen her wrappings. She would not give them reason to delay her departure.

"Aden says the Queen and the Princess are not on the best of terms," Ser Jon said. Aden was the squire Jon had taken a fancy to—Jon had told Rhae once before that when Aden was just a page, he'd served under a knight in King's Landing. "If you're to believe court gossip, passed to a knight, then passed to his page. Though, I suppose you'll learn the truth of the matter first-hand before long."

"The Maester had heard similar rumors," Rhae felt a scratch in her throat, then continued. "And Ser Gerold used to tell me the Hightowers were the only house in all of Westeros brave enough to defy the Targaryens."

Jon looked away politely, allowing Rhae a moment to dry her eyes. She cursed herself internally—she could not allow such weakness once in King's Landing.

But her heart still ached for her uncle. For as much as she begrudged Ser Gerold's rants of revenge, she never thought she'd miss hearing them.

"I'd nearly departed the dinner early, if only to keep myself from cutting down Daemon where he sat." Ser Gerold had used to say, face always flushed with anger by this point in his story. "It wasn't easy, listening to the King bless one marriage while his butcher brother sat beside him, having murdered his own wife days prior... but before Viserys could finish his toast, Queen Alicent entered the hall in a gown of green... marvelous courage in the depths of the dragon's den... I knew then we were not alone in our fight."

Rhae couldn't help but feel she was being recruited for plans much larger than her own. She'd hoped to claim a dragon to protect Runestone, but what if the fight Ser Gerold referred to was grander? She wished she could ask him.

"You will write and tell me the truth of what you observe in King's Landing, won't you?" Jon asked, turning back to her. "So that we may know rumor from fact?"

"What other threads am I meant to be pulling?"

Jon frowned. When he spoke, he seemed to choose his words carefully:

"Prince Daemon murdering your mother is not the only crime the royal family denies, cousin." He tugged nervously at his sleeve. "According to some."

"The lords and ladies?"

"And the knights. And their pages," Jon said. " And the servants and the craftsmen and the stable hands. None speak it, but all know it."

"What won't they speak?"

"Treason."

"But you won't tell me what this treason supposedly is?" Rhae peered up at him. "That everybody knows about but me? Supposedly?"

"Not everyone, no even I! You're not understanding," Jon grabbed Rhae by the shoulders, causing her to wince in pain. He brought his voice to a hush. "These matters require subtly, cousin. To question the succession of the royal line could mean death to you, me, and all of our House!"

Rhae squirmed under his grip, left shoulder searing in pain. She felt nauseous, but one word still struck her.

The succession of the crown? Ser Gerold had always considered the matter handled. House Royce did not concern itself over the gender of their heirs, even if other noble families took issue.

"Let go of me," Rhae said, her voice strained. Jon leapt back, realizing at last the hurt he was causing.

"Apologies, cousin..." Jon scratched the back of his head, avoiding her gaze. "But you should understand better than anyone that the royal family has little regard for what is right and what is wrong. We must not provoke them unnecessarily."

"Yet you want me to dig for secrets to send to you in a letter with my name on it?" Rhae whispered furiously.

"Only what catches your eye," Jon said. "To my understanding, you won't need much more than that. I trust you to be clever enough to let me know without incriminating yourself."

Rhae fumed, but the look on Jon's face told her that the conversation was over.

Rhae was relieved when she finally left for King's Landing. Jon had attempted to speak with Rhae once more in her room, but she had not been in a good temper during her final hours at Runestone.

"House Royce remembers our oaths to you, Lady Rhae," were his parting words, given instead under the watchful eye of the rest of their House. "And we eagerly await your return. May it be by dragon-back!"

Lady Mysa stuck her nose in the air—Rhae had refused to see her alone, either. As she looked upon the other faces of her house, more than usual seemed to avoid her gaze.

Rhae's face flushed as she boarded the boat. It was her own decision to leave Runestone, but she couldn't shake the feeling of being exiled.

The journey lasted five miserable days. Rhae was glad she was not prone to seasickness—the Maester was right, the trip atop of her injury was very draining.

"Lady Rhae, we're approaching the dock," the Captain told her at last. The ship's healer was just finishing her latest dressing of bandages, and Rhae ushered for him to finish faster.

Runestones seamstresses had prepared her a black gown for her arrival. They made the sleeves with lace, which allowed for a delicate covering of her bandages without being overwhelmingly warm. The bodice contained several cuts that accented her waist, looking like twin claw marks had raked her on each side. Another layer of lace was woven in the gaps, so intricately stitched red and orange flames peeked out. Finally, the otherwise plain black skirt split at her naval, allowing the layer underneath to shine through. They made the secondary skirt of silk. It too contained orange hues, though much tawnier than the lace stitching at her waist. Once above deck, Rhae realized it looked a lot like bronze.

Rhae gazed down towards the dock as the men worked to anchor the ship. Beneath, a welcoming party awaited her. She tried her best to maintain a neutral expression, but it felt that her stomach was being clawed at from the inside.

The Queen was instantly recognizable, though Rhae had never seen her before. Alicent had a white cloak standing behind her, a sullen-looking Dornish man, and wore a marvelous emerald green gown. No one else matched her elegance.

To her right, Rhae assumed, were her children. This assumption was even easier—their hair was silver, just like hers. She tried not to stare, but the sight of the Red Keep was admittedly far less interesting to her.

"Welcome, Lady Rhae," said Queen Alicent as she descended towards them. "I hope your journey was a good one."

Rhae stooped into a curtsey, as her Septa had taught her to do. It was not as low as she would've liked, but she feared any lower and she might topple over.

"Your Grace, it's a pleasure to thank you in person for your invitation." Rhae said. "The Red Keep is even more marvelous than I'd imagined. It's no wonder my father preferred it here."

The Queen smiled kindly.

"With any luck, he'll prefer the Free Cities even more." She said. The guard behind Alicent smirked at this, and a sense of relief washed over Rhae. At least these two seemed no more fond of Daemon than she was.

Queen Alicent motioned to the children beside her—Two boys and one girl, as she'd described in her letters.

"This is Haelena," the Queen continued, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder. Haelena jolted, surprised by her introduction. Her hand flew upwards for a moment to wave her greetings before she dropped it just as quickly, unsure of her action. Her elder brother seemed to suppress a snicker. Alicent rushed the conversation forward, side-eying her son.

"And this is Aemond," she gestured next towards the boy closest to her, the younger of the two. At his introduction, Aemond bowed his head. Rhae thought his eyes seemed to linger on her injured arm.

The Queen had mentioned before that Aemond was also without a dragon. She wondered what he felt about her arrival and bowed her head in return.

There were no such questions about the eldest's brother's feelings, however. Rhae figured the last must be Aegon, who face had stretched open into an enormous yawn just as his mother had motioned to him for the final introduction. The Queen glared at her son, waiting for him to finish so that she could resume.

"And Aegon," she finished, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation. Rhae felt a yawn of her own tickle her nose, and her face gave an involuntary twitch to stifle it. This was as Aegon gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, looking amused. "My youngest, Daeron, is back in Oldtown at the moment..."

Rhae and Queen Alicent exchanged more pleasantries about her travels, a frivolous few extra moments for the sake of politeness that only Aemond seemed engaged with. Aegon watched some dockworkers argue, while Helaena had become preoccupied with a ladybug that had landed on her sleeve.

At last, the Queen announced it was time to board the carriages. Six guards led a path through the bustle of the yard to where the horses waited. As they walked, Rhae noticed that Aegon and Aemond fell behind. When she looked back at them, she saw they were whispering to each other. Her cheeks burned.

"I suppose it might be nice for you all to chat on the ride to the castle," the Queen said, giving a pointed look to Aegon. "I trust you'll be kind to our guest."

A moment ago, this is the scenario Rhae most anticipated. It now terrified her.

Realistically, Rhae knew she was in for nothing more than a twenty minutes of awkward socialization—she had never spent much time with her peers in the past. Her most frequent company was Ser Gerold, the Septa and Runestone's Maesters. But her whole body seemed to buzz with anticipation. She couldn't stop focusing on their three to her one.

The inside of the carriage was grand, but Rhae couldn't stop imagining the walls closing in. Helaena climbed up after Rhae, taking the seat beside her, still holding the ladybug. Helaena was followed by Aemond, who took the seat directly across, and finally Aegon, who took the remaining one diagonal to Rhae's position. When the carriage door closed, the four of them sat in stony silence until they heard the horses neighing and the carriage lurch forward.

"I like your dress," Helaena said, puncturing the quiet. She didn't look at Rhae when she said it—she was still studying the ladybug, now crawling in her lap. "It's very pretty."

"Thank you," Rhae said, not detecting any sarcasm in Helaena's tone, despite the apparent disinterest. The ladybug was walking along the pattern stitched into Helaena's dress, seemingly unaware it could stray away from its path. "That ladybug seems to like yours more."

Rhae wasn't so sure what she said made sense, but Helaena giggled at the observation.

"They're considered to be good luck," she said. Her voice was light and airy. "Perhaps it's a sign."

"Let's hope," Rhae replied. Another silence took the carriage as Helaena tried to coax the ladybug off her skirt and onto her finger.

"Which lessons do you look forward to most?" Aemond piped up. He had his hands clenched in his lap, though he didn't seem angry. Was it nerves?

"I'm not sure," Rhae admitted. "All of them, I suppose. I've always been curious about Old Valyrian history, but I suspect learning the language will be the most difficult."

"I'd be happy to help you practice," Aemond offered. Aegon snorted loudly, causing his brother's face to turn pink. He pressed on. "It's difficult at first, but you'll get the hang of it. Even Aegon's passed all his tests, and he sleeps through half the lessons."

Helaena giggled, and Rhae couldn't help but join in. Aemond looked pleased with himself, but tensed just as quickly as Aegon leaned forward in his seat.

"If you'd like a lesson actually worthy of your time, you'll have to come down to the Dragonpit." Aegon shared, watching Rhae's expression closely. Her chest tightened at its mention, and she subconsciously pulled her injured arm closer to her. "A private lesson, of course. We wouldn't want anyone else—"

"Aegon!"

"What?" Aegon threw his hands up in mock surrender. "It's not as though you've got a dragon to show off, have you, Aemond?"

Aemond's face flushed.

"Sunfyre isn't even large enough to saddle two riders yet," Aemond grumbled. "The Dragonkeepers said it'll be another year."

"Eight more months!" Aegon retorted.

"You could always ride with me and Dreamfyre," Helaena chimed in, as her brothers bickered. She reached for Rhae's hand right hand, which was closest to her. "If you wanted to, of course. Given your injury, that might still be scary, but Dreamfyre is a sweet girl."

Rhae froze at the mention of her injury, as did Aegon and Aemond. She knew instantly that must have been what they were whispering about back at the docks. In the tense silence that followed, Helaena passed the ladybug from the tip of her finger to Rhae's knuckle, unaware of the effect her statement had caused.

"That sounds like great fun," Rhae mustered, a familiar itch spreading beneath her bandages.

"They say wild dragons are harder to tame than those that've had a rider once before," Aemond said after a long moment. Rhae had hoped they might move the conversation elsewhere. "And they respond better to High Valyrian, which you probably didn't know yet."

"Silly me," she muttered. His words stung—she hadn't known that. Perhaps if she had, Sheepstealer wouldn't have attacked Ser Gerold and his men.

Aegon and Aemond exchanged a look. Both boys seemed to want to ask more, but it was clear this was not how either hoped the conversation would arise.

Rhae focused on the ladybug as it scurried between her fingers, no longer interested in speaking.

They finished the carriage ride in the same sullen silence they had started. When the door opened, Aegon was quick to hop off the carriage, followed a moment later by his sister. Rhae moved to follow, still carrying the bug, when Aemond stopped her.

"You'll claim a dragon," He said quietly, his cheeks still pink. Rhae managed a small smile.

"You as well," she said resolutely. "In the meantime, I would be grateful for someone to study with."

Aemond nodded, and they joined the others outside. Runestone was a large castle, but Rhae couldn't help but feel impressed by the Red Keep now that she was here. Her neck craned upwards at the towering turrets.

"Welcome home, Rhae," The Queen said, watching her take it in. "I hope the ride up was pleasant?"

Rhae cast a glance at the trio besides her, the ladybug tickling her wrist.

"It was very insightful," she said, reclaiming her composure. "I look forward to my stay."

Queen Alicent smiled, leading the way inside. The children followed suit—Aemond first, followed by Aegon.

Helaena attached herself to Rhae's good arm, smiling brightly. The ladybug had crawled to the nook of Rhae's elbow and passed back onto Helaena's sleeve.

"Come on!" She said, tugging slightly. "I'll show you to your room."

And with Helaena guiding her, Rhae followed the rest into the Red Keep.

Next Chapter: Ch. 3 - The Queen’s Quest

There is something amiss with Rhae’s invitation to the Red Keep. The King is yet to be seen, but Queen Alicent requests Runestone’s heir join her for a private meal. Will Rhae learn the purpose of her summons?

AO3 | Chapter Discussion

Thanks for reading!

#House of the Dragon #hotd fanfic #aemond x oc #aegon x oc #Aegon II Targaryen #Aemond Targaryen #Helaena Targaryen #team green

93 notes · View notes

brokenfuturerpg · 1 year

Text

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+73

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#foroactivo #foro de rol #rol #foro rpg #rpg #foro #roleplay #resources #pb reales #pb

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reginarubie · 3 months

Note

There's been how many attempts to dethrone/kill Jon!?! No wonder Sansa stresses about Arya staying to protect not only Rickon but everything they fought to protect and rebuild so far. Before some lord forgets himself, unable to see the bigger picture and pit a Stark against one another.

Oh the sorrow of seeing the pack separate again after finally establishing themselves together. Jon going back north and Sansa south. At least Arya and Rickon knwo better than when they were younger, still, sometimes having more knowledge just opens doors to new danger. Wonder which lording will be the first to strike my boy LIVING Rickon. (Finally a conformation!!)

Wonder how alliances will be made when Jon has made it clear that Sansa will not be used again and he has no intentions of marrying. (Jon you little closet romantic you~~) He's so agreeable with her one other matters until it regards to her safety and happiness, and then he's all commanding and I'm like yes dadd- Jon. *cough* Yes Jon.

-Mystic

Hello Mystic!

As always thank you, and happy you enjoyed the chapter!

Yes, it was 4 attempts to dethrone him.

Littlefinger was attempting (at the time) to dethrone Jon, by seeding doubts about the true war Jon spiels about with the lords, to install Sansa in his place. Sansa lulls him in a sense of false security, she collects evidence, gathers informations and creates bonds with the Knights of the Vale (namely through Lord Royce) and puts up the farce of the trial to Arya. Then she comes out and self confess her role in letting LF go free despite killing lady Arryn. They kill LF.

Bolton loyalists (admits the servants) attempt on Jon’s life but Sansa and Arya were already aware and Arya saves Jon’ life.

Cersei sends assassins after Sansa and Jon (it’s around this time that Rickon returns).

A wildling clan, installed in the lands near the Dreadfort attacks the keep to raid it, Jon and Sansa travel to it and Jon tries to sooth the dispute, so the chieftain of the clan challenges him, but during the combat they cheat and try to kill him and Sansa discovers that some Bolton’ loyalists (precisely a distant bastard cousin) are trying to rally their forces against the Starks. Which is why Brienne was at the Dreadfort when this begins.

So, this is about the four attempts to dethrone Jon. Which yes, explains why Sansa is so bent on having someone stay in Winterfell with Rickon, who yes, is very much alive.

I know, I know…if it can console you, they’ll be together soon, give or take some chapters in between.

Yes, Jon basically lets Sansa decide on everything, but can get very stubborn and dominant when it’s about her prospects and happiness. Fight him, Jon’d gladly throw fists over it.

Also yes, Rickon is alive and as wild and savage as he should be, thank you and amen.

Nu-uh no spoilers on how the alliance will, if it will, be made. 😉 you’ll have to read it to discover it for yourself!

As always, hope you have a wonderful day! All the love~G.

#ask the hag #Jonsa #jonxsansa #Jonsa ao3 #Jonsa fam #Jonsa story #Jonsa fanfiction #Jonsa fanfic #ASFW

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horizon-verizon · 4 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/very-straight-blog/750648583572881408/it-really-tires-me-how-some-fans-try-to-make-aegon?source=share

What is your opinion about this? Personally, I don't understand why people are so diligently looking for something in Aegon that isn't there.

I wrote about Aegon HERE.

Of course he cares, that's literally the essence of his personality. He cares. He and Aemond both feel too much emotion, but if Aemond sublimates into self–improvement, trying to be strong, cold and detached, then Aegon is literally an open wound. I want to talk about this, also using Tom's interviews (yes, I think the actor's opinion is valid in this matter) and the few scenes that we have in the first season

Having emotion/passion =/= sympathy, caring about others, or altruism. sympathy, altruism, etc. can cause or fuel passion, passion can be the motivation to maintain sympathy/compassion/altruism. Dany is a perfect example caring in hand with passion. But this person conflated "caring" with "being emotional and insecure".

Aegon, bk or show, is emotional bc he doesn't want to expend much energy into doing the ambitious things his family wants him to do, except if it is him showing militaristic prowess to prove masculinity and dominance.

Yes, show!Viserys largely didn't give him the "attention" (more here later) that he gave Rhaenyra, but this neither shows that Aegon truly "cares" since he constantly rapes, has his own bastard kids fight each other when he could have easily set up much better living conditions or have them grow up well-off--as most European noblemen did in real life, even Henry VIII. Viserys not giving him attention doesn't excuse, erase, or undermine how Aegon freely chose to abuse others. Dyana didn't ask to be raped, no one does. Should we ignore her pain for Aegon's "microexpressions"? Daemon's mother passing doesn't excuse his treatment of Rhea Royce (whether he kills her or not, show or book...in the book he still is nasty towards her), while also not having ever raped or SAed women (or really, that being a apart of his character GRRM chose to highlight). Both are princes. And many other men choose not to sexually abuse women despite actual abuse at home -- Samwell Tarly. Who is also a pretty emotional but also actually caring individual. He is not a prince. Aegon doesn't need to be named heir nor will it have a positive effect on the realm if he was made king, like how Rhaenyra needed to be Queen bc it's setting a better precedent for female rulership not just for the throne, but for women/girls to be more included in noble lines of succession and/or to lessen the probability of attempts to unseat female heirs who ascend to their places (Jeyne Arryn). That how Rhaenyra, who had been slandered to be undeserving bc of her gender--something Aegon will never receive and is actual discrimination--also benefits to affirm her worth. Finally, Aegon had to start a war and kill thousands to get what he wanted; Rhaenyra would have peacefully housed him after her ascension. so there's that.

HotD is really uwuing this man, bc canonically he just sees the throne as his male-given right; it was never about "confidence in capabilities" or "who'd make the best ruler" for Aegon. Or the greens. It just never was. Even in the show, if you think for 2 seconds, the only logical reason why he would care so much abt Viserys's treatment of him vs Rhaenyra is abt the throne. Viserys didn't "like" him? Oh, well, maybe that is bc the writers decided not to include the fact that bkViserys spent a lot of time with Helaena and that his probable distance b/t his sons is precisely bc they feel that Rhaenyra, his chosen heir, should not be queen? And that is coming from Otto/Alicent coaching them that way, thus creating that divide?

Viserys actually doesn't treat Rhaenrya all that well despite her being his heir: forcing to marry Laenor, [show] punishing her or castigating her for feelings she rightly has towards marriage after he treated Aemma the way he did, reneging on his deal about Otto with he, etc.

bk!Aegon is threatening Rhaenyra before she gave her first terms, impatient to imprison Rhaenyra after the coronation before those terms, calls her a whore after hearing the terms, etc. He may feel bitter and sad about Viserys not giving what he thought was his "birthright", but I think the showrunners knew that this would not endear him to audiences or make them care abt his PoV, bc this is such a privileged sense of entitlement that is actually dangerous that goes beyond any slander against Rhaenyra's pride to be a female Targaryen heir. Viserys, as king, chose Rhaenya and that is well within his right as king, by these feudal monarchist customs. Female heirs have been chosen in Westeros. even with those girls and women having been chosen only bc there was no viable male candidate, or the ones there were too young, etc., they were still chosen and active in wars in different ways. Plus, if we actually care about victims, which a lot of those women were, you'd also see that having a female heir even with a male candidate, is a better step in the right direction of possibly minimizing that rather than to keep the male-preference primogeniture where the younger male is heir keeps going. Rhaenyra never victimized anyone at that point; Aegon had already done so to serving girls and that 12 year old. In the show, Aegon abuses Helaena by her own words about his sexing her only when he is drunk, but this is throwaway and we are not given a fuller picture (w/o actually showing us the sex, we can still witness their dynamic but as it is they have never been in the same room and we never saw them interact or try to, which HotD clearly takes advantage of bc a lot of people are not cognizant of this or care).

He "cares" about himself and pathetically whines about how he wasn't given or thought to be given what he thinks he deserves based on gender privilege. Boohoo. No one said he was emotionless in the first place! Should I feel bad for a man who doesn't get the expected privileges for being a man?

#aegon ii's characterization #asoiaf asks to me #aegon ii #hotd characterization #character comparison #book vs tv comparisons #viserys i #viserys i's characterization #fire and blood characters #fire and blood #hotd

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jasdiary · 1 year

Text

“I don’t question this world anymore, 2+2 could be 8 for all I know!”

Original Juvia Intro Post

Name : Juvia Yuyi Espejo

Nicknames : Juvi, Prefect/Housewarden, Piss Baby (Samuel @terrovaniadorm , Ellis @starry-night-rose , and many others,,,), Bestie (Ellis), Juju (Keres), A deer and a puppy..?(Artemis), ‘Via(Deuce and Ace), Sunshine (Deuce), Henchman (Grim), Human (Sebek), Child of Man (Malleus), Potato (Vil and sometimes Epel as a joke-), Mademoiselle Jaune (Rook), Sea Bunny (Floyd), Sunflower (Deuce), Nena(Ruggie and Azul)

Jp Va : Ueda Reina

En Va : Felecia Angelle

Age : 17

Height : 160 cm (5’3)

Homeland : [not found] … [Earth:The Bronx]

Birthday : 12/13 December 13th

Zodiac sign : Sagittarius

Species : Human

Hair Color : Chocolate brown with honey blonde highlights

Eye Color : Caramel Brown

Gender : Female (She/Her)

Sexuality : Bisexual

Family : Janae Oscuro(Mother), Javier Oscuro(Father?), Johan Oscuro(Younger Brother), Jayde Oscuro(Younger Sister), Solana Díaz(Grandmother), Royce Espejo(Biological Father), Unnamed Great Grandmother†

Occupation : Student at Night Raven College, Housewarden of Ramshackle

Twisted From : [not found]

WARNING!! Juvia’s backstory and trivia contains mentions and themes of sickness/chronic illness, depression, suicidal thoughts, child neglect,eating disorders and mentions of death. Please read at your own discretion!!

——————————————————————————

School Information

Dorm : Ramshackle

School Year : 1st (Freshman)

Class : 1-A

Best Subject : Art

Worst Class : Math

Club : Board Game Club

Dominant Hand : Right

Favorite Food : Shrimp Alfredo

Least Favorite Food : Anything with condiments

Likes : Drawing, making friends, Being away from Crowley, Being with Deuce and Ace, Dying her hair, Rabbits, Grim!, Going to club meetings, The color yellow, Her grandma

Dislikes : Crowley™️, TREY!!!!, Floyd (most of the time), Mayonnaise, Being ignored, Being sick, Her body, Insects, Her mom, math!!

Hobbies : Digital art, singing, dancing, Cleaning up Ramshackle, Doing Crowley’s bidding/hj, Watching over everyone, Being NRC’s personal Therapist/j

Personality : Juvia’s goofy, she’s so very sweet and she’s super friendly! She adores making friends, whether she thinks they’ll stay or not. As the magicless prefect from a different world, Juvia’s extremely curious about Twisted Wonderland as there’s still so much she doesn’t know! At first meet, Juvia’s shy as she’s not very good at talking to people and tends to keep to herself. Once you actually befriend her, she’s never afraid to speak whatever is on her silly little mind. She’s super quick-witted with her jokes. Juvia describes herself as someone with so much love in her heart for everyone. She’s a little air-headed at times, which she usually laughs at!

Unique Magic : Nothing. She has…nothing. But, if she had nothing…why does the magic mirror tell her to be careful of her emotions?

Backstory + Part 2:

₊ ⊹ ⪩⪨ ┆Juvia Yuyi Espejo Backstory*✨ ‹𝟥

Juvia is a Puerto Rican-Dominican girl from the Bronx. Her life wasn’t particularly special or interesting and she wasn’t exactly rich or poor but she was grateful for everything. Except for living. Juvia despised herself. A fateful day where she sat in front of the mirror, her stomach churned looking at herself and the words were starting to get to her again. She hated her body, she hated her freckles, she hated her hair, eyes, eyebrows, nose, everything. She was a good person, so why her? Why are people so mean? Why is she so mean to herself?

Juvia could do something about it, to make the pain go away. But, she knows she’s too much a coward to do anything. As she goes to stand up, Juvia feels something or rather…someone push her directly into the mirror in front of her.

The last thing she heard was the glass shattering before her vision darkened and she went unconscious.

When Juvia opened her eyes after what felt like forever, everything was still black. She was inside of somewhere, and it was entirely too closed up for her. Anxiety skyrocketing, Juvia frantically tried to get out of wherever she was. Banging and kicking every corner as hard as she could, she managed to succeed…..but she fell flat on the cold floor. When she scrambled back up, still wobbly and dizzy, her vision focused on the amount of people staring at her in dark robes. But what really shocked her was the…coffin?? next to her slamming open and out came a little grey creature. Wait, was he on fire?

Juvia tried to ask where was she was but her voice wouldn’t come out. No matter how hard she tried, her voice refused to cooperate. Probably due to shock. When a tall man with a crow mask walked up to her, the first thing he did was scold her! Who the hell was this guy? And wait a second, what the hell is a familiar?!

Juvia couldn’t really do anything but stand there and let the masked crow guide her in front of a giant mirror. Why…why does it have a face- WHY IS IT TALKING??

Her soul wasn’t from this world? Well, she knew that much!! Just what was going on?! God, she has so many questions…

₊ ⊹ ⪩⪨ ┆Juvia Yuyi Espejo Backstory Pt.2✨ ‹𝟥

Ever since Juvia was young, she’s been in and out of hospitals. No one, not even doctors, know exactly what her sickness is. She’s just…not okay. Coughing up blood, Cataplexy, Memory loss…Something was horribly wrong with little Juvia. However, one thing was known. It was Fatal. The more and more her parents took her to the hospital, the worse she got. Eventually, her mom became frustrated. Not with the doctors, oh no. Juvia herself. Why couldn’t she just been a healthy child that was easy to take care of? Was this her birth fathers doing? Why does SHE have to take her?

From then on, she half-assed every doctors visit no matter how severe Juvia’s condition was. Little Juvia was smart so she was able to notice how her mother started to care less and less about her, watching the sparkle from her eyes dim into nothingness. But she love mami! and Mami loves her too!…..right? And why does dad look so sad? These questions were too much for Juvia’s migraine ridden brain. It wasn’t until she fell into Twisted Wonderland that she didn’t feel all these things. less headaches, less dizziness, she felt fine for the first time in forever.

But…will she continue to stay this way? With her heart slowly turning into obsidian liquid, Her time in Twisted Wonderland may be limited even more.

Random Trivia!

Since spawning in Twisted Wonderland, Juvia’s heart was drowned in blot. The blot greatly slows down her sickness which is why she seems healthier in Twisted Wonderland. But because it’s fully blotted, she’s greatly at risk to overblotting at any time. This is why the magic mirror or those who can see blot accumulation tell her to take care of her emotions.

Speaking of emotions…Juvia’s very emotional 😭

Juvia’s extremely close with Azul Ashengrotto and Ruggie Bucchi! she sees them as her older brother figures

She’s the closest with Deuce Spade, they’re seen together a lot even without their little ginger friend

Though she aspires to be in art, she has theater experience and is said to be a great actress

Juvia speaks spanish fluently and especially enjoys when people ask her to translate words

Back in her world, Juvia dyed her hair a lot! Her favorite color she did was purple. She doesn’t dye it as much nowadays because she finds it too time consuming

If Juvia was in a different dorm, she’d be in Scarabia!

You’ll almost never see her without those two black rings on each of her pointer fingers. if one of them leaves her sight, she begins to panic. They were her late great grandmothers rings.

She’s the butt of many…piss jokes due to her love of the color yellow💔

Her favorite professor is Trein, He treats her more gently than some of the other students because she reminds him of his daughters ☹️💕

After the events of Chapter 6, she’s become an honorary member of Pomefiore + Her relationship with Idia was slightly severed

Many of her friends have to keep an eye on her food intake as she forgets meals and sometimes isn’t used to eating a decent amount of food due to being sick.

Juvia’s stamina sucks balls. Sick or not, this girl is seeing stars after walking up a flight of stairs.

Juvia’s very sensitive. She’ll sob uncontrollably if you speak in a certain way to her ☠️😭

[Seen in her dorm uniform] Juvia has a small pocket watch that times her blot accumulation outside of her heart. In Chapter 8, it’s seen to be half filled.

Juvia’s hand is bandaged and then scarred after Grims manic episode in end of Chapter 5-Beginning of Chapter 6

Chapter 6 and 7 are the closest Juvia has gotten to fully overblotting

These Juvia Designs Show up near the end of Chapter 5. Juvia’ og design is still very much Canon and exists.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #juvia🪞#juvia yuyi espejo #jas drew a thing.jpeg #twisted wonderland ocs #twst ocs #twst yuu #yuusona #twst mc #fem yuu #fem mc #fem twst mc

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flowerandblood · 1 year

Text

The Impossible Choice (4)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, fingering, angst, smut, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm's End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

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

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

The day before their nuptials in the Great Sept she could not sleep. She spent her last days in the care of the queen, preparing for the wedding, learning how she should behave in every situation, when she could speak, and with whom it was appropriate to dance and converse during the wedding feast.

She was surprised when the queen summoned her to her chamber for a face-to-face conversation, alone, even without her servants. She felt that she was about to learn something important and sat tensely in her chair, looking at her expectantly. The queen looked at her warmly, once again giving her that motherly look that she missed so much.

“I wanted to speak with you about your wedding night. Do you know what begetting an heir involves?” She spoke calmly, gently, as if afraid the topic of conversation might scare her.

She pursed her lips in shame, lowering her gaze, unable to look at her.

If you obey me, I will make sure that we both enjoy ourselves.

She didn't know what he meant, but he shocked her with this confession. She wondered if she should believe him, or if he was just manipulating her not to stand up to him.

She nodded slowly, and the queen sighed, rubbing her knees with her hands, as if the topic was uncomfortable and unpleasant for her as well.

"It will be best if you just lie on your back on the bed. This is the most comfortable position. Let him do what he needs to do, the sooner he's done, the better for you. It can be hard, but try not to cry, think about something else. After all, you should lie down for a while. This will help you beget his heir sooner." She said calmly, looking at her tenderly, sadly, comfortingly.

She swallowed hard at her words, horrified by what she heard, but at the same time she felt immense gratitude towards her for telling her all about it. She nodded her head again, indicating that she understood, not being able to utter a single word.

On the day of their nuptials she asked her servant for a cup of wine in the morning to calm herself down. She could feel her hands shaking, but the alcohol had dulled her and relaxed her, making her look less pale.

She tried to think only about seeing her brother and father again.

Royce did not disappoint her. He stepped into her chamber without warning, throwing himself at her while she was halfway through dressing her wedding gown. She laughed with joy when she saw him, her heart squeezed so hard with happiness at the sight of him that she wanted to cry.

Her brother took her warm cheeks in his hands, looking at her tenderly.

"You look beautiful, sweet sister."

He sat in an old wooden chair, sipping wine and chatting with her, as her servants pinned the puffy sleeves with cut-outs over the red chemise underneath her gown.

She tried not to think with regret that her sisters had not come to help her prepare for the day, even though it was a tradition.

She also knew that her father must have been speaking with the king himself and he was too occupied to see her as well.

Her maids had part of her hair braided in a circle around her head, and part of it combed into an exquisite, intricate braid that fell down her back. They slid pins of gold-plated pearls into her hair and placed jewelry around her neck.

She looked dignified, rich, beautiful.

Due to the fact that she was never considered as the future wife of the prince, she did not pay attention to her attires, considering that she would not look as good in a gowns as her sisters.

Now, looking at her own reflection in the mirror she thought proudly that she had not lacked anything.

Before the nuptials she received a blessing from her father.

For the first time in her life she saw him holding back tears of despair. She knew that he was suffering from the thought of what was going to happen to her that night.

She had no words of comfort for him or for herself.

She stroked his rough, beard-covered cheek and walked towards her retinue at the end of which was the carriage that would take her to the Great Sept with her father.

People cheered her as they drove through the sunny, bright streets of King's Landing; the people of the capital remembered the Baratheon's contribution to their safety in all the wars of recent years.

As she stepped out of the carriage in front of the sept she saw with joy that the children were throwing wildflowers at her. She wanted to collect them but her father urged her, saying that there was no time for that.

She placed her hand on his outstretched arm and walked with him to the center of the sept, amid the soaring sound of trumpets and the whispers of the gathered who might see her for the first time.

As she walked, she kept her eyes on the prince who was looking at her intensely.

He was standing in a beautiful black and red tunic, the colors of his house, straight and proud, his jaw clenched, his expression indifferent and expressionless, his gaze almost aggressive.

She thought that she didn't care anymore.

She felt like everything around her was happening outside of her. His cloak on her shoulders, their hands intertwined in front of the septon, their mouths uttering oaths.

They were husband and wife.

She heard the loud applause and cheers, the joy of the crowd.

She felt as if she had gone deaf.

She stared into his dark, dangerous, bright eye, piercing right through her and wondered what was going on in his head right now.

When they arrived at the wedding feast and sat down side by side, not a single word was exchanged between them. She smiled warmly at all the guests, recognizing that at least one of them had to look pleased.

She couldn't swallow anything.

She knew that he wouldn't ask her to dance, but she was still disappointed when it turned out that she really couldn't count on his involvement in this aspect.

Royce, apparently annoyed by this detail, asked her to dance himself. She glanced at her now husband, wordlessly pleading for his permission and saw him nod slowly, turning his face away again.

She knew that he watched her carefully as she danced with her brother and then with the other lords. She knew that he was possessive, that he now wanted to think of her as his own, and she couldn't upset him.

Not before what was about to happen.

As he stood suddenly, announcing that they were going to rest, she felt her heart pounding like crazy in her chest, her whole body froze and stiffened.

She looked up at him and saw that he was glancing at her expectantly, so she rose slowly and bowed to her father and the king, who followed them with uncertain stares.

She followed him silently to his chamber, where Lyanna was already waiting for her to help her pull off her elaborate gown and undid her hair. She stripped her down to a lovely, beautiful embroidered, snow-white nightgown and approached her, smearing her neck and wrists with a pleasant, floral-scented oil.

Looking at herself in the mirror she thought that she was completely vulnerable, helpless.

That's what he wanted.

She shuddered and glanced quickly over her shoulder as she saw that he stood up from his chair, already dressed only in his linen shirt and breeches, a clear impatience in his gaze that it had taken so long.

"Leave." He said dryly.

Lyanna wanted to protest that she wasn't done yet, but the prince gave her only one murderous look, which made her shiver and silently leave, avoiding him, closing the door behind her.

They were left alone.

She could feel the tension between them, the stuffy, heavy air in the chamber; all she could hear in her ears was her rapid breathing and the beating of her own heart.

She thought that she would do anything he asked her to do as long as he didn't hurt her.

After a moment's thought, he approached her with slow, unhurried step. She stared at him helplessly, her mouth slightly parted in a troubled breath that she couldn't control.

He grabbed her jaw with his hand, but more gently than before and stared at her for a moment.

She shivered as his fingers slid from her face to her neck and he began to massage her nape with slow, calm movements that gave her goosebumps all over her body. She wondered what was happening to her, because she wasn't entirely sure if the only feeling she felt was fear.

He leaned over her suddenly, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide in horror and anticipation.

“Kiss me.” He whispered and pressed his lips to hers instantly, closing his hand around her neck, holding her in an iron grip.

She stifled a moan, only a soft, startled sound coming out of her mouth, feeling how greedily he bit into her skin, how soft, fleshy and wet his hungry lips were.

She felt his fingers tighten on the nape of her neck at her lack of response, so she timidly brushed his upper lip with her throbbing, sticky mouth, making a low, satisfied sound coming out from his throat.

"More." He commanded softly, and she felt a pleasant squeeze between her thighs at the sound of his hoarse voice, his caresses lazy and pleasant.

She tried to imitate his movements, placing her hand on his chest for balance, running her lips over his, pressing them lightly, wanting to see how it felt. Something inside her was throbbing again and again at the wet, sticky click of their saliva that she heard every time their lips parted, only to meet in another kiss.

He pulled away from her, his mouth puffy, swollen from their caresses that seemed to fill him with desire. His eye wasn't so stern anymore, she thought that he was pleased. So far she didn't feel any discomfort either, quite the opposite − he smelled of soap and bath, sweat and thirst that made her throat dry.

"Will you obey me?" He asked low, his voice quivering slightly with arousal.

For some reason she felt wetness between her thighs at his question, but thought it couldn't be moon bleeding yet, because it was too early.

She nodded and squealed softly as he suddenly lifted her by the hips, walking with her toward his bed. He placed her on her back, and she thought that was it.

She settled herself comfortably on the bedding, looking at him expectantly, feeling her whole body tremble. He did not lie on top of her as her sister had said, however, but sat next to her on the bed, leaning over her.

She shuddered and swallowed hard as she saw his hands begin to untie her nightgown. He unfolded the fabric in two, exposing her breasts to him, making her voice get stuck in her throat.

She didn't know what was happening.

She turned her head involuntarily, breathing loudly, ashamed that he was looking at her naked body in such a licentious way, so close, not even trying to cover herself, knowing that there was no point in resisting, desperation and anxiety on her face.

"Look at me." He commanded. She flinched all over and obeyed him with difficulty, looking at him pleadingly, gasping for breath, feeling her whole body aflame and hot.

She inhaled sharply as she felt his large hand on her breast, running his fingers over it, kneading it lightly, tentatively. She saw his lips part as he felt her soft, firm skin under his hand, his gaze was serious, but also full of arousal and darkness that made her feel throbbing between her thighs.

She nearly jumped and stifled a moan, pressing her lips together as she felt his thumb brush over her nipple, surprised by the brief, sudden thrill of pleasure she felt. He repeated this movement encouraged by her reaction, and she trembled all over, unable to take her eyes off his face. She saw him frown, his chest heaving uneasily.

"I want to hear you. Your every moan belongs to me." He hissed, pressing his thumb against her nipple harder, teasing and rubbing her on purpose.

When a soft, sweet moan of surprise escaped her lips at last, she saw the glint in his eye, the corner of his mouth twitched dangerously, his breathing quickened.

"− good girl −" He whispered with some kind of appreciation, she pursed her lips at his praise, feeling the squeeze between her thighs, a hot, tickling tension building up inside her for some reason.

Her breath caught in her throat as he leaned over her, his mouth clung greedily to her breast, sucking on her nipple like a small child. Another, this time more intense shiver of pleasure vibrate through her body, making her whimper softly, clenching her hands on either side of her head into fists.

She was afraid to touch him.

She didn't know if she should.

The Queen did not reveal such details to her, additionally neither she nor her sister mentioned anything about what her husband was doing to her now.

She pursed her lips and sucked in a loud breath as she felt his hand slid down to the bare skin of her thigh, pulling her chemise up, her legs trembled and closed involuntarily as she felt him want to put his fingers between them.

"Never close your thighs in front of me." He said coldly, stopping the caress, looking at her expectantly.

She swallowed hard and meekly spread her legs slightly, letting him do what he wanted. He hummed contentedly as he went back to sucking on her puffy, hard nipple, felt them both gasp and freeze for a moment as his fingers touched her hot womanhood.

No one had ever touched her in this place, so intimate and private.

Her whole body shuddered as his fingers ran over her moist folds, rubbing a bud hidden between them, sending a spasm of pleasure through her. She heard him stifle a guttural moan as he found her sticky wetness, leaking from her slit down onto the sheets, he looked at her with a gaze from which she felt embarrassment.

"− gods − already so fucking wet −" He hummed, obviously as surprised as she was.

She thought, seeing his reaction, that apparently this was good information.

She opened her mouth wide in silent amazement as his movement changed, his fingers began to press firmly around her pearl, teasing this spot with circular, steady strokes, from which she felt a twitching deep inside her. He felt it and licked her nipple with a low purr, making her threw her head back with a warm, innocent moan.

She didn't expect that.

What she was feeling now had nothing to do with pain.

She was terrified that he was touching the most intimate parts of her body, but he was doing it in such a way that she felt a pleasant, hot tickle in her lower abdomen, which made her feel an increasing need for relief, although she did not know how she could experience it.

She sobbed loudly, flinching suddenly as she felt his middle finger press against her opening, pushing against her tight, hot, fleshy walls. It was both uncomfortable and pleasant, she had never experienced this kind of sensation before and was terrified, so she tried to loosen up and breathe loudly through her mouth.

"− easy − don't resist me − take what I give you −" He murmured, returning to his earlier caresses, pressing his lips to her breasts as if he couldn't tear himself away, she heard him make low, guttural growls every time his tongue licked again her hard nipple.

She whimpered softly as his finger slowly slid deeper into her hot core, stretching her so much that she spread her thighs wider to make it easier for herself and for him, having no clue what he was actually doing.

She moaned loudly when he finally slid his finger all the way in and sighed in relief when he slid it out gently. Her voice stuck in her throat as he repeated the motion, pushing his finger into her at an increasingly rapid pace, rubbing her just above her entrance, teasing some spot inside her through which she felt shivers of pleasure.

Suddenly his pace changed from gentle and steady to quick and sure, his finger slipping in and out of her with the wet clicks of her moisture, squeezing her so deliciously that she wanted to beg him to stop, feeling that something was about to happen to her body, that her tension was reaching a peak.

"− please −" She mewled, her hand clenching helplessly on his arm that he was leaning on, rocking her hips involuntarily to the thrusts of his finger.

"− shhh −" He hummed contentedly, adding his second finger to her interior, causing her body to writhe under him in spasms.

She was no longer able to look at him or focus on anything, her body leaning back, her eyes closed with pleasure, sweat running down her soft skin with exertion.

She drew in a quick breath when he suddenly stopped, sliding his fingers out of her, looking at her with wide eye, his lips parted in unutterable delight.

"− fuck − I need to feel you −" He panted, reaching into the material of his breeches, untying them quickly.

She swallowed hard as he spreaded her legs in front of him, holding her hips, drawing her closer in one, firm motion. His hands went to his breeches again, sliding them down just enough to free his throbbing, swollen erection.

She turned her head away, ashamed of the sight, terrified that this was what she was about to feel inside her.

She didn't know how she was going to take it if his fingers was already causing her discomfort in the begging.

She felt his hand grab her cheeks, turning her face towards him.

"Look at me." He hissed, and she shivered at the sight of his dark eye.

No man had ever looked at her that way before.

He licked his lips with a grunt of satisfaction as her large, terrified eyes remained fixed on his face. He leaned over her, placing his hands on either side of her head, breathing loudly, his long, white hair tickling her cheeks.

They both knew what was about to happen.

"Spread your thighs wide." He whispered, his voice a little softer, but still commanding. She opened her mouth, trying to catch her breath, and obediently did as he said, trying not to think about how scared she was.

She felt his hands lift the fabric of her nightgown above her thighs, exposing everything underneath, her body in some subconscious reflex wanted to move away when she felt the fat, pink head of his cock begin to push against her hot, leaking opening. She trembled as the fingers of one of his hands grabbed her hip warningly, digging into her soft skin.

"Don't run away from me. Be good and I'll take it slow." He gasped as she felt the tip of his manhood press against her entrance again.

She felt his fingers slid lower, parting the skin of her folds to the sides, making her feel uncomfortable.

She pursed her lips as she felt it, trying not to make a sound.

She squirmed silently, closing her eyes as she felt him force his way inside her, her fingers involuntarily clenched into fists, she had the feeling that, indeed, according to her sister's words, her husband was about to tear her apart from the inside.

Was she supposed to fit it all in?

She heard his soft sigh when he slid deeper into her, as if he was in pain himself.

"− fuck − breath − just a little more − I promise −" He panted, and she swallowed hard, trying to calm her breathing, to relax her body.

She was relieved that he stopped, waiting for her walls not to press against him so terribly.

They both breathed a loud sigh when, after a moment, one sure thrust of his hips sank him deep into her, causing her a burning, sharp pain that, however, passed after a moment.

It was a strange, disturbing and intimate feeling at the same time.

She considered it an act of his grace that he waited a moment before sliding out of her slowly only to thrust into her again a moment later, she had the feeling that her muscles had adjusted to his size.

He watched her intently, looking at her with wide-open eye, apparently assessing whether he could already speed up his pace, which he did as soon as he heard her first startled moans.

The tip of his manhood rubbed and squeezed again and again the spot inside her where he had previously dug his fingers in.

Gods, she thought.

It feels good.

Involuntarily, she tightened her hand on his arm and looked at him in horror, not even noticing when they both began pant, first softly, then louder and louder, her hands clenched on his shirt, as she couldn't hold back the tension that was building again in her loins, rising like boiling water.

With each of his sharp, deep thrust, his thighs slammed against her buttocks with a wet slaps of her moisture, so shamelessly, dirty, that she writhed all over him.

"− yes − that's it − ah − so fucking tight −" He exaled, and she, surprised by his words, just moaned sweetly, making him completely lose his temper.

He rose suddenly, taking her hips in his hands, kneeling in front of her, rooting into her quickly and brutally, rubbing her where she needed it each time, making her body arch back in pleasure, shocked by the intensity of the sensation.

"− come on − give me what I want − fuck, I want to hear it −" He panted, slamming into her with all the strength he had in his hips, she felt like he would burst into her stomach.

She didn't know what he meant, but she no longer felt pain or discomfort.

She felt numb to a different kind of feeling, her vision blurred, her mind completely foggy.

All she could hear was how they both panted and moaned alternately, the bed below them creaking with each of his thrusts, each slap of his thighs.

Suddenly she felt something approaching, her whole body tensed, as if trying to defend herself against it.

And then it happened.

She leaned back with her mouth parted wide and sobbed loudly, helplessly, pressing her cheek to the pillow, as a wave of unexpected pleasure surged brutally through her body, then a second, a third, and a fourth.

She heard him groan low, panting in delight at what he had seen in front of him, he made a loud, almost animal sound of relief, and then a warmth spilled inside her. He rocked his hips in her for a while longer, breathing heavily, and then he fell on top of her without strength, crushing her with his weight.

She stared at the door to his chamber, panting loudly, her body trembling in convulsions from what she had just experienced.

She was in shock.

She didn't know that her body was capable of something like this.

He slipped his manhood out of her with her quiet hiss of discomfort, rising immediately, tying his breeches back on. She heard him grunt loudly before he spoke, his breathing still quickened and his voice slightly hoarse as he said the words.

"You may now return to your chamber."

She felt a stab of pain and rejection at his words, unsure if he was dismissing her or if he wanted her to decide for herself where she would spend the night after what had happened.

“The queen said that I should lie down for a long time afterwards. Thanks to this, as she said, I will give you an heir sooner." She whispered in a trembling voice, her body still unable to recover from what she had just experienced.

She saw him glance at her over his shoulder, looking at her intensely. In the end he just grunted and nodded, apparently giving her permission to do what she thought that was appropriate, with no intention of meddling in these intricate, feminine matters.

He walked around the bed, getting under the covers and lying on his stomach, turning his head away from her, not saying a word.

She didn't say anything to him either, but she couldn't help the smile that appeared on her face.

He could pretend to be indifferent to her and not speak to her, but the truth was that he desired her.

She thought, surprised, that he had kept his promise.

He made her enjoy it.

She wondered if he would lose interest in her after all this, or if on the contrary he would want her even more.

She decided that the most important thing was not to impose herself on him, not to make him feel like he broke her or owned her, not to fall to his knees in front of him, begging him to love her.

Most of all, she wanted him to respect her.

She closed her eyes, sighing softly in relief that it was all over.

She wasn't a maiden. The marriage was sealed.

Officially, in the eyes of gods and man, she was his wife.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol

Others: @dreamymoomin @thedamewithabook @dc-marvel-girl96 @zillahvathek @helaenaluvr @tssf-imagines @heavenly1927 @hiatuswhore @it-is-getting-better @linkpk88

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