#strong! reader

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

The Dragon’s Spoil (Aemond Targaryen x Rivers! Reader) Part 2

Part 1   |   Part 2   |  Part 3   |   Part 4  

Summary: The baseborn daughter with little knowledge of who your Lord father was, your life is caught in the midst of war. The Riverlands are the base for the Greens and the Blacks, dragons loom in the skies, and men die daily, especially within the walls of the cursed Harrenhal. It’s only when a certain one-eyed dragon comes for his retribution. The year is 130 AC and war endures.

A/N: It was good to see people liked the first part, so I’m continuing with this. If you’re not aware, this series will be around 4 parts, sort of following what happens at the end of the dance of Dragons. 

I also changed the ending to the final part as initially, Vhagar was going to eat the corpses instead or burn them, but it made me think that Aemond wouldn’t do that. Despite killing pretty much all of House Strong, he will still respects their bodies to give them a respectful funeral rite similar to the cremations Targaryen family members get.

I also promise the next chapter is when it gets most spicy.

Tags: slight mention of threat, some gore at the end.

Wordcount: 1,817

The Dragon’s Ruin

It feels like an eternity when you next see the Prince.

Criston Cole has you dragged away into the kitchen of the castle, throwing a cleaner apron that is not stained in mud. “I’m sure one of the ladies has a spare gown for you to wear.”

There are no true ladies of Harrenhal, only those that were dragged to live here by the husbands if they were willing. You gritted your teeth, finding some reprieve when the Hand leaves the room, only to allow you a short moment to change.

You can’t do much apart from try and drag the mud out from the bottom of your gown, already was it stained and appropriately dirtied from days of labour around the castle. The castellan had made sure you were occupied in cleaning: especially in places that had little to no to see you.

You wipe at your brown kirtle with some water in a bucket close by, changing your previous apron with one that is just as messy as the previous one, except the stains seemed more appropriate for a cook. You tie your long black hair up in a bun, loose ringlets fall and frame around your face and fail to fall back behind your ear.

You’re appropriate when the Hand comes for you again, muttering along the lines of “the Prince wants to see you in his chambers” before you’re dragged by the arm again, through the corridors you’ve known all your life. 

It’s not hard to find him: he’s in the same apartment you had previously been cleaning, its fireplace still unlit and ash messily strewn in a manner that had looked to of been discarded. He would be displeased to have his room not the cleanliness of one in the Red Keep.

The One-eyed Prince is situated in a chair by the unlit fire, idly preoccupied in waiting for you as if he had been called to see you and not the other way around. For a moment when you both enter the room, he does not look to address either, and you see in the split second how he does not seem as calm as he usually is.

His hair is thrown forward past his shoulders, long and graceful, he is caught staring with a stare of longing and unknown thoughts. It makes you wonder just what he is thinking, whether he is proud of his doings, or if war has strengthened him into becoming the man he was meant to be.

He is playing at war. You think, staring at him. Boys as green as summer, they think they’re untouchable.

“My Prince,” Criston addresses and the split moment of being with his thoughts bring him back, his eye turning just enough to see you both in his peripheral, “the bastard you called for.”

“Thank you, Cole,” Aemond speaks calmly, though one hand is squeezing his thigh with might that you think he’ll rip the fabric. “You may leave us both.”

Cole obeys like the loyal dog he is, leaving through the doors and closing them shut, leaving you with the man who killed all in a minor House, and what he could do with a girl like yourself.

You could only imagine what Perra was feeling, how she had been lucky to escape with her life. If Aemond had found out that her uncle had been working alongside the Blacks, you were certain her head would have been sent over to him in a lavish box. 

She was the daughter of a knightly house. She escaped because her name was important, not yours. You think, and sadness spreads through your chest. If you had been born a lady of some house, you wouldn’t have to worry about the judgement, the hatred. It burnt in the back of your skull knowing they stared when you walked past, whispering the lies about you.

Witch. Sorcerer of Harrenhal. Killer of babes and men.

They had all been lies, though, if you had been a witch, you wished your stares could burn through a man’s skull. The part about killing babes was false when you had rarely seen children born in a place such as this. Harrenhal was not the place that would bring life but take it. 

You had been warned that bastards were sterile, never able to create life. It was “to curse them for their unfaithful parents.” Though you did know some bastards could reproduce, you dared think the rumour had been true just for yourself.

Though, you feel rather relieved that you wouldn’t be able to, the constant reminder is enough to make you believe so. You wished you were the witch people called you by, just so you could curse the Prince who had waltzed in and dug up everything root and stem. House Strong could never come back and if they could, the baseborn girl that came from the line could certainly not be legitimised to restrengthen its line.

Aemond is standing from his seat when you blink out of your thoughts, staring at his lips move when you realise he is asking you something. “Who was your father, my Lady?”

My Lady. It stings when you hear that come from him, and you almost laugh at the absurdity. You were everything but a lady. Witch. Sorcerer. You think he uses it to humble you, to remind you of what you were.

“I did not know who,” you answer coolly, “many whispered it had been Ser Simon or Lord Lyonel. Some even said Harwin or the Master of Whispers himself, though I would believe they would be similar in age to me the same way a sibling or cousin would be.”

“How old are you?”

“I am three-and-twenty, my Prince.” You grit your teeth when you say his title.

“And your mother?”

A sad smile appeared on your features, hoping that he did not see it appear before you look away from him. “My mother too, was a mystery I never got to know.”

Aemond hums at your word as he slowly stalks closer towards you. “It is not right for a child not to know their parent.” He speaks causally. “The Mother above can be cruel in most ways.”

“It is the sins of the parents that bring bastards into the world, my Prince, not the Mother.” You say, and when he turns his head to you sharply, you dart away to look elsewhere. 

You curse at yourself for overstepping and speaking when you shouldn’t have.

He stares you down with fascination, humming lightly in a singsong tone. “You’re familiar with the Seven, but you were never brought into the Faith?” 

“A novice life would not suit me well,” you shrugged, smiling to yourself. “I simply could never remember the prayers. Harrenhal is cold but I would rather prefer these walls than those of cold and dreary Oldtown.”

Aemond chuckles at that and it takes everything not to gawk at him when you hear it. It’s soft and subtle, but it sounds surprising and oddly nice to hear come from him. “I suppose you’re right. My mother always thought I would make a great knight, fighting in tourneys.”

“I suppose we were put here for greater purposes.” You speak, trying not to look as intimidated under his purple-eyed gaze.

He stares at you, not saying much, but his eye flicks through emotions as if flicking through a book. It’s unnerving but it draws you in ever the same as a moth to flame. You’re intimidated, but you’re intrigued to know more about him, even when you feel such conflicting feelings of wanting to see him and the entirety of the Greens burn.

You find your words come easier, and you ask the crucial question that had plagued your mind since the moment he landed in the courtyard. “If you aren’t going to kill me, my Prince, why am I here?” 

honestly to him before you find yourself lost in his gaze and you forget everything about hating him. 

 Aemond draws his hands behind his back to straighten his back and appear taller, towering over you with ease. It’s as if just staring at his features makes you feel lost in his Valyrian beauty, and you forget everything about hating him. 

“I need a handmaiden and someone who is most familiar with Harrenhal. You would fit both best, am I correct?” He speaks earnestly.

“That… would be correct.”

He is close enough that you can smell the oils on him, the smell of musk that any proud warrior would wear. It's powerful and overwhelming, but it’s almost as if the way he's standing so close to you is his ploy to make you subservient to him. “My brother will only ask that the prominent line of House Strong is destroyed, not of its baseborn. After all, he had taken… to creating some of his own.”

Oh. He was far from a faithful man, and certainly fit the role of a sloth and licentious King. “My condolences to the Queen.”

Aemond hums amusedly as he traces back to his seat, “I require a fire. I expect you know how to work one?”

“Indeed, my Prince.”

“Very well,” he spoke, his face turning just enough that you see his visible eye, burning with something that makes your heart flutter and your stomach twist, “you will have my undivided protection from all the men in this castle. I swear it on my life.”

It doesn’t make you feel any better to know that, rather you think of one thing that you wish you could ask him aloud, and what about you?

You curtsy rather clumsily, forgetting your footing but playing it off as you leave his chambers, hurrying past Cole who awaits just outside. You almost bump into him as you catch him scowling down at you.

You’re blinking away your confused thoughts, muddled in a worry of feelings and mixed emotions. You hate him, and you should hate him for everything, but his looks and charm were everything that made you feel lured to him. 

Standing back in the place you recalled not long before, the courtyard is a sore sight. Blood still cakes the ground, but the bodies are all replaced with a large pile of ash, some mixed with plates of metal and burnt articles of clothing.

Your stomach twists once again as you back away from the sight, turning back as your vision catches something perched on the walls above.

Thinking it was a raven at first, your heart drops when you recognise that no, they’re not birds, but the heads of every member of House Strong.

Your fists clench into your apron and you’re nearly quick to tears as you look away, remembering your job was to collect firewood for Aemond’s chambers.

Hurrying away, you think if there was any way Targaryens were immune to fire.

[m1stm3]

“you don’t believe that sex is the most intimate thing that two can do together?” you repeat sukuna’s previous words with a raised eyebrow, skepticism lacing every word you spoke.

“i had concubines before i was devoted to you. do you really think i see intercourse as something significant?” he doesn’t even spare you a glance, all four of his eyes focused on carefully peeling the fruits resting in the bowl in front of him (mangoes, to be specific. a special order he put in with uraume for you). your eyes narrow at his words.

“so you don’t see intercourse with me as something significant?” that earns you a roll of his eyes.

“i don’t recall those words leaving my lips, woman.” he glances at you with a bored look, already much too used to your antics and the nonsensical conclusions you often pulled from his words (“it’s called reading in between the lines, ryo.” you had insisted. he chose not to debate you on it).

he sighs when you go silent, seemingly waiting for an explanation from him that would fix the small pout gracing your lips. he would’ve let you sulk if you were anybody else, but you weren’t.

“i realize the significance humans place on it now that i am yours, but i partook in the act purely for pleasure before you. it was simply to fulfill my fleshly desires.” he doesn’t need to look at you to know that the frown on your face still hasn’t faltered. in fact, the displeased look on your face probably only deepened upon the mention of him being intimate with other women.

“human customs are foolish, that will never change.” his hand lifts to your lips, a cube of mango held delicately between his fingers. he continues speaking only after feeding you the fruit.

“but if my stubborn little wife sees it as something of importance, then it shall be so.” he says the last part with a sense of finality, as if it was a part of his life that he accepted a long, long time ago.

you contemplate his words for a moment, your posture easing against the lavish pillows of your shared bed. you stall on swallowing the piece of fruit on your tongue, considering a question in that ever curious mind of yours.

“what’s significant to you, ryo?”

he pauses for a brief moment but doesn’t answer, simply bringing another piece of fruit up to your lips (whether the action was out of care or to keep your mouth occupied was unclear).

his lack of an answer was as good of an answer as any, though.

this was significant to him. the way he cut and fed you soft fruit with hands that had slaughtered armies, handling you as if you were made of fine china. never yelling, never arguing.

the king of curses devoted himself to you because deep in his heart he acknowledged his subservience to you.

that is what’s significant to him.

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you.

when you’re in the shower, he’s sat on the lid of the toilet on his phone (watching those rug cleaning videos) enjoying your faint singing under the stream of water, the smell of your body wash on the cloud of steam- ready to pass you a towel or get your back.

when you’re at your desk, working from home or studying, he’s just on the other side of it reading the paper with one outstretched leg tangled with both of yours. he’s dead quiet when you’re on a call, just happy to be around.

when you’re doing laundry, collecting the clothes in the hamper and crouching to stuff them into the washer- turning around and accidentally colliding with a thick wall of muscle.

“sorry, love”

he steps aside but you can hear his soft footfalls as he continues to follow you throughout your home.

when you’re both watching something on the couch, what starts as his pinky locked with yours turns into his arm around your waist. that turns into your head on his chest, which culminates with you falling asleep in his lap with his cheek on your head and soft snores emanating from his lips.

when you grocery shop, you push the trolley but his chest is to your back, arms either side of you and hands clasped over yours on the handle. you can thank his military training for his uncanny ability to tell exactly when you’ll stop walking.

when he wakes up in the middle of the night, on a rare occasion when you’ve managed to slip out of bed without him realising, he’s immediately in a panic calling your name.

“in here, my love”

as soon as his heart settles, he realises the bathroom light was probably a dead giveaway. you’re taking a wee, you’ll be back in a minute.

that doesn’t stop a sleepy simon from leaning in the doorframe, shielding his eyes from the big light as he waits for you to finish up.

even on the short walk back to bed, you can feel fingers twisted in the back of your shirt- almost like you’re leading the way.

minute you’re both on the mattress, you’re being wrapped up in his arms, slotting you perfectly into the curve of his front- almost like you’re made for him.

(and you are)

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

Nanami who pushes all his weight on you when he fucks. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat forming on his face, and his warm skin slapping against yours creating immense pleasure between the two of you. Kissing you sloppily because he doesn’t care, all he needs right now is to feel the love of his life. Bare bodies pressed together, as his cock works diligently into you. Enthralled by your beauty and the faces of pleasure you make, he continues staring at you, madly in love. The peak of lust arriving soon, he buries his head into the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses into the sensitive area. He finishes inside making sure not to waste a single drop as he has one goal: to see you round with his child. 

Just a thought....

[meownotgood]

arcane season 2 spoilers

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"Can you feel anything?" 

Viktor's foreign body shudders against his will; your fingertips trace down his chest, tingling, sparking, akin to little specks of light burning into his second-skin. The sound of your muddled voice barely registers. His head tosses back with a slight thud, hair fanned out as a halo. He allows your knees to bracket his waist, and keeps his arms sprawled above him — despite the aching in his dead heart to just touch you. The pulsing of the arcane beneath his system is hardly under control yet. 

It would be a risk he's willing to take, a necessary step to learn, if it were anyone else besides you. 

And Viktor does feel — so much, in fact, but it isn't anything explainable. The festering in his core, threatening to come up through his throat. The whirring, the throbbing of every muscle, rich with glowing rivers of purple. Shining with a mixture of magic and energy and his own blood. 

He's only distantly aware of your hand when it reaches his stomach, examining the juncture between cool metal and unholy flesh. Gears and bolts mimic the outline of ribs. Your touches are curious, distinctly gentle. Picking up on old habits, and trying not to break him, still. Then, your palm reaches up; it boldly cradles his cheek, brushes his pallid skin. And this, he can sense. 

It's familiar, human. Excruciatingly soft when your thumb brushes the space on his cheek, just above his beauty mark. It puts an easy feeling back in his chest, something he almost began to believe he'd forgotten. As warm as a shimmering sun, as molten as liquid gold. 

Nothing else matters but this moment, but you, and him. There is no outcome, across each expansive universe and every edge of the arcane, where the two of you would not meet again like this. You were meant to. Born and reborn to. 

Your gaze finds his, soft eyes glancing down at him, your expression crossed between pain and relief. You eclipse all of his vision: light fuzzy at your edges, your face a hazy memory that he'd still see with his eyes closed. You're a reminder of what it means to be alive. 

Viktor doesn't envy you. You've told him of nightmares, before. Dreams you had before this, of your mind putting yourself through the tragedy of watching him die ages before you truly had to. It must be difficult to see him like this, despite your best attempts to hide any uncertainty. 

Your hand shakes. He can feel it trembling, unsteady on his cheek. And every molecule in Viktor's system explodes, laced with the yearning to remember — to let hazy lovesickness swell within his palms and his new figments. To pull you closer, in an effort to convince himself you won't be taken away. 

Every echo of you is innate. Your voice, your name, your fingerprints. Your presence has the Hexcore — or what's become of him, what has embodied the Hexcore — blissfully, endlessly silent. The way you look at him, soft and brutally innocent, puts a chasmic, vivid hole in his center. Gods, you still look at him the same, just as you did when the two of you were young and innocent. The rot in him tells him he isn't worthy of it. 

Viktor's eyes swirl like kaleidoscopes. Drops of crimson swirling in pure water. Your brows pinch, a sight he finds frustrating and pretty, as you silently examine him. Emotions curl in your lungs, tearing and hungry and knife-like; stricken with attachment, or perhaps blaming yourself, Viktor figures. 

Exhaustion runs heavy in your expression, reminding him of looking into a mirror. He knows this look. You haven't slept. Haven't given yourself any form of a break, it seems.

So, he takes a chance. 

Your hand brushes some stray, messy strands of hair from his forehead, just as Viktor guides his weak arm to reach for you. You don't tense, don't move. He can hear your breathing, thinks he can still feel his. There isn't an ounce of fear in the way you look at him. You have always looked at him like he holds the world in his hands. And now, perhaps he does. 

His hand finds your cheek, same as yours. Copying, following. Thin, delicate, purple-hued fingers trace the edge of your face clumsily, still learning how to touch. Still afraid the line between hurt and healing might be blurred, and you are the one person left that he can't let get caught in the crossfire. You lean into his palm, trusting, and let go of a breath that makes your shoulders shake with the weight of it. 

Viktor thinks of crying, despite the press and pull in his chest that convinces him he shouldn't be able to. He can feel you. It isn't like the few touches he's experienced so far, or the aching, anomalous strength he's been forced to get used to. It contradicts the very constructs of everything he thought made sense. 

Your skin is so soft, sickly familiar. Viktor holds your face shakily, afraid to move. He can feel your individual atoms. Innumerable sparks just beneath his touch, galaxies upon universes of stars in your name, that beg to be grasped, possessed, cured. He cradles you with all of the devotion of a prophet, with all of the tenderness of a past friend: an almost-destiny, a saved seat at the edge of something more. 

Would clumsily pulling you in, and pressing his lips to yours feel wrong, or tangible — like nothing, or like everything? 

"Vik?" 

Your tone, sweeter than honeysuckle, sweeter than anything he might deserve, brings his vision back into focus. He blinks. Gaze never tearing away from his, your fingertips drop to thread the hard edge of his collarbone. A silent plea, can you feel this? You find each curve of his bones and his body easily, the details already memorized. Viktor senses the ghost of you, your touch gentle, something like home. 

"I'm not sure," Viktor finally answers; and the scientist, Hexgate creator, still-ambitious part of himself is hardly satisfied with that answer. His voice is quiet, distant. As though he isn't there, despite the lingering, familiar tenderness to his tone. 

The fried synapses in his brain can't yet separate a caress from a threat, he just perceives the lingering energy. He believes you could be the one to teach him the difference. 

This time, you let your palm press flat to his chest. There's a hum that attempts to mimic a heartbeat, a lack of coolness or heat. The action presses your form closer to his, guides you to lean part of your weight on him to bring your faces far too close. Sharing in the same reflection. Allowing each breath to be measured, along with every hesitation. 

What should he start with? Should he embrace you, holding you tight and close like you're sacrificial? Should he grab your hand in his, press his palm to your skin to measure your heartbeat? Lace his smallest finger with yours, to make you a promise like he used to? 

He can't promise you peace, nor the life you deserve, but if you came for him now, was it not a swear to follow him anywhere? 

There are still so many things left to feel, and every red thread has always begun and ended with you. 

Can you feel anything? 

Viktor guides a hand over yours, keeps it to his chest selfishly; he meets your gaze, he hums, "Are you eager to find out?" 

[hauntedfictionland]

❝His dear princess❞

☾︎✰❛❀ Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem! Reader!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jacaerys did not want you, or the vow he was bound to for life. Yet when he makes a big mistake, and potentially loses you for good. He realises just how much you meant to him.

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/����𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Bastardphobia, mentions of death and grief, kissing, marrage of convenience and grumpy X sunshine trope, Jace is down bad, flirty!reader, guilt and anxiety and happy ending;)

🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: This is one of my first house of the dragon fics ever, so I truly hope it's not too bad. Jacaerys is one of my favourite characters in hotd after Alicent so I really wanted to get his characteristics and behaviour right. Also, I didn't like the way they showed his grief after Luke died, as if he just moved on after two or three days. But overall, I enjoyed writing this:)

Jacaerys was infuriated with you.

You—his betrothed, acted like you owned the castle as soon as you strutted in. Speaking with no formality and a sharpness in your tongue that only infuriated him further. And especially when you did not seem to care for his heritage, who he was. The heir to the iron throne. Yet you acted as if he didn't exist to you. As if he meant nothing to you.

A marriage pact with the martells was only one of convenience. You, a princess of dorne, he, the firstborn son of queen Rhaenyra. Yet, they were stuck in dragonstone, and needed support to match the strength of the green armies. His mother needed this arrangement more than the martells did, and you made that very clear by acting carelessly and so freely, like you were in your own home. By taunting him, sitting at the great council table with your legs on them, a coin in your fingertips and a smirk in your lips. He hated it, he hated especially how good you looked.

He hated being betrothed to you already.

Rhaenyra had told him martells were rather, open and modern people. They took part in adultery even after being married, especially with the consent of their own partner. He did not know how anyone could be okay with such acts. He did not know what to expect when he met you, but it certainly wasn't how you commented on his face, calling him one of a beauty. It was inappropriate, calling a prince by such bold remarks on the first meeting, yet you did not seem to care.

But what edged him to his limit was the day you called him a bastard.

Jacaerys had been worried, he couldn't find you anywhere. Not that he cared, he was just stressed you would create another ruckus. He looked around everywhere, the garden, the great council, the dining hall, your room, even his room, but you were nowhere to be found. His chest tightened, a restlessness growing in his stomach. It seemed he always felt that way without being with you for too long. Not because he missed you—of course, but because he wanted to ensure everything was going smoothly.

He was going around circles, head spinning with a feeling that made him uncomfortable. Where were you? did you flee the castle? or were so bored of him you went to the city to a brothel in search of another man to keep you company. Anger and jealousy filled in his chest at the mere thought of that.

Jacaerys did not seem where he was going, many thoughts inside his head, before he harshly opened a door to the library. And to his surprise, there you were, a book in your hand. ‘Adventures of Aegon the conqueror’, he could read the name of the book by how you were holding it. He felt he could breathe again. By the loud sound of the door opening your head flitted towards him. Your usual smirk growing up your lips. Something that made his heart flutter in a way he didn't want it to. He clenched his jaw, holding his fists in a tight ball.

“Where have you been?” he asks, desperate tone in his voice.

“Ah, Prince Jacaerys.” you smile, closing the book and turning your attention towards him. He hated how your eye lashes fluttered, your hair falling down in just the perfect way. “I've been gaining some Targaryen knowledge, as you can see. Since we are to be married, I thought I should know my husband's family. Don't you think?”

Husband.

That word rose heat to his cheeks, quickly clearing his throat.

“I'm not your husband.” he spoke, in a tone harsher than he intended, “At least not yet anyway.”

You smile wider, making his heart race. He was always a bit stubborn, and uptight. Yet you were always so carefree and light, always so kind with his demise. He didn't know what to make of it all. A curious look grazed upon your face, eyebrows furrowing. You sat up, walking onwards another shelf of books, lips pursued. Before looking at him.

“I have always wondered, hmm,” you say, your finger coming up to your lips, “do tell me prince Jacaerys, is it true that you were born out of wedlock?”

His eyes widened, “What did you say to me?”

You either did not notice the offend and defensiveness in his tone, or simply pretend not to. Turning to look at him, “I mean, all Targaryen children have white hair. Do they not? Even if they did not, none of your formal parents have black, dark hair like yours.”

His breath hitches, all of the insecurities he had contained in a jar of fireflies fled out the second you brought out his hair. A wall rising inside him. You were acting as if you just did not ask the most dangerous question ever. As if it did not matter to you.

“How dare you insinuate such filthy claims?!” his voice rises, almost shouting. Your eyes flicker surprise for a moment, before turning back to the usual stoic look.

“Ah, you are offended.” you state, as if he shouldn't be, “I meant no harm, my prince. I have no problem with you being a bastard. In fact, it only makes you more interesting. The thing I don't like is your distaste for the truth. One should own up to who they are.”

Bastard.

You, called him a bastard. He isn't able to speak for a moment, too tongue—tied. You....think of him this way too? you? he can't hear as you speak further, a ringing in his head. It only intensifies. Only when you start talking about dorne is when he snaps back from his haze.

“And I have thousands of brothers and sisters back in dorne, no one cares ther—”

“I don't care, what you dornish do back there, but here you don't speak to me with filths of a claim.” he grits, his voice cold, “I am the queen's son. And if I hear you say one word about that again, I will see you hanged.” his words held so much malice in them, one would believe it to be true.

Of course, he could never actually do that, the blacks needed martells armies more than ever. His mother couldn't afford them raging war at her and joining the green's side. And, he could never harm you either. It was just a baseless threat, one he said out of anger and insecurity. He immediately regretted it when he saw the look on your face; hurt. But even worse, fear. Before he could even begin to take them back, it was too late. Your spot, where you stood, was already empty.

You had seen him less and less after that. Of course, you were your usual self. Taunting and teasing him, but something was off. Something distant. He hated it. He hated how much he missed it. Your remarks, your witty replies, your cockiness. He wanted it back. He wanted you back.

Next time he sees you, it's in a completely unexpected place. Dragon—pit. He was about to ride on Vermax to patrol the skies, when he stops. There you were, sat on the hard rock, legs swinging at the edge of it and his dragon's head in your hands. You..you were feeding him. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!” he shouts, eye wide.

You turn your head to him, a smirk on your lips grows. You enjoyed the fact he was on his nerves, furious.

“What does it look like? I'm feeding this cute little angel right here.” you coo, talking to his dragon in a baby voice. Vermax was known for her temper, yet with you it magically dis—appears? a little bit inside him was flustered, heart beating faster than ever that you and his dragon, a very important part of his life, bonded flawlessly. But he shrugs it off, he has to. Flushing over you isn't his duty.

Protecting you is.

As much as he would like to deny it, you're his now. Lawfully so. And he wouldn't let anything happen to you. Especially Vermax. He wouldn't know how to live with himself if his own dragon were to be the cause of, of.. your demise. His throat burns, even the mere thought of harm coming to you feels as if he's being drowned to death. After Luke, he cannot lose anyone. Jacaerys cannot lose you. Even if that was the first thing he tried to do after meeting you. You were the most part of his frustrations yet the only thought when he's in his bed at night.

“Have you lost your mind?” he asks, his voice harsh, as if you were his child and he was scolding you for doing something childish.

“Have you had no fear? you could have died what were you even thinking?!” you falter for a moment, upon seeing the trembling of his hands and the tightness in his voice.

“Jacaerys—”

“No!” he interrupts you, “You, you could have been...do you even realise..”

Your eyes widened as he struggled to even breath, huffing for air anxiously. You quickly get up, walking towards him. He's so much inside his head that he doesn't notice your hands coming up his face, slinging through his dark curly hair. An act that slowed and claimed his beating heart down. Your soft palms make contact with both his cheeks, a peaceful shush in your voice and he finally breathes. Properly. He sighed, eyes closing as his hands came up to hold yours.

This, you, him? this felt oddly peaceful. This felt like home. Vermax watches the whole interaction with a quiet huff, turning away back to the pits. You nudge closer towards him, resting your forehead against his. Love. This felt like love. “Promise me” he starts out, his voice low and timid, “promise you will never do that again.” Instead of putting on a fight like you usually do, you nod, gently caressing his cheek. His head leaned further into your touch, putty in your hands.

“I promise.”

That, gives him great relief. “Good.”

Time seems to slow down, Jacaerys could count every freckle on your nose to cheeks, every small cut in between your knuckles or lips, every curve of smile you put on. And all the scents coming from your body that drove him crazy. You notice his lips still trembling, and above your judgement, you decide to kiss it better. He inhales a sharp breath as your lips touch his, but makes no movement to push you away. It's gentle, barely brushing against his. Jacaerys realised how they fit perfectly amidst his, and how much he was craving it all these months until he finally tasted them.

You slowly pull away, hesitantly. His eyes are still closed. Hands crawling up your waist. He speaks again, a whisper almost.

“I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

He's talking about the library, and you smiled softly, shaking your head.

“It's okay. You can't get rid of me that easily, Jace. Should have known that when you got betrothed to a dornish princess.”

You had already forgiven him. But he didn't want you to. He didn't want to be at your mercy this easily, not when he wasn't able to forgive himself. You, you had crept your way into his heart when he didn't want you to, and now he never wanted to let you go. It was all your fault.

“No I...” he shakes his head, “I never should have said that. Not only because it was so wrong but also because it was completely untrue.” Jacaerys swallows his breath, every bit of him wanted to turn away and never look back, but he couldn't do that. “I have been called names, about my heritage. Ever since I was a child. About my parenting and what not. And it's very...when anyone talks about it, it's like a bandage ripping off a new and fresh wound. No matter how many years pass by, it's still like that for me.”

You nod your head slowly, in understanding. This was raw. He had finally told you one of his darkest parts, his worst fears, and you hadn't run away.

“I understand. I should have never said that. I did not know it was like this for you.” He feels relief in your words.

But there was still something he needed to let out.

“But I...” he didn't know how hard this was for him until he started to actually say it, “I really could never mean it. What I said. Even if you have committed the worst treason or crime, even if you had taken my heart and carved it out, I still wouldn't be able to do one thing that might be even close to harming you. Believe me I have tried. And I have failed.”

He looks away from you, cheeks closing red. Jacaerys had just poured his heart out and gave it to you. But the chances of you, and feeling the same? were very dim. He sees stars when he sees you, what do you see? just him? or even worse? a filth in the name of a true born prince. A gasp leaves his lips as your fingers trace the outlines of his jaw, trailing down to his neck to his chest. You stopped at the red and black three dragons symbol made on the polish cloth he wore.

“Why do you think I agreed to this marriage? not because of this.” you point to the very symbol engraved on his chest, of the house targaryen, “If it was just for this, I certainly would have never.”

He turns his head back to you, confusion in his face. He also feels a bit of guilt in him. At first, he only agreed to this pact because his mother had no choice. Because of your house. Nothing else. And you're saying that his house didn't even matter to you when you agreed to this betrothal? then why? you did not even know what he looked like, and you simply agreed?

“Why then?”

That's the question that's now left in him. Why, if his house and title didn't matter?

“Well,” your lips curl up, a glint in your eyes, as a blush arose your cheeks, “From years I had heard stories of Targaryen princes. How arrogant and unkind they were, your cousins, Aegon and Aemond, well I certainly didn't hear anything good about them. And then you came. The velaryon prince, the son of the realm's delight, born with a kind heart and a fierceness to protect. I knew I had to marry someday, but I only agreed to marry you because I knew—you wouldn't mistreat me. Because I fell in love with the stories of the dark haired prince who had the most beautiful brown eyes ever, who protected his brother when he was a child himself, who stole my heart before he even claimed it.”

Jacaerys doesn't know what to say, his throat falls dry. It doesn't feel real, when he's wanted something so dearly and someone just gives it to him freely; it does not feel real. You do not feel real. But you are. He knows you are when your hands tug at his collar, his face close to you as you pull him towards you and your breath fanning on his cheeks. He knows this is real, and it's better than any dream he's ever had.

“I do not want our marriage to be an unhappy one.”

You say, a plea in your voice.

He smiles, wide. And he doesn't even have to make an effort this time, “For me, the words unhappy and you? well they don't go in the same sentence.”

That seals it for you, he can see that. As you kiss his words, an unspoken understanding and passion in it. Jacaerys realises he could get used to this. Kisses, hugs, reading each other books, waking by the warmth of your body besides his; in fact, there's no one else he'd rather do it by. And nothing he would want more.

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛! 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒.

[nyxxels]

A quick, silly short comic of @deathbyday's daisuke fic because I had a vision LMAO

Read left to right!

[machveil]

Loser!Simon Riley dating you - you’re his first significant other ever. he’s not great about expressing himself, not wanting to come off as too clingy or needy. he wants to be helpful so he ends up following you around - the first time he came over to your place he almost followed you into the bathroom

Loser!Simon Riley that holds anything you give him - he will not let go of it until you comment on it. you hand him a pan in the kitchen? well, you didn’t say if you wanted it on the stove, in a cupboard, the sink… so he’ll just hold it. grip a little too tight, knuckles almost white as he waits for you to give him instructions. when you look back at him and smile his knees go weak, “Oh, sorry— you can put it on the stove, Simon.”

Loser!Simon Riley that gets most of his dating advice from Johnny. Simon taking his advice literally, not interrupting it any other way. Johnny absentmindedly saying that he should help you into the passenger seat - but he walks off before Simon can ask for clarification. Johnny had meant simply opening the door for you, and Simon does that… he also lifts you up and sits you down, buckling you up before closing the door

Loser!Simon Riley’s brain turning to mush when you touch him. he doesn’t initiate touch for a couple weeks because he doesn’t know what to do - hold your hand? rest an arm around your shoulders? put a hand on the small of your back? the first time he does anything it’s barely noticeable. sitting at a restaurant together, your hand resting on the table as you talk. he’s sweating bullets as he silently puts his hand on the table, his pinky finger resting over yours

[imclou]

selling authentic ldr eclipse autograph 100% legit trust me bro just DM me

LDR AU by @spadillelicious go read the fic please please pleasepleaseplease

|| Bonus LDR art ||

|| No text ||

[myladysapphire]

Solace

As the daughter of Alicent Hightower you had been fed stories of your older sister and her children, so when you are bethrothed to Jacaerys you arent too sure as to what to expect, and go into your courtship expecting the worse, only to find out you couldn't have been more wrong.

word count: 5,908

CW: MDI 18+, smut, fluff. p in v, fingering, loss of virginity, oral (f reciving), incest not beta read!

Jacaerys Veleryon x Fem!reader

a/n - no war au

Masterlist

She had been betrothed to Prince Jacearys since they were both children, before most noble children even knew the expectation of one day getting married off and yet since the day of said betrothal, they had not spent a single moment together. Nor had you exchanged a single letter nor a single thought of the other, at least she had not. 

In all honesty she had simply lived as if he and their impending marriage did not exist, so when he returned for his brother's hearing and for their courtship to officially begin, they were at a complete loss of where to begin, they knew of no common interests, and there family’s had been pitted against each other their entire lives.  Seeing as they had never been close in their youth, nor present much time together, seeing as she had kept to herself or Heleana, and Jacearys having spent most of his time with his brother and hers.

She had always preferred solitude, preferred to keep to her books, painting, and her beloved dragon Gaelithox. Gaelithox perhaps the only being she would spend day after day with willingly. 

she had hoped he would be similar. Though from what she could remember, he always seemed to find himself surrounded by others, not once does she remember seeing him alone. Perhaps if she had then she would have gotten to know him. But for her crowds were her worst fear, talking to more than one person or anyone was really. But Jacearys was always the centre of attention, with his good looks and charisma, it seemed he never begged for attention, it just always simply found him. She hoped marrying him would not force her to become the same.

How they expected her to one day be queen confused her. With Jacearys as the future king she would have all these responsibilities and have to do everything she hated. Her mother had made sure to tell her that, to start to show her what would be expected of her.

For all she knew it was a scare tactic from her mother, y/n knew her mother hated them, she would call them bastards and would whisper in her ear more and more rumours about her eldest sister and her eldest son. 

So, when he arrived all she could do was watch him. Scared to start a conversation, and too nervous to make any moves towards him. So she stood from the sidelines as he found himself surrounded by the keeps inhabitants. 

As she watched him at dinner, following lucerys victory of being declared the future lord of the tides, she very much doubted he would like solitude as much as she did. The few moments where he found himself not in conversation, he almost seemed nervous. She feared he would never understand her fear of crowds, or her hate for balls and feasts. Nor understand what her mother referred to as her quirks. He was loud and charismatic, all traits she lacked. He was drawn to crowds and seemed to thrive at the events she hated. But he seemed to suffer in the moments she loved the moments alone, the quiet moments.

She had been forced to sit away from her usual seat and sit nearer to the centre, a place where all eyes were on her. She sat opposite her eldest sister, Rhaenyra, with Jacearys on one side, and Aegon on the other. 

Aegon had been making crude jokes all evening, whispering and taunting her. Though she had become extremely talented at ignoring him, it was starting to bug her, and all she wished was to retire to bed. 

Luckily, he seemed to be the only one interested in her, until Rhaenyra decided to start a conversation with her. She had never really known her eldest sister, having always been stopped by her mother. She remembered when her and Rhaenyra would have bi-weekly garden tea, until her mother found out and banned her from even going near Rhaenrya chambers.

Over the years her mother had told her only the worst about Rhaenyra, and forced her own hatred or mayhap envy of her onto y/n. And yet she only ever seemed to be kind to her when they did interact. 

“Sister?” y/n heard her call out.

“Yes princess?” she responded, stuttering from being addressed. 

“Are you quite alright, you look quite pale?” her face was concerned, as did Jaceaerys when he turned from his seat to face ger at his mother’s words.

“i-“ you looked down starting to pull at the skin on your fingers, “i do not find i fit in well in such gatherings, it's just stress” she spoke, voice shaking as y/n looked down and bringing her fingers to her mouth biting the skin around them.

“Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers?” She heard Jacearys ask in concern. 

At this her mother’s attention was captured, as she snapped her head around, ending her conversation with her grandsire, in doing so capturing the whole tables attention “what’s wrong dearests?”

“i- i would like to retire mother?” y/n almost begged, desperate for the offered reprieve.

“of course Aem-“her mother began, before being interrupted, clearly offering Aemond to escort her to her chambers. 

“I shall escort her,” Jacearys interrupted, standing from his seat and offering his hand that

she took it nervously.  These were the most words either had spoken for each other, at least that she could remember. 

Walking down the halls of the keep, she found herself in a comfortable silence.  Though Jacearys seemed to find it rather uncomfortable as he began to ramble on about gods knows what.

“so i told Luke -“

She hummed, responding to a question she probably heard minutes ago, she hated to admit it but she was seriously struggling to follow whatever he was talking about. The topic of which changed near every second. 

He stopped walking suddenly, causing her to be pulled back as their arms were still interlinked. He seemed to finally realise he was talking nonsense and had lost her completely “I’m sorry, I’ve been rambling on and you can’t even follow a word of what i was saying i-“ 

“oh no i- i, well yes, but I believe you are just nervous… as am il” y/n spoke softly. 

He nodded, “your right, i- i have been trying to think of anything i know about you, any shared memories and yet i can not find a single thing” he shook his head, seemingly ashamed.

“oh well… we never really talked until today, i always much preferred my own company to that of others”

“oh i- really?” he sounded confused as if spending time by himself was beyond him.

“i always found i was always more myself when with others, in fact i find myself nervous when I am alone '' he spoke, slowly making sure not to ramble on once more.

“I suppose I have never found such solace with another person as to feel myself with another person” you looked down, she too seemed so polar to one another and feared her solitude would always be interrupted once she married him. 

“I understand that, Luke is the same way” he looked at her then, “i hope that i can be the person you find solace in, one day..” he took her hands, stoking them softly, it was always a hard thing for her, touch. Always avoiding it, and only taking hugs to shaking someone’s hand when she knew social construct dictated she should. And yet with him it was fine it seemed nice almost, something she could get used to, even find solace in.

“I would like that”  she nodded, and he gave her a sweet smile, relief almost washing over his face. He took her arm once more and led her back to her chambers, this time instead of rambling, he simply asked her questions about herself, and for once she happily answered them.

The next day she was awoken to the sound of rapped knocks on her door. Though she normally slept in, it was still rather early for such a thing. Opening the door she saw Jacaerys standing with a bouquet of flowers, more specifically peonies, a flower that you would often find embroidered on several of her dresses. 

“Prince-“

”Jace” he interrupted “ please call me Jace, we are to be a married soon it is only right” 

“Jace” she said slowly, getting used to the informality she lacked with even her own family , “what are you doing here so early?” 

“Early?” he laughed, as if if the idea that nine in the morning could ever be considered early,  “i suppose it could be”

”Why are you here?” She asked, almost irritated.

“Sorry,” he spoke, reaching his arm out to present her with the peonies'' i simply came to ask if we may break our fast, with the hope you had yet to eat and yet it seems i woke you,” he shook his head “i apologise, i am used to waking up early for training. I should have thought you may have preferred to sleep in” he looked down nervously.

Sniffing the flowers, she moved into her room, leaving the door agar as an invitation for Jace to come in. ”I would like that” she nodded, “Though this is still rather early for me, so i shall need to call my maids to help me dress and prepare our breakfast”

”early?” He again asked, “what time do you normally wake?”

”Mostly before noon, but not before 10,” you looked up with a small smile, “i find i can sleep the days away if allowed, it is one of the few things i can never seem to get enough off”

He laughed, the nerves leaving him slightly. “I find i am always awake by eight, at the latest, sadly i do not possess the same skill to sleep in, a skill i am much jealous of.” He smiled, “ i shall have the guards fetch your maids and order breakfast, and perhaps tomorrow we may share lunch instead” 

“I would like that,” she nodded.

Their fast was spent with the exchange of shy smiles and timid questions asked, as time went on  they grew more comfortable and found their rhythm, and she found the tiredness she felt from talking to others never came. 

The next moon was perfect, each day she would wake, dress, then Jace would meet her and she broke her fast and he took his second meal. Then they would walk the gardens. After a few days, she confessed how typically she would ride Gaelithox the second she awoke, and soon they found they were going for dragon rides every morning. Vermax and Gaelithox enjoying each other's company. Every second was filled with chatter, and those few that were not, neither felt any awkwardness, just contentment, solace.

They seemed to spend almost every second of every day with each other and yet she not once found it tiring, or wished for a reprieve, she simply wished for more.

There were even days where she wished for no talking and Jace was more than happy to spend the whole day in silence, simply enjoying each other's company, as they went about their own tasks.

She felt as if she was learning everything there was to know about him, through his stories she felt as if she knew his brothers, his family, like she had grown up with them , and not just watching them. She learnt his quirks and he learnt hers. And every day they seemed to learn something new. 

But today was the first day she would spend without him since his arrival, with her father , the king, asking for Jace to accompany the small council meetings from now on. 

So she had planned to spend the day alone, resuming her old daily routine even on the days where Jace was not in her company. 

That was until her mother decided to skip the small council meeting and spend the day with her.

”Do not ever trust them, dearest” her mother tutted, brushing through her hair. “They only wish for you and he to grow close so when the time comes you are on their side-“

She had tried to tune her out, but the instant comments answered messing with her head. She felt as if she was falling in love with Jace and yet they way her mother spoke of him, it was as if he was worse than Aegon, a fact she knew was not true.

“mother!” she finally  snapped , shaking her head she pulled away from her mother, “i do not care! Jace shall be my husband and as you have reminded me since the day I first bleed, that my duty is to my husband and his family before my own.” she then whispered to herself “a fact you do not follow yourself” continuing she said “ so why now when it is the son of the woman you despise, am I to do the opposite?” It was so out of character for her and yet years and years of hearing the words bastard and betrayal and whispers of war, she was finished. 

She fully pulled away from her mother and stood up, straightening her dress, “this past moon i have felt more seen and known by Jace than anyone my whole life. My whole life I have detested company, and chatter, and have at any and all attempts avoided events. and now i find the one person i do not detest, and would falsely attend any event he wishes me to, someone i enjoy spending time with, my future husband! You wish to ruin it for me! Do you not want me to be happy?” She nearly yelled, her face turning from the sweet, shy and docile face it had always been had turned angry “you clearly do not wish for Heleana to have happiness, as clear with her marriage to Aegon at three and ten!” She was steaming, years of biting her younger so as to not gain attention, or do more talking that’s necessary, bitterness flowed through her.

”dearest i-“ her mother started, moving towards and reaching for her to pull her in a hug, only to be met by an instant rejection.

”I simply wish for whatever war you are making up in your head to end, so you can finally allow me the happiness I deserve!” And with that she walked about, only to be met with Jace and Rhaenyra's face as she walked out. 

Jace chased after her, leaving his mother left to deal with Alicent.

”y/n” he called out, “y/n stop!”

“No, I can't,” she said as she continued down the halls, though she did slow down, allowing Jace a chance to catch up with her. “if i stop walking I’ll march right back in there and apologies!” she proclaimed.

“I'm sure you won't, you did the right thing '' Jace spoke, still trying to catch up with her.

“i have bite my tongue my whole life, never expressing my thoughts or opinions, and today i did!” she spoke, as she realised she was walking towards Jace’s chambers. She didn’t even think of where she was going, having stormed out of her own rooms, it seemed that in this past month his room had become a comfort to her.

Finally catching up in time to open the door to his rooms. “y/n you don’t have to explain, you didn’t do anything, you just spoke up for yourself and…for me” y/n swear she saw him blush.

“i know it was hard for you, that talking and expressing yourself is something your struggle with…but you stood up for yourself it’s nothing you have to feel bad about it’s something you should be proud of” he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips “and in all honestly  i was rather impressed”

“you where?” she blushed, stepping one closer. 

he nodded, “ you know me and my mother were coming to your chambers to discuss the wedding” he said wrapping his arm around her waist. a movement and touch she had now grown to love. “ We are to be married in a fortnight” his face moved closer to her.

“We are?” she questioned, her breathing getting heavier. 

he nodded, there faces so close they were sharing their breaths “yes, soon you will be my wife, and i your husband and your mothers silly little rants will have no sway any longer” 

she gasped, he leant forward and finally kissed her, it was soft and sweet, leaving them both a blushing mess. 

The next two weeks moved slowly, filled with wedding planning. 

Her relationship with her mother was strained, finding most of the planning to be with her eldest sister Rhaenrya and even Heleana more so than her own mother. And the few times she was there she simply sent a glare in their direction and took at every laugh and smile.

She found that she rather enjoyed her sister's company, the two having a few similar interests. Rhaenyra seemed kind and cared for her children a great deal and as a result she did with her too. 

She knew her mother cared, but watching her mother interact with Rhaenyra highlighted that most of her mothers objections were actually ones of jealousy. She was Jealous of Rhaenyra and more so of Daemon, as he received more glares the more he and Rhaenrya showed affection to one another. So much jealousy that she swear she saw some longing in her gaze whenever she stared at Rhaenrya.

The day before her wedding she finally found herself alone with her mother though from the way her mother barged into her room she knew the conversation the pair were about to have would not be a pleasant one.

“sit down dearest” she spoke as she herself got comfortable.  Doing as her mother bid, she sat beside her. Her mother quickly took her hand in hers, tight enough that even if she were to recoil it would not break her free. 

“When I had this. Conversation with your sister, she already knew some of what was to come, with her Marrying Aegon, and will he loved to taunt her with the gory details for moons before their wedding” Alicent took a deep breath. “On the morrow you will be wed, and with that shall come some expectations” 

she nodded, not quite sure what her mother meant. “not only will you be taking on some of my duties but there is also the expectation of an heir…” she looked at her then, expecting her to interrupt in some way. She stayed quiet, she knew she would have to have children but how the act itself was done was peculiar to her.

Her mother shifted uncomfortably, “once you are wed the marriage must be consummated” she awkwardly grabbed at her hands, “it will be uncomfortable but some pleasure can be found in the act” she sent her mother peculiar look, causing her mother to cough uncomfortably and once again move to explain “your husband will…insert himself in you, and spill his seed, allowing a babe to be made, though it can take some time so i shall prey you are lucky and conceive soon…”

she looked down quietly “mother “she spoke slowly, “Aegon is my brother, though he and i aren’t close i have…walked in on him numerous times, time enough to know what sex is” 

Her mother was shocked, looking down and shaking her head, “your brother has no shame-“

“mother, i also have a septa who taught me” she laughed, Heleana only did not know because she was young mother, i am aware, in fact me and-“ she cut herself off not wanting her mother to become more shocked at hearing how her and Jace have already talked of the wedding night.

They were both inexperienced, though Jace had been taken to brothels by Daemon he had never actually done anything, wanting to save himself for his wife. A fact she was most happy about. 

She loved Jace, she realised. He was everything she did not expect, though he was chatty and loud, he was also kind and sweet, a perfect gentleman. She and him had more in common than not, they both loved to read though Jace found little time to do so, so was more than happy to listen to her ramble on and on about the last book she read. She had shown him how to paint and draw, a skill he, though terrible at, found rather enjoyable, especially when he got the flicking paint at her. She herself had even found she loved a few of his hobbies or well if you can call sword fighting a hobby. 

she remembered the morning, it was still early in their courtship, the first week in.  She and Jace had yet to sleep and yet they could see dawn breaking through the windows in his room. They had spent the whole day and night talking, getting to know each other. “it’s dawn already?” Jace sighed as he moved from his spot on the sofa. she sighed from the movement, missing his warmth. 

“it’s seems so” she hummed 

“it’ll be time for training soon.” he spoke, not necessarily to her. 

“Do you train alone?” 

“Here I do, On Dragonstone Daemon is typically dragging me and Luke out of bed the second the sun begins to rise but here he has no desire to train” he looked at her, “why don’t you join me?” he asked.

“i have never even touched a sword” she exclaimed, as if the idea was a mad one.

He grinned “exactly, it’ll be most entertaining!”

she laughed, “fine, but you must promise to show me your high Valyrian!” y/n declared, he had been complaining how bad his Valyrian was but refused to show her, despite her being fluent and offering to teach him.

He sighed, then a big grin filled his face “very well, let us teach one another, i teach you in swordsmanship and you teach me high Valyrian” 

she laughed “very well! though i make no promises to these swordplay lessons!”

They met again in the training yard, both in training clothes. She had borrowed hers from Jace and she was sure he was trying to sabotage her. His clothes hung from her in an almost comical way, he himself had laughed as she nearly tripped netting the training yard.

“you look beautiful” he said though his eyes were full of mirth as he took in the way his clothes hung from her.

“Perhaps you could have given me some of Luke's clothes instead” she sighed, a frown forming her face as she hung her arm up to show just how big his sleeves were compared to her arms.

“Next time we shall!” he declared, stopping his laughter to then pass her a wooden sword “for now it’s fine.” 

The sword was heavier than she was expecting, as shown by how she nearly dropped it.

“do you do any exercise?” he asked, seeing her near miss with the sword.

she scoffed “no, do i look like someone who does?” she asked bewildered.

he laughed “no i suppose not, and knowing you it doesn't surprise me that you do not” he took the sword off her “perhaps we should start with some exercise”

“what?” she asked, she hated doing anything that could be remotely referred to as exercise. 

“Don’t worry, just some light exercise, to build stamina”  he looked at her then, something passing through his eyes. something she had yet to see. 

He had made her run ten laps, stretch in more easily than she knew possible, And then finally let her hold the sword. “You know I was hoping you wouldn’t take this so seriously” she sighed, hitting the dummy repeatedly. Jace corrects her technique with each hit. “really?”

“Of course not, when you said it I had hoped we would just be jesting around” she sighed dramatically, before moving to place the sword down on the rack. “I think that this ‘lesson’ is over.” she started to walk away only for Jace to grab her arm.

“Wait!” he said, pulling her back to him gently. “Are you really not enjoying yourself?” he asked with a sad smile on his face. 

y/n sighed, before a small smile graced her face “no, but perhaps hearing you speak some high Valyrian may make it more joyous.” she spoke, though she was enjoying herself a little, though it would definitely not be a hobby she would be taking up, though watching him practice his swordsmanship, that is a hobby she will be taking up.

“I- really?” he asked, his face unsure, “nyk-e don’t ȳdragon ziree sȳr”

She laughed, his accent and pronunciation were all over the place, perhaps she was better at swordsmanship after one lesson that he was at high Valyrian after years of lessons, “it’s gaoman daor ȳdragon ziry sȳrī”

I do not speak it well

“See what I mean!” he exclaimed, as she continued to laugh.

“oh Jace, gaomagon daor worry nyke sure kesā jiōragon sȳrkta isse daor jēda” she taunted. 

do not worry I’m sure you will get better in no time

“I have no idea what you just said '' he sighed, shaking his head, “but at least i can hold a sword properly” he taunted back to her.

“Hey! It's my first lesson, have you been learning high Valyrian for how long?” she questioned, a gleam in her eyes.

“hāre jēdri” he replied, a smile as he realised he had pronounced it correctly

Three years

She hummed, beginning to circle him, “hāre jēdri? funny seeing hae heleanas riñar ȳdragon sȳrkta eglie valyrain than ao se issi balrey hāre pōntāla”

three years? Funny seeing as Heleanas children speak better high Valyrian than you and they are balrey three themselves

“I- well, stop taunting me!” he protested.

“Only if we can stop this, will I have reached my yearly exercise limit.. For the year!” she joked, dramatically falling, conveniently into his arms. 

“Fine, fine!” he said, “but you can not mention to anyone about my high Valyrian.” he brought her back to her feet.

“Oh please who would i tell? se lo nyke gōntan, skorkydoso would ao sesīr gīmigon?” she laughed, starting to walk away, only to have Jace chase her back all the way back to her chambers.

and if i did, how would you even know?

It was safe to say she never participated in his training again, but on the odd days she was awake when he went, she found she did in fact enjoy watching him.

It took a few attempts before they found a hobby they both loved equally. Painting. She had been painting for as long as she can remember, Jace however had taken it up about two weeks ago, but seemed to love it as much as she.

“Let's paint each other!” Jace declared, as he saw the paints y/n left out. 

She hesitated, “have you ever painted before?”

“No, but how hard could it be?” She laughed at that, but said nothing.

They sat opposite each other, their art facing only themselves. They gave themselves an hour before they would show each other what they had painted. 

Jace went first. He seemed so proud of himself. To give him credit it was fairly good, though it looked nothing like her. 

“It's good!” she exclaimed, “i like it” she reached forward to grab it “i shall have it framed” she hummed. Jace smiled widely at that.

“Show me yours!” he asked, or more declared as he turned the canvas around himself. 

His face was shocked, mouth wide, “i- wow” he was at a loss of words. “This is incredible!” he exclaimed, his face one of awe, “and you said mine was good!, you were lying!”

She laughed, “no-no it is, i promise” i grabbed his art then, comparing the two, before throwing his on the floor, “oh please, mine is rubbish, yours is wow! I think it shall become my official portrait!” he exclaimed standing up and walking to the doors with it. 

“woah ! where are you going?” she asked standing up to follow him.

“Too show everyone” he stated as if it was the obvious answer.

He showed it to everyone he saw, a blushing y/n on his tail.

“Mother.” she spoke, back once more in the present, “i trust him, more than anyone and anything” at that her mother relaxed, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, she saw a real smile gracing her mothers face.

The day of the wedding came, she had expected nerves and jitters, and yet all she felt was contentment. She knew she was lucky, most brides barely knew their husband before they wed them, and she knew Jace and he knew her. She knew his quirks, his hobbies, and he knew hers. They were polar opposites, and yet they fit so perfectly together. She was excited for this day, and as was he.

The dress she wore was her mothers dress. A white dress with sleeves coming down to her elbow before dropping down to the length of her dress showing a deep red. On her shoulder sat two dragons, dragons she had changed to represent Vermax and Gaelithox. The dragons were joined together and connected in an intricate pattern on her bodice. She wore no jewellery, only a small head piece, woven into the braids on her hair.

“You look beautiful” her mother declared. “Are you ready?”

y/n nodded, taking one final look at herself in the mirror, one last time before leaving her room.

The wedding was a blur, it went by so fast and before she knew it, Jace and her were declaring their love and sealing it with a kiss. They exchanged giddy smiles as they left the 

sept, their hands never wavering from their grip. The night celebrations went by quickly. The only time they never once left each others sides. It was the first event y/n ever truly enjoyed, they had danced four times that night, feasted to their heart's content, and enjoyed the first few hours of being newlyweds. 

Then it was time for the bedding. She had never been more grateful than when Jace shouted at the men attempting to drag her away, and he himself picking her up and taking her to their now shared chambers. 

“I am sorry for that.” he spoke, taking her hand in his, “I had made it clear we would not have a bedding, but -”

“Aegon had other plans' ' she interrupted, “do not worry, it's just who he is' ' she laughed.

For the first time in weeks the silence between them was awkward. Both knowing what was to come, but not how to start.

After a few moments Jace finally moved forward, he reached for her slowly, one had wrapping around her waist, the other reaching up to caress her face. They both looked at each other shyly, before Jace moved in closer, his lips capturing hers. It was soft and slow.

His lips still joined with hers they moved further into the room, his hand moving from her waist to her back, reaching and slowly unlacing the binds of her bodice.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked, breaking away from her lips.

She nodded, “yes.”  As she slowly reached to pull of her dress, leaving her in just her chemise.

Jace groaned his pants tightening, he reached forward once again capturing her lips in his.

 They slowly moved towards the bed, her hands reaching towards his clothes, slowly taking them off and leaving him in his small clothes.

There lips breaking apart, they both took each other in, before finally lying on the bed. Jace continued to kiss her slowly moving from her lips to her neck, his hands reaching down to her should and moving the straps of her chemise down, revealing her breasts.

“gods” he groaned, “you’re so beautiful” he said as he moved down to kiss her breasts. Slowly moving down her body, removing her chemise as he did, leaving her bare beneath him.

He was level with her heat, he had heard of kissing there and the thought of tasting her in such a way made a groan escape him. “Can I?” he begged, unsure of what he meant y/n nodded.

Jace dived in, giving a cautious lick through her folds, he groaned at the taste and quickly went back licking and tasting like a starved man. She herself was moaning in pleasure, her hands clutching the back of his neck, tightening when he finally found her bud.

Releasing the reaction form touching the small bud of nerves, he made sure to focus his efforts on it, sucking it into his mouth, and bringing his fingers up to her entrance, beginning to circle her juices and slowly tease his way into her.

Tensing at the feeling of the intrusion, she gripped further onto him, and started to move away. With his spare hand he gripped onto her and pulled her back to him. His finger now pully in he instead started to focus his intentions of pumping them in and out of her. Causing her to start moaning once again in pleasure, even more so when his second and third finger entered her. Soon she was reaching her peak.

He slowly backed away from her, pulling down his small clothes to revel his hard, thick long length.

“gods” they both groaned at the sight of the others naked body. He slowly crawled back onto the bed, his body covering hers. He once again took her lips with his, in a passionate and heated kiss, his legs slowly parted hers as he positioned himself at her entrance.

“Are you sure?” he once again asked, caressing her face.

She nodded, covering the hand on her face with her own and reaching forward to kiss him again, “yes” she consented.

He nodded, kissing her once more as he slowly entered her.

She groaned at the stretch, feeling at slight sting as he slowly entered her. Her face contorted in quick discomfort, but quickly faded as he settled himself fully inside her, allowing her time to adjust.

“gods, you feel amazing” he groaned, moving his head to her neck. “can I move?” he groaned, near begged.

“yes” she said, and he wasted no time, slowly pumping in and out of her. Slowly the discomfort faded and all she could find was pure pleasure.

Moving in and out of her, Jace was moaning, kissing her neck with each thrust, he had never felt such pleasure as he did in this moment.

Slowly picking up the pace, he soon found that sweet spot inside her, that turned her into a moaning mess. Wrapping her arms around his neck she was soon grinding her hips against his, chasing her peak, and he was soon reaching one of his own, spilling his seed inside of her.

Slowly pulling from her, her moved to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her towards him, he kissed her slowly and whispered, “I love you”. In that moment she felt what could only be described as solace.

That night, they did not sleep a wink, nor would they in the moons that followed. Their marriage was a harmonious one, one of love and joy. And when the king finally passed, and Rhaenrya was queen, there was no division of factions of house Targaryen, she liked to think that their marriage has helped branch the units, and make them once more a family.

Even more so when nine moons after their wedding she birthed their first child.

Taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog @apollonshootafar @zillahvathek @flrboyd @targaryenmoony @theanxietyqueen17 @leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99

to be added to taglist

[neigepomme]

big fan of the trope where caleb cries because he's frustrated. i like to imagine it's some time after his body neutralizes the toring chip, and he's still getting used to fully feeling his emotions — but you do something reckless during your hunter job that lands you in the hospital.

caleb's notified of it. he sees you lying in that dreadful hospital bed, your eyes closed, and looking so much more vulnerable. afraid to hold your hand, to touch you, out of fear of breaking you — and he feels so powerless. no amount of control and strength he holds as the fleet's colonel can change the fact that you're on a hospital bed, with only the faint beep of your heart monitor serving as a reminder that you're still alive.

when you wake up and see him at your bedside, you squeeze his hand and flash him a weak smile.

"just a scratch, you know," comes out as a whisper, your voice still hoarse.

and caleb knows you.

he knows that you're just trying to comfort him, to let him know you're okay. he's fully aware of your personality, how you try to put on a brave face most of the time with him, and how you try not to ask for help anymore. 

somehow, that little comment, meant as reassurance, just makes the frustration bubble in his chest. a star about to explode, to turn into a purple sunset supernova.

he wants to yell at you for being careless with yourself. he wants to hold onto your shoulders and shake you. he wants to question you — "do you even know what could've happened? you could've died," he would say.

however, seeing you so frail in front of him makes him incapable of doing that. and you end up staring at something you didn't think was possible.

caleb's shoulders sag.

a sigh of relief, quickly followed by hiccuped breathing.

a wet drop on your hand.

a sob.

caleb, the man who always put on a brave face in front of you, the man who you never saw crying, was sobbing in front of your very eyes. years of boxed feelings, compartmentalized emotions, facades put on bravely, all came shattering down at once. 

then in between sobs, you hear caleb speak, his eyes still glossy, his freckled cheeks dusted pink and streaked with tears.

“i thought i'd lose you today.”

and in the quiet of the hospital room, you see in front of you the same boy who'd been experimented on, who suffered more than most — and yet he cries, not for himself but for you.

it'll all be okay eventually. for now, though? you simply hold his hand and brush your thumb over it softly, all while whispering apologies and promises of never scaring him like this again.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

The Dragon’s Spoil (Aemond Targaryen x Rivers! Reader)

Part 1   |   Part 2  |   Part 3   |   Part 4

Summary: The baseborn daughter with little knowledge of who your Lord father was, your life is caught in the midst of war. The Riverlands are the base for the Greens and the Blacks, dragons loom in the skies, and men die daily, especially within the walls of the cursed Harrenhal. It’s only when a certain one-eyed dragon comes for his retribution. The year is 130 AC and war endures.

A/N: You’re Alys Rivers but with less sorcery and more so just judgement over being a bastard. You’re around the same age as Aemond, maybe two-three years older than him at the time of the Dance.

Wordcount: 2,400

The Dragon’s Revenge

It is known by Commons and Nobles alike that the Targaryens have always ruled the skies.

They had for the last century: when the Old King had his decades of peace, continuing to his grandson, Viserys I. Dragons continued to fly over towns and for that century, the common people stared in both admiration and terror.

Peace did not continue for long, not after the death of the King and its disputes finally sprung forth. Rhaenyra, the King’s eldest daughter and Aegon, the second born but eldest living son from his second marriage had begun their war for the throne, and the people suffered for it. 

It didn’t matter what the poor folk thought, not when their opinions were silenced over the sounds of constant clashing steel and the rumbling of dragons roaring above. Wherever war went, the people died for it, and on and on did the cycle continue.

The Riverlands had seen the most of the war, for a dragon appeared from the skies in early 129 AC. The blood wrym circled and landed on the Kingspyre Tower with a screech that shook the castle grounds. 

The castellan, Ser Simon Strong, yielded it without the need of spilling blood to Prince Daemon Targaryen and he used it as a nearby base to carry his side’s attacks.

For the next few months, dragons and armies came and went through Harrenhal, your home for as long as you could remember. You had been fostered by the old man and uncle of Lyonel Strong, Ser Simon after the death of your mother, an unknown woman no one knew of. Not much was known about your father too: noble or baseborn too, there was one thing for certain, your looks were undeniably Strong.

The first men's blood was strong in your veins: from the curls that reached the small of your waist, black as a raven’s wing, to your eyes, brown as chestnuts. Squires and maids whispered within the walls of Harrenhal, murmuring of your potential parentage. One of the many kin of House Strong, many whispered it had been Harwin “Breakbones”, the man who fathered Princess Rhaenyra’s children with her first husband, Laenor Velaryon. 

Others whispered it had been the castellan himself, Ser Simon, who took pity on his natural daughter, taking her in as a handmaiden. Some even mocked it had been Larys, Harwin’s brother and the Master of Whispers for Aegon’s small council, but those also mocked that spoke that it would’ve been impossible for him to even father children.

Harrenhal was a ruined castle: those who resided in its walls spoke of ghosts, deathly and dreadful, cursing those who was the owner. It was no surprise to you when you had heard of the rumours: of Lyonel and Harwin’s deaths and those that came before.

“Have you heard?” You had been kneeling by the fireplace when your closest friend, Perra came running through into the main apartment, a letter screwed in her hand.

“If you’ve come to tell me this bloody war is not over, I’m not interested.” You chided, wiping away the ash from your calloused hands against your apron. 

Perra was from House Grey, a knightly house sworn to House Tully. Brown-haired and long-faced and a girl of ten-and-seven, she was as skinny as a stick and small as one too. Her uncle, Ser Garibald had sworn to the Blacks from the beginning of the conflict and it was without a doubt that Perra agreed.

She grinned toothily, shoving the letter in your face, assuming you were literate. “You will be most pleased to read what just arrived.” As you unravelled the scroll, your eyes darting over the words you were reading. “My uncle brings news. The Queen has taken over King’s Landing. Aegon has not been seen nor his children. The Queen Helaena and Dowager Alicent have been captured.” 

“The Greens will not be most pleased to have their Queen returning to claim her father’s throne.” You rejected the letter quickly, handing it back over to Perra.

“This is good news, Y/N. The war will soon be over. Stark bannermen march down, so too will the Arryns.”

It didn’t seem possible that the wounded usurper king was missing but not much was known of his remaining brothers. Daeron remained at large a threat with his dragon, Tessarion, but what about the one-eyed brother, Aemond?

“You forget one thing, Perra. The King may be missing, but he has two other brothers, Aemond and Daeron. And they have dragons too. What would we do with them? Or where could they be?” 

“They fight elsewhere.” Perra was too naïve to know such a thing, the excitement and positivity were good to hear of, but you doubted the Greens would leave the capital open so easily. “Vhagar has not been seen with her rider for days.”

Certainly, they will be looking for revenge. You dreaded. 

Your conversation was broken when the low, dreadful sound came as a response of caution.

A long, blow of a horn was sounded in the courtyard, and the rush of footsteps and shouts erupted as vast as the sound of battle. Steel and shields could be heard being collected and as Perra rushed to the window to look out, she shouted. “A dragon comes! The Rogue Prince without a doubt.”

How you wish it had been.

The shadow of this dragon was much too large to belong to the blood wrym, looming over the entirety of Harrenhal like dusk. It appeared as if it was an apparition, and fears of what happened a century ago from the first Aegon could happen again.

It had not been Daemon that had arrived, but rather a one-eyed Prince who landed in the courtyard.

The ground shook when the old beast landed, mighty and worn from a thousand battles. The she-dragon growled, hissed and spat as she stared down at those who had gathered arms in protecting the base.

From her saddle, Aemond climbed down, appearing in gleaming armour of black and gold, adorning a helm of similar colours and a long dark plume. He was not mistaken for another Targaryen, for when the banners of a gold dragon on green cloth began to be marched through, you realised the war had not been over just yet.

You and Perra ran as fast as you could, gathering behind the stalls, and observing the entire ordeal go down. 

From this close, you saw the Prince, and despite missing an eye, you couldn’t help but marvel at how otherworldly and comely he was from afar. Targaryen women were blessed with the rare beauty of Old Valyria, and so too were the men.

Aemond stood mighty in front of his dragon, and beside him, the new Hand, Ser Criston Cole, aged and haggard and not so knightly as the stories spoke of him. War and hatred had aged him horribly, and he stood with a sour face, adorning the golden armour of the Kingsguard and pin of the Hand.

“Which Strong rules this castle?” Aemond spoke aloud to the crowd that had gathered and when no one spoke or came quick enough, Vhagar hissed impatiently.

It didn’t take long for a voice to be heard, emerging the old man who presumably shared your blood. “Aye, I am.”

Aemond responded coolly towards him, “Ser Simon, I assume? Can you recall to me, Ser, which Master of Whispers sits at my brother’s council?”

“My grand-nephew, Larys, my Prince.”

“And you agree that you share the familiar ties to Strong blood?”

“Aye, my Prince.”

His seeing eye was wide with rage, mouth twisted when he spoke in unwavering patience. “Then pray tell, why have you yielded the castle to my uncle, and kept it as a base for the forces of his whore of a wife and pretender Queen?”

Ser Simon did not yield under the heavy gaze of the Prince, nor with the hot breath of the dragon eyeing him down. He had no hesitation when he stared death in the face, and he must’ve known that he would die this day. 

Perhaps in the jaws of a dragon. You thought.

Simon spoke calmly. “Prince Daemon took the castle without spilling blood. I am, without a doubt, loyal to my Queen.”

Aemond tutted, his purple eye glaring in rage, though he remained calm. “You waited daily for a dragon to return and now, one does. Do you yield your castle to King Aegon, Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm?”

“Your brother – that cunt of a man – you wish for me to yield my castle to him?”

Aemond was to speak before Criston Cole stalked towards him, ready to unsheathe his sword. “Not yet, Cole.”

The Hand did not answer as he slowly stepped away from Simon, glaring silently. “Yes, my Prince.”

“I will not ask again, Ser. Answer truthfully and you will be spared alongside your kin. My dragon will not burn your walls the same way it did at the hands of my ancestor a century ago. Do. You. Yield?”

“I would never accept the words from a kinslayer.”

Kinslayer. The word was wrought with dread from the simple term, and it seemed to both spook and bring Aemond’s temper to rise. Or neither. Murdering his nephew with his dragon, chasing them along the clouds only for them to meet a death falling into the sea.

Aemond nodded to the honest words, and it took you everything not to grab Perra and flee through the castle gates. You knew that the Green’s forces stood just outside to chase any Black loyalists down. 

Or even have Vhagar have a meal if she’s hungry. You shivered. Instead, you stood still, frozen in terror of what would happen if you were spotted.

The next words to come from Aemond’s mouth were wrought with venom.

“Cole. Bring me my sword.” 

Men of Aemond’s forces grabbed for Simon, kicking and knocking him to his knees, holding him by the back of his burly arms. The Hand did not say a word, silently moving like a shadow before bringing forth what the Prince had wanted. There were cries in the crowd, presumably from those who were close kin to Simon. 

A sword flashed bright silver when it was unsheathed from the Prince, as he stalked his way towards the knelt man. 

“Speak now or forever hold your silence, old man,” Aemond asked, his mouth thin and twisted, holding the blade in between both hands. “Do you have any final words?” 

“Gods be good to you and your ilk, kinslayer,” Simon spoke with as much pride as his “The Black Queen will come for your head and every Green who chases for her throne.”

Aemond did not flinch when he gave the man a worthy death, swinging the sword with might that it took his head clean off, thudding softly into the soft mud. Shouts and protests were heard in response, but they were deafened by the sound of Vhagar roaring.

You watched as the resigned Aemond brushed off some blood and its matter from the blade with a harsh flick. You could tell in his eye that it was something he shouldn’t have done, but what he had to do next was the next honourable thing:

His voice was laced with heaviness as he announced to his men, “Bring every boy, squire and baseborn of Strong blood to meet my steel.”

You grabbed Perra by the hand, fleeing back the way you came through, down the vanquished halls that had melted away like a thousand candles. Screams from others were heard around you as you hid, but to no use, the castle was surrounded by not only men but an ancient dragon that could burn it all down.

It felt as if no time had passed at all, before Perra was grabbed and thrown into the arms, screaming for you as she was led out the castle. “Perra!” You, however, found yourself running after her, colliding into the back of a heavily-armed bannerman, decorated in the green sigil of a dragon. 

“No! Unhand me!” You screamed and hissed as you were dragged the opposite way from your friend, away from the sight of freedom and back towards the courtyard.

Aemond was facing his dragon when you came back to meet him up close, and you realise even despite the way he scowled as he looked you up and down, that he was still comely. You were thrown to your knees, your hands bracing your stumble as they were coated in the mud and blood that decorated the yard.

Aemond eyed you scrutinisingly as if assessing what was wrong with you and what he had to do to be rid of you. After all, you did have Strong blood in you, but he didn’t know that.

“Who are you, girl?” He drawled, but his tone was laced with taunting you.

You dared not to meet his dismal stare, instead, watching the blood-soaked and muddied ground or his muddied boots. “Y/N. Y/N Rivers.” You spoke earnestly.

“A bastard,” Criston Cole hissed, momentarily holding his sword’s hilt to draw it, “would you wish for me to bring forth her head, my Prince? Or she could be fed to Vhagar.”

“No,” Aemond dismissed quickly, too quickly. He was staring at her distantly, and it was difficult to see what he was thinking. His seeing eye was bright and staring down at her with disgust and fascination for her and those of House Strong blood. “No, she will not be fed to my dragon. She is much too reliable. Bring her warm clothes, Cole. I will have better use for her.”

“Yes, my Prince.” Cole relaxed as he grabbed you by the back of your arm, dragging you away from the yard, away from the one-eyed monster and his loyal beast. 

You wished for your feet to stop yourself from being dragged away, to accept the headsman’s sword and to have your head beside those you were fostered by.

You looked back in horror, watching as the courtyard grew smaller and smaller, hearing the foreign, unknown words dragonrider spoke to their bonded dragon, the bright flame came from her open jaws, lighting up the pile of corpses you did not stand too close to a second ago.

[ophelieverse]

[sugarwarachan]

more thoughts on free use/aizawa because I need him biblically - mdni

wakes you up with his tongue between your legs or his cock slotting between your thighs. he’s not impatient; he actually likes not waking you up at first so he can gently lap at your clit or fuck himself between your legs until you finally start to stir.

when he’s home relaxing, he wants your snug walls wrapped around him any chance he gets. one of his favorite things to do is spread your legs obscenely wide and make you cockwarm on his lap as he’s grading papers, tutting occasionally at the way your pussy drools onto his slacks.

even when you’re begging and panting into his neck for release, he still holds off.

“you like being my little whore, don’t you, honey?” his voice is the only thing that gives away how wrecked he is. it’s ragged and low. his fingers tense on your hip. “like it enough to cum all over daddy’s cock just from sittin’ on it?”

[riddlesbunny]

the albatross

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

pairing: Aegon x Strong!Reader

word count: 767

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

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

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

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

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

Screams of pain shook the walls of the Red Keep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally.

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

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

“Like me?” You shot up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[eraenaa]

Blessed Curse

Aemond Targaryen x Strong Reader Tag List

Synopsis: When a marriage between you and Aemond was arranged and forced by your grandsire, conflicting emotions arise, but which one will loom greater? Loathing or Love?

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers Trope, ¿Softer Aemond?, Arranged Marriage, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (F receiving), Targcest, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 6,803

A/N: Final tribute (maybe) to Season 1 Aemond, you have fed us with your crumbs for the past two years. Based on a few anonymous requests where they wanted a prequel of 'Loathe to Love.'

Aemond’s frown severed as he looked through the window and watched as you and your kin exited the wheelhouse. He felt his sneer severe as he spotted a look of dissatisfaction adorned your plain face as you had realized the lack of welcome provided for your kin’s return. “Spying, brother?” Aemond jumped in his spot, his sister taking him by surprise as she appeared by his side. “I am not,” he said defensively, and Helaena only hummed, gazing below as the day of your awaited arrival had arrived. “Then why have you been waiting by this window since the morning?” Helaena asked, and Aemond clenched his jaw and stayed silent, not giving a response to his sister. 

“Come, join us, Mother, and I shall greet them,” Helaena invited, and Aemond shook his head, scoffing at his sister’s invitation. “I’d rather not subject myself to their… treasonous presence,” He said, and Helaena sighed, walking away in silence. 

Jacaerys raised his gaze and caught the sight of a silver prince looking down upon them. He warily traveled his oak gaze to you, who stood by the side of your stepfather. “Should we not tell her already? How long must we keep her in the dark about our true purpose here?” Your brother whispered to your mother. “Your grandsire shall be the one to tell her. The king must be the one to impart to her his wishes and orders,” Your mother sighed, guilt heavy in her heart as the whole of your family had kept the true reason for your return to Kingslanding from you. 

“Helaena!” You called out in excitement as you entered the walls of the keep, your aunt, along with her mother, welcoming you. Helaena smiled widely at you as you took her into an embrace; though you had a distaste for the capitol, Helaena was the only one you were actually excited to see once more. “How are you?” You asked, paying no mind to the tense conversation between your parents and the queen. “Well. I am glad of your return,” She smiled, and you only smiled as well as you could not lie and agree with her statement. “I’ve been told you now have three children,” You tried to converse, and Helaena nodded. “I do; little Maelor arrived just two moons ago,” She confirmed, “Would you like to meet them?” Helaena asked, and you eagerly nodded, slipping away from your kin who were to venture to your grandsire’s chambers. 

Aemond stalked the halls and watched behind the pillar as you walked with his sister, arms linked. He rolled his eye as you strutted through the halls as if your mere presence were not damnable. “Are you spying, brother?” Aegon appeared by his side, Aemond being caught off guard for the second time that hour. “I am not,” Aemond spat and walked off, but Aegon still followed him. “I have to admit, even I did not expect our niece to grow so… enchanting,” Aegon hummed, looking steadily at his brother to see what reaction his words would garner him. Aemond shook his head, not wanting to concede or show agreement with his brother. 

“If you’re still having qualms about this marriage, perhaps it could be I to marry her instead.” Aegon hummed, further testing his brother. “The conqueror had two wives, did he not?” Aegon added and noted the way his brother clenched his jaw and fisted his fists. “You are no conqueror,” Aemond gritted and made hastened steps towards the tiltyard to escape his brother.  “I do not understand your animosity, brother,” Aegon still followed.

“Were you not so… overly fond of her years before?” He asked and made fast steps to match his brother’s furious gate. “If I had remembered correctly… you had even asked Mother if you could be betrothed to her when you were nine,” Aegon reminded, and Aemond halted in his steps as he was made to recall the instance. “Leave before I succumb to my thoughts and maim you,” Aemond gritted, his hand already clenched around the hilt of his sword. Aegon let out a laugh at his brother’s threat but retreated because there was a murderous intent in Aemond’s eye. 

Aemond had a few moments of solace in the tiltyard before you once again began to haunt him. Aemond halted his sparring with Ser Criston as he heard a laugh so melodious he was certain it was brought by delusion. He turned to the side and frowned as he learned that the laugh he had heard came from your lips, the melodiousness he relished upon just moments ago; he now convinced himself it was aggravating. The prince huffed as he saw his older brother standing by your side, Aegon being the reason for your mirth, and Aemond could not help but wonder if his brother’s actions were genuine or just another ploy to aggravate him. 

“I see your intended has arrived,” Ser Criston stated as his eyes went towards where the prince’s gaze was placed. “Aye, she has,” Aemond gritted and shook his head, twisting the sword in his hands and urging himself to continue training. “Have you spoken to her?” Ser Criston could not help but ask, curious as to what the marriage order by the king would entail. 

The knight held no fondness for any offspring of the spoiled cunt they call heir, but he himself could not be so cruel to show any animosity towards you. You were saved from the insults that he had no trouble throwing at your brothers. Ever since childhood, you were kind and gentle and good-humored. You were the only one who genuinely showed kindness to Aemond even if he was being picked on by his brother and yours. You were the only one who never cowered away from Helaena and her odd demeanor. You were the only child of Rhaenyra that the queen and her sworn protector could tolerate. It also bodes well for you that you were not present during the ambush in Driftmark. Instead, you were sound asleep next to your aunt as her brother’s eye was cruelly taken. 

“No,” Aemond answered, his tone held disgust that the knight was a tad confused by, but he made no mention of it. Ser Criston readied his position to return to sparring with the prince, but Aemond was still wholly distracted by your presence. His frown severed as the smile on your lips did not lessen whilst you kept chatting with Aegon. It would seem his brother would make good with his tease of taking you to wife as well, and though Aemond had no wish to marry you, there was a pestering feeling inside him that savored greatly of jealousy, but he did not wish to admit. 

The one-eyed prince disregarded his training and walked in your direction. You were in the midst of a laughing fit, but it quickly died as he arrived, the wide smile on your lips lessening. “Niece,” Aemond greeted, the word said through his teeth. “Uncle,” you curtsied quickly, and Aegon smirked as the scene unfolded before him. “Well, isn’t this nice,” he stated, and you turned your gaze to your elder uncle. “A reunion that is well overdue, do you not think so, brother?” He asked and clapped the back Aemond, who stared daggers at him. You licked your lips as you felt tension now surrounding the air. Aemond’s eye shifted back to you, your gaze lowered, your fingers playing with each other, and your bottom lip in between your teeth. He swallowed thickly as he did not expect a sudden surge of an odd sensation to overcome him. 

You parted your lips, ready to speak, but a call through the tiltyard caught your attention. “Tala,” Your stepfather called; the three of you turned towards the steps and saw the Rogue prince approaching. “Good day, uncles,” You said quietly and curtsied before them before running towards your father. Daemon eyed curiously his two nephews you were speaking with. Daemon offered his arm for you to take as he escorted you up the steps, and judging by the smile that was still on your lips and there was no horror in your eyes, he deduced that none of them had spoken about the true reason for your return. 

Daemon tried earnestly to contest the marriage. To make his brother see reason and not cruelly tie you with his deformed son. He even went as far as returning to Kingslanding the moment he and his wife received the message of his brother’s order. But the king had made up his mind. You were to marry Aemond. 

Two days had passed since your return to the Red Keep, and you were still clueless as to why you and your family had returned. “When do you think we’ll leave?” You asked Lucerys as he went along with you in the gardens, your younger brother carrying the flowers you picked and were planning to give your grandsire you were still yet to visit. “I do not know, sister,” Lucerys mindlessly said, his focus transfixed on your uncle, who stood by the side, glaring at him with his lone eye. You, however, were oblivious to the presence of a silver prince. 

Aemond clenched his jaw as he watched you leisurely pick at the flowers. He had been observing you through the days of your return, and he could not fathom why you were not bothered by the whole ordeal as to why he saw no aggravation or anger in you as you both were tasked to marry each other. You exuded an entirely different outlook than Aemond when it came to this doomed union which made him wonder at the possibility that perhaps you wanted it. That you were willing to marry him. Aemond found the possibility preposterous, but it was the only answer to your lax, unbothered disposition. The more Aemond thought about the possibility of your agreement to the marriage, the more it left him unnerved. But it would answer his questions as to why you did not show any outward animosity towards him. Completely civil at any of your encounters— even going as far as flashing Aemond a ghost of a smile when you passed him by the hall. Were you truly in want of this marriage? Aemond was torn on how to feel or perceive this. 

“Must we not already tell her? We’ve been here for two days already, and she is still completely clueless about the reason for our return,” Jacaerys asked his mother, who sighed deeply. “Aye, I would take she would not appreciate this secrecy— especially the severity of the situation,” Daemon added, studying his wife who stepped towards a window that overlooked the gardens where you spent the afternoon in. 

“The king must be the one to tell her. He… he must be the one to tell her his wishes.” Rhaenyra said once more, unable to be the bearer of bad news. She could already foresee the anger, hurt, and fear in your eyes, and it made her stomach pit and twist painfully. She had made a promise to herself that her daughter would be saved from the political marriages most of them were subjected to— to save her from the heartache and the displeasure of having a husband bound to you not by love but by political gain. But even she could not protect you from such cruel fates. Having no choice but to watch as you would retell the plights of women before you. 

“The king has been incoherent for days. The wedding ceremonies they prepared are set in a fortnight— we must tell her Rhaenyra. She must know of the matter now so she could prepare herself,” Daemon spoke, “Prepare herself to escape,” Jacaerys muttered under his breath, already imagining your reaction that would surely be filled with shock and betrayal. 

Rhaenyra sighed heavily and shook her head, her hand unconsciously going to her forehead to soothe the throbbing pain as she thought about the matter. “If my father still has not regained his thoughts by the morrow, then we shall tell her at tomorrow evening’s supper,” Rhaenyra decided, putting a buffer on the matter, praying to the gods that her father shall regain consciousness and be the one to tell you of his orders. 

You returned inside the castle walls as the afternoon sun was proving to be too scorching for you. Your younger brother went to the tiltyard, and you were left alone as you wandered around the castle you once called home. You were admiring a portrait hung on the wall, your eyes completely fixed on the bold colors and the detailed strokes of the work that your surroundings started to fade, and you did not realize someone had joined your company. “Quite luminous, is it not, your highness?” You slightly jumped, startled by the voice that made itself known. You turned to your right and saw a son of House Tyrell. “It is my lord,” You agreed with a small smile finding itself on your lips. 

Aemond watched the scene steely-eyed behind a pillar as you acquainted yourself with the lord in the empty hallways, unescorted. There was a smile playing on your lips as you two conversed. He watched as the lord started to inch his body closer to you, daring to brush his hand with yours that held flowers in it. Aemond’s already impaired vision burned as he saw a blush rising to your cheeks. The scandal of it! Here you are, a betrothed woman still acquiring and entertaining the attention of eligible young men. 

When Aemond saw the lord take a flower from your hold and dare place it by your ear, Aemond removed himself from his spot of observation and stomped towards the both of you. “Uncle,” You greeted in surprise as Aemond suddenly appeared in the hall. “Good morrow, my prince,” Lord Tyrell greeted, and Aemond could not make the effort to not let his contempt not show. “My Lord,” was all he replied with, feeling your confused gaze by his left as he stood by your side. “The Princess and I were just discussing this portrait. I had remarked on its luminosity and sh—“ Aemond rolled his eye and cut the lord off. 

“If you shall excuse us, Lord Tyrell, I must speak with my betrothed. Alone.” He said, voice utterly cold and almost threatening. Your lips agape at his words, your mind unable to comprehend what he had uttered. “What?” You suddenly asked as Lord Tyrell bowed towards you before hastily walking away. Aemond turned to you, expression angered. “Are you truly this careless? Walking the halls alone, engaging with a lord without an escort. Do you not thin—“ You hindered him from completing his scolding. “What are you saying?” You asked in confusion. “Betrothed?” You added, and Aemond’s brows furrowed. 

“Do not act simple with me; you know perfectly well of o—“ You cut Aemond off once more. “What are you talking about? Betrothed? What?” You continued to voice out your bewilderment. Aemond stared at you, calculating if the confusion on your face was an act. But as he stared at your eyes, he knew your confused state was genuine. “You do not know, do you?” He asked quietly. “Know what?” Aemond licked his lips and looked around the empty hall. Just hours ago, he believed you were in full knowledge of the upcoming union between the two of you— that you were completely fine with a marriage with him, for he saw no resistance or rebellion. But what is there to resist or rebel about when you are left utterly clueless? 

“We are to be married,” Aemond stated, and you gazed up at him as if he had grown three heads. “Us… married?” You asked slowly, and Aemond gave a curt nod, waiting for the dread in your eyes, but he was left shocked as you began to laugh. The hall rang and echoed your laughs, Aemond watching you as you clutched your stomach and continued to laugh at the absurdity of it. He scowled as you gasped for air, your laugh still ringing in his ears and riddling his skin with gooseflesh. “You have an odd sense of humor, Aemond. But I am glad that after all these years, you finally learned how to jest,” you said in amusement, gazing at his lilac eye as you waited for him to break his peculiar act. However, when only seriousness was present in his Valyrian orbs, the smile on your lips faltered. 

“Are you serious?” You asked, your tone dripping heavy in disbelief. “It is the order of the king,” he replied, and you shook your head. Aemond clenched his jaw as you still did not believe his words. “Why do you think you’re here? After all these years of informal exile, why do you think your family was summoned? You and I are to be married.” He explained, frowning at how slow you are to comprehend the situation. Now, the dread that Aemond was waiting for was presented greatly on your plain but pretty face. “I… I do not believe you; you are lying.” You say, and Aemond stepped closer. “Why must I lie about this unsavory matter? What I speak of is the truth. If you do not take my word for it, go ahead and ask your parents, and they will tell you the same thing: you and I are to be bound to one another.” Aemond said lowly, his face drawing closer to yours. 

You shook your head and stepped back, your gaze still locked with Aemond, who stared at you undeterred, seriousness the only thing on his face. “You will be my wife.” He stated and watched as fear grew heavier in your eyes, and you ran across the hall in search of your parents. As Aemond stared at your departing figure, he began to wonder if it was satisfying to finally see the fear and rage in your eyes that he had been expecting ever since your arrival or if there was another pestering emotion that he wished not to entertain. 

“Mother!” You called through the halls, eyes already threatening to spill with tears. When you reached her chambers, she and your father turned to you, worry shining on their faces. “My sweet girl, what is it?” She asked and took hold of your hands. “Tell me it is not true— tell me he lies,” You almost begged. “What?” Your mother asked quietly, not accepting the fact that you now knew of the betrothal. “Please, you’re not marrying me to Aemond, are you? That’s not true, yes? He was just teasing me,” You said desperately, willing your mother to confirm your theory. But as she said no word and only went pale, your knees felt weak, and a pitting of your stomach presented itself greatly. 

“It… it is the order of your grandsire,” She said delicately, moving you to sit down as your breath had been rendered short through your cries. Daemon watched by the side, his hold on his sword tight as he could not bear to see you in such a state of distress. “No… please, you cannot make me!” You wailed as your mother tried to hush you, soothing you, running her hands through your hair, and patting your back just as she did when you were a child. “Please… I… let me speak with grandsire— he cannot marry me to him,” You pleaded, and your mother’s saddened eyes gazed at you, her warm touch moving to wipe the tears on your cheeks. “I’m sorry, my sweet… we have begged your grandsire, implored him that this union could not be. But he had made up his mind, and none of us could alter it, not even Alicent.” Your mother whispered. 

You sniffled in your seat, your thoughts running with dread and confusion. “Why did you only tell me now? How could you hide this from me?” You asked in betrayal. Daemon sighed and went to where you sat, kneeling before you. “We wanted to tell you, tala. To prepare you, but we foolishly thought that we could still alter the decision of the king. We had not told you, for we did not wish to distress you with a matter that we thought we could change.” He said softly, watching as tears fell from your eyes. You bit your cheeks and shook your head, “When… when must we marry?” You asked in dread. “In a fortnight,” Your mother replied and felt her heart clench as you stifled a sob. “I’m truly sorry, my sweet girl,” She said softly as you cried quietly in her arms. 

“It would appear they hid it from her,” Aemond remarked to his mother as he sat in her chambers. “They thought they could still alter the orders of the king,” She remarked as quietly as she observed her son, who stared at the fire. “I still have not asked you about your thoughts on this marriage,” The queen remarked, watching as her son clenched his jaw. “You need not ask; you already know of it,” Aemond answered. The queen breathed in heavily. 

“This may not be what you want now… but this was all you had wanted when you were a boy,” Aemond shook his head, a scoff leaving his lips. “Will all of you stop reminding me of it? Aye, I did want her when I was a child, but I am a man grown. I do not wish for a marriage forced upon me— especially when my bride is to be so… plain,” Aemond frowned at himself as he sensed hesitancy as he uttered the words that used to roll off effortlessly. It was the truth; you were plain— your features nonconforming to the house they tried to sell as yours. But you had never been plain the sense of attractiveness, your beauty celebrated throughout the realm, beguiling the lords of Westeros and years before, Aemond as well. Alicent stayed silent, for she could not offer comfort to her son, who was bound to a marriage that was devised for the crown.

When the crown announced your impending matrimony with your one-eyed uncle, mixed reactions were shared. Nevertheless, the kingdom was made to celebrate the event. You tried to hide your frown as your grandfather made you and Aemond parade around the streets of Kingslanding, a picture of unity to be sold to the small folk so they could attest to the new age of dragons. 

“Is this truly necessary?” You asked your father as you were sitting in a carriage. Aemond was still to board it, but he and his grandfather were conversing. “It is what your grandfather wished,” You hear your stepfather say, his violet eyes shifting to your betrothed. “But why? Is he even of sound of mind? I thought others were now tasked to do his bidding; why did they let this happen?” You asked in a plea, ready to jump off the carriage as you felt it jostle and your soon-to-be husband sitting next to you. “Best stop your bellyaching. You are not the only one who is shortchanged with this marriage.” You gritted your jaw at his words, turning to your father wide-eyed, trying to discern if he had heard it as well. 

Daemon clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword at his nephew, who had the gull to offend you, his precious daughter. “Your brothers and I will follow closely behind. It is only for a few hours, tala,” he gritted, and you unconsciously pouted as your father walked away, leaving you alone in the presence of Aemond. 

You traced the patterns of your gown as you rode out of the castle gates. When you reached the streets, you straightened your back and plastered a slight smile to appear as if you were somewhat happy with the devised marriage. Aemond scoffed and rolled his eye as you greeted the small folk, smiling at them and giving them a small wave of your pampered hand. He frowned at how much you loved their attention, giving them a pitiful show. “You might want to lessen the scowl… the purpose of all this is to present a united figure,” You whispered as you passed a crowd. 

“I will not be part of this farce,” Aemond spat and glared at a group of men whose hungry gaze were enclosed on you. “You are a prince of this realm. You have no choice but to be the crown’s puppet,” You said, with a tight smile as you waved toward a group of women. You feel Aemond’s glaring stare at the side of your face, but you willed yourself to ignore it. However, when the other small folk started to notice the glare of your betrothed, you turned to Aemond with a smile still on your lips, looking at him with your fictitious love-struck gaze, and you wanted to laugh as your act took him aback. 

Aemond stared into your eyes, perplexed at the look you gave him. Soft, adoring, and… he could not name the other element in your enchanting eyes. He had to look away as he felt himself stagger, and his breath was caught in his throat. When the crowd lessened, Aemond returned his gaze to you, the smile on your lips at the look in your eyes gone within a snap. You turned to him angrily, “Play the part for the subjects, Aemond. I do not expect much from this marriage, and I certainly do not expect us to get along behind closed doors, but when in the eyes of the public… best not to dishonor our house with another display of a fraudulent marriage. As all have kept reminding us, this is our duty.” You say quietly, tone bitter and overly severe. Aemond pursed his lips and clenched his fists around the air as the tumultuous crowds started to return once more, and the counterfeit smile on your lips returned. 

The day all had dreaded finally came. You stared blankly in the mirror as you were dressed like a doll. You were resisting the urge to run through the halls and escape a life of hate with a man who had only loathing in his heart for you. 

You stood before the door of the great hall, your arms linked with your mother as she walked you down the aisle. “I don’t want to,” You suddenly said, cold and clammed hands holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You tried to walk away, but your arm was linked with your mother’s, and she prevented you from doing so. “I am so sorry, my sweet, but not even you are above duty… none of us are,” She said solemnly, and you breathed out a previous breath as trumpets sounded out and the doors of the halls started to open. You bit your lip as you planted yourself on the ground, resisting the pull of your mother for you to walk. Your knees felt weak as you took small steps towards your groom, your mother practically dragging you down, her body a step ahead of your reluctant frame. 

When you reached the end of the hall, and your hand was placed upon your betrothed, you resisted looking Aemond in the eye. Aemond stared you down, the image of you wholly too much and all-consuming. This was all he had wanted. This was the dream he dreamt every night in childhood. You, in a white gown and a veil covering your comely face, and him standing before you as your groom. 

He could not explain how— how he had kept up his act for this long. To fake his animosity and loathing just in hopes that one day it would turn true because hoping and waiting for you was only a dream he had. Pretending to hold distaste for you because it was easier than letting himself hope that one day you will be his. But now, all those years of yearning have finally come to an end because before the sun could set, you will forever be bound to him.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Aemond recited and hesitantly looked toward you. Your hands were cold upon his, and Aemond took a deep breath before leaning in to seal your marriage with a kiss, your first kiss. The deafening roars and cheers of your guests were unheard as Aemond could only focus on the way it felt to kiss your lips. His mind only concentrates on the small taste he had of you— his entire being immediately starved for so much more than the quick and chaste entanglement of your lips. 

You and Aemond were silent for the whole feast, a small smile plastered on your lips as to appear agreeable to the hundreds of eyes upon the both of you. You were too entranced to appear joyous that you were oblivious to the strong, calloused hand that had never left yours. Long, slender fingers drawing circles upon your flesh as if to soothe you. 

You turned to Aemond, his eye on the sea of dancers on the floor. In disbelief that he was still holding your hand. You were in shock that he was willing to keep up the pretense so immensely— a pretense of unity that none seemed to notice, for your hands were tucked under the table. 

When Aemond felt your stare, he turned to you, and you searched for the familiar cruelty and hatred in his eye; you found none. “Do you wish to dance?” He asked, and your lips parted in shock, taking a moment to comprehend his words. You could only nod, your husband leading you to stand. You were silent as he placed his hand on your waist and pulled you closer to his body. The other dancers disappeared to make room for you and your groom, a slow, mellow melody enveloping the great hall as the eyes of your guests were turned to you and Aemond. 

You stared blankly at his chest, eyeing the metal buttons of his vest, and tried to ignore the erratic beating of your heart. Aemond took in a deep breath, your scent intoxicating his senses more than the wine he had indulged himself for the night in preparation for the later activities. When it was the end of your third dance, you finally spoke, “I’m quite tired,” You said lowly, and Aemond gave a curt nod, taking your hand into his once more and guiding you to your seats. 

Five more songs passed with you and Aemond in complete silence when your sisters appeared by your side. “Sister… we’re to help you to prepare for the… night,” Rhaena said lowly and cautiously. You feel your stomach drop and your nod. You stole your hand from Aemond and excused yourself before disappearing with your sisters, Aemond’s eye following your frame until you fully disappeared away from his view. 

Aemond gritted his jaw as he felt his brother clap his shoulder, “Are you ready for the bedding ceremony, brother? I hope you still remember what I have taught.” Aegon teased and took your vacated seat. Aemond stayed silent and downed another chalice of wine, ignoring his brother. “But it is fine if you are not ready… perhaps I could substitute in y—“ Aemond turned to his brother with a severe glare. “One more word concerning my wife, and I will cut your tongue,” Aemond gritted, and Aegon’s amusement only grew. “There he is— there is the boy who wanted no one else but our niece.” Aegon grinned. 

“You are a great actor— you almost had me fooled, but no amount of hate you display could make me forget about the little boy who would follow around our strong niece like a lost pup,” Aegon’s grin grew wider, and he quickly stood to walk away before his brother turned violent. 

Aemond downed another cup before he had no choice but to join you in your chambers. He stood by the door and took deep breaths; the shy little boy in him returned, and he had no idea how to cope. Aemond bit his lip and mustered all his courage to step inside your marital chambers. He knew neither of you could perform what was expected that night— as much as he wanted to perform his duty, he knew in himself he could not.

Aemond walked in quietly, his eye on the floor as he entered. Aemond heard shuffling, and he lifted his eye. Lilac orbs placed on a screen divider lit by the flickering light of a candle, your silhouette traced upon the thin paper of the divider as you fixed your shift. Aemond felt his knees weaken, taking a seat on a chair, his eye still fixed on your shadow. By just the outline of you, of your peaked apples straining through your shift and your graceful body turning behind the divider, he already felt pleasure wash through the whole of his body. His cock painfully straining in his trousers, he would think by the amount of wine he had downed, he would be left slack that night. 

You took in deep, calming breaths as you stepped out of the divider and decided to wait for your husband, but to your surprise, he was already seated in your chambers. You looked at him wide-eyed, having the urge to cover your body, but you reminded yourself that this intimacy was part of your marriage— at least tonight. 

Your gazes did not meet as you stood by a distance from where Aemond sat. The crackling fire between the two of you is the only sound surrounding the room. You gulped before you stepped close to your husband, footsteps overly heavy with every step taken in his direction. “Kneel,” You hear aemond grit, and you frown at his words, ready to fight his order, but you remind yourself that just for tonight, you will do your duties as a wife. 

Aemond was left breathlessly as he watched you slowly sink to your knees. He bit his tongue harshly as his eye went to your plush thighs pressed together, having the urge to squeeze them and feel if your skin was as soft as his mind imagined. 

You waited, wrapped in anticipation of what was to happen next. You shuddered as you felt his cold hand come to cup your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. Your eyes fluttered to a close at the surprisingly gentle touch, your body moving closer to him without any way of controlling it. As your eyes were still fluttered close, you felt the familiarizing way of his lips upon yours. You felt yourself already quivering and you placed your hand on Aemond’s leg to steady yourself. Aemond leaned forward to feel more of your lips, his cold touch placing itself on your shoulder, feeling the bare skin as the sleeve of your shift had dropped off. 

You moved to part from him, out of breath with the kiss you shared. The taste of him and wine imprinted on your tongue. Rose your gaze to meet his eye, and you saw that the lilac orb had turned dark. Without another word, Aemond smashed your lips once more. Kissing you more fervently and pulling you to stand. You whimpered as you felt him bite your lip and pull down further the thin cover you wore. You were in a daze as his lips kissed your sand, and his hands roamed your body, harshly gripping your behind as he led you to the bed. 

It was his turn to part your lips. You lay bare on the silk sheets of the feathered bed, his standing before you still fully clothed, and you feel a rush of embarrassment course through you, showing its evidence on your cheeks. Aemond hastily undid the buttons of his vest, eye still locked with yours; he did not miss the embarrassment and perhaps even scandal in your eyes, the tell-tale sign of your purity, and he could not help but succumb to more pleasure by the thought. 

You shifted your gaze as Aemond stood bare before you, the image of him quickly engraving itself in your mind. You bit your lip as you waited for him to shift his weight atop yours, but you were left perplexed when, from the side of your eye, you saw him sink to his knees. You propped yourself on your elbows as he pried your legs open, a deep frown on your face as you tried to comprehend what he was doing. When you noticed his head straying closer to your cunny, your eyes widened in further scandal. 

“What— Aemond, no!” You say breathlessly and try to close your legs shut, but his hold on your thighs is too strong. “You told me we must perform our duty, wife… let me perform them,” You could only fall back on the plush mattress as you felt the foreign feeling of lips upon your cunt. Aemond sucking upon the pearl of your cunt as his tongue would dart out and tease the bud. You breathed heavily and bit your lip to prevent any sound from being heard, which only made Aemond double his efforts, wanting to hear you be wrapped in utter pleasure. 

Aemond groaned at the taste of you, palming his length as it already wept, crying to be inside you, but he knew he must prepare you first. That he must savor you like this, for he did not know if after this— after this initial duty, when would be the next time he’ll have the opportunity to have your cunt against his face. 

Aemond finally pried a moan from you, smirking as he moved his finger to tease your folds, a louder moan coming from your lips as he teased your entrance. “A—Aemond,” You called as he inserted the digit, your body rigid and back arching the sensation. “Such a tight cunt… you kept yourself pure for me,” Aemond hummed and groaned as he felt your legs wrap themselves around his neck, pushing his face further to your cunt. He chuckled, and the vibrations from it made further wetness escape your cunt, your hips, your hips gaining itself upon his face; his finger found a companion, and the digits curled inside you. Brushing against the rough spot that spurred you quickly into your climax. Aemond groaned as he heard your muffled voice moaning his name.

You stared at the canopy bed as Aemond rose to his feet and finally placed his weight upon you, his lips finding yours again. You taste yourself on his tongue, and you cannot help but moan, Amend smirking as you find pleasure in tasting yourself; you were quite sweet. 

Aemond finally gave in to his wants and aligned himself against your entrance, brushing away your tears that were quick to escape your eyes as he pushed further into your cunt. He was cautious with his movements, not wanting to cause you any unnecessary discomfort. He was patient, waiting for the pained furrowed in your brows to turn to a furrow of pleasure; when it did, his thrust was still cautious. It was some pleasurable torture; he needed more, but he could not be so cruel to present you with such pain. 

“Faster,” You breathed out as you felt his thrusts were too slow to bring you to the climax you now sought. Aemond was uncertain if he heard you correctly, so he played it safe and kept his initial pace. “Aemond… please, I— I need it faster,” You urged, letting go of any pride in you as your body needed him. Aemond blinked for a moment, comprehending your quest before wholeheartedly obliging. 

Your moans spewed loudly as his thrusts were deep and fast, his finger drawing circles upon your cunt and supper you further into your release. “Oh gods… Oh gods, Aemond!” You cried and clawed his back as you came undone. Aemond groaned into the shell of your ear as his own release was quick to follow, his lips finding yours as his seed rooted itself deeply in your cunt. The thought of heirs already festering in his mind. 

That night, Aemond held you in his arms as you slept. His mind was made; he would do anything for your marriage to prevail, for the past to be shed and be forgotten. For you to be happy and contented in his arms, for he already was. As long as he had you, the only girl he had and will ever want and love, he was perfectly content with this blessing of a marriage they had disguised as a curse. 

Part Two: Loathe to Love