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authurials · 7 months

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𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 … chapter three

𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄 . states of unrest

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 . here

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . brief sexual reference, possible strong language

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . chapter three is here and with it comes the arrival of jaehaera targaryen! my girl deserves the world and i intend to give it to her. let me know your thoughts and make sure to leave a like! as always this chapter has also been cross-posted over ao3, so if you prefer to read over there you can.

𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 knew what it meant to covet; he had coveted after all for most of his life.

He had coveted the approval of his father.

He had coveted Vhagar.

And he had coveted the Iron Throne.

The list of his desires had truly known no bounds, and still did not if Aemond were to be honest with himself; for even though it was he who had reigned victorious at the end of the Dance and now wore the Conqueror’s crown as proof of such a feat, the man still hungered for more. For what exactly? The Targaryen could not simply put such cravings into words as there was no way to truly articulate the constant ache he felt within his hollow body; an ache that often overcame good reason, and had in the past led to such outcomes as the death of Lucerys Velaryon and the burning of the Riverlands.

It was the same ache he felt now that he had laid eyes upon the woman known as Keeley–

His son’s wet nurse.

He had never paid much mind to the woman who spent her days tending to his child, only enough really in the very beginning to ensure that she would not pose a threat to the prince’s safety; even then, he had never gazed upon her appearance nor heard her voice until that moment in his bed chambers, the woman somehow always absent from the nursery when he would visit his son. At the time it had been no concern of his, after all Prince Aerion’s sworn sword had spoken highly enough of the wet nurse’s attentive care that her convenient absence had never raised any alarms for the king.

Now that he had finally gazed upon her face–and body–however there was no going back now; he could not simply pretend she did not exist after their first meeting last night when she had shown herself, unannounced, into his private chambers. He had been filled with rage at first at the woman’s impertinence, of her salacious interruption to his and his bed mate’s activities, and had fully intended to see her punished in a much harsher and brutal manner; being ordered to watch him take his pleasure had only intended to be the beginning of her humiliation, until the action incited thrill within him to forgo enough reason to order her to expose herself to his gaze.

Her compliance had been a surprise, her enjoyment even more so, and her fleeing despite his orders unforeseen. He had had every intention of pursuing her in that moment, if it had not been for the presence and displeasure of his bed mate as she demanded uncouthly to be untied. By the time he had rid himself of the other woman, Keeley the wet nurse had been long gone and he hadn’t the desire to disrupt his son’s peaceful rest in the nursery where she had surely returned to.

Now, the next morning, Aemond was left brooding at the table as servants moved around him in unease, serving him his wine and his niece her cider. Princess Jaehaera sat across from him as always, silent as she methodically laid out her cutlery beside her plate, which was sparsely covered in the only kinds of food she would eat–fruit and bread; if he were lucky, he could sometimes get her to eat a hearty vegetable soup or pie, but the girl simply refused to eat anything of the meat or cheese variety. Her self-imposed diet restriction had begun after the passing of her twin brother all those years ago, which had severely dampened her appetite and had caused the young girl to slowly waste away right before her uncle’s eye. Aemond’s concern was constant, but no matter what he did Jaehaera never seemed to improve, in fact she appeared to worsen the more he pushed; that did not dampen his hope, however, that she might someday grace him with even the smallest of smiles that reminded him of his sweet sister Helaena.

The pale wisp of a girl continued to hum a melancholy tune as she spread butter lightly across the blackened bread before discarding her knife neatly on a cloth napkin to her side. Aemond watched her careful movements, familiar by this time with the routine his niece took for every meal before she would finally begin to eat. Her personal servant that morn had dressed her in a pale pink gown, embroidered with silver accents and matching rose embellishments along the waist and neckline; her thick white hair had grown long over the years, but the one and ten girl often requested it be maintained back into twin braids as she hated the way it felt when it tickled her skin.

“Did you sleep well, niece?” Aemond inquired, breaking the long silence that had preceded them all morning.

“Hardly a wink,” she replied honestly, her eyes never wavering from her work as she unfolded her napkin and laid it in her lap.

“And why is that?” Aemond hummed, raising a pale eyebrow as he himself began to cut up the ham he had taken for himself.

His niece hesitated, her gaze flicking for the barest of moments towards her uncle before returning to her fruit, which she was arranging into colorful rows, “I do not want to say.”

“Jaehaera….” Aemond sighed, grip tightening on his fork and knife.

“I find myself unrestful when I try to sleep,” she explained carefully, fingers lingering over her food, the pale digits smoothing over the blunt edge of her nails nervously; Aemond had noted that she had taken to gnawing on them, similar to how her mother and grandmother had done before her. “At least when I am awake the nightmares cannot get to me….”

“You have been having bad dreams again?” Her uncle frowned. For moons after the end of the Dance, Jaehaera had been plagued with vivid night terrors, often depicting the living memories of her family’s demises; her twin’s head, her little brothers amputated limbs, her grandmother’s slow suffocation–all she recounted in stark detail whenever Aemond was called to her chambers, as she would have no one else tend to her in these moments. Sometimes, the young girl even spoke of her own death, a mirror to her mother’s, but after a while–much like the rest–those dreams had gone away.

But now it appeared they were back.

“Sometimes,” the king’s niece confessed quietly as she picked up one of the green grapes from her plate; instead of eating it, though, she began to peel the thin skin carefully back from the rest of the small fruit. “Other than when I am at my most tired, only then can I sleep through the night….”

“And why have I not been called upon when these dreams occur?” Aemond asked; he had done so in the past, gone without question to her side to comfort her through those dark nights–the last two remaining Targaryens of their bloodline, bound together by shared loss.

“I am a child no longer, uncle,” Jaehaera explained pragmatically, nails picking at the delicate viscera of the grape. “I do not need to be coddled.”

“You are a girl of one and ten,” he snorted, incredulous at her tone. “I would hardly say that constitutes an adult, my dear niece.”

“And yet soon I will be of marriageable age,” the girl hums, finally freeing a portion of the green skin from its vessel; she discarded it as she began to hum softly to herself, working on the rest of the layer, “and you will send me from your side to some lord’s house so that I may give him pale-haired babes–”

“Where have you gotten an idea like that?” The king cut her off, food forgotten as he set his cutlery down. “Who has said such things to you?”

“....no one,” his niece muttered defiantly, her picking becoming clumsy as her urgency to free the fruit of its green skin rose.

“I will have the truth of it, Jaehaera,” Aemond’s tone left nothing up for discussion as he stared intently at his niece.

Still, the girl hesitated a moment as she stared down at her plate, using her thumbs to split the skinless grape carefully in twain slowly so that she could see its insides. Silence stretched out before the two as the girl remained defiant, still weighing the risk of disobeying her uncle’s command.

“Very well,” he cleared his throat, “perhaps I shall have Myrielle brought to us–”

“No!” Jaehaera surprised even herself with her outburst, her face becoming noticeably flushed as her eyes turned downcast once more. “I just mean….please–please leave her alone.”

Myrielle Peake had been a casualty of her father’s own ambition, the man having tried to plant his daughter as Aemond’s new bride before his first one was cold in the ground. When Unwin Peake had been dismissed of all his titles at court, his daughter had been kept as a ward–and an assurance that no further plots would be carried out to see her family’s blood on the throne somehow. Surprisingly, the arrangement of having the girl placed in the service of his niece had resulted in an unlikely companionship between the pair despite Myrielle being four years Jaehaera’s senior; the unforeseen development was much to Aemond’s chagrin, as he had fully intended to see the Peake girl bare the punishment of her father’s hubris by making her his niece’s whipping girl. Those plans of humiliation had never come to fruition, for how could an uncle damage his niece’s favorite plaything without also harming her heart?

“Then tell me where you have heard such ridiculous notions of me marrying you off,” Aemond once more demanded, “or your friend will bare the bruises of your defiance, niece.”

Again, hesitation but then Jaehaera sighs exasperatedly, as if put out by her uncle’s demands, “Septa Pernelle.”

“Your septa?” Aemond hummed, not entirely surprised by the notion of a religious woman preaching to the young girl about her ‘duty.’ “And what did Septa Pernelle have to say in regards to my own plans to marry you off? I am just curious after all, as even I had no idea I had such inclinations about your future.”

“Uncle….” Jaehaeara tried to appease him with a pleading look, but all Aemond did was fix her with an unwavering one of his own. Again, the girl sighed and discarded the forgotten and eviscerated halves of her food on her plate, grabbing her napkin as she spoke, “she said that now that I have….flowered–

The girl flushed at the mention of her moon’s blood, which had come a near five moons ago, and in which Aemond had never been more grateful for his wife at the time; Floris had managed to carefully explain the intricacies of womanhood to his niece, and offered her her ear if Jaehaera had any need of it. Now that the late queen was gone, Aemond was unsure of how he would manage to handle situations of such a nature.

For a moment, his mind wandered back to Keeley, until his niece continued, “she said now that I have flowered it would not be long before you found me a proper match, and that I should get used to the idea of being sent away now as it will surely not be long before I am. I told her that I did not wish to be sent away from you, and that I did not wish to be married, and she said–”

The girl once more stopped herself from revealing the truth of her septa’s words, beginning to fidget with beds of her nails as she looked anywhere but at her uncle. Aemond, whose pension for patience had grossly suffered over the years, reminded himself that he must tread gently in regards to his niece–or at least as gentle as he could muster. He hummed, “what did she say, Jaehaera? I promise I will not be mad at you.”

“I do not worry for myself, uncle,” the girl snorted without humor.

“Out with it,” the man clenched and unclenched his fists–

Patience.

“Very well,” Jaehaera shifted in her chair, eyes still glued on her hands. “Septa Pernelle said that it mattered little what I wanted–that I should be grateful that I am a princess and therefore would have such an illustrious match made by the king. She said that I would make beautiful babes, and strengthen the Targaryen line–as is my duty.”

Her voice was laced with disgust as she recounted what had been said to her, and with each word Aemond felt his own aversion rise within him–along with it came anger. The man made his face a mask, not wishing to cause his niece any distress as he tensely listened to her, but all he could think about was how to move forward. He would of course need to call for the dismissal of the septa, and ensure a new one was secured as soon as possible as it was important for Jaehaera to continue her education and socialization into court politics. But he did not wish to simply disgrace the pious woman by having her sent back to where she came from, he also wished to see her suffering–to hurt as she had hurt his niece.

“Uncle?” His niece’s voice broke him out of his vicious plotting once more as she looked at him from across the table, concern clear on her face. “You are not angry with me, are you?”

The uncertainty her voice would have been enough to break Aemond long ago, weak as he was to whims of the woman of his life; even now, war-seasoned and battle-hardened as he was, he still felt a twinge of sympathy at his sweet niece’s unsureness, but he did not let it show as he rose from his seat.

“Of course not,” he assured her as best as he could, though the girl did not look fully convinced, “but I would advise you to bring such matters as this one to me in the future, as it does not please me to hear such vile things have been said to you. You are my niece, Jaehaera, a piece of my sister that I cherish dearly; I would sooner have my own heart torn from my chest than to have you parted from my side so soon. There will of course be talks of betrothals in the future, but as I stated earlier: you are just a girl. And no moon’s blood will change that in my eyes. Am I understood?”

The girl seemed to contemplate his words for a moment but instead of responding outright with her own she stood from her chair and hurried around the table, wrapping her arms around his waist as she pressed her face into his sternum, “thank you, uncle.”

Aemond stood there, arms hovering awkwardly at his sides as he allowed his niece her moment of affection, only offering her a few pats on the back in acknowledgement of her welcome before she pulled away and looked up at him; and finally he was graced with a small smile, the subtle curving of his niece’s lips like a blessing as she allowed her arms to fall once more at her sides and she gave her uncle some appreciated space. Still tense, he cleared his throat and nodded jerkily, “it is almost time for your lessons, niece, I will have Ser Fenrick escort you back to your quarters; we will discuss your septa and these dreams you’ve been having more later.”

He gestured to the posted knight who until then had remained ignored by both parties of the royal family, but now the man bowed to his king and walked to the entrance of his solar to await the departing princess. Jaehaera remained for a moment, her pale eyes searching her uncle’s matching one, before she hummed and offered him a curtsy, “your grace.��

With that, his niece left Aemond to his own, standing alone in his solar with the waste of his and his niece’s untouched food and the haunting memory of a smile.

☪

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 arrived in King’s Landing upon a fishing boat from Lorath, Keeley had had no intention of finding work as a wet nurse within the Red Keep. With nary a coin to her name aside from a miniscule inheritance left by her long-since passed parents, she had been forced to find quick work wherever it was to be offered; and this subtle desperation had led her to the kitchens of the castle as a simple maid. Though the work had left much to be desired and the pay often felt insulting at best, at least Keeley had managed within her first turn of the moon of residing in the capital to secure not only proper coin but also a place to lay her head at night. She had figured at the time that it beat sleeping on the streets of Flea Bottom, exposed to the elements, and unsure if she would awake the next day or perish in her sleep.

Within three moons of her employment as a servant under the crown she was being tracked down by the Lord Commander himself, a great bear of a man with a thick dark beard and yet a clean shaven head; he had introduced himself as Ser Garth Swyft, and let it be known that Keeley was to come with him immediately. It was that night she discovered that the then queen, Floris Baratheon, had died during her labors and brought forth a son, and due to the prematurity of the birthing a wet nurse had yet to be procured. Keeley herself had retained the milk from her own pregnancy nearly a year prior, serving as a wet nurse to a captain’s wife during her voyage as a way to pay her way, and even then to some fellow servants within the keep who had not been able to maintain their own supply.

What had begun as a temporary solution to see the heir fed until a proper wet nurse could be secured, had turned into a permanently elevated position within the Red Keep–at least until the prince was weaned off the breast. It had come with extra coin and new, private chambers, and for most women in Keeley’s position such luxuries would be seen as a godsend; but the Lorathi woman had never wanted for more than a peaceful existence where she could earn her way and remain unbothered the rest of the time–something she had feared her new proximity to the royal family would have interfered with. At first, such worries had appeared unfounded as the king had kept his distance and the only member of the Targaryen family Keeley dealt with was one still in nappies, and who could not yet string together the necessary words to order the taking of his wet nurse’s head; but now, as Keeley made her way nervously to the nursery the next morn after her first ever encounter with the king, she was beginning to realize how truly founded her fears had been.

Her nightly feeding with the prince had been uneventful upon her eventual return from the king’s chambers, with thankfully no unknown guards milling around ready to take her to the chopping block for her defiance; although it was apparent that Ser Draven knew something had occurred just by looking at the woman’s face, as he had asked more than once if Keeley was alright. She hadn’t the heart nor the right state of mind to discuss what had transpired in that bedroom, so she forced a smile and told him that everything was fine before thankfully retiring to her room for the night.

Now, it was the following morning and Keeley hoped she had a more trained expression on her face, as she hadn’t the disposition that day to deal with any further questioning. She had barely slept a wink last night, plagued by the repeating scene of his grace taking savagely the bound woman tied to his bed, though this time she was not one of flaxen-hair but one of ebony. Every time she was close to falling asleep, Keeley would be awoken by the warped memory, and all she could do was close her eyes once more and try again, ignoring the unwanted throbbing between her thighs.

“My lady,” Ser Draven bowed his head as she arrived outside the nursery, concern written clearly across the plains of his face; and perhaps it was her newly found–and unwanted–desires but once more Keely could not help but recognize how handsome the Stokeworth man was. He was tall and broad shouldered, with reddish brown hair long enough to brush back over his ears, which endearingly poked out at a noticeable angle; the scruff of his beard–which was barely a shadow cross his jawline–was a lighter shade of red than his hair, making it stand out starkly against the paleness of his skin. “How fair you this morning?”

It was not an unusual greeting, but the question now held a different meaning as the knight assessed Keeley from head to toe. She knew what he was seeing was the bags under her eyes, and the clumsy way in which she had tied her apron around her waist before leaving her room that morning; her dress was also noticeably wrinkled, far from how usually put together she was when she came to attend her duties to the prince.

“I think perhaps I am catching what the prince has,” Keeley excused her appearance lamely.

“The maester gave our ward a clean bill of health just this morning, though” Ser Draven hummed, lips curling in a slight smirk as he raised a brow at the woman.

“Then perhaps it is something else,” Keeley waved dismissively as she walked past him. “Is he awake?”

The man nodded, “and in a rather good mood surprisingly.”

“Thank the gods,” Keeley sighed, opening the double doors as Ser Draven followed behind her.

“Though that might have to do with this morning’s visitor,” the man continued, nearly running into Keeley as she froze just in front of the entrance. “Huh?”

She could feel the blood drain out of her face, a single shuddery breath escaping as she stayed rooted to her spot and took in the scene before her–

The named heir–her Aerion–rested comfortably in the arms of his father, the king, cooing with pure joy as his chubby fists reached for the loose strands that fell free of the man’s braid; and the man himself was smiling, nothing big, just a simple curve of the lips as he gazed down at the small babe in his arms. The sight almost appeared natural, endearing even, if Keeley did not know of the danger his grace’s presence presented to her person; she knew that he was not just here for a simple visit with his son, he was also there for her–whether it was to send a message, or to see her punished for her disobedience last night, she did not know–

And she did not wish to find out.

But it was too late to make an escape–Ser Draven blocked one exit, and attempting to see herself out of the other one across the room would cause only further suspicion and unrest. The only option set forth before her was to sow for mercy, though the mere thought already tasted bitter on her tongue as she swallowed uneasily, clearing her throat:

“Your grace.”

At the sound of her voice, the king looked up and almost immediately his gentle smile turned into a knowing smirk as he acknowledged the pair before him; adjusting his hold on his son, the pale-haired man turned his body to face Keeley fully now, his singular eye running up and down her frame with barely contained fire–and with the promise of something the woman could not yet discern; she did, however, note that over the beautiful sapphire she had gazed upon last night his grace now wore a black leather patch. Shifting uneasily, she hummed:

“I was not expecting you, my king.”

Keeley’s eyes only pulled away briefly as Ser Draven shifted around her, making his way to his post as he took in the tense scene before him; their eyes met for the barest of moments, and she could see the concern he held for her clearly but could do nothing about it. All she could do was tear her eyes away from her only companion in that room and back to the man who held both of their lives in his hands, much the same way he held his son.

And if it was any indication in the way Aemond Targaryen continued to stare, eye unwavering and smirk as sharp as a knife, Keeley’s life at least was surely forfeit.

#˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 :#/still of the night #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x original female character #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic

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authurials · 7 months

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𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞! and i'm working on some exciting new projects and fics, including a 2023 halloween special for hotd similar to the one that i did for christmas last year. it's not exactly kinktober but will have elements of that for sure. there is also definitely a lot more coming for the end of this year and leading into the new one--i can't wait to share it with you all!

as a reminder, my requests are open for one-shot/miniseries suggestions! as always i am partial to hotd but have an extensive faq list linked in my navigation post that's pinned that outlines all the fandoms/characters i will write for.

#˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 :#/new theme #/requests open

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authurials · 8 months

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𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 … chapter two

𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄 . absent permission

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 . here

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . strong language, sexual situations, nudity, slight non-con/abuse of power to very dubious consent, rough sex, orgasm denial, implied lactation/breast feeding kink, and possibly other situations not suitable for all audiences

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . chapter two has arrived! and it is definitely something new for me content wise, but i hope it came out alright nonetheless. i do want to take this moment to again stress the above content warnings, as these will be recurring throughout the fic. let me know your thoughts and make sure to leave a like! as always this chapter has also been cross-posted over ao3, so if you prefer to read over there you can.

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 when he was born that Prince Aerion Targaryen was so quiet and so still the nursemaids and maester in attendance almost feared the boy was as dead as his mother; but when he finally drew first breath, the prince’s wail rang throughout the birthing room, as shrill and as strong as a dragon’s–a true testament to his Taragaryen nature, some would say. That initial silence was an apparent fluke as it soon became clear that the prince surely did at least have the lungs of a dragon, for when he was even the slightest bit upset he was quick to let those around him know of his displeasure; none knew better of this fact than that of Keeley, his wet nurse.

The prince’s familiar cries welcomed the woman back into the nursery where hours before she had laid the boy down for his umpteenth nap of the day; though why Keeley had even bothered was lost even on herself for no matter how long the babe seemed to rest throughout the day he always woke up with the same poor disposition. Prince Aerion was notorious for his tantrums, at only a mere three months his fits already struck fear in all those who attended him–some worried for his health, and others worried for their own, for who knew how the ill-tempered king would react to seeing his heir so upset. The only one who seemed immune to the boy’s poor attitude was Keeley, who held the magic antidote to the prince’s ear-shattering vitriol.

“There, there,” she cooed softly as she leaned into the crib that contained the named heir of the Seven Kingdoms. “What is this all about, love?”

The babe’s small body flailed about dangerously in her hands, no care for his safety as he sought to make his displeasure known to anyone within earshot; with practiced patience, the wet nurse tucked the prince safely against her aching chest–the flow of milk had already begun, reacting to the prince’s crescendoing cries and dampening the front of Keeley’s dress. Used to the overproduction that caused her breasts to swell and leak profusely by now, the woman skillfully maneuvered herself into the comfort of her favorite chair so that she may nurse the boy with more ease; tucking her feet up onto the ottoman before her, Keeley settled the prince into one arm and with her free hand undid the laces at the front of her dress.

Cupping the back of the babe’s head, she guided him to her, and startled, he bumped his face against the sternum of her now exposed chest. Smiling patiently, she hushed his increasing protests quietly and adjusted his angle, using her free hand to guide him to one of her breasts. His desperate whimpers were cut off abruptly as he finally latched, gasps muffled as he began to nurse without issue.

Sighing with relief that she had managed to get Aerion to nurse with little difficulty this time, Keeley finally relaxed back into the chair to wait until the little prince was finished; meanwhile, his small fist was curled and rested against the breast he suckled at, his fingers flexing rhythmically on her skin as he took his fill. Humming a quiet tune, the wet nurse stroked at the fine pale hair atop the boy’s head; a Targaryen through and through it seemed, the other attendants often commented on how much he resembled his father, the king. Oddly enough, Keeley could not attest to the truthfulness of this statement as she had not managed to catch more than a glimpse of the realm’s protector a handful of times during her time in the keep; however, she knew well enough the Targaryen look, and young Prince Aerion fit the description perfectly.

“Such a greedy thing,” she smiled, continuing to nurse her charge as she reached down with the pad of her thumb to trace the smell of his perfect cheek. It was then that she took note of how truly flushed the babe appeared to be; at first the wet nurse had mistaken it as him being red-faced from his fit, but now as he had finally calmed, she could tell the redness came from the warmth radiating from his body. Adjusting Aerion in her arms slightly, the jostling causing a brief moment of protest from the prince before he settled once more, Keeley tucked two of her fingers into the top of his gown to feel his chest. Same as his cheek, there was a slight warmth that had settled into his skin, indication of a possible fever.

Humming in thought, Keeley allowed the prince to continue to nurse without disruption, settling back against her chair as she made a note to summon a maester after the boy was done. Though it was normal for infants of Aerion’s age to run hot and have fevers occasionally, as the named heir it was important that his health was closely monitored and attended to. Still, sharing this news would surely mean a slight uproar from the maester, who would then insist on quarantining the boy and therefore Keeley in the nursery until further notice. Aerion barely got fresh air as is, the king paranoid that harm might befall his son if exposed for too long to the world outside his room; it would surely be no shorter than a week before he was deemed well enough for another turnabout the gardens, the last time of which had been just a week prior. And of course, Keeley would have no contact with anyone but the babe, his sworn sword, and the maester during that period of isolation.

Sighing at the thought, Keeley allowed Aerion to have his fill, watching as his eyes slid closed once more as he soothed himself back to sleep with his rhythmic suckling. Once he was fully asleep, he disengaged naturally from her breast, cherub lips damp and slightly ajar as his breathing evened out. Worries put at ease if only for the moment, Keeley put herself to rights once more before rising from the chair; changing his nappy before lying him back in his crib, the wet nurse remained a moment to peer down at the boy’s peaceful face. Ignoring the wave of melancholy that threatened to overtake her, the woman reluctantly turned away and quietly exited the room, turning to face the prince’s sworn sword–

Ser Draven Stokeworth had been named to the prince’s service the day of his birth, the king wanting to make quick work of establishing his son as heir to the Iron Throne; before his promotion to sworn sword, Ser Draven had been a member of the kingsguard and before that a simple knight of the City’s Watch. He was often the only company Keeley could keep during her days spent at Aerion’s beck and call, with other attendings such as Maester Oberon and fellow servants coming and going without any real consistency or purpose; this had led to the wet nurse and knight becoming fast friends, fostering a mutual respect and appreciation for their dedication to their shared charge.

“How fairs our little prince?” Ser Draven smiled in greeting. “He was not too demanding, I hope?”

“No more than usual, ser,” Keeley sighed in mock exhaustion before growing more serious. “I do fear though that he might be running a bit of a fever.”

Frowning, the knight nodded in response, “then we should alert Maester Oberon.”

“I am sure it is nothing to worry about,” Keeley hummed, nodding nonetheless, “but I will let the maester know so he may check in on the prince. Could you keep an ear out for him? He seems restful and should not awaken before our return.”

“Of course, my lady,” the man bowed his head.

Resisting the urge to cringe at the use of a title, Keeley bid him goodbye and made her way to the maester’s chambers located beneath the rookery. The halls of the keep were quiet at that time of day, the sun almost having disappeared below the horizon; the only other people the woman encountered were fellow servants doing their final rounds before they could call an end to their own day. Keeley would have liked nothing more than to be able to join them that night, but her work as a wet nurse often kept her tethered to her own chambers, which were conveniently placed close to the prince’s so she could be fetched without issue. This arrangement did not allow her much time away from her duties, with her free moments spent reading or playing cyvasse with Ser Draven.

Approaching the maester’s chambers, Keeley knocked and then folded her hands in front of her, keeping her head bowed as she waited for the door to open or to be given permission to enter; the latter came just seconds later and the woman took a deep breath, opening one of the double doors to reveal the entrance to the room. The entrance consisted of the solar where Keeley found the elderly maester about to take his meal for the night, dressed simply in his usual robes and looking naturally put out by her unexpected arrival. The servant who attended him stood by the roaring fire, hands folded and head bent much like herself as she walked a few feet into the room.

“Maester Oberon,” she began, “I apologize for the interruption but I have just finished with Prince Aerion’s nursing, and I could not help but notice that he had a bit of a fever. I thought it best to retrieve you to ensure that there is nothing to worry about….”

Without looking up the wet nurse heard the man sigh followed by the scratching of his chair against the floor as he scooted it back, “then I shall see to the prince immediately. Symone, ensure that my meal does not grow too cold, I will take it when I return.”

“Yes, maester,” the other servant, a boy no older than five and ten, replied.

“And you,” Keeley raised her gaze as she was addressed by the older man, “see to it the king is made aware of his son’s fever.”

“Me?” She asked, eyes widening at the prospect of delivering a message to the king himself. “Surely, maester–”

“The king has made it clear he wishes to be made aware of such a matter as this one immediately, and I haven’t the time nor the want to see myself to his chambers before I make it to the prince’s. I am sure you can manage to deliver a simple message, can you not?”

His question held a hidden weight behind it, one that made it clear that if Keeley did not deliver said message then she could very well find herself without the security of the crown’s coin or protection.

“Yes, Maester Oberon,” she bowed her head once more, finding her leave of the room quickly as she headed back towards Maegor’s Holdfast.

The king’s apartments were a floor above the prince’s, a collection of rooms that Keeley had never seen before nor had a reason to until now. The entrance was guarded by two members of the kingsguard, who naturally stopped her with a word as she approached.

“What brings you to the king’s chambers?” One of the guards, a dark-haired man with a thick beard, questioned as his hand fell to the pommel of his word.

“Maester Oberon sent me,” Keeley explained, eyes nervously shifting between him and the fairer haired knight that stood at attention on the other side of the double doors. “I am the prince’s wet nurse, the king’s son is–”

Before she could finish, the dark haired knight quieted her with a dismissive wave, instead reaching for the handle of his door and opening it up. He gestured with his head, “go on in–he’s in his room.”

“I–” the woman opened her mouth to respond, but nothing else came out as she watched the knights exchange a look and all but ignored her. Internally sighing, she nodded and walked past them into the solar of the king’s chambers; they were quite a bit bigger than the maester’s modest accommodations. The solar alone was quite spacious and held two hearths with separate seating arrangements, and a long wooden table big enough to seat eight, three down each side and one at each end. There were three doors that led into other areas, one Keeley knew would be to the queen’s chambers and the other possibly to a study; it was the one in the middle, another double door that made up an impressive archway that she knew led to the king’s private bedroom.

Just barely from the other side Keeley could make out the faint sounds of the room’s occupants, one was no doubt the king himself but there was also a more feminine voice that she could just make out. Biting her lip, Keeley almost made the decision to see herself out of the chambers without delivering the message–perhaps she could leave it with knights insead? But then she remembered the maester’s words, and how the king had ordered for the well being of his son to be reported directly to him without delay.

Sighing, she braced herself and approached the doors, raising her hand to knock when she was startled by a cry from within; acting on instinct Keeley grabbed and swung the door open without a thought, stepping inside quickly to see where the sound had come from. It was soon followed by another, this one clearer without the barrier of the door and so much easier to make out–so the woman could now without a doubt know that the cry was not one of panic but of pleasure. And it was also not the only sound to be had in the king’s private room; there was also the slapping of flesh against flesh, mixed in with the powerful grunt of a man, which could only mean the most primal of things.

As if the sounds were not enough to drive her to embarrassment, the scene before her surely was, and Keeley had no choice but to avert her gaze to spare herself what she could. Before she could even think to turn tail and flee the room, a man’s voice rang out over the cries of the woman stilling Keeley’s beating heart.

“Who dares enter my chambers unannounced?” The king spat out, never stopping his movements as he drove himself harshly into the woman under him.

He was poised on his knees, legs slightly parted, back to the door and therefore his ass on perfect display to Keeley, who could not help but steal a glance before she nervously looked away once more. His curtain of pale, long hair cascaded down his back effortlessly, its length nearly brushing the tops of his buttocks and swaying with the force of his movements. In front of him, concealed entirely by his person aside from the gingery color of her curls that flung about carelessly, was a woman, who seemed lost to the world as she planted herself back into the king’s lap and therefore on his cock. She begged him wantonly for more, increasing her movements when he stopped and awaited their intruders answer, though her pleas were quickly silenced by a stern slap to the side of her ass.

“My king….” The woman sighed breathlessly, and Keeley could see how she squirmed in his lap. “Please….”

“I have asked who has entered my chambers without permission,” the king snapped, throwing his hair over his shoulder as he turned to fix Keeley with a glare.

Before she could think to bow her head and beg for forgiveness, Keeley was frozen by his stare, his eye locked onto her with an accusing look. She opened her mouth but nothing came out, all she could seem to do was stare at him dumbly, his pale eye racking over the length of her critically. Not for the first time, she felt insecure in herself; still dressed in her cream-colored gown, she knew it was rather plain, the chest still slightly stained and dampened by her earlier milk flow. Her dark corkscrew curls were plaited back and tucked under a headscarf, and she could feel the dirt and grease of a long day upon her tired face. It was not how she had imagined meeting the king for the first time, and she was filled with shame as she once more looked away.

“My king,” she began, “apologies, I did not mean to disrupt–”

“And yet you have,” he interjected coldly. “Who are you?”

“My king–” the woman before him tried once more, becoming somewhat unsettled as she shifted back into his lap.

“Quiet,” he might as well have growled, grabbing onto his lover’s hair and pulling it back as he pressed his hips forward into her, cutting her words off as a moan burst forth from her lips. “Can you not be patient for me, pet? Can you not be a good girl? Or must I gag you–again?”

“N-No,” the woman stuttered, gasping as he continued the slow press of his hips into hers. “I-I’ll be good….promise.”

The word sounded weak on her tongue as Keeley heard the soft gasps she tried to contain as she once more fell somewhat silent; all the while, the king kept his eye on her, jaw tense as he spoke, “well, out with it now–who are you?”

“I am….Keeley, my king,” she hesitated at giving him her name, bowing her head in embarrassment. “Your son’s–”

“You’re the wet nurse,” the man answered for her, hips flexing ever so slightly as he tried to keep his lover appeased. “What has brought you to my chambers without a summons?”

“Your grace–” she bit her lip, looking anywhere but at him. “The maester sent me. Aerion–the prince–he was running a fever, and the maester has been sent to attend him, but I was told you had wished to be alerted of such things–”

“Not about a fucking fever,” the king grunted as he quickened his pace slightly, startling a choked noise from the woman under him. “I am sure the maester is more than capable of attending to such things, and I would not be bothered with such trivial matters.”

“I–” Keeley began once more, intent on defending herself, but then sighed, nodding, “I understand, your grace. I will take my leave–”

She turned to exit the rooms, eager to see herself from this mortifying situation as quickly as possible.

“Wait,” she froze as the king’s voice raised in command. “I do not believe I have dismissed you….Keeley.”

The way he said her name should have been a sin, as its effect on the woman surely felt like one as she closed her eyes against an unwanted wave of desire. With her back still to him, she cleared her throat:

“Wh-what would you have of me, my king?”

“I would have your gaze as I talk to you,” he hummed. “Turn around.”

Hesitating, Keeley licked her lips nervously as she slowly turned back to face the bed once more; the king was now holding the woman by her hips, controlling her pace as he lifted her from his lap slowly only to bring her back down hard onto his cock. She was whimpering in earnest now, seeming to be muffling her sounds by leaning forward into the headboard in front of her.

“Good,” he smirked, his gaze thankfully leaving her as he turned back to his lover; still, his hand lifted as he pointed to the settee off to the left side of the canopied bed. “Now–take a seat.”

Stunned, Keeley did not immediately move, unsure–and hopeful–that she had heard him incorrectly; however, his finger remained pointing at the settee as he waited for her to follow his orders. Considering fleeing all the same, Keeley gripped the skirts of her dress, crushing them in her fists as she began to shake from the nerves.

“Your grace, please,” she was not above begging, “I am sorry–”

“I have not asked for your apologies,” the man sighed, focusing on his movements as he lazily leaned his head back, “though you may save them for later. Now–take. A. Seat.”

This time his words left nothing up for discussion, and swallowing her fear, Keeley had no choice but to force herself across the room and to the plush settee that was located only a few feet from the side of the bed. Sinking down into its soft cushions, Keeley’s hands fell to her lap, still gripping the fabric of the gown for dear life as she kept her head bowed.

“Good, now,” the king sighed in pleasure, “look at us.”

“I shouldn’t–” She shook her head, thinking not only of herself but of the woman in his bed.

“No, you should not have,” he bit out, “and yet here you are, in my chambers–unannounced, uninvited. Now look at us!”

Flinching, Keeley bit her lip, fearful she would punch through the flesh of it as she slowly lifted her head and allowed her gaze to flick up. She swallowed a gasp, resisting the urge to tear her eyes away once more as she was fearful of the king’s reaction to her disobedience. Now, with a side view of the couple, she could see that the woman before her was blind folded, her wrists bound together and tied to the headboard; her hair was indeed a coppery ginger color, falling in loose curls down the arch of back as she fucked herself back onto the king’s cock. The pale skin of her ass was reddened, and Keeley could make out the outline of handprints all over the flesh. The king himself was truly a sight to behold, and though there was indisputable shame in the act, Keeley heeded his words and looked upon his body. He was of a slim build, the muscle of his chest and abdomen slightly defined from years of training at the sword; the paleness of his skin was scarred from war Keeley had no doubt, littering across his body and varying in size and coloration, from cuts to burns. Knowing he was also scarred on his face, Keeley was situated to the unscarred side, his pale eye flicking towards her every now and then to ensure she was heeding his commands, all the while driving into his lover without mercy.

“My king, must she watch?” The woman herself gasped out. “What if she–”

“She will tell no one,” the king interrupted, looking at Keeley once more. “Will you?”

“N-No, my king,” she could not help but look away; and even if she did, the woman’s identity was unknown to Keeley, so there was no chance of the wet nurse exposing it.

“Did I tell you to stop watching?” The king snapped. “Keep your eyes on me…..there we go, good girl–”

His praise as she once more looked over at them threw Keeley off, causing the flush in her cheeks to rise even more if that was possible. She felt warm and uncomfortable, her chest somehow once more enlarged and aching in the confines of her dress. Seeming to notice her discomfort, the king hummed, “your dress–undo the top, show me your breasts.”

“My king?” she asked, if she had somehow again misheard him.

“You heard me,” he smirked, eye never leaving her. “Unlace it–slowly–and do not look away.”

Fingers shaking with nerves, Keeley did in fact not look away as she unthreaded the familiar ties to her dress, the sides loosened slowly until they were hanging open. The valley of her breasts was on display, but she made no move to part the fabric further to expose them fully as she stared unblinkingly at the king. His singular eye held her gaze, seeming to be searching for something, all the while he did not cease his fucking into his partner. The first to break their stare off, the king lowered his eye for a moment to Keeley’s slightly covered chest, and then back up to her gaze where he cocked his head expectantly.

Taking a shaky breath, Keeley once more reached up to the sides of her dress and parted them slowly, stopping only when they were pulled over her shoulders and down to her elbow. Before she could continue, the king spoke, “stop–that is enough–”

She once more looked into his eye as he continued, “stay like that.”

Chest rising and falling, Keeley did not look away as the king allowed his eye to wander from her face to her chest, admiring her engorged breasts as he sped up his thrusting. The red haired woman cried out, gripping the headboard in white knuckled fists as she was pressed forward with a hand on her upper back; cheek now pressed against her hand, she panted as she began to thank him repeatedly, “gods, my king, please–I am almost there–”

“Do not come,” he ordered, gaze only for Keeley still as he gripped the woman’s tresses in one hand and pressed her face into her hands, “not until I say so.”

“Oh please my king,” she continued to beg, beginning to babble as she was lost to her own pleasure. “Please–”

“Silence,” the man sighed, pressing his hips into her and holding there as he deepened his strokes; Keeley could make out the subtle shifting as he adjusted his angle, hitting something good if the woman’s cries of pleasure were any indication. “You–”

Embarrassed at having been caught watching so intently, Keeley looked back into the king’s eye, not missing the knowing curve of his lip as continued, “touch your breasts.”

Knowing it was futile to deny him, she did as she was told, lifting her shaking hands to cup her tender breasts; they were certainly more than a handful, overflowing her palms as she did as the king bid, pressing the two mounds together and rolling the flesh carefully under her gentle touch. As she fondled herself awkwardly, the king looked on, his grunts increasing as his thrusting became more uneven; she was certain he was chasing his peak, and the sooner that occurred the quicker she could be released from this torment–she hoped.

“Your nipples,” he gasped out, licking his lips, “pinch them–I want the milk to flow.”

Using the thumb and pointer finger of both her hands, she grabbed at the nipples of both her breasts and gently pressed them between the digits; wincing from the uncomfortability of it, she tweaked them lightly, hoping it was enough to appease the king’s desires. She could feel when the milk began to leak out, coating her fingers and causing them to become slippery as she tugged on the hardening peaks.

“There we are,” the king groaned, the words coming out with a sigh of pleasure as he gripped his lover’s hips and continued to piston into her.

“My king–” the woman began again, whimpering once more for her release.

“Quiet!” He startled both women by shouting; Keeley felt her movements falter, coming back to herself momentarily as she had almost allowed herself to sink into the pleasant feeling forming in the core of her stomach. “Do not stop–”

This part was directed at Keeley, the king taking note that she had stilled her moments, though her hands remained hovering over her breasts, fingers twitching unsurely. Nerves getting the best of her, Keeley could not help but look away and let her hands fall slightly away from her chest.

“Look at me!” The king demanded, anger rising in his tone. “I did not tell you to stop.”

Keeley’s eyes shot back over to him, and jaw tense, he glared at her only for his eye to immediately flick expectantly back to her bare breasts.

“Continue.”

Choking back her denial, Keeley once more began to play with her breasts, trying to lose herself in the previously pleasant sensations. Her thumb grazed over a stiff nipple, causing her to shudder as her index finger met the other side and pinched more milk out from the breast. When her eyes closed this time, the king did not complain, mostly because he had lost himself in his approaching orgasm; and this time Keeley allowed herself to listen to his sounds without shame, to the way he grunted and gasped as he chased his peak, to the way he quietly praised the woman underneath him even as he commanded her to hold her release.

Again, that pleasant feeling overtook the nerves in Keeley’s stomach, a welcomed warmness in exchange for the tight grip that had had its hold on her since she’d entered the chambers. As she continued her ministrations, the woman could not help the sigh that left her lips in response to the king finally reaching his peak.

It was punched out and desperate, sounding borderline painful as his hips stuttered into the woman, who still had not been given leave to have her own end. Keeley managed to peel her eyes open to watch the scene before her, tracing the length of the king’s throat column as he threw his head back in ecstasy, hips pressing forward and stilling with finality as he pumped his lover full of seed. And finally, as he finished, the wet nurse watched as the man before her relaxed, lowering his head so a curtain of his hair fell over his face and obscured him from Keeley’s view; his chest rose with the exertion of his breathing, hands flexing across the woman’s hip bones before releasing them finally and giving her side an appreciative pat.

Watching the moment seemingly brought Keeley back to reality, and she realized with horror that all that time she had not stopped the attention to her breasts. Flushing, she removed her milk covered palms from the damp flesh of her breasts and without thinking brought together the sides of her dress to cover herself once more.

“Your grace, please….” The woman on the bed whimpered, drawing Keeley’s attention if only for a moment; the red head was now pressing back against the king’s softening cock with renewed desperation, hoping to find her end before it was too late. It was then that the wet nurse took note once more of the blind fold around the woman’s eyes, dampened from the tears of her frustration and pleasure.

“I have not given you permission,” the king chuckled tiredly, hair still a curtain between him and the wet nurse. “Nor will I, I think. You were rather loud after all….”

Keeley used his distraction to continue putting herself together, only moving to leave when she had clumsily put together once more the laces of her dress. It was only when she had stood to make her escape that his grace once more paid attention to her presence; throwing back his hair, the king now turned himself to face Keeley fully, and for a moment she was struck by the other side of his face–

A sapphire where his other eye should be, deep set into the flesh as if it were a natural occurrence; the only indication it did not belong being the scar that ran through the brow bone, over the damaged socket, and across the curve of his cheek. It was startling, but not altogether unsettling, in fact Keeley had to admit she found the sight of his ruined face oddly beautiful.

“And where are you going?” The king hummed coolly as he pulled himself from his panicking lover, whose protests were drowned out by the sound of the blood rushing through Keeley’s head. She could see him getting off the bed, the muscles and length of his legs on display, softening cock between them the centerpiece; but before she could appreciate its size however his words had broken the woman out of her reverie, and like ice water in her veins, pushed her into action. Before she could stop herself, Keeley clutched the front of her dress and ran for the door, wrenching it open even as the king’s voice sounded off behind her.

“Stop!” He growled in anger, the sound of his hurried footsteps following as Keeley threw herself through the archway and made a beeline for the main door. “Guards!”

Either they must not have heard him or were not quick enough, as Keeley neither felt nor heard the knights posted at the door as she ran past them without a sparing glance. She kept her face forward, heart pounding in her chest as she continued to run, unsure of where she could possibly go in the castle where the king could not find–and punish–her.

So panicked she was that Keeley did not even think of the prince, whose next feeding was but hours away, and surely that could only be the perfect place for an angry king to find the woman who had disobeyed him.

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authurials · 8 months

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𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 … chapter one

𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄 . a council of snakes

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 . here

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . no warnings

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is chapter one of still of the night--cross posted here as well as on ao3. this first part is give a little insight on aemond and his small council, next part will be keeley's intro and first glance of baby aerion! please let me know your thoughts and make sure to leave a like to show your support.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 a time, in his youth, where Aemond Targaryen would have given anything to be King of the Seven Kingdoms. He had been an envious child–a second son–constantly longing after what he could not have–whether it be a dragon, a father, a birthright; none had ever been given so easily, and so Aemond Targaryen had learned how to take. It was he who had claimed Vhagar at the mere age of ten, it was he who took his revenge against the bastard Lucerys Velaryon for cutting out his eye, and it was he who had won his brother’s war when he killed their sister’s greatest weapon, Daemon Targaryen. And yet it was Aegon who had been crowned all the same, it was Aegon the Greens had fought for, and Aemond had been nothing more than a weapon to be wielded–a means to an end. For no matter his years of training and studying and dedication, no matter if his elder brother had never been suited for duty, Aemond would never have been anything more than a second son–a spare to an heir, until Aegon had solidified his rule by having children of his own.

And yet none of it had mattered by the time the dust had settled on the battlefield and the poison had taken root in Aegon the Elder’s body, for there Aemond Targaryen now sat at the head of the small council table–king, and hating every second of it.

The monarch sighed in disinterest, poorly feigning paying attention as the men around him once more discussed what they believed to be a most pressing subject–the potential future arrangement of his second marriage. One might mistakenly believe that there were far more important things to set the crown’s attention and resources to; the debilitating poverty in Flea Bottom to begin with, or mayhaps the areas of the realm still in need of repair after the dance had left them decimated and in some cases unlivable, or even the ever persistent fragile state of the realm, that still found itself torn asunder by the fracturing of the house of the dragon. Yet, it was the misguided belief of Aemond’s small council that all could be fixed with the right marriage–one that would see the seven kingdoms once more reunited, and begin an era of prosperity under his rule.

Though, Aemond saw the prospect of his rule being ‘prosperous’ rather unlikely and in fact laughable in the face of all that he had done; so many still saw him as cursed–

A kinslayer.

They would never see him as anything but a monster, and maybe that was what Aemond was; but, at least it was his blood that would sit the throne, the price that had been paid in blood and fire had seen to that–

He had seen to that.

“--it would be the most practical choice, your grace, if you were to marry Lady Rhaena, ” Lord Edric Reyne, Master of Law, pressed once more to regain Aemond’s attention.

“However,” Lord Hendrik Lannister, Master of Coin, added, “there are other choices we may consider that would be just as advantageous.”

“Still trying to see your niece as queen, Lord Hendrick?” Ser Garth Swyft, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, snorted.

“Gentlemen,” Oberon, the Grand Maester, hummed disapprovingly, quieting the playful squabbling; he turned his attention back to the king, whose indifference continued. “My king, I understand that this decision might be a difficult one, however without a queen we fear some might begin to question your–”

“My what, Grand Maester?” Aemond interjected finally, his voice sharp like the Valryian dagger he kept strapped to his side at all times; his singular pale eye was piercing as he stared down the older man. “You fear they might question my rule if I do not take another wife? Yet it is so soon after my beloved Floris’ death.”

He used the term beloved loosely, as there had certainly been no love between Aemond and his wife. They had married not long after the war had ended, his mother the Dowager Queen pressing for the ceremony as a way to raise spirits and appease the Baratheons; the latter of which had still been reeling from the loss of their patriarch on the kingsroad. Floris herself had been apt enough to do her duty, and had taken to the title of queen rather well when her husband had ascended the throne; and though there had been nothing in regards to affection between the pair, Aemond had admired her loyalty and determination. He would not say he truly mourned the loss, but her presence in his life would be missed, as she had never bothered him for love or tenderness, but simply loyalty and respect in return for her own. Theirs had been a mutually beneficial partnership, and he doubted he would find that so easily in his next marriage–hence why he was so hesitant, among other reasons, to remarry so soon.

“I have no need for a queen by my side to be able to rule,” Aemond frowned, continuing, “nor do I feel the need to solidify my claim more when my late wife has already given me our son. Now, I do not know why you all bother me with such trivial matters when I have already made my opinion quite clear–I will marry no one else as of right now, and I will certainly not be marrying Lady Rhaena.”

He fixed his singular eye on the crux of the issue–Lord Alyn Velaryon, his previous Master of Ships and his newly named Hand; though he was greatly beginning to regret bestowing the honor upon the ruler of Driftmark as the man had done nothing but press his own agenda much like the previous Hand before him. Aemond had believed extending this olive branch to the only other remaining Valryian house in Westeros would see the matters of the dance finally put to rest; however, it appeared he had allowed the Velaryons too much leeway, as they were beginning to become a thorn in his side. If it was not Alyn scheming to marry his wife’s twin to the king, then it was his cousin Baela testing the bounds of his mercy as she made no attempt to hide her hatred and was constantly finding ways to impede his ability to rule–primarily in her control of the Velaryon fleet.

“My king,” Alyn shifted in his chair, attempting to make himself look bigger under Aemond’s scrutinous stare, “although we may understand your stance on the prospect of a marriage arrangement so soon after Queen Floris’ passing, we must insist that this is what is best for the realm. A marriage to Lady Rhaena will finally unite our families once more, and if you were to have a child together, any bad blood that remained would be squashed. The people of the Seven Kingdoms can once more rest easy knowing the royal family is at peace, with no fear of further warring tearing the realm asunder once more.”

“I agree,” Lord Edric nodded. “Lady Rhaena would make a suitable choice for the next queen. She is of Targaryen blood, she is a dragon rider, and from what I have heard an intelligent and dutiful girl. A marriage between the two of you could restore House Targaryen to its former glory, and bring rise to a new generation of dragons.”

“If we can somehow manage to get the few eggs that do remain to hatch,” Lord Dagmar Greyjoy, Master of Ships, snorted before downing the rest of his wine; slamming his cup on the table, he gestured for the cupbearer to come forth, “more boy!”

All it took to silence the drunken man was for Aemond to turn his gaze on the Lord Regent of the Iron Islands, who only held his position simply to garner support of the Iron fleet; and even then, when the time came for the young Lord Toron to take his helm finally as his peoples’ leader, Dagmar would find himself out of a title–if he managed to even survive that long.

“Lord Velaryon, Lord Reyne,” Aemond hummed, turning his attention back to the matter at hand, “your words have been heard, and although I may understand some reasoning behind why you would want to see Lady Rhaena and I marry, I must disagree. There is much history between the pair of us, and not much of it good at that, and I fear that that has irreparably damaged our opinions of one another. I have no desire to see us stuck in a marriage where neither of us can rest easy for fear of what the other might do, as I know I would not be able to find it in myself to trust her after everything that has transpired between our families. That in of itself would cause great complications in fulfilling our duties as I am sure a marriage between the both of us would bear nothing of fruit, of that I am certain.”

Silence stretched out across the long table of the council, the king’s advisors sharing looks–as if to ask one another if anyone else had any other ideas.

“Besides,” the king chose for them, breaking the silence as he continued on, “it was my understanding that Lady Rhaena was entertaining suitors even as we speak. Is that not correct, Lord Velaryon?”

“My king?” Alyn feigned confusion.

“Come now,” Aemond rolled his eyes. “What was the name of that Corbray knight I have seen my cousin speaking with as of late…Collin?”

“....Corwyn,” Alyn sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in barely concealed frustration. “But I assure you, your grace, nothing untoward has transpired between the two. I have certainly not given Lady Rhaena leave to marry, nor do I intend to.”

“And why is that? Last I saw of them they seemed rather taken with each other,” Aemond hummed. “She will surely be happier with him than she ever would with me.”

“I have already spoken with my good-sister on the matter,” the Hand admitted, at least having the good sense to look uneasy under his king’s accusatory gaze. “That is to say, she would be amicable to a marriage if we are able to reach an agreement as a small council.”

“How kind of you to include us in this arrangement, Lord Alyn,” the Master of Ships quipped, paying more attention to his wine than the conversation.

“I agree,” Lord Henrick supplied dryly.

“Your grace,” Lord Edric came to the rescue, a voice of reason among the rising tensions between Hand and King, “let us at least hear what Lady Rhaena had to say to her good-brother in regards to the match.”

Snakes, the lot of them, Aemond could not help but think to himself as he assessed the men that surrounded him at the long table; there was not one among them that would do anything that did not benefit himself, that did not elevate his position in some way. He knew ambition when he saw it, had seen it etched across the cold and calculating plains of his grandsire’s face many a time growing up; and had felt it most viscerally himself the night he had claimed Vhagar–the night he had lost his eye. No one knew ambition better than Aemond Targaryen, especially how dangerous it could be when fed improperly.

“Very well,” he conceded with a stiff nod.

“My king,” Alyn began, saying the words as if in an attempt to reassert his loyalty to Aemond’s crown, “I have spoken in great depths to Lady Rhaena in regards to a potential match between you and her, this is true; and during our talks, my good-sister has expressed of course the same hesitation that you do, however she understands that if we as the small council can agree that this marriage is what is best for the realm then she will do her duty. However, she does ask that certain demands be met before doing so….”

“Aye, of course,” Aemond sneered in response, “and might I ask what my cousin would have of her king?”

“She asks that she be allowed to spend her summers on Driftmark, with my lady wife,” Alyn responds, unwavering under his liege’s burning stare, “and that the rest of the time will be spent here in King’s Landing. And even though we had already made plans to rebuild the Dragon Pit, she requests that it be completed post haste so that Morning may live in greater comfort if she is to live in the capital permanently.”

“Is that all?” The one-eyed monarch raised a pale brow.

The Hand of the King fell quiet for moment, for the first time showing unsureness before answering, and quickly the reason for such hesitation became clear as he continued, “Lady Rhaena would also see that her half-brother, Prince Aegon, be returned from his wardship in the North and instead be allowed to foster under the both of you.”

The other members of the small council exchange uneasy looks even as Aemond’s remained locked on Alyn, singular eye unwavering as if he could somehow fell the man with simply his gaze. For all he wanted to do in that moment was be rid of Lord Velaryon, and his cousins, once and for all so they may no longer plague him with any mentions of Aegon the Younger’s existence. The boy was an all but forbidden subject in the Red Keep, most if not everyone knew not to breathe his name in the king’s company for fear of reprimand–or worse.

After the war, the eldest son of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen had only been spared execution after barely surviving the sword the first time under Aegon the Elder due to Aemond having no desire to feed the title of kinslayer any longer; that did not stop him, however, in essentially banishing him from the capital with the threat of dragon fire in the North if Lord Stark attempted to raise the boy for usurpation and revenge for his fallen mother. Along with the boy’s exile, Aemond had also put a stop to the ill-arranged betrothal between Aegon III and his remaining niece, Jahaera; he could not stomach the idea of his sister’s only living child being forced to bear the burden of reunification of their fractured house, as it was not her responsibility to fix what she had not broken. To marry the blood of her twin brother’s killer was not something Aemond would allow his niece to be subjected to, no matter how much his small council pressed him to see reason.

“Well,” he cleared his throat finally, “I suppose it is good that I do not intend to marry Lady Rhaena then, as I would not see my nephew return to King’s Landing so quickly. The envoys I receive from the North tell me the child seems agreeable to the arrangement, and that Lord Stark is a firm but fair warden. What reason would I have to bring him back to the keep?”

“Your grace–” Lord Edric began.

“I grow tired of these discussions,” Aemond interjected with a sigh, leaning back in his chair as he assessed the men of the council. “Have I not made myself clear in regards to my intent–or lack thereof–to remarry? My late wife–your queen–has given me a son; I have my named heir–for now that is enough.”

“My king, I am afraid we cannot guarantee the prince’s continued health,” Oberon stated boldly if not foolishly, “we must ensure the security of your bloodline by procuring a spare as soon as–”

“My son shall live!” Aemond asserted loudly, finding himself standing from his chair, planting his hands loudly atop the table as he glowered at the older man. “He is my blood, the blood of the dragon! He is my heir, and he shall be king when my body no longer draws breath.”

The Grand Maester tried not to quack under the king’s anger, looking to the other council members for help but there was none to be had as they avoided his gaze.

“It is my fault really, as I have allowed you all to bicker and to plot for far too long,” the king laughed without humor, “but no more, I am afraid. I will hear no more of this nonsense–no more about marriage–”

He slammed his fist on the table, startling the men of the council and even the guards who stood at attention.

“No more about my son–”

He fixed a cool stare on the Grand Maester, who bowed his head under the pressure of the Targaryen’s pale gaze.

“And no more about Aegon,” he finished, turning the look onto Lord Velaryon, who sat still as a statue as he returned the king’s glare with one of his own.

Sinking back down in his chair, Aemond never broke Alyn’s stare as he continued, anger leaving his body as quickly as it entered,

“Am I understood?” He only broke away from the Velaryon to ensure he had the men in the council’s agreement to his newest commands; he would leave no room for doubt on how serious he was, even if he had to draw blood to get his point across. He would no longer suffer their ambition or their defiance, as he had for years under his grandfather and mother’s whim; he was king now, and though she had not flown for many years, he was still the rider of Vhagar, the Queen of Dragons–his word, at this current moment, was law–

And it would be obeyed.

“My king,” his title rang across the group of men, who bowed their heads in acquiesce until they got to the Hand, who sat stoically across from Aemond, still looking upon him unwaveringly.

“Lord Velaryon,” he pressed, “do you wish to say something?”

For a moment, Aemond welcomed the idea of the man’s resistance–even if it were a singular quip once more asserting his desire to see Rhaena wed the king. That was all he would need truly to rid the Lord of the Tides of his title as Hand of the King, and see him far from the council room–let that be a lesson when one’s ambitions stretch beyond the realm of propriety.

“No,” the man gritted out, “no I do not, my king.”

Like the others, Alyn Velaryon bowed his head to King Aemond’s demands, and with that the small council’s gathering was brought to an end.

As they left, Aemond remained seated, eyes trailing after them coolly until the last man disappeared through the double doors of the council room and they were once more closed. Left with only the guards and the cupbearer, Aemond picked up his own forgotten chalice of wine and took a sip, humming,

“Boy.”

“M-My king?” The cupbearer stepped forward, holding the pitcher of Arbor red; he had remained quiet as his position requires during the whole council meeting, and he was not often used to being addressed directly by the king himself.

“See to it that Lady Rhysling is made aware that I request her presence in my chambers after dinner,” Aemond instructed, “and inform the servants that I require a hot bath to be brought up afterwards as well.”

“My king,” the boy repeated, this time more sure as he bowed his head and set the pitcher once more on its pedestal, hurrying to leave the room and fulfill Aemond’s requests.

As the door clicked once more closed, the king downed the rest of his wine, taking a moment to himself–now all he had to do was make it through dinner with his niece.

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authurials · 8 months

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𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 … prologue

𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄 . a new reign

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 . here

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . no warnings

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . very short prologue for my new aemond targaryen post-dance fic, still of the night--cross posted on here as well as on ao3. let me know your thoughts!

𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃 day of the 5th moon, in the year 130 AC, Prince Aemond Targaryen and King Consort Daemon Targaryen took to the skies above the God’s Eye–both seeking to end the dance once and for all.

Only one would live to tell the tale.

Jumping from the saddle of his dragon Caraxes, it was said King Consort Daemon attempted to slay his kinslayer nephew by stabbing him through the eye with Dark Sister; however, Prince Aemond after much struggle was able to fling the older man from the back of Vhagar, just as his dragon delt the killing blow to the Blood Wyrm. Rider and dragon both slain, their bodies laying broken along the bay, Prince Aemond–although baring his own potentially fatal wounds–collected his uncle’s sword and his head and made his way back to King’s Landing–

A hero some would say, cursed, said others.

No matter the peoples’ opinions, come 131 AC and with the death of Aegon II Targaryen, his brother and named heir, Aemond Tararyen, would sit the throne as the new king of the Seven Kingdoms–

Long may he reign.

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authurials · 1 year

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 ... 5/5

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . the love story between aemond and you comes to an end--will there be a happily ever after to be had for the both of you?

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 . one / two / three / four

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations ( MINORS DNI ! ), strong language, mild smut, depictions of sexual acts

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . it’s here! the thirteenth and final day of my 12 days of house of the dragon celebration! i cannot believe i made it with minimal changes to my original schedule; i did end up having to cut a few pieces and i didn’t post everyday as i had planned but i’m still proud with what i was able to achieve because writing this much in that amount of days is unheard for me. of course, it did come with it’s challenges and i am completely exhausted after the fact, but i’m really happy with how everything turned out and the support this celebration garnered. i mean i hit not ONE but TWO milestones with my followers, going from 180+ to now 310+ during the month of december, and the amount of love you’ve all given to each piece has been greatly appreciated. seeing even just one notification when i open this app brings a smile to my face, and i am grateful for the support each of you has given me. now, in regards to this particular miniseries--it too has finally come to an end and i hope you’ve all enjoyed going on this journey with me, aemond, and reader; i really stepped out of my comfort zone with this one, trying to play with new ways of writing and i’m really happy with how it turned out. so, with all that being said, i hope you enjoy the conclusion to both the language of flowers and my 12 days of house of the dragon and i also hope you stick around to see what i do next

𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 among the chrysanthemums, arms wrapped around yourself as you stared upon a statue of the Maiden; you had come there to the private garden dedicated to the Seven in search for some clarity, mind and body having been plagued with an ache since the confrontation with Queen Alicent days earlier. Aemond’s lack of action preceding the days that followed only left you feeling more detached and numb, believing he truly had no desire to fight for something so brief yet all-consuming. You had been confident in each other’s shared feelings, but it appears you had been blinded by a fool’s love and were now left floundering to pick up the pieces of a shattered heart; it had been crudely put to rights, held precariously together by the salve of a father’s love and comfort, and placed back in the hollow cavern of your chest. Now, in that moment as you stared upon the Maiden’s somber face, it beat weakly against the wall of your breastplate as you heard Aemond clear his throat.

Without bothering to turn around you hummed, “what are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you,” he replied, taking slow steps toward you; each crunch of the gravel under his boots caused you to subtly flinch, swollen eyes sliding closed as you took a deep breath in and let it out. You willed your heart to still, worried it might clumsily come apart again under the pressure of her beloved’s presence.

And beloved Aemond Targaryen still was by you, for you cannot so easily forget the way in which you had helplessly fallen for him with the ease of an autumn leaf. Even if that tenderness was now irrevocably entwined with the stinging slap of betrayal you could not so easily forget the former, and it weighed heavily on the fragile organ in your chest as the dragon stopped behind you. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your neck, neither of you saying anything for a moment as your eyes remained close, quiet sniffles leaving you at the force of trying not to cry.

“I heard what my mother and grandfather tried to do,” he spoke first, words brushing over your skin like the flat part of a knife.

They had come to your father that morning, and you had just so happened to be there to break your fast as the queen and the Hand were let in without announcement. You had withered away under Alicent’s accusatory gaze, shame causing your head to bow as Otto spoke matter-of-factly about your father’s release from his duties as head gardener. It was there that your impropriety with the prince was revealed much to the initial confusion of your father, who could only beg them to reconsider though you knew it was futile. Even if he did make good on his promise to ensure you stayed away from Aemond, the queen and the Hand could not guarantee that Aemond would stay away from you; though you had believed their worries unnecessary as why would he bother to seek something out that he had not deemed necessary to fight for to begin with? However, there he was, standing so close and yet he felt so far away from you as you resisted the urge to turn around and lose yourself once more in the embrace of his arms.

“It matters little now,” you blinked, gaze once more settling on the young face of the Maiden; were you not her and she you? A flower unplucked but ripe for the picking, still yet an offset of all her teachings: purity, beauty and love. “My father and I are to be sent away, what else is there to say?”

“There is everything to say,” Aemond proclaims desperately, voice beseeching as he willed you to turn around so that he may gaze upon your face and look into your eyes, to hopefully see the same love he held reflected back at him. You did not do as such however, simply continuing to look at the statue before you as you waited for him to continue. “....I am sorry for that day in the gardens; I should’ve handled things differently.”

“And yet you did not,” you stated simply.

“I know and I would spend the rest of my life in atonement for such foolish judgment if you will only just look at me but for a moment,” he subtly begged.

“What good will this do either of us, Aemond?” Your implored, voice shaky as you licked your dry lips. “You only hurt us both by being here, trying to change things that cannot be undone.”

“Why must I resign myself to a life without you?” He demanded to know, voice petulant like a spoiled child’s. “Why do you not wish to fight for us?”

“What position am I in to defy the orders of my queen?” You asked; stunned by his accusation, you finally did turn to look at him, gazing upon the handsome plains of his face and the pouting set of his lips. “I have no such power over my life and when I had dared to hope that you might vouch for us in my place–to do what I could not do–you simply stood there and said nothing in our defense. I know as your mother and the queen she wields some power over you, but you are still a prince, Aemond, and I had not believed you to be so craven until that moment.”

“I know that I folded under the whims of my mother too easily,” he grabbed for your hands but you denied him this, tilting your body away once more as threat that you would leave at any moment if he did not stay his touch, “and it is something I will regret for many years to come. I do not ask for your forgiveness because I know that I do not deserve it in this moment, but I do ask for your understanding and your grace when I tell you that it is not so easy for me to defy my mother–”

“I am not asking you to–” You interjected.

“--but I want to try,” he continued over you, determination in the set of his jaw as he flexed his fingers in and out of a fist; you knew he desired your hands and body against his own, assurance that you were still his, but you denied him such a privilege as you waited for him to go on. “For so long hers has been the only approval, the only love, I have sought out; all I have done, every step I have taken, has been a reflection of her own. I am her sword, and she has been my wielder, using me as a weapon against her enemies–one’s I have always counted as mine as well until recently; I did not see it so clearly until….until I started speaking with you again.”

You opened your mouth as if to speak but no words came out, mind a jumbled mess of emotion and thought neither of which you could make much sense of. So instead you bid him silently to continue as it appeared he had more say, no protest of body or word as you allowed him to reach out tentatively and take your hands in his finally; although neither did you make any move to curl your fingers against his own, simply allowing them to hang limply in Aemond’s.

“You have made me see how little I truly care for the politics surrounding my family,” he hummed, pads of his thumbs caressing the skin on the back of your hand, “and how much I abhor the chaos in which my own mother and grandfather have created. I care little for a throne I will never have the chance to sit upon, for why would I waste my time even trying when I can simply be the jester in your court?”

You could not help but snort at his words, a pained smile curving your lips as you ask, “why the jester?”

“Because I am a fool who loves a queen of flowers,” he spoke honestly.

The breath left your body as your eyes lifted fully to his face, gazes locking; Aemond’s were serious and unmoving, proof of the validity of his words and intentions as he moved slowly closer to you, assessing your reaction. Making no move to distance yourself from him, he continued until your bodies were pressed against each other, hands coming up to cup your face as you still could only stare. Never had you dared to hope you’d one day possess the love of a dragon; it had seemed like such a dangerous and impossible feat for one of your status, and yet there you stood in one’s embrace–the object of his every burning desire.

“Will you have me then?” He asked. “Will you have me as I am–craven and all–a man desperate to prove himself no longer and who will spend the rest of his days ensuring only your happiness?”

“Aemond,” you breath out, feeling overwhelmed by his confessions and his promises of a future together, yet unsure if you could trust his resolve; there was always the chance he would once again succumb to the loyalty he felt for his family and you’d be left again to the buzzards. “My father and I–we cannot stay here, and I will not ask it of you to come with us.”

“I have already settled that with my mother and the Hand,” he assured you, smoothing back your hair as his thumb caressed the swell of your cheek. “You will stay at the keep; your father will be able to continue his work in the gardens as he’s always done.”

“And what of myself?” You asked. “Am I to be your mistress while you are married off to some highborn lady–”

“I will have no one but you,” he cut you off, pressing your foreheads together as he willed you silently to believe him. “I have let this be known to my family, and I will not be swayed from my decision. If the Faith will not marry us then I will take you in the manner of my house, I am sure my half-sister would be happy to see us wed if only to upset my mother.”

You cannot help but laugh, near hysterical at the disbelief of what he was saying; it was hard to fathom that this was reality, that Aemond wanted to take you to wife, to have you be the mother of his children–the queen to the garden of his heart. It was an overwhelming impossibility, but one in which you dared to believe as you found yourself nodding in agreement. Tears stung your eyes, sliding down the plains of your cheek as you laughed joyfully, delighted by the way in which Aemond pulled back slightly to pepper your face in kisses. Your acquiesce to his intentions had you both wrapped up in its euphoria, forgetting if only for a moment the hard road ahead to make it happen–

For both of you were ready to brave it.

•°•❀•°•

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐃 been a rather small affair, kept quiet at the behest of Aemond’s mother, who though had conceded to the pair of you being married if only to have it done in the eye of the Seven was still rather reluctant for the news to get out just yet. It was attended by only the queen herself, along with Aemond’s sister Helaena and your father, who had tearfully walked you down the aisle to your husband-to-be. It wasn’t until everything had been said and done that you had allowed yourself to breathe easy, lips pressed against Aemond’s in your first kiss as husband and wife. There was no feast that followed and certainly no bedding ceremony, your now husband had simply had you escorted to your now shared chambers while he handled the issue of his grandfather, who had raised quite the stink when his grandson had made his intentions of marrying a servant known.

There had been little up for debate however when the matter had been brought to the ailing king’s attention, Otto insisting that Aemond be forbidden to marry such ‘ill-stock.’ The choice of words alone had almost settled the issue right then and there, you gripping your love’s arm so that he would not be made a kinslayer by taking a blade to his grandsire’s neck. It had taken some time for Alicent, in all her grace, to reluctantly explain the issue impartially, telling Viserys that their son wished to marry the daughter of a gardener and was asking for his father’s blessing. For all his confusion, the king still seemed to understand matters of the heart and simply asked if you and Aemond loved each other; he posed the question to the both of you, Aemond answering without hesitation before the good half of the man’s face turned expectantly to you; after a moment you had managed to stumble out an agreement, proclaiming your love and devotion for his son. Seeming content enough with that answer, Viserys agreed to the match with little fanfare before drifting off to sleep much to the outrage of Otto; his daughter, however, seemed to understand that there would be no steering her son off this path, and though she did not believe it proper still she had no complaints left say by the time the details of the ceremony were settled.

Now that was said and done, and you sat on Aemond’s–now the both of yours–bed, you contemplated what was to come; not just on that night as you nervously awaited the return of your husband, but in the days and weeks and even years to follow. No doubt you would soon be a mother, the children you bore Aemond would be princes and princesses, long down the line of succession but still contenders of the throne nonetheless; it made you uneasy to think that they might one be swept up in whatever plotting surrounded the crown at that time, but you were comforted by the thought that their father would not allow them to be used as pawns as he had. The potential of your future together left a smile on your face as Aemond finally returned, finding you still on the bed and lost in thought; however, you were quickly brought out of your contemplation by the shifting of the mattress as he sat beside you.

“You have returned,” you observed astutely.

“I have,” he echoed, a smile of his own curving his lips as he claimed your hands in his own.

“And how fares your grandfather after your visit with him?” You teased, entwining your fingers as you leaned in to his warmth.

“He still draws breath if that is what you’re asking,” Aemond chuckles before adding. “Unfortunately.”

“You do not wish the man,” you claim with confidence, “not really.”

“Do not sound so sure of yourself, wife,” he hummed, trying the word out on his tongue; he found it tasted divinely of his and mine–another claim he had over you. “I will not be so merciful if he is to bring into question the worth of your blood again. You could be a whore from the Street of Silk and I would still not care for the circumstance of your birth–”

“Aemond!” You admonished, eyes wide at the audaciousness of his word.

“I only speak the truth,” he defended softer this time, lips finding yours as he kissed you in penance. “Although, I will remember to not speak so crudely in the presence of my fine lady wife.”

“You tease me too much, husband,” you playfully pout, kissing him back.

Groaning, he deepened the kiss, taking your face in his hands as he shifted closer to you on the bed, “say it again.”

“Say what?” You decided to tease him back, laughing at his indignant growl as his hands slipped from your face and down to your waist.

“Impudent wench,” he accuses.

“Oh, very well,” you sigh as if it were some kind of burdensome task, smiling against his lips as you speak that delicious word once more: husband.

You say it again and again as he lays you out on the bed, stripping you with such reverence that you are near tears as he takes your sweet cunt into his mouth. The word leaves your lips like a prayer, Aemond your god in that moment as you come undone under his worship one, twice, and nearly a third time before he is leaving the cradle of your legs; and it is when he finally slips inside of you for the first time that you do cry, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as he kisses each one away with his beautiful lips. His hips are pressed against yours, unmoving as he finally settles completely inside of your heat, his expression one of awe as he gazes upon your naked form; he has one of your breasts cupped in the palm of his hand, nipple peaked between thumb and index as he presses kisses across your chest, hips unmoving as he waits for you to adjust. And when you finally do, body accepting him as an undeniable part of yourself, it is his undoing–hips undulating against your own as he draws broken praises from both your mouths.

And as he takes you for the first time, face tucked into the damp skin of your neck and promises in your ear, you begin to dream about lily-haired children running through the gardens; and with them they carry the seeds from the flowers that faithfully bore Aemond and yours love, someday to be planted so that they might hopefully take root.

#˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 :#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen one shot

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authurials · 1 year

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𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐄.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . aemond had never considered how much it meant to you to spend the holidays together

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations ( MINORS DNI ! ), sexual implications, strong language

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is day twelve of my 12 days of house of the dragon celebration! only one day left to go with the finale of my five part aemond miniseries, the language of flowers; as well as a bonus gift i’m excited to share with you all. also, it was brought to my attention that i should possibly considering turning my targayen steel company idea into a series for the entire targaryen family since i also mentioned it in my daemon one shot, tinsel. would anyone be interested in seeing more surrounding the family business i created? let me know your thoughts on that and on this one shot--as always, your support and feedback means so much to me! also, aemond is canonically a cat guy and vhagar would be the chonkiest of chonks--that is all

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 the weight of the bags on your arms as you attempted to unlock the door of your apartment, key stabbing everywhere around the knob but not into the lock; finally, however, you gave a sigh of relief when it finally slid home, turning it just as your phone began to vibrate in your pocket. Cursing, you pushed open the door and stumbled across the marbled flooring in the entrance as you looked for a place to set your items down. Phone still going off, you plopped your purchases unceremoniously down a few feet from the door with a sigh before shoving your hand in your pocket, the newest challenge finding it in the deep fur-lined chasm. Groaning, you finally arrest it from its prison and press accept just before it's surely being forwarded to your voicemail.

“Hello?” You greeted breathlessly, not having had time to really look at the caller ID.

“Took you an awfully long time to answer,” your boyfriend opened with teasingly. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were up to no good….”

“Aemond!” You exclaimed excitedly, face flushed from all the exertion as you stepped over the bags and walked further into the apartment; it was a sleek and expensive modern penthouse with ceiling high wall to wall windows and black accented furniture. “Sorry, I just got back from shopping.”

“How much did you spend this time?” He chuckled.

“Oh hush,” you rolled your eyes. “You know I always help with my part of the credit card bill–not like Mr. Steel Company couldn’t afford it on his own anyways.”

“Fair enough,” he snorted. “I thought you finished your Christmas shopping already, though?”

“I did,” you confirmed, walking into the living room and kneeling in front of the pet crate, “but I still needed to get some stuff for my mom and….you.”

“....you know I don’t like gift giving,” Aemond finally sighed on the other end.

You respond with a sigh of your own, opening the latch of the crate and letting out your boyfriend’s ancient cat, Vhagar, who slipped out with surprise litheness despite her substantial circumference. Smiling, you gave her ashy black fur a stroke before she was toddling off to no doubt find somewhere comfortable to lay for the rest of the day.

“This is gift receiving not giving,” you correct, standing up to your full height.

“Yes, but now that you’ve gotten me something I’m obligated to–” he began.

“You’re not obligated to do anything,” you interject sourly. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do–I know thinking of something to get is just more you have to put on your plate. I got you a gift because I wanted to, not because I expected anything in return; you give me everything I could need or want throughout the year after all, the least I can do is pick up the slack on Christmas.”

Aemond and you had begun seeing each other two years ago when you connected on a sugar baby website; it was one of those high end ones with background checks and lots of red tape to get through before either party could start seeking out their preferred company. You had applied to make a little extra cash during graduate school, the class load not really allowing you the possibility of work hours enough to pay for your shoebox apartment and other necessities; you had gone in initially with the promise that it would only be until you graduated and found steady work. However, it had been nearly six months since your graduation and you had quickly found good money in your dream field; still you found yourself walking through the place you now shared with Aemond to make sure Vhagar had food in her bowl lest she go on the hunt and find it empty. He had officially asked you to move in right after you finished your master’s, no longer having the excuse that you liked the privacy of your own space to study. Every boundary you had ever placed between you and the silver-haired Icarus who’d weaseled his way into your heart was slowly but surely surpassed by his determination to have you completely to himself.

No longer managed by the website you’d first met on, Aemond still served as a sugar daddy of sorts to you, ensuring all your needs were met so that you could pursue your passions. It wasn’t much of a feat for him really considering he had come into his fortune at birth, born into the Targaryen steel dynasty with a silver spoon in his mouth; and he continued to make more and more money as a director on his half-sister’s board–a position he had to fight tooth and nail for against popular belief. From what little you understood about his family–who he tried his hardest to keep you away from as much as possibly–there had been a lot of conflict in the years before you had met him; all you knew was it had been somewhat resolved and now Aemond only talked to his family once in awhile over facetime between infrequent visits. Usually one of those special occasions would be Christmas, but Aemond and you had agreed upon staying home this year for the holidays for a nice and intimate night together.

“While we’re on the subject,” you hummed, grabbing a can of Vhagar’s premium wet food from the designated cabinet full of the stuff, “when are you getting home? It’s almost six and I thought we were going to cook dinner together….”

It left a bad enough taste in your mouth that he had gone into the office at all on Christmas Eve, but you weren’t going to lecture him on having a strong work ethic; it was one of the things you found most attractive about him, but it also came with its downfall as he often picked his work over you.

“That’s why I’m calling,” if you had believed him capable you would have thought your boyfriend sounded nervous. “The reason I had to come into today was that there was an issue with one of our deals in Essos; it fell through after an altercation between Aegon and the negotiator, now Rhaenyra wants me to go and see if I can’t salvage it.”

“Aemond,” you groaned like a petulant child, setting the can of cat food harshly down on the counter, “you promised–”

“I know what I promised,” he cut you off, sounding irritated, “but I also have other responsibilities and can’t always anticipate when something is going to come up at work, you know that.”

“I know that better than anyone,” you assured with a mutter, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck when my boyfriend chooses to go off on some impromptu business trip when he promised he’d be home for Christmas.”

“Don’t try and guilt me,” he scolded. “You’re better than that.”

“You know, Aemond,” you laughed with humor, grabbing the can opener, “I don’t think I am. I don’t even think I’m above begging at this point if it means you’ll pick me for once over that fucking job.”

Angrily cutting open the wet food, you walked over to Vhagar’s bowl and grabbed it, taking it over to the sink to be washed as you tucked your phone between your ear and shoulder.

“That’s not far,” Aemond sighed tiredly, as if he was exhausted with your conversation–with your emotions. “I need to work–”

“Not all the damn time,” you snorted, scrubbing the dried pate off the sides of the bejeweled food bowl. “You have plenty of money, Aemond, so it’s obviously not about making more; you just love to get out of shit by using work as an excuse.”

“I’m not trying to get out of anything,” he insisted, “but Rhaenyra is counting on me to fix this mess.”

“It’s Aegon’s mess,” you argued, “so why isn’t he fixing it? Or perhaps your sister could take some initiative since she’s the one who stupidly put him in the liaison position in the first place.”

Drying out the bowl, you set it down and carefully placed the perfect puck of gourmet chicken pate into it before walking it back over to Vhagar’s automatic water dispenser; the old she-cat was waddling in just as you finished placing it down, although deaf for the most part it appeared her nose still worked perfectly.

“You know what, Aemond,” you shake your head as you give the cat some loving strokes, “it’s whatever, do what you gotta do.”

“You’re being childish,” he snapped.

“And you’re being an asshole,” you shot back. “I get it–the holidays don’t mean shit to you but they do to me; it was important that we got to spend them together but apparently what I want isn’t good enough for you so I’m washing my hands of it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He said–you could practically hear him grinding his teeth in frustration.

“It means I’m done giving this situation my energy,” you reply, rubbing a hand over your face as you stand back up. “It’s just a waste of my time and I’d rather not be upset about something I can’t change, especially on Christmas Eve.”

“....so you’re not going to be mad at me if I go to Essos?” He followed up with after a few moments, his voice softening in the face of his unsureness. You knew for all of his confidence, Aemond was still that young boy who so desperately wanted the approval of an emotionally absent father and a mother who coped with her loveless marriage by turning to the Faith; he hated it when you were mad at him, but you couldn’t help but feel frustrated with the situation he had put you in. You had banked all your holiday plans on him being there, turning down your own friends who had invited you to go skiing with them and had already left earlier that week to do so. Your own family was spread out all over and not particularly close, at most usually just opening gifts together over facetime with the customary bottle of wine.

“It wouldn’t do me any good to be mad,” you shake your head with a sigh. “I need to go, Aemond–I got cold stuff that needs to be put away; have a safe trip.”

“I love–” You cut him off by hanging up, knowing it was wrong even as you did it; you did not want his proclamations of love right now, not when you wanted to stew in your anger just a bit longer. Soon enough you’d get over it and probably call him to apologize for being such a bitch, but for now you let it fester as you got to work putting your groceries away.

You had gotten these small whole chickens to roast for dinner, alongside some potatoes, carrots, and asparagus that you planned to simmer alongside them; for dessert you had ordered a chocolate lava cake from Aemond’s favorite restaurant because you were doubtful of your ability to mirror the recipe perfectly. You would at least save the cake for when he returned, but you had no intention of delaying your holiday dinner just because he wasn’t going to be there; making plans inside your head to face time with your mom while you cooked, you finished putting all the food away before beginning to tackle the presents.

For your mom you’d gotten her some of the expensive perfume she liked from the Highgarden collection, as well as a couple of nice sweaters and some of her favorite candies; it would be late getting delivered but she’d already received the painting you’d commissioned from Aemond’s sister Helaena. Much the talented artist, the pale-haired girl had perfectly rendered the likeness of your family onto the canvas using one of the reference pictures you’d given her; knowing your mom loved renaissance style art you’d asked Helaena to pant you as such, thinking it would be a nice centerpiece over your childhood home’s fireplace. Thinking of her reaction when she opened it had your moon lightening as you carried the gifts into the living room to wrap later.

Done eating, Vhagar trailed behind you in curiosity as you returned for the last of the items–Aemonds present; another commission, it was wrapped in a velvety black material as you hoisted it up, not surprised for the first time at its weight. Instead of placing that in the living room, you took it to your shared room and laid it on the bed, deciding to deal with it later before leaving and closing the door behind you.

The rest of the night went without incident, with you ignoring your phone in case Aemond decided to call back as you focused in on cooking dinner and a nice glass of blackberry wine. Your mother having not answered, you settled for putting on a Christmas movie in the living room and setting up your wrapping station as the chicken cooked. Once that was ready, you returned to the kitchen to start on your buttery garlic reduction, and needing your phone for the recipe you took note of the notification as you turned on the screen:

3 missed calls from Aemond.

Hesitating, you decided after a moment to let him sweat it out a little bit longer as you continued on making dinner; you didn’t want to further upset either of you by continuing a conversation where neither was willing to give. You both wanted different outcomes and one of you would be eventually forced to concede for the other, and most likely as always that would end up being you. You knew Aemond’s work was important and it was something he was passionate about, you just wished he was as passionate about spending time with you as he was about putting out the fires his family created for the business. Still, you’d never ask him to dull that passion to satisfy your own wants and needs as that wouldn’t be right, so instead you decided it was best not to revisit the argument and to instead spend this year doing separate things for Christmas. You wanted to cook dinner and wrap your presents and drink copious amounts of wine while watching A Christmas Story; and when all of that was done, you wanted to soak in a warm bath full of an absurd amount of bubbles and then curl up with Vhagar for a good night’s sleep. The cat in question had been of a particular comfort as she laid constantly near your feet in hopes of catching any scraps you might drop; occasionally you did so on purpose, with a smile on your face as you finished your reduction and moved on to the salad.

It was as you were losing yourself in the chopping of the lettuce that you heard the front door open and slam close, Aemond’s voice following as he called out to you. Stilling, knife still in hand, you turned around to see him striding through the doorway, stopping when he saw you standing there. For a moment, neither of you said anything, you were too stunned and he flushed from what you assumed was the cold winds outside.

“What are you doing here?” You finally find the right thing to ask.

“You weren’t answering my calls,” he frowned, brow furrowed and the hint of a pout on his beautiful lips.

“I didn’t want to,” you answered honestly, turning around to set your knife back on the counter, grabbing clumps of the chopped lettuce and putting them in a glass bowl. “Wouldn’t do me any good.”

“You know I hate it when you do that silent treatment bullshit,” he gritted out; you could feel the heat of his gaze on your back as you occupied yourself with finishing your salad.

“It’s not the silent treatment, Aemond,” you defended. “I’m just not going to waste my time listening to you rationalize why it’s more important to go halfway across the world instead of staying here with me like you promised. All it does is force me to acquiesce to the point and you know I hate when you do that to me; makes me feel like I have no reason to be upset anymore because I ended up ‘agreeing’ with you in the end.”

“Could you at least look at me while we talk?” He bitterly requests.

“You’re the one that interrupted me while I’m in the middle of doing something,” you point out. “I seem to remember you doing about the same thing all those times I came into your study and tried to get you to talk to me about this….and about that.”

“And again, I need to work.” “--work.” You finished together.

“Both of us know we’re far from starving, Aemond,” you roll your eyes, sweeping your arm around the kitchen that had all the latest high tech appliances. “You could’ve afforded not to play the savior one time. It’s not like I ask you to shirk your responsibility for me all the time, but you did promise there would be no work getting in the way of us celebrating this year. And you know, maybe it’s my fault for getting my hopes up this time around, I should’ve known it would get screwed up somehow.”

Silence spread out between as you tossed your salad ingredients in the vinaigrette dressing you’d picked out; Vhagar had long since gotten up from her spot to greet her owner, purring heavily as she rubbed her head on his ankles until he picked her up.

“It’s fine really,” you finally admit truthfully, “or at least it will be. I’ll get over it and we can always celebrate when you get back, it’s not really as big of a deal as either of us are making it out to be.”

“If it matters to you then it’s a big deal,” Aemond insisted quietly–you could hear him moving further into the room until he was standing by your side.

“Your work matters to you too,” you glance over at his face, biting your lip at the contrite look on his face. “I don’t want to make you feel as if you have to choose between it and me, but this one time I really wish you had chosen me.”

Setting your wooden spoons down, you wipe your hands on your apron and step closer to Aemond, his free coming to wrap itself around your waist and pull you against his body. Vhagar lets out a small meow of protest, shifting to be let down to which her owner obliges before lifting that arm to join the other one. You feel the warm press of his lips against your forehead, eyes trained on the tie of his suit as you suck a deep breath in before letting it shudder out of you. Gods, the love you felt for this man was at times overwhelming; he was sexy and aggravating and the most complex person you’d ever dated, and you loved him more than you could ever put into words.

“Aren’t you going to miss your flight?” You hum as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. “Not that I’m not happy you came here first, I just–”

“I told Rhae she’d have to find someone else to fix Aegon’s fuck up this time,” he mumbles against your lips, pressing forward for more kisses. “Told her I already had plans with someone more important….”

His hands lowered down your back and to the swell of your ass, cupping each cheek in his hand as he moved your hips together. Flushing, you stared at him in disbelief, cheeks flush and warm as your hands came up to frame his face silently asking for more kisses.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned into your mouth as he pressed you against the counter. “I wasn’t even thinking about how–fuck–how it was the holidays, I just….I just agreed without a second thought like I always do.”

“I know, I know,” you assured him breathlessly, pressing kisses down the length of his jaw and nuzzling at his neck; you rested your head against his shoulder as you both just held each other for a moment.

“Do you want help finishing dinner?” He rubs your cheeks together, hands moving from your bum to your hips and giving them a squeeze.

Smiling, you nod and press one last kiss to his shoulder before pulling away. Together you are able to finish dinner within the hour–Aemond tending to the garlic butter reduction and the chickens as you finish the salad and other sides. As you work you can’t help but look over at your boyfriend every now and then, appreciating his form as he takes off his dress jacket and rolls up his sleeves. You could see the shifting of veins and muscles as he moved about, causing your mouth to salivate in desire as you licked your suddenly dry lips; pushing the initial desire away, you turn your attention back to plating the lava cake carefully. Getting some chocolate on your thumb, you lifted it to your mouth to lick it off but Aemond’s hand on your wrist stopped you; eyes flicking to his, you watched as he pulled it to his lips and sucked it into his mouth, moaning around the digit as he tasted his favorite flavor of chocolate.

“Aemond,” you said, lips parting on a gasp as you felt his touch all the way between your legs.

“Dessert first?” He smirked, popping your thumb out of his mouth as he traced it along the bottom of his lip. “It is a holiday after all….”

“Dinner will get cold,” you replied stupidly as you let him guide you from the kitchen and down the hall to your room; Vhagar followed after, assuming she was about to get some cuddle time with her parents and she made no secret of her displeasure as Aemond kept her from entering upon the door opening.

“You’ll pay for that later,” you joke, walking into the room ahead of him as he closes the door.

“Good thing I got her her favorite treats for Christmas,” he chuckles.

Before anything can go further, you glance at his present on the bed and still, wondering if you should just give it to him now or wait until tomorrow. Deciding on the former, you pick it up and turn to Aemond who stands there expectantly, already working on the buttons of his shirt until he sees what you’re holding.

“Merry Christmas….Eve,” you say bashfully, smile on your face as you hold out the gift.

“Can’t we–” he begins, wanting to wait until after but he stills when he sees the expectant look on his face before he gives you a crooked smile, taking it from your hands. You both sit on the edge of the bed as he undoes the ties of the velvet bag, embroidered beautifully in gold letters with the name of the man who’d made it for you. Once the bag was pulled away the hand-crafted leather scabbard was revealed as was the hilt, a perfect replica of the sword Aemond always showed you in the picture of his ancestors throughout the years. “You didn’t….gods, you did–”

“Since I couldn’t give you the real thing I had it made,” you smiled. “It’s only decorative of course but–”

“It’s perfect,” he spoke softly, still too stunned as he refused to look away from the sword in his laps; his hands wrapped around the hilt as he pulled Blackfyre from the sheath, the metal sleek and polished to perfection. For it to arrive in time for Christmas you had had to order nearly a year in advance, in constant contact with the practicing blacksmith you’d commission just to ensure all the details came out right. “Gods, I have no words….

You smile, knowing you had made the right choice in giving the man who had everything he could possibly need the one thing he really wanted.

“Aegon’s going to be so jealous,” he surprises you by following up with, causing you both to laugh.

“Merry Christmas, Aemond,” you hum, bumping your shoulders together before resting your head upon his.

“Merry Christmas,” he hummed, one hand gripping the hilt of his sword as his other rested against your hip with a gentle squeeze.

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 ... 4/5

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . aemond struggles between the conflicting interests of desire and duty

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 . one / two / three / five

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations ( MINORS DNI ! ), slight teasing, mentions of desire to have sex, mild violence

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is day eleven of my 12 days of house of the dragon celebration--the second to last part of my aemond miniseries! this has been my absolute favorite to write during this whole writing challenge i’ve put myself through, so it’s a bit bittersweet to realize the end is near. but i’m excited to see yall’s reaction to these last few parts so make sure you’re tuning in for the finale in two days on christmas! day twelve is another aemond one-shot, but this one is a mordern!au entitled mistletoe--so make sure to check that out as well

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 . black dahlia

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 of blackberry wine–sweet, and tart, and sinfully delicious as your tongues slid together along the prayer of a moan. Aemond’s hands found refuge on your hips, bruising in his worship as he pushed your bodies together though there was no longer any distance to be had; the only barrier left was that of your clothes, and if he had thought you would let him he would have stripped you bare and had you right there in the garden among the calla lilies. Alas, he still had enough wits about him to not press the issue, as you had already expressed enough reservations about kissing in such an exposed area of the keep. He did not want to risk scaring you off with his passions, though you seemed to have plenty of your own as you whimpered into his mouth, seeking out more when he tried to pull away slightly.

“Greedy thing aren’t you?” He smirked against your mouth, lips brushing teasingly against yours; he would pull away once more with a chuckle each time you leaned in expectantly.

“Aemond, it is not nice to tease,” you admonished, sounding to him much like a petulant child as you all but demanded another kiss.

“And it is not nice to be greedy,” he chuckled, reaching up to smooth the pad of his thumb over the swell of your cheek and down to your bottom lip, swollen and flushed from his kisses.

“As if your desire is not the same as mine,” you reached up your own hand to gently hold his wrist, lips pursuing around his thumb in a kiss. “As if you would not ravage me right here, right now if I would allow it.”

Wench, Aemond thought to himself with a curse; you had bewitched him enough that you now appeared capable of reading his mind, earlier thoughts of ravishment captured perfectly in your words. Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you wrapped your lips further around his thumb, sucking it softly into the warm cavern of your mouth and laving it with your tongue. It sent aggravatingly sensual pulses straight to his cock, causing the flaccid member to fill out and constrict the space in his leathers. Groaning, he watched you tend to the digit with hooded eyes, his own lips parting as he swiped his tongue across his bottom lip. Allowing the slick digit to leave a trail of saliva down her chin as you released it, you looked at him with equally glazed eyes, a dreamy smile curving your lust mouth.

In that moment, Aemond would have given anything to stay there in the private oasis the pair of you had created among the secret embrace of spring’s first bloom; there he would be king, and you his queen–properness politics be damned. The instances of both your births would be forgotten in the cradle of your love, value of blood of little consequence as you married under the branches of a laurel tree. He would take you to wife and watch you swell with his seed, bringing forth beautiful pale-haired children–dragons equal parts fire and flora; they’d know the language of the flowers same as they knew Valyrian, ingrained in them would be the respect of the power and symbolism each petal held. Yours was a future built on poetry, the stuff of romance novels–lovely but fictitious–

Doomed from the start.

“I’ve lost you,” you gave an exaggerated sigh, taking his arm as you began to guide the pair of you along the path of the private garden. “What weighs heavy on the mind, my prince?”

“Aemond,” he corrected with a frown, glancing over at the profile of your face as you impishly rolled your eyes.

“It sounds wrong to address you in such casual fashion,” you admitted, glancing down at the ruffling of your dress skirts. “You taste forbidden on my tongue….Aemond.”

“As did you when I tasted between your thighs,” he smirks at the flush that follows those words, spreading deliciously up your neck and across your cheeks.

“Do not try to distract me,” you shake your head, pouting as you glance at him. “Now–what arrests your mind from happier purpose?”

“Nothing I would trouble you with,” he confesses vaguely.

“Your unhappiness troubles me,” you assure him, stopping in front of the fountain he had confronted you at all those weeks ago. “Please, do not bear the burden of this knowledge alone–”

You grabbed his hands, pressing your thumbs into his palms as you for once looked seriously into his eye; holding his gaze, you continued:

“I would help you carry its weight if you would only allow it.”

Stunned by your admission, Aemond looked upon you with newfound appreciation as he let the realization of your willingness to be a confidant to him sink in. For most of his life he had not been offered the grace of understanding, nor the courtesy of a childhood as he was forced to grow up quickly under the shadow of his brother’s disappointments; a sickly flower deprived of a mother’s love yet received all her expectations, overwatered with all the failed hopes and dreams she’d once given to her eldest–wasted resources–

And now you stood before him offering to be the gardener of his heart–pulling out the weeds and tending to the flowers, bearing the weight of a soul left untended for too long. He did not believe himself capable of tenderness, and he struggled with the influx of emotion that overcame him as he contemplate your words; to be vulnerable was to leave oneself exposed to the harsh winter of one’s enemies, it had been a lesson Ser Criston had taught Aemond from a young age–it was a habit he was afraid he couldn’t break. He found that he wanted to try, however, if only for you.

“I fear that I might lose you just as soon as I have found you,” he finds himself confessing, staring down upon your joined hands, “that you will slip through my fingers like the sand of an hourglass, a testament to how little time we have left together.”

“And what has led you to believe that I would allow myself to be taken from you so easily?” You inquired. “I have found you just as you have found me, and I am not keen on losing something so treasured so easily.”

“You would fight for me?” He breathed out in amazement.

“If that is what you desired,” you nodded, “and as long as you fought for me just the same.”

“I ride the fiercest dragon in the world,” he said passionately, freeing one of his hands so that he could cup your cheek. “Anyone who would attempt to rest you from my arms would be a fool to do so and would pay dearly–with their lives.”

“You would kill for me?” You asked him breathlessly, eyes wide as he stroked your cheek with his thumb.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he hummed, leaning in to brush his lips against yours, “there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep you by my side.”

He moved in to seal his words with a kiss, but his body went rigid against yours as he heard a familiar voice calling his name.

“Aemond?” The disbelief in the way his mother said his name was like a bucket of cold water being poured upon him; fantasy shattered as reality fell jaggedly back into place, he pulled quickly away from your equally shocked form to look towards the entrance where the queen stood. Ser Criston was not far behind her, ever the perfect shadow as he frowned at the scene in front of him.

“Mother,” he gulped, mouth feeling like it was full of cotton as he licked his suddenly dry lips. “I–”

“Your grace,” you bowed clumsily at the same time, glancing apprehensively between mother and son as you nervously shifted away from Aemond. “Perhaps I should–”

“Hold your tongue,” Alicent cut you off, causing you to shrink under her accusing gaze. “Now, I will only ask once and I will have the truth from the both of you–how long has this been going on?”

“Mother–” Aemond attempted to explain himself, suddenly feeling as if he had been stabbed with a red hot poker of shame.

“You will answer me now, Aemond,” she interrupted. “How long have you been meeting like this?”

“A moon or so, my queen,” you bowed your head respectfully as you spoke the truth.

“And should I worry of any bastards?” Alicent demanded to know. “Or have you at least had enough sense to drink moon tea after each coupling?”

“We have not lain together, mother,” Aemond muttered, unable to look at you as he settled on staring at the queen in contrition. “There is no possibility of a bastard being born.”

A pause, and then a resigned nod as Alicent stiffly nodded, “very well, but this–whatever it is–ends here. Do you both understand me?”

You hesitated, looking up in reservation as you glanced between the queen and Aemond, who you willed to look up at you so that you might see the rebellion reflected back; you foolishly hoped that he would fight for you as he had proclaimed not moments before his mother’s arrival. But it appeared as if the queen’s presence had humbled the dragon, as he made no move to glance up at you as he stiffly nodded towards his mother and mumbled an agreement. With that the last of your resolve withered away and tears pricked your eyes as you bent your head in submission after a long pause.

“I understand, your grace,” you finally responded shakily.

The acquiesce was like the snipping of a flower from its roots, cutting off a life line and leaving it to slowly decay as you watched the rest of the scene unfold before you. Aemond spared you not a glance as he was gently commanded by his mother to join her for tea, the woman sending you one last suspicious look before guiding her son from the private garden. The knight stayed back for a moment, cool gaze locking with your own before he followed after his queen and prince without a word.

Devoid of proper care, you stood there withering away in the coldness of your lover’s absence, resigned to the fate of an out of season flower.

•°•❀•°•

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 to Aemond three days after the queen has found the pair of you in the private gardens together; since then she has kept a closer eye on her second born son, often ensuring his attentions are elsewhere by bidding him to spend more time with his sister and her children, or placing him responsible for his older brother. It works, or so she believes foolishly, in ridding him of any inclination he once held for you; and it does not take long for her to set mind towards securing a more proper match for her son so that there would be no repeat of his lapse in judgment. However, if she had taken the mind to look closer at the prince, she would have realized that he was anything but over the brief clandestine affair.

Regret sat like a hole in his stomach, taking root deeply and spreading to the facet of his being as he moved through the motions of his tasteless existence. Without you he was a husk of his former self, no longer impassioned or teasing but resigned and somber-faced as he did his best to fulfill his duty; he did not even raise protest when he heard the whispers of his mother and grandmother in regards to a future betrothal. He felt cowardly turning so easily back on his words, but words were easier said than done especially in the face of betraying one’s family; he could not so easily turn his back on what was expected of him, even if he so desperately wanted to if it meant a lifetime longer with you.

He was ruminating on such thoughts when your father found him in the training yard, hanging up his sword after a session with Ser Criston who had thankfully departed before the head gardener’s arrival. The older man nervously rang his hands as he approached the silver-haired prince, having not dared in his years of service to ever approach one of the Targaryen monarchs. However, it had become necessary recently for him to at least attempt a conversation if he had any hope of the preservation of his family; although he knew the dragons were not known for their mercy he had to try, if not for himself then for you.

“My prince?” He cleared his throat.

Aemond looked away from the sword rack to take in the crooked form of the man, and at first he did not recognize him until he remembered seeing you frequently interact with him–you father, that’s who he was; now what did he want from Aemond? Immediately the prince’s thoughts went to the worst case scenario, of some inexplicable harm coming to your person and he had not been there to stop it from happening; squashing such intrusive thoughts away, he kept his face calm as he acknowledged your father.

“What is it?” He asked, lips pressed into a thin line.

“I have come to see if you might be more merciful as I beseech you to reconsider sending my daughter and I away,” the man stumbled over his words, not meeting the prince’s eyes as he instead stared upon Aemond’s shoes. “You see, all my daughter has is me and if I cannot provide for her then–”

“What?” Aemond hissed, stepping forward.

“Pardon me, m-my prince,” your father stuttered, fearfully stepping away from the rage he felt emanating off the one-eyed dragon. “I did not mean to speak out of–”

“No,” the prince cut him off, venom on his tongue, “you say your daughter and you are to be sent away? By whose orders?”

“I believed them to be of yours,” the man spoke hesitantly, “and that of the queen and hand….I was told just this morning that we are to be out of the keep by the morrow.”

Clenching his jaw, Aemond took a deep breath through his nose before letting it out as he closed his eyes, trying his best not to let his anger get the best of him. Your father was not the object of his ire, he would do all he could to save it for those who deserved it most–his mother and grandfather. Leaving the man with the promise that he would try his best to make the queen and hand see reason, Aemond went in search of Alicent and Otto, who no doubt were about somewhere continuing their conspiring. Once upon a time he would have welcomed to be a part of such machinations but he found them enraging now that they had been targeted at you; he refused to allow you to bear the punishment of his own mistakes, as he should have known better that his family would never allow such a union to last.

He found his mother and grandfather as expected in the Tower of the Hand, the pair seeming to have anticipated his arrival as he strode into Otto’s sitting room. Hands curled into fists, Aemond wasted no time in getting to the point:

“Why are you sending the gardener and his daughter away?”

“Don’t ask questions you know the answer to,” his mother spoke grimly.

“You hardly left us with a choice when you allowed that girl to cloud your judgment,” Otto added.

“There is no problem with my judgment,” Aemond shot back. “I simply for once wanted something for myself, is that so wrong?”

“It is when you allow it to get in the way of duty,” the Hand shot back.

“If you were take her as mistress it would bring shame to this family,” Alicent reasoned with her son, “not to mention the impact it would have on any future betrothal plans with Lord Baratheon–”

“I give no shits about Borros Baratheon and the cunts his seed was only able to give him,” the prince declared crudely. “No matter if I had a mistress or not, I would rather Vhagar give me a dragonrider’s death before I married his ill stock–this is the last time I will make myself clear on the issue.”

“You will hold your tongue if you know what’s good for you, boy,” Otto stepped forward challengingly. “You have given your mother and I enough grief on the situation. Your father is amicable to a betrothal between our two houses and so it shall be whether you like it or not.”

“My father’s opinion counts for shit when it is hardly his own,” Aemond argued. “You keep his mind addled on milk of the poppy, feigning mercy but we all know the truth; you simply wish him docile so that mother and you may do as you please with the throne.”

“You will shut your treasonous mouth, you–” Otto raised his hand to strike the prince.

“Father-” “Lord Hightower–” Alicent and Criston both interjected, stepping forward and intervening.

“Or what?” Aemond rose to the challenge, grabbing his raised wrist as he smirked at the pained look on his grandfather’s face. “You forget yourself, grandfather, for though you may be the Hand of the king, I am his son–blood of the dragon; and you are here to serve my own, not command us, you best remember that before raising your hand to me again. I only show mercy now for the sake of my mother, and for the respect I hold for you as my grandsire, but do not be fooled into thinking such mercy knows no bounds for you would be sorely mistaken.”

Silence extended out among them as the trio were stunned by the passion in which the prince spoke, leaving no room for doubt when it came to the validity of his words.

“Now, here is what’s going to happen,” he spoke coolly, releasing his hold on Otto’s arm, “you will speak to the gardener again, tell him you were mistaken and that you wish him to stay on here in the keep. There will be no more talk of sending him–or his daughter–away; for there is no distance anyways that you could put between us that I would not find her, so your efforts would be wasted. I will have her regardless of your or father’s approval, and it is best you come to terms with that or become accustomed to the bittersweet taste of disappointment–though I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice already with Aegon.”

“Aemond, please–” Alicent began to plead again, pausing for a moment under her son’s withering gaze; gulping she continued more gently, “son, I bid you to reconsider; she is but a commoner, unfit to be even your mistress–”

“She is enough for me, that is all that matters,” he interjected with a shake of his head. “You do not see her as clearly as I do, mother, nor will you ever I suppose but I hope one day you can rest easy knowing at least one of your children was able to choose happiness over damnable duty; for what has it gotten any of us but heartache?”

With that he turned on the heel of his foot and strode out of the room, determined to find you and make things right once and for all. He would not hesitate any longer where it concerned you, he needed to be sure in his moves or he risked losing you forever. Already his lack of vigilance had almost cost him; who knows how far you would already be from the keep if your father had not found the courage to approach him? He had fallen through on his promises in the garden, had failed to protect you under the scrutinizing gaze of his mother–he would not make that mistake again.

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authurials · 1 year

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𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄 ... 3/3

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . you and harwin finally get the whole family together for christmas

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations ( MINORS DNI ! ), possible strong language

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 . one / two

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is day ten of my 12 days of house of the dragon celebration! a very short and sweet conclusion to my harwin miniseries--i wanted to write more but with the inclement weather causing a flare up in my anxiety this is what i could manage. we’re in the home stretch now with only three more days of content to go! tune in tomorrow for part four of the language of flowers, my aemond miniseries. also--WE HIT 300 TODAY; thank you all so much for the continued support, especially the month of december, the response to what i’ve been posting lately has been insane. i’ll try and post something in celebration for hitting this new milestone once i finish with the 12 days of hotd--again, THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 carols emanated from the record player in the living room, wafting through the adjoining doorway and into the kitchen where you hummed along at the counter. Apron over your sweater and dress pants, you swayed back and forth with a smile as you finished the final basting of the ham; the smell that emanated off the almost perfect hunk of meat was simply mouth watering. The scent permeated throughout the space, mingling with the other dishes that covered after the available surface you had–covered and ready to be eaten. All that was left with the ham, and as you finished checking the internal temperature and moistening the surface with more of the broth at the bottom, you slipped on your mitts and began to heft it up once more to put it back in the oven.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Harwin exclaimed sternly, walking into the kitchen as he pulled off his wool cap; having just come from outside, his cheeks and nose were rosy and melting snow clung to the curls of his hair.

“Oof!” You squeaked, startled by his arrival as you held your oven mitts up and backed away from the ham. “I was just….I was–ugh, fine, I was trying to get dinner done before you got back with the boys.”

Harwin’s three sons could be heard through the doorway, arguing playfully as you could see them hanging up their winter weather on the hooks by the door; they were shaking out their slightly damp curls, targeting one another as they snorted with laughter. It made you smile to see them there on the holidays with you and your children, having been initially worried that you and Harwin might not be able to make it happen. Rhaenyra usually took their sons on lavish warm weather holidays during the winter, and such trips had only increased since her separations with both Laenor and Harwin; this year, however, she had agreed to letting their father have them this year, instead deciding to take her latest boyfriend with her. This had pushed the woman’s plans back a bit, as she still fully intended to spend Christmas with her boys before leaving; they had finally agreed that Rhaenyra would have them the day of while Harwin could pick them up and celebrate that night, their stay extending past New Year as their mother wouldn’t be due back until near February. It would be the longest aside from during summer break that you and Harwin got to keep the boys, and you were looking forward to finally celebrating the holiday season with them.

“I told you I’d finish the ham when I got back,” your husband sighed, walking over and holding his hands out for you chicken shaped oven mitts; rolling your eyes, you pulled them off and plopped them into his hand. “Your doctor said you shouldn’t be lifting that much this far along.”

“I doubt she meant a nine pound ham,” you snorted, getting out of his way and picking through the bowl of nuts you’d prepared for the dinner table; you’ve have to make a new one considering you’d picked out all the almonds and macadamia nuts while you had cooked.

“You’re pregnant, you should be resting,” he insisted, shutting the oven door once the ham was tucked safely back inside.

“I didn’t hear you complaining last night when I was doing some ‘heavy lifting,” you wiggled your eyebrows as he turned to look at you

“Do I even want to know?” Jace asked, pausing in the doorway as he covered Joffrey’s ears; the younger boy smiled up at you toothily as horror descended upon your expression, hoping he hadn’t heard.

“Boys!” You recovered quickly, hoping the embarrassment didn’t show too much on your face as the three Strong boys made the rest of the way into the kitchen, Lucerys seeming equally as flushed as he avoided your gaze. They immediately went for the Christmas cookies laid out nearby and you shook your head, grabbing the bowl of rolls and carrying them through the other door to the dining room. Laying them among the perfectly laid out place setting and red tablecloth, you had spent all morning agonizing over the layout before Harwin had begged you to go take a nap. It was as perfect as it was going to get even as your fingers itched to adjust the angle of a couple of the decorations and a candle or two.

“Only one for now,” you called out over your shoulder as you heard them in the kitchen praising your chocolate chip recipe. “I don’t want you spoiling your appetite with sweets!”

“Okay!” The boys chorused, word muffled by the cookies stuffed in their mouths.

“Why don’t you guys help her by finishing setting the table?” Harwin asked, throwing a hand towel across his shoulder as you came back in to grab more items for the table; the bigger dishes would stay in there for people to have easier access, but things like the rolls, the butter, and the nut bowl would be going in the dining room.

“I only got a few more things, Harwin,” you insist, grabbing a new bowl from the cabinet for a fresh thing of nuts; you looked over at his sons, “though I would appreciate it if you took your things upstairs so the entrance isn’t cluttered when Mia and Eddison get here.”

“Sure thing,” Jace nodded, swiping a deviled egg and popping it into his mouth as he directed his brothers out of the kitchen.

“Those are for dinner,” his dad called after them but there was humor in his eyes as he shook his head.

“I’m glad that they could be here tonight,” you hummed as you dispensed the nut mix into the fresh bowl, shaking the bag up a little before topping it off.

“Me too,” your husband sighed, collecting the dirty dishes to wash them before dinner. “I’m surprised Karl was so agreeable about sending the kids home early.”

“He and Selyse were given tickets to Pentos from her parents but they’re for tonight,” you explained. “Trust me, otherwise he would have told me I was shit out of luck.”

“Don’t tell me things like that,” Harwin groaned, wrapping his arms around you and laying his hands on the swell of your belly. “Makes me regret not laying him out at the engagement party….”

“Remind me why we invited him again?” You laughed, leaning back into the support of his body.

“We didn’t–Mia did,” he muttered against your neck, pressing a kiss there before pulling away.

“Right,” you sigh, shaking your head at the memory of the mess that was that night; it had been a rude awakening at the lengths your daughter had been willing to go to ensure you and Harwin wouldn’t marry.

Thankfully, it had also been the night she had seen how good Harwin was for you, stepping in when her tipsy father made an inappropriate speech about how he’d had you ‘first’ and wishing good luck to your fiance because he was going to need it. Ironically enough it had been that night that Karl had met Selyse, his current girlfriend, and afterwards things had mellowed out as much as they ever would between the two of you. Similarly, you’d had a heart-to-heart with your daughter, both apologetic for the pain you’d caused each other Mia and you had come to a better understanding of one another; Mia understood that you and her dad were never getting back together and that that wasn’t Harwin’s fault, nor was it hers or her brother’s, it was just one of those things that happened sometimes. And you had begun to see things from her perspective as well, specifically how she had felt things were moving too fast and that the teenage girl couldn’t even come to terms with one thing before something else was spiraling her back out to orbit.

But now that things were finally settled down, you were finally seeing an improvement in the dynamics of your growing family. Harwin’s sons were coming around more, even fighting like siblings who had been raised together their whole lives with Mia and Eddison, who had thankfully accepted the three boys into their fold with no complaints. Harwin was making strides to get more involved in his step-kids lives, taking Eddison to his new D&D group weekly while working with Mia to get her first car; the pair had come to the agreement that if Mia helped Harwin with the lawn care business he was starting on the side from his security work that he would match each deposit she made into her savings. And although they butted heads occasionally because Mia struggled to see him as an authority figure at times, there was a familial affection that hadn’t been there before.

While Harwin finished the last of the dishes you placed the final touches on the table, and just as you were wrapping up in the dining room you heard the front door open once more and Mia’s voice call out.

“We’re home!”

As if on cue the thundering steps of Harwin’s sons as they stormed down the steps soon after to greet their step-siblings, and you could only imagine Joffrey was taking them two at a time as he liked to do.

“Joff, come on!” Harwin groaned, footsteps heading out of the kitchen. “What have I told you about that?”

You snort a laugh, finishing up before heading out to join your family in the living room; Mia and Eddison were pulling off their coats, the latter excitedly greeting his two younger step brothers as the trio was fond of playing games together. They made off as if to go do just that until Harwin stopped them:

“Dinner first, games after–and you’re all on clean up so don’t even try to get out of it.”

“Gods, Harwin,” Mia groaned, hanging up her scarf. “Ed and I just got home, I’m sure your strong boys can manage–”

“Hey, we’re the guests,” Jace shot back.

“You guys get your own bedroom, butt face–” She began to continue the argument.

“Enough,” you sigh, though your heart felt light at their sibling like banter. “No fighting on Christmas; Harwin’s right–we both worked really hard to make dinner so the least you all can do is pitch in by helping clean up. Besides, he already did all the dishes we used to cook, so there’ll barely be any after we eat–now, go wash up and get you a plate.”

“Come on, guys,” Jace groaned, guiding his youngest brother out of the room as Luke and Eddison followed; Mia rolled her eyes at you but smiled, offering you a one armed hug as she walked by.

“Missed you….” You hummed softly before she was passing through the doorway.

Once they had left, you leaned down to pick up one of Eddison’s gloves that had dropped, groaning at the struggle to overcome the obstacle of your stomach; before you could even manage to get your fingers on the article of clothing however Harwin swooped down and grabbed it, causing you to sigh. Stiffly standing back up, you leveled him with a pointed look as he shrugged, tucking the glove in Eddison’s pocket.

“Bend anymore like that and you’re liable to burst,” he joked.

“Oh, shove it,” you pout.

“Let’s get you settled in at the table before the kids take all the good stuff,” he chuckled, offering you his arm.

“Quite the gentleman, aren’t we?” You smile, taking his arm and following him into the dining room; he pulled out the chair at one end of the table and you slowly lowered your body into it while you held onto his arm.

“I’m going to finish carving the ham and get our plates,” he hummed into your hairline before pressing a kiss to the same spot. “What do you want?”

“A bit of everything,” you admit, rubbing your stomach. “The baby demands it.”

He smiled softly, hand joining your own on and for a moment you stilled your movements, glancing down at where your fingers joined. The baby had been anything but planned, but it was a welcomed surprise nonetheless considering you had never expected to have another child.

“I will see them well fed then,” Harwin leaned in to peck your lips before heading into the kitchen where the sound of running water and more light-hearted arguing could be heard.

One by one they began to trail in and take their seats around the table; Jace, Eddison, and Joffrey sat on one side and Mia and Luke on the other, the empty seat at the other end soon taken by Harwin after he set your plate down in front of you. It was piled high as promised with a bit of everything aside for dessert which would come later; mouth already watering at the prospect of something sweet, you dug in as soon as your husband was seated, everyone else following suit eagerly. For a moment there were only the sounds of clanking silverware and subtle chewing, followed by the satisfied noises of those enjoying the food.

And as you looked upon the family that Harwin and you had brought together, soon to be complete by the arrival of your newborn daughter, you could not believe that all this had started two Christmas ago with a blind date; but you couldn’t be happier with how things had turned out.

#˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 :#house of the dragon #hotd #harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #harwin strong one shot

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authurials · 1 year

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 ... 3/5

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . the tension between aemond and you comes to head as you both must confront past and present wrongs

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 . one / two / four / five

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations ( MINORS DNI ! ), sexual situations, oral sex (female receiving), attempt at dirty dark (minimal imo), teasing, slight dom/sub undertones/dynamics (suggested)

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is day eight of my 12 days of house of the dragon celebration and part three of my aemond targaryen x f!reader miniseries! minimal editing on this piece since i finished it pretty late last night and had to get to bed, so i apologize for any errors; if it’s truly atrocious i’ll come back and edit it more later! only two more parts to go with this storyline, and they’re the most drama filled yet; with aemond and reader finally admitting their feelings for each other what will their next obstacle be? make sure to tune in for the next part which is in three days i believe? feedback and support is appreciated as always

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 . carnation

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 lily lying outside the door of your bedroom same as you had the others that had been left for the past week; each had come with a note, written in the prince’s elegant scrawl and expressing his regret for what had transpired in the library that day. Prior to the incident the arrival of a new flower would have brought a sense of titillating joy, but that was when you could still girlishly speculate about who was sending them; now the illusion had been shattered with the realization that it had been Aemond Targaryen all along who was your secret admirer. One might be honored and awestruck at catching the attention of a prince, the prospect of becoming one’s bedmate much desired by some; but it was not so coveted by you, not when such an opportunity came from the viperous hands of the boy who’d destroyed your childhood one piece at a time.

Despite the longing that secretly still lingered in the deepest caverns of your chest, you knew that to love a dragon was too great a risk–especially for someone of your station. You simply were not meant to ever touch the sky, and you had long since resigned yourself to a life grounded in servitude; it was the path your parents and their parents before them had followed, and if you ever had children they too would have to walk the same course. It was not fair for Prince Aemond to give you such false hope, to believe for a moment in something bigger than yourself–in a man that would take care of you, in a man that did not exist. For if there was one thing you were certain of it was that the flowers he had given you had been a part of nothing more than some kind of game he was playing–another trick like the ones he and his brother Aegon would pull on you as children.

Glancing down the hallway to ensure no one was around, you knelt down and picked up the flower and note, shoving it in the pocket of your apron without a care. You were sure the note said pretty much the same as the others had and you had no desire to collect the lily as you had done so previously with the others; your collection had long since withered away and been disposed of, much in the same fashion you had thrown out any hope the secret admirer–Aemond’s–attentions had brought you. Sighing, you headed down the hall and to your father’s chambers, which were separate from your own but still close; his status as the royal head gardener brought him more comfortable accommodations, the chambers small but homey.

Knocking, you waited for the familiar muffle of his voice giving you permission before entering, finding him sitting on the edge of his bed and struggling to put his shoes on. Your father in his age had come to find everyday tasks like lacing his work boots increasingly more difficult as the years passed; and although you tried not to let this worry you it was impossible to put it out of your mind completely. He was all that you had in this world and to think of the inevitability of his declining health and eventual death was at times too much for you to bear; to think of what would become of you after, without his constant presence and guidance by your side, was enough to make you want to sob at times. In that moment, however, you placed a mask across your expression and walked over to kneel at his side; ignoring his protests, you finished pulling the boot up the back of his foot and up his ankle, beginning to work on the laces.

“You do too much for me, my child, truly,” he shook his head.

“It is always an honor to serve you in what little ways I can, father,” you smile up at him. “You have worked hard for us your entire life, provided me with a comfortable existence and more happiness than my heart can handle at times; I owe you more than I can ever repay I assure you.”

“Nonsense,” he scoffed disapprovingly, though there was a glint of fondness in his eyes. “I have only done what a father should for a much beloved child.”

“And I only do what a daughter should do for a much beloved father,” you point out teasingly, finishing up the laces.

He chuckled this time, offering you a warm smile as he nodded in his head in concession, “very well.”

Standing up once more, you replaced him on the edge of the bed as he got up and finished getting ready for the day, most of which would consist on finishing the plans for spring renovations in the gardens; spring was your favorite season for it was when fresh blooms could be planted from where they had been nursed to perfection in the greenhouses. As you had grown older your father had taught you the ins and outs of each flora, showing you the best conditions for them all to thrive in. You knew it was his intention to leave you responsible for the care of the royal gardens, at least if it pleased the queen and king; you desperately hoped that you could earn their favor so that you might stay in the keep after your father’s passing, not as a scullery maid but as the head royal gardener much like he had been. It would be the perfect legacy for yourself you believed, much better than lounging in bed all day as a prince’s concubine….

Internally sighing, you shook such tempestuous thoughts away, swearing that you would no longer concern yourself with thoughts of Aemond Targaryen; especially the haunting way he had moaned your name as he stroked his impressive–

“I know that look,” your father spoke, freeing you from your villainous thoughts; they had plagued you since the night you had happened upon him, intending only to find a book to entertain your thoughts until you were to meet your secret admirer–Aemond–in the gardens. Never had you expected to see him in such a compromising state, and a part of you held the guilt of that moment the same as he did, for though you had had no intention of interloping on such an intimate moment that did not stop you from lingering longer than you should have. You had never seen a man before in such an undressed state so it had left quite an impression on you; though you denied any correlation of your attraction to the fact that it was Aemond’s beautifully sculpted body you had gazed upon.

“What look?” You offered your father a small smile, playing with the ties in front of your apron.

“You’ve got something on your mind,” he hummed, tucking his gardening gloves into the back pocket of his work pants. “Something's put a worry between those brows of yours, I can see it plain as day.”

Instinctively you reached up to smooth away the wrinkles in the skin of your forehead, making your father chuckle and shake his head.

“What weighs on you, my child?”

“Nothing,” you try to deny, already knowing it was futile. “I mean….it is nothing, truly.”

“Now, I won’t force you to tell me,” your father hummed, “but are you in some kind of trouble?”

“What? Of course not!” You exclaimed.

“Then what ails you?” He hummed.

“I….” You hesitated a moment before deciding it was best to tell the truth–if only a little. “A man has shown interest in me and I thought he was someone that he really wasn’t; now I am not sure if I should allow it to continue.”

“Shown interest?” Your father frowned, coming closer to stand beside you next to the bed. “Do you mean–”

“No,” you cut him off, gazing up into his eyes. “Not like….that. If I am being quite honest we’ve hardly spoken to one another for many years, but he has recently begun to, in a way I suppose, court me.”

“And this upsets you,” he offered, trying to understand.

“I’m unsure of how I really feel,” you shake your head. “All I know is that I am confused by his actions, and my first instinct is to reject them so that I may protect myself.”

“Well,” your father sighed, running a hand over his beard as he thought on it, “do you care about this boy?”

Silence stretched out in front of you as you took a moment to reflect upon the question–did you care about Aemond? You wanted to say no, to deny any connection between you and the man who at one point you had counted as your only friend. Despite that initial inclination, however, you knew that that would not be the complete truth because a part of you would always hold a tenderness to the boy Aemond had once been; the boy you had once upon a time dreamed of marrying and had even foolishly asked him to do as much when you were yet too young to understand the divide between your stations. That alone should have been reason enough for you to deny wanting anything more to do with him, but yet there was still the ever present memory of who you used to be as children.

“I believe I do, yes,” you spoke softly, wishing nothing more than to take the words back the moment they left your mouth; there was no point to them truly, no use in desiring something you could never truly have–both of your destinies decided long before either of you were even born. Aemond had made that quite clear, drawing the line in the sand a long time ago when he chose the approval of his own blood over the flowers of your friendship; you had not been able to offer him much back then, and the same was as true now, it was best if whatever remained of the bond between the two of you was put to rest–

So why did your heart rebel against the mere prospect of letting Aemond go for good?

“Then you must try and see it through,” your father offered in a way of advice. “No matter what path it leads you on, you must see it through until the end, only then may you find peace.”

“Do you really believe that?” You asked, looking up into his eyes as the words weighed heavily on your shoulders.

“I do,” he nodded, laying a hand upon your head and stroking back the hair as he had done since you were a small child barely tall enough to meet his knee, “and I know you will make the right choice in the end, if for no one else but yourself.”

Your father’s advice stayed with you long after you both had left his room, like an ominous rain cloud fit to burst at any moment. As you made your way to the greenhouses for that day’s work you contemplated the decision that had been laid out before you, unaware that the choice to be made awaited you sooner than expected.

•°•❀•°•

𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 comforting humidity of the greenhouses you immediately collected your pair of gloves from the work table, ready to lose yourself in a good day’s work. While your father and the other gardeners would be working on uprooting the appropriate plots out on the grounds, you were tasked with preparing the new sprouts for transporting and planting. It was slow work, especially with only one person, but you found you welcomed the solitude as you pulled on your gloves and walked over to the pots that needed to be cleaned out; discarding the dirt in a barrel beside the table for later use, you stacked the pots together five high in rows.

Once you were done with that, you began to carry each stack over to the larger table individually so as to run less of a risk of dropping and breaking the already cracked pottery. It was on your third trip over that you saw something that caused you to pause, unease running down your spine like a paralyzing shiver as your eyes glazed back over the spot where you saw him–

Aemond Targaryen, the one-eyed prince, sitting upon a stool in the corner as he too took in your form as if he hadn’t been expecting you to show up. And perhaps he had been right in that assumption since you had been avoiding areas he would usually be sure to find you in. It looks like on that day you hadn’t been too concerned with risk–or perhaps you had simply gotten tired of running.

Looking away from him and at the pots in your hands, you sigh and finish walking over to the table, setting them among the others as you turn to continue your work. As you did however, you were the first to speak:

“To what do I owe the honor of your presence today, my prince?”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“That is quite the astute observation,” you roll your eyes. “Of course I’ve been avoiding you, my question is why do you not do the same? Have we not caused each other enough embarrassment?”

Aemond frowned, arms uncrossing from his chest and pushing him from the stool, he began to stride towards you but stopped him. Your eyes lowered to his hands that fell to his sides and clenched into fists, not out of anger you surmised but perhaps out of frustration.

“I shall bear the mark of my shame for what happened upon that day,” the prince replied, lips pressing into a line as he continued, “and I apologize greatly for subjecting you to such base desires, that was never my intention. But forgive me when I ask what embarrassment have I so clearly cast upon you that you find it contemptible to share in my company for at least as long as it takes me to make proper amends?”

“I may be of lower standing than yourself, my prince,” you said with a sigh, “but I am far from being a fool.”

“I fear I do not understand what you’re referring to,” you glanced at him as he spoke, watching as he took gradual steps closer to you, hand at his side appearing as if it was itching to reach out; that was until you turned on your heel and headed further into the greenhouse, refusing to bear the thought of what his touch would feel like upon your face–and your body.

“The flowers, prince,” you spoke as you walked, heading for the blossoms that had been laid out in a trench of dirt for potting the day prior. “I refer to the flowers that you so kindly left for me to find, no doubt some vapid attempt at earning my affections.”

“I thought you would like them,” Aemond challenged, a bit to his voice.

“And I did,” you spoke truthfully, “but it does not negate the harm one’s hand dealt in the foolishness of youth; as I said before, I have no wish to absolve you of whatever sin you believe yourself to have committed against me when we were children.”

“I do not ask for absolution,” he argued.

You turn on him, “then what is it you want? What more can I give you that you have not already taken from me?”

“And what exactly have I taken from you?” He hissed, pressing closer so you had no choice but to step back, your body pressing into the cart behind you; frowning, you refuse to look away as he towers over you, singular eye burning with the fire his family is so well known for. “Go on, tell me what wrongs I have committed against you that are so abhorrent you cannot find it in yourself to forgive me.”

“Very well,” you spit venomously. “You turned your back on me, Aemond, when we were but children, when you were the only friend I believed myself to have. But you were never really my friend were you? I was but an inconvenience–a duty–that you bore because you hadn’t the heart at first to turn me away; and when you somehow did find the courage to speak freely about how you really felt, you and your brother destroyed the last thing I had of my mother. Those were her flowers! Not just ones she favored above all others, but the very flowers that she planted with her own hands–the last ones she would ever do so with. They meant something to me, and you just took them away without any concerns about how I felt and you never even said you were sorry–not when it mattered most; you offered me nothing–no comfort, not even contempt–you just left me after you destroyed me. And then you think that by offering me some olive branch, some false hope that I cannot even dare to cling to, that I will forgive you?”

You continued, cutting him off as he opened his mouth to reply.

“And why should my forgiveness matter so much to the great Aemond Targaryen? A prince; second born, but a prince nonetheless. I am but a bug under your shoe am I not? Inconsequential. Unimportant. Squished under your shoe!”

You shook with the rage you felt, wrapping your arms around yourself as you bowed your head, no longer able to bear his intense stare. It gave nothing away, his impenetrable violet stare, but you cared not for how he felt about your words, especially how deep they might have cut him. He wanted the truth, so you had given it to him, and unsurprisingly it offered you a reprieve from the ache in your chest and stomach as if a weight had been lifted from both.

“I do not withhold my forgiveness to punish you, Aemond,” your voice softened, head staying down as you mumbled these next words. “I do not offer absolution because I have none to give, because no matter how much you hurt me when we were young we were both still children at the time.”

“Then you do not hate me?” He asked after a moment, making you look once more up at his face; it had softened, but that eye still searched your own as if he could see the truth reflected back at him.

“I did,” you sighed, “but it is a tedious thing however–to hate someone; it often keeps you from enjoying the things that are right in front of you. Like the sun after a storm, or the blooms of spring after the brutality of winter. What you did to me was an ugly thing, Aemond, but you are not an ugly person–that I am certain of.”

“How can you be so sure?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper as his hand hesitated at his side; sensing his unsureness, you reached down with an equally shaking hand to touch his, fingers smoothing over the palm as you spoke.

“Because I could never care for someone this much if they had an ugly heart.”

Guiding his hand towards your chest, you laid it right over where your heart was, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze once more as you willed him to see the honesty of your words and feel it just the same in the beating in your chest. Hesitating once more, he drew forward only to still, licking his lips as he asked:

“May I kiss you?”

“You may,” you nodded without hesitation, ignoring the giddiness that threatened to overwhelm you as he continued his descent down. This was not your first kiss, but it should’ve been, and that thought alone consumed you as your lips finally met Aemond’s.

It was but a mere chaste peck, none of the heat you had expected there but still sweet as you both pulled away from each other. Your cheeks felt warm, color only rising more in them as Aemond’s hands fell to your hips and squeezed there, forehead pressing against your own. Humming, you brushed your noses together as your lips whispered over his:

“I believe I am ready to hear the apology for that um….day in the library, my prince.”

You were only teasing of course, but the expression on Aemond’s face told you that he found nothing funny about what had transpired in that moment days ago. Smiling softly, you tucked a pale stray hair behind his ear as you continued:

“You feel ashamed, why?”

“Because I should not have conducted myself in such a matter,” he confessed with a sigh, attempting to pull away, and you allowed him to save for his hands which you kept in your own. “You deserve more respect than to be thought of in such a matter. I should have never–”

“Hush now,” you gently scold him, frowning as you are the one this time to cup his cheek in your hand. “I will not allow you to drown in guilt that is not warranted. Although I’ll admit I am still quite embarrassed to have happened upon you in such a state, it is not because I have never imagined a man in such a manner before nor that I was the apparent object of your desire in the moment. I simply feel a little inclined to my own shame because I find that I did not mind seeing you in such a state, nor that I heard you moan my name while you brought yourself pleasure. So you see we were both complicit in that moment although we did not have the added benefit of having consulted each other on the matter beforehand; a fact I would see rectified the next time.”

“Next time?” His brows raised in surprise. “Yes, well,” you became flushed, rubbing your sweaty hands on the front of your apron as you grasped at your words, all the while his surprise turned to assuredness, a smirk curving the prince’s lips as you watched you flounder, “I suppose we could….if you’d like?”

“And what of your own desires?” Aemond hummed, pressing your bodies closer together as he teased you. “Would you like to see me again as I was in the library? Laid out before you like an offering–my penance?”

“Aemond….” You gasped as you felt him lift up the skirts of your dress, warm hands skimming across the flesh of your calves and past your thighs.

“All you would have to do is lay there and watch,” he hummed, hooded eyes gazing down upon you, “watch as I stroked my cock desperately, all the while imagining it was your cunt wrapped around me instead of my hand. It would be torture–to have you so close, yet not be able to touch you….would that please you?”

You let out a shaky breath as his fingers grazed over the cloth that covered your lower lips, legs clenching around his wrist instinctively as you stared at him in shock. He chuckled moving slightly away to use his hand to ease your legs back open, sliding his body in-between them so that they would stay that way; your back pressed more into the cart and you reached with one of your hands to clutch the side of it so that you may support yourself in that moment, feeling almost faint under Aemond’s hungry gaze. His hands continued their exploration of your body, skimming back over your thighs before appearing once more from under your skirts. Shivering, your eyes threatened to close as you arched your back into his touch as it found its way to your bodice; there was little in his way as he made quick work of the upper ties to your apron, allowing it to fall between your bodies without a care if it were to become wrinkled. Once it was out of the way, his hands smoothed across your collarbones and over the arch of your shoulder to the back where the laces of your dress were.

“Tell me,” he softly demanded, slowly loosening the front of your dress. “Would it not please you to see me at your mercy? Only there but for your pleasure? Yours to command, yours to use as you see fit….I may be a prince–”

He leaned forward to nip at your neck, licking a long strip up your neck and under your ear as he growled into it:

“But I would live to serve you if that is what you wanted.”

“Ah!” You gasped in shock as his fingers finished the laces behind you, his hands already shrugging the sides of your dress over your shoulders. “A-Aemond!”

“I would have your answer before I continue,” he smirked, nose skimming down the column of your throat as your under things were exposed by your drooping gown.

Hesitating, you nodded, flushed as you ran your tongue across your bottom lip: “I-I would very much like to see you do….it again.”

“It?” He chuckled, rewarding you nonetheless with more kissing and sucking at the flesh of your neck, no doubt leaving his mark behind in a trail of evidence; your arms became free of the sleeves of your dress, straps of your undergarment already loose and sagging down your shoulders as your breasts threatened to spill out of the loose fabric. “I do not know–I might require more specifics before I truly understand what this ‘it’ is….”

“Aemond,” you groaned, tilting your head so he had better access, his kisses trailing down from your neck to your chest, barely grazing over the tops of your breasts.

“Indulge me,” he licked a trail down to the valley between them, pressing an open mouthed kiss there as his hands worked on ridding you of the last obstacle between you and complete bareness–at least on the upper half of your body; the lower half was not far behind as the weight of your dress caused it to sink lower and lower on your hips, until almost the curls that covered your cunt were exposed to your almost lover.

“Gods,” you sighed, deciding to add your own hands in the fun as you reached for the buttons of his vest. “Fine….I wish to see you take your cock in your own hand, fucking it as you would me–ah!”

Your body jerked as Aemond’s thumb and index finger teased over your nipple, that peaked noticeably through the sheer fabric of your under dress, only to aftwards pitch it between the two digits. Pleased with your response, he finished with the laces that kept the bodice together and slowly allowed the two sides to part, exposing only the side of your breasts and the valley in between. Tsking, he bid you to continue as he gazed upon your chest almost reverently, flushed from his unspoken praise you forced yourself to continue past the rebelling nerves.

“I liked when you said my name,” you pant. “I want you to say it again and again, begging me for something only I can give you.”

Your body shook as he slipped one hand into the loose flap of your dress, cupping the flesh of one of your breasts, side of his thumb caressing over the stiff peak of your nipple. Shuddering from the jolts of pleasure it sent right in between your legs they squeezed against Aemond’s hips as you found yourself trying to rub against him to no avail; the layers of your dress skirts prevented you from finding any real relief as you frustratedly let out a sigh.

“Only you can give it to me,” he assured you as he pushed up the side of your bodice and allowed your breasts to finally slip out into the open air; he allowed you only enough time to pulled his shirt over his head before he was leaning down to take one of your breasts into his mouth. Gasping, your hand found purchase in the smooth of his hair, extracting the band that held it back so that you could freely comb your fingers through it; holding him there, you moaned as he laved your flesh with kisses and strokes of his tongue, it tracing over the pebbled flesh before he sucked it back into the warm cavern of his mouth. If you had not been wet before, you were drenched now, and you fear it might soak through even the layers of your dress with the amount of arousal coursing through your body in that moment.

As he paid homage to your chest, his hands pushed the dress the rest of the way past your hips allowing it to finally pool completely at your feet; once it was off, you felt him grip your hips and raise you up, ass coming down to rest on the edge of the cart and nearly in the dirt that covered its surface. Moving away from you slightly, Aemond reached down to work at the buckle of his leathers, your own hands joining him as you both frantically worked to remove the last barriers between the both of you. Once the laces were undone, Aemond shoved the trousers down his legs, cock jutting up without any warning and slapping against your leg; jolting in surprise, you stared down at it in surprise as he chuckled, stepping fully out of the last of his clothes and tossing them to the side.

“Do you wish to touch it?” He asked huskily, reaching for your own hand with his.

You could form no words so you simply nodded, allowing him to take your hand and guide it to his fully erect cock; you were surprised at how warm and heavy he felt in your hand, giving him an experimental firm squeeze that had him jerking in your hold. Biting your lip, you gazed up at him as he regained his composure, offering you a crooked smile as focused on breathing; it appears he too was far from being immune to the others sensual touch. Smiling at the knowledge you continued your ministrations as Aemond conducted his own, fingers sliding through your pussy lips as he felt how wet you were.

“All this for me?” He groaned, fingers coated in your arousal as he pulled away to lift them to his lips; you found yourself gasping in protest as you watched him suck on those two fingers, hardly believing that he would dare taste such a thing. You had heard before of the lord’s kiss, and you couldn’t help but flush at the image of Aemond doing that to you.

“Aemond,” you whimpered, becoming wound up in your pleasure as your thumb grazed over the head of his cock; you wanted nothing more than to guide it forward to your slick entrance and–

“I will not take you on this day,” he spoke, breaking through your lustful haze as you looked up at him; he too seemed overwhelmed by the want for each other, although he held himself as composed as he could as he continued, “but I would still give you pleasure if that is your wish?”

“If you do not….take me,” you stumbled over the awkwardness of the words, flushing further, “then how will we….you know?”

“Do I?” He pressed teasingly, thumbs stroking over the muscles of your contracting stomach.

“Aemond,” you sighed with a roll of your eyes, gazing up at him even as you slowly continued to stroke his cock.

“Alright, I’ll stop,” he smirked as his hands slid once more to your hips, “but if you would allow me, I would instead show you how we can find our pleasure in one another–without me taking your maidenhead.”

“How?” You asked, unconvinced.

“Let me show you,” he hummed, encouraging you to lie back fully on the mound of dirt upon the cart; it felt so dirty as you chose to focus on what was above you instead–the clear sky made murky by the stained glass of the greenhouse ceiling. You felt Aemond press warm kisses against your thighs, parting them slowly as he nuzzled at the flesh, inching closer to that forbidden part of yourself until he was–

You gasped, nearly coming off the cart as you felt him pressing his face between your folds, lips teasing over your clit as he pressed you back down with a hand on your stomach. Whining, you continue to resist for a moment before your hips are undulating against his face, mouth latched onto your entrance as he licked and sucked, tongue teasing the hole as his fingers came up and he pushed one in. That alone was enough to cause a bit of a stretch, biting your lip at the intrusion although it was soon forgotten in the onslaught of pleasure you were under.

And later as you came down from the high of completion, fingers combing through Aemond’s hair as he laid his head upon your quivering belly, you felt the itch of the crushed carnations beneath you and you couldn’t help but smile–lord’s kiss indeed.

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authurials · 1 year

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𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄 ... 2/3

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . you and harwin weather together the difficulties of your first official christmas season as a couple

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations ( MINORS DNI ! ), possible strong language

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 . one / three

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is day seven of my 12 days of house of the dragon celebration! i know i took the past two days off but i worked it out to where i only had to drop one of my ideas and even that will still be written just at a later date. here is the second part to candy cane, which is steadily becoming more wholesome than i initially intended--mostly because there was suppose to be smut in each part; however, i’m in my feels with this one and i can’t get out of them now that i’m here. there will be smut in the last part, i’m determined, but it will also still focus mainly on the family and their struggles with the shifting dynamics. the strong boys are coming in hot for the finale which will include another one year time skip to next christmas, so stay tuned for that and tomorrow’s the language of flowers update! as always, make sure to leave me your thoughts, as well as a like and reblog--your support means the world to me!

𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 your house was pretty hectic during the holiday season, and had been even more so now that you and your ex, Karl, had divorced. Because instead of just the usual juggling between households as a family you now had to coordinate with him on when he and his side wanted to celebrate with your kids, Mia and Eddison; one of the issues with that is that however is Karl usually used these moments as opportunities to make your life more difficult than it already was–like now for instance–

“And I understand that, Karl,” you sighed into the phone, free hand rubbing at the throbbing pain in your temple. “I’m not saying that it isn’t important that they see you on Christmas day but–”

You closed your eyes as he interrupted you again, prattling off all the reasons why it was important for kids to be with their father on Christmas day; as if you didn’t understand that already, as if you didn’t care about the wellbeing of Mia and Eddison’s relationship with Karl, which couldn’t be further from the truth. In truth, it was all you thought about nowadays, especially as things shifted within your own dynamic with the children and you were still deciding if that was a good thing or not. At the end of the day you wanted what was best for them, and you knew that part of that meant working with and at times compromising with your ex–even if he was more insufferable when you let him win–

As if this was some kind of contest and not the matter of the shared custody of your children.

“Why am I making such a big deal about this?” You frowned, pacing across the length of your bedroom as you continued to get ready; Karl’s call had interrupted the family’s preparations in going to see Santa and take a tour of the light show in the neighboring closed community nearby–you had no doubt it had been at the behest of your daughter, who never failed to call her dad when things weren’t going her way. “Maybe because last year we agreed that we’d alternate for holidays–I got them on Thanksgiving, and you had them during Christmas; I didn’t care about celebrating the day after with them, even when you tried to extend their stay all the way to New Year’s. Why are you making such a big deal about fairness now?”

A pause, a tense shift in your jaw.

“Karl, we agreed–” You groaned when he cut you off again; leaning over your vanity you applied your lipstick, smoothing away the excess that spilled over carefully with the pad of your thumb. “Well until Mia tells me herself that she’d rather spend the holiday with you then I’m not changing my mind….because she can’t just keep running off to your house when I don’t give her her way.”

You closed your eyes as still he insisted on going on and on about how difficult you were making things and why couldn’t you just let him have the kids for Christmas again this year; after all why wouldn’t you want to spend the holidays alone with your boy toy–Karl’s words, not yours. Your body jilted in surprise when you felt strong arms wrap around your waist, and you had to hold in a gasp as your eyes shot upon; behind you Harwin stood, tucking his chin against your shoulder as he mouthed something: are you okay?

Sighing internally, you allowed yourself to sink back against the support of his body as you shook your head; you really didn’t know how to feel at this point truly. The last few weeks had been a whirlwind of different holiday activities and shopping and trying to make sure your kids had a good Christmas. It didn’t help, however, that Mia seemed determined to have anything but a good Christmas, defying your efforts at every turn in exchange for sulking in her room or spending extra time at her dad’s. The more you tried the more she seemed to pull away, so at that point you were feeling helpless at what you could do because there was no way you were giving her her way on this one–especially since she wanted more than anything for you to end things with Harwin and get back together with Karl. You had expected some reservations on your childrens’ part when you initially introduced your new boyfriend, but hadn’t figured it would come as much of a surprise since you’d been separated from their dad for a little over a year at that point. Right from the start, however, Mia had been resistant to any effort you and Harwin made to make things work with the new family dynamic; and although Eddison was more easier going, it had still taken sometime in the beginning for the young boy to adjust–he had only just recently started calling Harwin by his first name rather than just Mr. Strong.

“Then she’s just going to have to be disappointed,” you cut Karl off this time as he began to guilt trip you into giving him and Mia their way. “I already promised my parents we’d all be there together on Christmas and I don’t intend to break this one like I had to when Mia missed her grandfather’s birthday so she could go to the concert you bought her tickets for behind my back.”

Your free hand came down to squeeze the one Harwin laid on your stomach, it was filled with nerves and unsettled terribly that night making you want to do nothing but curl up in bed and rest after the talk with your ex; however, you’d promised Eddison that this would be the weekend for lights after having to put it off for the past two times–once due to everyone being sick and last week because you were asked to pull an extra shift at work last minute. Harwin had offered to take Mia and Eddison on his own to see the lights but your daughter had just snorted, muttering under her breath about how she’d rather die before leaving; and Eddison had not wanted to do it without you or his sister, though he made a point to add that he wanted Harwin to be there as well–

Like a family. The thought was a bittersweet one considering your own daughter could not find it in herself to accept the guy you had hopelessly fell head over heels for, and you could not find it in yourself but to be a little selfish when it came to having Harwin. You wouldn’t force Mia to accept him–you understood these things took time–but nor would you cast him aside and abandon your own happiness just to keep the peace, especially when even if him and you did split up for some reason there was no chance of Karl and you ever getting back together; that is what Mia truly wanted after all, for the four of you to be a family again.

“Well it isn’t you she's going to be mad at Karl so I’m sure you’ll survive,” you rolled your eyes as his last ditch attempt to sway your decision–claiming that it wasn’t right for Mia to be upset during the holidays. “Now, if there’s nothing else I need to finish getting ready so I can take the kids to see the lights….”

A pause, and then a question.

“Bye, Karl,” you snorted before hanging up and cutting off his rebuttal.

“Everything alright?” Harwin asked, his breath warm against the skin of your neck as he pressed a kiss to the side of it.

“As much as it can be when concerning Karl,” you sigh, setting the phone down on the vanity’s surface. “He asked me if you were coming with us tonight….”

“Don’t tell me he’s jealous,” he chuckled, pulling away as he reached around you to grab his cologne.

Harwin had been living with you and your kids in the three bedroom house you’d been awarded in the divorce settlement for the better part of four months; it had been just recently however that he’d begun to let his presence show in the house outside the confines of the duffle bags he’d packed his entire life up into. His toothbrush had finally found its way into the bathroom, he would leave his shoes in the organizer by the front door, and his clothes had seamlessly found their way into the family laundry–before he had deemed it necessary to wash them in a completely different load. Now that he was finally integrating into your family’s day to day life with as much grace as Mia would allow him, you found yourself somewhat more at ease and less concerned that Harwin was that big of a flight risk.

“Gods, I don’t even know what Karl is at this point,” you shook your head with a laugh, moving out of his way as you picked up your jacket from the bed. “Are Eddison and Mia ready?”

“Eddison is practically already out the door,” the man smiled fondly, putting the cap back on his cologne, “and Mia is still in her room so I’m not sure. I can go and….”

He trailed off as you shook your head, shrugging on your jacket.

“It’s probably best I go and get her,” you explained. “Why don’t you and Eddison warm up the car?”

“I’m sure we can manage that,” he offered you a small smile, arm coming around your waist again as he pulled you in for a chaste kiss; when he pulled away his hand smoothed down your arm and took yours in his, finger grazing over the ring that now adorned it. “Are you sure you want to tell them tonight?”

“Yes,” you answer instantly, not wanting to give yourself as much as him any doubts about the answer; you had been back and forth enough about this in your head for days now–it was time you stopped worrying about their reactions and just told them. You didn’t know how Eddison would react–it could go either way or in between–but you already knew what Mia’s thoughts and feelings would be on the announcement; brushing that away to deal with it later, you pressed another quick kiss to Harwin’s lips and turned to leave the bedroom. “Just let me grab Mia and we’ll be down in just a minute.”

“Alright….” He sighed, watching as you disappeared.

You headed down the hall to Mia’s room, the familiar ‘Stay Out’ sign hung in neon calligraphy–a gag gift for her fourteenth birthday when Eddison kept barging in to bother her; now the once inside joke held a more truer meaning as Mia had no desire for you, Eddison and especially Harwin to come into her private space.

“Mia?” You called out gently as you knocked on the door. “We’re about to leave, it’s time to come out.”

“I’m not going,” was her muffled reply.

You sigh, “can we not do this tonight? Eddison wants the whole family–”

“Dad’s not going to be there so why do I?” She shot back. “Harwin is not a part of our family.”

Not yet, you thought to yourself, at least not officially.

“I understand that you a feel a certain way about Harwin and I’s relationship but–” You trailed off as the door swung open, the less than pleased expression of your daughter coming into view as she crossed her arms in front over her chest; licking your lips you continued, “but I am asking that you put that aside at least for tonight; your brother really wants all of us to come and it’s the holidays, Mia.”

“....fine,” she mutters, reaching to the side to grab her coat off the hook, “but I’m not singing carols or any of that crap on the ride.”

Shrugging the coat on, she brushed past you without another word, expression cloudy and an omen of harsher roads ahead but at least she was out of her room. Following after her, you turned off lights as you went, heading down the stairs where Harwin and Eddison were waiting for the front door. The older man was listening to the younger recount him and his friends’ latest escapades on the internet, having recently developed a pension for Minecraft; you had seen some of the creations the kids had made, and you had to admit you were impressed.

“Ready?” Harwin asked when he saw Mia standing at the bottom of the stairs with you right behind her.

“Ready,” you offered him a hopeful smile though it dimmed with the teen girl’s next words.

“Whatever,” she sighed, pushing past him and her brother and out the door. “Let’s get this over with….”

“Mom,” Eddison muttered nervously, looking to you for support as you walked down the last few steps.

“I’m sure she’ll thaw out once we pick up our hot chocolate,” you replied encouragingly, patting his back before guiding him out the door; you and Harwin shared a worrying glance as he followed you out the door, closing and locking it behind him.

Both of you knew there was little chance of Mia thawing out any time soon.

· • —– ٠ 🍬 ٠ —– • ·

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 you were pulling outside Karl’s house, the car quiet and tense as Mia sat in the passenger seat and Eddison in the back; before heading over you had had to drop Harwin off back at the house, not wanting to subject him further to the wrath of your teenage daughter. The excursion to see the lights had gone well at first, Mia truly seemed to lighten up as the night went on especially after you had all picked up your hot chocolate to go from your family’s favorite coffee shop after seeing Santa; sipping on the hot beverage had warmed you all up pleasantly as Harwin drove the familiar path through the light show that was hosted every year. You swore you had even heard at one point Mia mumbling the words to Grandma Got Ran Over by a Reindeer as you’d all headed back to the house.

It was on the ride there that things had so quickly fallen apart; you remembered turning down the radio as another carol came to an end, and telling your children that Harwin and you had some news. Mia was immediately on edge, the last big news of yours being that you were thinking of asking Harwin to move in; Eddison, however, had not been as quick to catch on as his sister and had asked what it was. That’s when you told the both of them that Harwin had asked you to marry him–and you had said yes.

What transpired after those words left your mouth could only be described as an absolute shit show as Mia let loose all she had been feeling the past two years since the initial announcement of yours and Karl’s separation. It became obvious that she blamed you for the demise of your marriage and believed that Harwin had something to do with it, though you and your ex had been long broken up before you even met each other. She was angry that you seemed to be moving on so fast, not even attempting to patch things up with their dad before moving on with the first piece of beefcake that caught your eye. While you argued back and forth with her about showing some respect, Harwin had stayed quiet but held your hand in support, not wanting to interfere somewhere that wasn’t his place; you appreciated him more than you ever had in that moment as he allowed you to handle your daughter to the best of your abilities. Ultimately, Mia had demanded she be driven to her father’s, having already called and asked him if she could stay over there for awhile; and the moment you had all arrived home, Mia stormed upstairs to pack a bag.

Harwin had offered to keep Eddison but the boy had insisted that he come along; you had liked to believe he came for you, but a part of you also feared he too might have his own feelings about the engagement and just wasn’t brave enough to share them. You didn’t want what Harwin and you had to ruin your families, but nor could you imagine a future without him by your side. There had been plenty of hardships the past year since you’d gotten together, the main two being both sets of your kids; Harwin’s were far from being happy either about the development in their dad’s love life, but at least they had made some kind of attempt to be civil with you when they came around. You felt that Mia had never given Harwin a fair shot, seeing him as nothing more than an obstacle in your getting back together with Karl; you didn’t know how else you could say that reconciliation between you and your ex husband was not an option nor would it ever be.

Turning off the car, you sighed and looked at your daughter who was hugging her overnight pack close to her chest as she looked out the window; in the reflection of the glass you could see unshed tears in her eyes and something broke inside of you.

“Mia–” You begged, reaching out for her but it was too late; she opened the door and bolted up the steps to her dad’s house, leaving the passenger side hanging open. For a moment you thought about running after her, making her somehow see reason, but you knew it was futile; right now she felt how she was going to about the engagement and nothing you did or said was going to change that, so for now all you could do was settle back in your seat and look in the rearview mirror at a thoughtful-faced Eddison.

“Want to get up front, buddy?” You asked him, and all he offered was a silent nod, unbuckling himself before getting out and into the front. You pulled out as he buckled himself back in, his eyes looking out the same window his sister had been staring through moments earlier.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You found yourself asking against your better judgment–did you really want to know how much he didn’t want you to marry Harwin? Mia’s response left you with little faith that a blended family could ever become of you all.

“I just don’t want her to be upset,” was the first thing out of his mouth. He continued, “I just want us all to get along and be a family again.”

“Oh, sweetie,” you sighed. “Your dad and I–”

“I’m not talking about you and dad!” Eddison surprised you by blurting out. Gentling his tone, he added, “I know that you’re not getting back together and Mia does too–we’ve talked about it. But that doesn’t make it any easier on either of us, especially during the holidays. Things just feel so different now….”

You waited for him to continue, wanting to give him the space to get it all out.

“I think she’s just having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that dad isn’t coming back home and also that you’re moving on with someone else that isn’t him.”

“And you?” You found yourself asking him. “How do you feel about everything?”

Eddison glanced over at you, “I just want you and Mia to get along; but I like Harwin, and I’m glad he’s going to be around permanently now. Dad’s dad of course but he never listened to me explain Lord of the Rings for over an hour before, not like Harwin.”

You let out an amused snort, pulling onto your house’s street.

“Do you think Mia’s going to move out now?” Eddison asked, sobering you up as you pulled into the driveway.

You turned off the car as you looked out the windshield, seeing Harwin’s shadow move through the curtains over the living room windows. Looking over at your son, you offer him a sad smile, reaching out to smooth his hair out of his face:

“I don’t know; I just don’t know, honey.”

Once you were both back inside, Eddison bid Harwin and you both goodnight understanding that there was probably a lot the two of you needed talk about; and always the perceptive young boy was right, because once he was upstairs and you heard the click of his door shutting, Harwin wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you to his chest. Pressing a warm kiss to your forehead, he hummed:

“What do you want to do?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, tucking your face into the warmth of his neck–wanting to lose yourself in his body if only for a little bit.

“Do you want to go forward with the wedding or….” He trailed off, unable to articulate his worst fears; you knew that he would do whatever you wanted, even if it meant moving out and giving you and your kids space to work on things.

“No, no,” you shook your head, pulling away enough to look up at his face. “I don’t want to….break anything off, or for you to move out. I just….I just don’t want Mia to be unhappy either.”

He nodded in understanding, hands pressing into the muscles of your lower back, pinching the hem of your shirt between his thumb and index finger.

“But it looks like what makes me and her happy are two completely different things,” you groaned, pressing your face into his chest. “I don’t know what to do–either we get married and Mia hates me for the rest of eternity, or I….I let you go and am miserable, and even then I don’t know if that’ll really make her happy. She has this belief that her dad and I would get back together if you weren’t in the picture, and I’ve tried to make her see the truth but….oh, gods, Harwin, what are we going to do?”

His hold on your tightened as he began to rock the both of you back and forth on your feet, your eyes sliding closed as you listened to his heartbeat pressed against your ear. Warm breath washed over your face as he pressed a kiss once more to the skin of your forehead, humming:

“We’ll figure it out–I promise.”

You let his reassuring words calm you, the issues with Mia leaving your mind if only in that moment as you lost yourself to Harwin’s embrace. No matter what happened, you knew you needed to find a way to keep this because there was no way you were letting him go now.

#˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 :#house of the dragon #hotd #harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #harwin strong one shot

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authurials · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 ... 2/5

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . aemond had never allowed himself to covet--not until now that is

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 . one / three / four / five

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations ( MINORS DNI ! ), unintentional voyeurism, solo masturbation, accidental exhibitionism, strong language

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is day four of my 12 days of house of the dragon celebration and part two of my aemond targaryen x f!reader miniseries! things are heating up between the two would-be-lovers already and we still have three parts to go. what do you think is going to happen next? i’ve decided to take the day off tomorrow from writing and posting so i can recharge a bit after a particularly exhausting week of work--i also have some last minute christmas shopping to do AND other errands so i’m feeling a tad overwhelmed; this does mean my helaena one-shot has been dropped from the lineup but i’ve decided to revamp the idea and write it at a later date when i feel more inspired to write for my girl. on sunday you’ll be getting part two to my harwin x reader miniseries, candy cane! so be sure to stay tuned and let me know your thoughts on what you’ve read so far; also, finished this right around midnight but i’m still counting it for the 16th lmao

𝐏𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 . white rose

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 tucked into the waist pocket of your apron, a delightfully pinkish red camelia that you had found on one of the garden benches during your usual rounds. One might just assume that it had happened upon the stone bench in an act of nature, but you knew better–you knew it had been put there specifically for you. The camelia was only one of many you had been happening across for nearly a fortnight, starting with the lily of the valley in your chamber. Since then you had received some azaleas, baby’s breath, begonias, and your favorite, bleeding hearts; there were others as well, each placed carefully in a beautiful arrangement on your bedside table. Some were beginning to wilt from lack of sunshine while the newer ones still had a few days left in them, their sweet smelling scents mingling perfectly together like their own brand of perfume. At first, you had assumed it was one of the younger gardeners under your father leaving you the flowers or perhaps one of the hedge knights that frequented the grounds trying to secure patronage in the capital. None of them had quite caught your eye as a potential secret admirer however, at most they merely threw polite smiles your way before they moved along and out of your life forever.

As you passed a handsome bronze-haired boy, you instinctively glanced over your shoulder to assess his form, catching his eye as he did the same. Again, there was that polite smile as he nodded his head in acknowledgement, simply turning to face forward once more as he continued on his way. Sighing, you did the same, not having felt anything when you took note of the color of his eyes or the dimple in his cheek. He was quite good-looking, you would admit, but there was no resounding connection that stayed with you as you carried on about your rounds in the garden. No, you would be able to tell if you happened upon your secret admirer whether that be by chance or on purpose; you knew he would reveal himself eventually, why wouldn’t he? But you couldn’t deny that you were a bit impatient to know who it was.

Thoughts consumed with flowers and speculation, you took no note of the fact that you had an extra shadow on that day; not far behind you, separated from your person by a thick row of blooming pale pink carnations, walked a certain one-eyed prince. Making sure to stay enough behind you so that you wouldn’t take easy note of his presence, Aemond followed you with his hands folded behind his back; singular eye locked on you, a slight smirk curved his lips as he took in your dreamy expression. You softened in his absence, no longer cold and guarded as you walked the familiar tended paths of the royal garden; and each day since the lily of the valley, he had come to watch you if only for a short time before tending to his other duties–if only to assure himself that you’d received his latest gift. And sure enough he saw the newest bloom he had picked earlier in the dew-lit morning peeking out of the pocket of your apron skirt, its petal bobbing gently with each step you took. The camelia had called to him that day, a symbol of his growing affections for the sharp-tongued and quick-witted girl who had beguiled him with her boldness–with her audacity.

He wanted to break you, to have you desire him as he desired you–a fire so intense that it was maddening, an obsession that if left unchecked threatened to consume him completely. As a boy it had been but a childish sort of like, a pointless crush that he had forgotten about until the moment he saw you again. Never had he dared to hope, to dream, to covet such a thing that was supposed to be below him–not until now; now all he did was covet and desire as he followed you deeper into the gardens, your path clearly taking you to the greenhouse and workshop your father kept. When you were children you would take him there after much convincing on your part and show off all the new seedlings your father was trying to grow so he could incorporate them into the gardens; most were incredibly rare specimens, shipped all the way from Pentos and Essos and perhaps even further. You’d prattled off all that your father had told you about them, eidetic memory storing such information as if it were a precious tome that needed safe-keeping, all the while gripping tightly to Aemond’s hand with your small sweaty one. It had disgusted him at times, but for some reason he rarely found it in himself to pull away, especially when you would look over your shoulder at him with that crooked smile.

Stopping where the row of carnations ended, Aemond watched you continue on without him, not a care in the world as you hummed a melancholy tune; just as you were about to disappear from his view, he took note of the way you plucked the camelia from your pocket, head turning just enough to the side so he saw how you lifted it to your nose to sniff it. Smirk widening, he backed away slowly and turned to leave, assured that his plan was taking proper effect. All he needed to do now was reveal himself to you as your ‘secret admirer’--he knew you had been searching, eyes thoughtful as of late as you would take in your surroundings, waiting for your faceless would-be-lover to reveal himself. You were ready to know, that he was certain of, he just needed to set the scene appropriately before revealing himself to you–

But first, he had other less interesting obligations to attend to courtesy of his ever helpless family.

Leaving the gardens, he headed to the Tower of the Hand where his mother and grandfather were supposed to be awaiting his arrival. He knew he was late and usually that was unfounded for him–always the responsible one, the dutiful son, the wasted potential of a second born prince; however for once he could not find it in himself to care, as duty had become tasteless in his mouth, his mother’s praise and love no longer enough to satiate himself upon. He wanted–no, needed–more and he was determined to see himself filled no matter the cost.

He was let into his mother’s solar by Ser Criston Cole, who ever dutifully bowed his head to his star pupil; unlike the other times when he would’ve respectfully nodded back to his mentor, Aemond averted his eyes and simply gave a tense bow of his head as he moved past the Dornish man. He did not miss the way the older man frowned in confusion, dark gaze following him into his grandfather’s solar before closing the door once more. The Targaryen prince, although firm in his intentions, could not help but feel a bit guilty knowing that his newfound selfishness would disappoint the man who had been more of father to him then his own ever had. He had looked up to kingsguard his whole life, admiring the honorable way in which the man protected and respected his mother unlike the other men in her life who had neglected to do so; if Aemond had not known any better he would’ve said Criston was in love with the queen, but he did know better and knew with a certainty that the relationship between the knight and his mother ran no deeper than a shared fondness and treasured friendship. It made the young man feel guilty because in a way he was betraying the rapport he had created thus far with his teacher, years of trust diminished in the short period of time it had taken Aemond to cast away the virtue of duty for the sin of lust.

“Mother,” he greeted respectfully, bowing once more to the pious woman who sat stiffly as always in the area by the lit fireplace; nearer to the hearth stood his grandfather, who greeted his grandson with a nod and his name. “Grandfather. You both wanted to see me?”

He already had his suspicions before Otto even opened his mouth, having known for months what the man and the other small council members were plotting behind his and his father’s own backs. Viserys was too weak to really be coherent of much of anything at this point, kept numb and docile by copious amounts of milk of the poppy; he hadn’t been of use for quite some time, Aemond’s grandfather and mother taking up in his stead to rule things as they saw fit–hiding behind the guise of doing the king’s bidding. It was quite hard to do his bidding when the decaying corpse of man couldn’t even string together a full sentence, instead speaking in a broken language one often had to decode–Aemma and Rhaenyra among some of his favorite words. Aemond resisted the urge to curl his lip in disgust as he listened to what Otto had to say, though he was already calculating his rebuttal in his head.

“Your mother and I have been discussing it with the small council,” the older man hummed, “and we believe it is high time you were engaged to marry. We’ve already begun discussions with Lord Borros Baratheon in regards to one of his four lovely daughters–”

“And what if I do not wish to marry?” Was Aemond’s reply, hands folding behind his back as he glanced between his grandfather and mother, who had already begun to pick nervously at her hands as she formulated her response carefully.

“Aemond,” she begun, “we understand these things are not always desirable but–”

“But it is your duty to the family to secure a good match,” Otto interjected, “and garner more support for your brother’s claim.”

Of course, Aemond thought bitterly to himself, it is always about that drunk’s claim. But what of my own?

He studied the histories and philosophies of their predecessors, he practiced the art of the sword, he had sacrificed time and time again for his family; but still, his efforts would forever be only those of a second born son, a curse in and of itself–a constant mark against his person no matter how hard he tried to escape his destiny. Had it ever crossed any of their mind’s that he might make a better fit for king than his older brother? Who other than the fact of being born first was even more ill-suited for the crown than their whoring cunt of a half-sister or her brood of bastards. Aemond was sure that it had, but due to damnable tradition he would forever be passed over for Aegon, just as he had when Helaena and his brother were betrothed; he had had no desire to marry his sister, but he would’ve done it if only to ensure she was not doomed to a loveless and cruel marriage to that drunkard.

“Your grandfather is right,” Alicent nodded, standing up from her spot on the settee. “We will need Lord Borros’ support and to ensure it we have to create a strong alliance. The man’s father might have sworn to Rhaenyra, but that was years ago and it is my understanding that the man is less concerned with hollow oaths and more concerned with seeing his daughters to profitable martial matches. What better one than that of a prince?”

“I do not wish to marry one of the storms, mother,” Aemond frowned. “Besides, it is my understanding that they take after their father in both looks and intellect; I’d rather not have my future children be burdened with dull minds and plain faces.”

“Aemond!” The queen admonished.

“I merely–” Aemond began to defend himself.

“Enough,” Otto snapped, mouth set in a firm line. “You stand there and insult Lord Borros and his daughters, one of which will be your betrothed. It is foolish of you to believe that you have any say in the matter; you will do as your mother and I have bid you for your father–the king–has already given his blessing to the offer. We simply wished to let you know as a courtesy before sending word to the Stormlands.”

A pause and then a laugh–

Aemond tossed back his hair, chuckle passing through the column of his throat and vibrating there as he smiled amusedly at his grandfather. The other man’s frown deepened and he took a step forward as if to further reprimand his grandson, perhaps he even intended to put his hands on Aemond. Alicent, ever the level-headed one, placed her hand on her father’s arm as her lips pressed into a thin line, worry etched forever in the plains of her forehead.

“Aemond–” She began softly.

“You are the foolish one, grandfather,” he cut her off, laughter dying out as he continued, “if you believe that you can tell a dragon what to do; you have power because we allow you to not based on your own merit, though I will commend you for your cleverness and confidence.”

“How dare you–” Otto snapped.

“No,” Aemond shot back, taking a dangerous step forward as his hands fell to his side, clenched into readied fists. “How dare you think you could go behind my back and decide my fate for me! How dare you lecture me about duty and sacrifice as if I have no idea what it means to bleed for this family?! I have already given so much–my mind, my sword, my eye–and still it is not enough for you?”

He laughed again, this time more cruelly as he backed away and paced across the room, eyes once more finding Criston’s who remained by the door. The latter had a disapproving frown on his lips–of course he did; the man was just as chained to the concept of duty as Aemond had found himself to be not that long ago. To him and the others–Aemond’s mother and grandfather–he was foolish to believe that one’s wishes should trump that of obligation and perhaps at one point the prince himself believed that to be so as well. But not anymore–not when he was so close to tasting the forbidden fruit he had denied himself for so long–

Not when he almost had you, his flower.

“Let us speak civilly about this, Aemond,” his mother urged, walking over to his side and reaching for his hand. “I know that it does not always feel like your efforts have been recognized, but know that they have and that I am grateful for your dedication to this family. Aemond–”

She paused when he pulled his hand away, turning his body to the side so that he did not have to look at her directly, the set of his jaw tense as he turned his head to the side to let her know he was at least still listening.

“You have always been so….agreeable,” she continued, trying to find the right words, “when it came to what has been expected of you in the past. What has changed, my dear boy?”

He could not tell her, not yet when things were still in motion and he did not have you fully yet; there was still the chance, however slim he hoped it to be, that you would reject him and he would not be made a fool to you and his family if that were to happen. Even absent his desire for you the repulsion he felt at the prospect of marrying one of the Baratheon daughters did not waver; he had never met them nor did he have any wish to do so, not wanting to give any of them the false hope that they might be able to bewitch a dragon. It was too late for him anyways, after all he had fallen under your spell long ago.

“Perhaps,” he found himself saying, finally glancing between his pale faced grandfather and his mother who now worried her bottom lip between both rows of her teeth, “I simply do not wish to be an animal caged in a loveless and dull marriage as I have seen my loved one subjected to.”

It was a dig at the sham of the unions of first his mother and father and now his brother and sister; both pairs forced into proximity to one another in an act of his grandfather to secure Hightower blood on the throne. Aemond knew his mother held no love for his father, not as a wife should a husband anyways, and perhaps Aegon and Helaena could’ve cared for each other as siblings if they had not been used as pawns by those who should’ve protected them. And now the pieces were moving across the board once more, and it was Aemond’s turn to be sent forward as fodder for his grandfather’s ambitions.

“Perhaps,” he adds, the hint of a smile curving his lips, “I have found something that I desire more than your fleeting approval for once, mother.”

He had always known her love was conditional, that to be the golden son in her eyes one must forgo their own happiness; but even that was no longer enough for the queen it seemed as she grew desperate to secure her eldest son’s claim to a throne he had no business sitting upon. No matter what Aemond did he would never have her favor, he would never be enough, because he was a second son and that’s all he ever would be.

It was time that he accepted that.

Without another word, he turned to leave, striding towards the door even as Alicent called after him tearfully, shaking hand coming up to cover her quivering mouth. His grandfather’s voice joined her, demanding that he stop and even commanding Criston make him, but for once the knight defied orders and instead simply bowed his head to the prince as he strode past; there seemed to be something in his eyes akin to understanding, as if he too understood what it was to be held in limbo between desire and duty.

And perhaps he had; as Aemond opened the door to his mother’s solar and walked through, he recalled something Criston had said to him many years ago–about how he had once coveted something that he could not have and how filled with too much pride he had rejected the only way in which to possess it–

A choice he did not regret until many years too late.

Aemond refused to have such regrets hanging over his head.

•°•❀•°•

𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 tucked under a white rose in your bedroom again, wanting to ensure that it would not be disturbed by just any passerby nosy enough to pick it up. It read as follows: meet me in the east private gardens when the moon is highest in the sky. Simple enough. And it gave him enough time to rid himself of the residual anger that still pulse through his blood, thrumming most prominently at the vein in his neck. With no other obligations–at least ones he wasn’t willing to snub–he found himself spending the rest of the day avoiding the gardens in exchange for the quiet of the library. He did not want to risk running into you before you saw his note and came to the garden to meet your faceless secret admirer that night; fearful he was that you might see the truth upon his face somehow and the big reveal would be ruined.

It was terribly romantic, or at least he thought so as he settled into a secluded section with a book he had already read two or three times before. His mind was not of the disposition that day to retain any new information, hyperfocused on the task at hand; he obsessed over every possible outcome as his eyes skimmed over the words, not really taking them in as he tried to prepare himself for any possible scenario. What would he do if you truly did reject him? He didn’t believe himself to be a broken hearted type, but it would surely gut him in some way if you held not even the slightest inclination towards him. Or on the other, what would he do if you did end up holding a desire similar to his own? He was not well versed when it came to concerns of the flesh, though he found himself more often than not as of late imagining what coupling with you would be like if he were to be presented with the chance.

His singular sexual experience was one he would rather forget–a forced-upon-him trip to the Street of Silk courtesy of Aegon and his wiles. It had been to make him a man–at least that’s how his brother had rationalized it afterwards, when a three and ten Aemond had stumbled out of the brothel the next day, fleeing as Aegon tried to keep him. Time to get it wet, that is what he had said as he clapped the younger boy on the back the night before, guiding him towards the establishment’s offerings; words that haunted the prince to this day and to which he tried his best to push away in that moment, instead replacing them with happier thoughts of you.

Sighing, he closed his book and laid it against his chest, leaning his head back as he closed his eyes; he thought of the small, coy smile you had given him that day in the garden when he had confronted you after all those years. It alone aroused something inside of him in its memory, fire only fueled as he continued to recall more details of you on that day. The dress you wore had been plain, the uniform red of a royal servant, a white robe dirtied by the work in the gardens thrown over it; your hair had been bound, pulled away from your face aside from a few rebellious strands that he didn’t know whether he wanted to fist and pull at or tuck behind your ear in a gesture of tenderness. The glint in your eye; the curve of your lips, the silhouette of your figure–

Shifting uncomfortably, Aemond began to feel the familiar tightening in his leathers, cursing internally as he sighed and ran a hand over his face. Never before had he been the type to so spontaneously harden at the mere thought of a pretty girl; it was not unfounded completely, no, but nor had it been as frequent as it had of late. He of course blamed you and his lack of self-control, the reluctance to delay gratification a constant struggle he battled with.

Setting the book aside, he hesitated a moment as he sat up, hands flexing upon his thighs as he glanced at the space between his legs before assessing his surroundings; there had been no one in the library when he had first entered and he was sure no one had made their way in ever since. Although he was tucked away from the entrance, he was positive he would be able to hear if someone were to come in and even though it was a risky move he found himself oddly thrilled at the element of danger. It would do him no good, after all, to walk to his chambers in such a state he rationalized to himself as his right hand rubbed up his thigh and to the growing bulge at the front of his leathers.

Groaning, he gave in and leaned back as his hand closed over the outline of his cock, gripping it firmly and rubbing in slow methodical circles. His legs shifted, opening wider as he adjusted his position to a more comfortable, ass hanging off the edge of the seat he was in as he kicked his feet out. Heel of his boots digging into the firm ground so he could gain purchase and have better control of his hips, which squirmed under his hand’s ministrations as he let his mind wander.

He imagined you there with him, sitting to his side, your hand replacing his as it stroked over his clothed member; fingers teasing the laces at the front, he licked his lips as he saw you in his head leaning in to press kisses to the arch of his neck, leaving teasing bites as you began to undo the front of his trousers. His own mirrored your movements, except for the way he impatiently yanked at the laces while you moved slowly, not a care in the world as you focused all your attention on him. It made him feel revered, worshiped as your pressed kisses down the column of his throat, hand sliding inside to grip at his cock finally; a soft gasp left his lips as you gave it a few good tugs, matching his rhythm before pulling it out and exposing the turgid flesh to the cool air of the room. It should’ve been a relief, it was a relief, but only a temporary reprieve as Aemond continued stroking himself at a good pace; he pressed his feet into the floor, hips rocking in tandem with his touch as he thrusted into his fist. Only for a moment did he pull away, depravedly spitting into his own hand before returning it to his now fully hard and weeping erection; his strokes quickened as he panted breathlessly, head lilting back uselessly as he lost himself to the debauchery of it all.

Soon enough his leathers were wrapped around his ankles, restricting his movement as the scene shifted in his mind, imagining you taking him into your mouth. He grunted, trying to conjure up how the delicious cavern of mouth upon him would feel–hot, wet, blissfully suffocating–but it was futile; he would simply have to make do with the slick slide of his hand along his length as a poor imitation until he could bring you to bed–if he could bring you to bed. Growling at the thought of your rejection, he quickened his strokes, fucking the tight vice of his fist as he pushed such worries away; in his fantasy at least you were compliant and wanting, mouth hungry as you suckled at the root of his cock, hand fondling the heavy weight of his balls as they tightened. He gripped them harshly, the tightness bordering on painful as they drew up against his body, the end close.

“Fuck,” he cursed, squeezing his erection as he tried to delay the inevitable; your name slipped over his tongue and past his lips, saying it like a prayer as he teetered on the edge. He said it like a plea, begging his cock not to spill so soon as he wanted to drown there in his desire for just a little bit longer.

His body did not heed his words, however, as soon it was stiffening, hips arching off the chair and staying there as the first stream of his release shot pitifully out of the tip of his cock, landing on the lapels of his trousers and the lower half of his vest. Gasp locked deep in his throat, all he could do was simply tilt his head back, singular eye closed tightly as he watched himself hold you down as he spilled inside of your mouth. In an ideal world, you would accept his seed like an offering, swallowing it all down gratefully as you continued to suckle at his softening cock like it was a rare delicacy and you had yet to have your fill–nothing went to waste. Sighing, he continued to jerk himself to the prospect, tongue coming out to swipe across his lower lip as he felt his cum begin to drip onto his hand; only when the last of his release had finished did he loosen his hold on his penis, letting fall uselessly against his dirtied trousers as he slowly came down from the high.

It had been thrilling, he had to admit to, doing such a private act in the communal area of the library, the threat of being caught some kind of fucked up aphrodisiac. He almost wanted to get caught, to be happened upon in such a compromising state, to be watched while he–

He turned his head in the midst of his wicked thoughts, eye catching the familiar hue of yours as everything came to a halt; for a moment he thought–hoped–that you were still simply a figment of his imagination, but when he saw the shock written plainly on your face and the way your lips parted as you realized you were caught he knew that this was not a part of his fantasy. You were really standing there in the library before him, bearing witness to his secret shame, and he wondered when you had stumbled upon him–how long had you watched him defile himself?

Before either of you could utter a word, Aemond watched you bolt, gripping the skirts of your dress as you hurried from the room. Cursing, he quickly pushed his cock back inside his trousers, struggling with the laces as he attempted to right himself and stumble to catch. Your name left his lips again as he begged you to stay, commanding you to stop when his pleas went unanswered, the door slamming shut behind you as you slipped out of the library. Ignoring how filthy he was, pearly white cum already beginning to harden and stain his clothes, he followed you out into the hallway only to realize that you had already disappeared. Unsure of which way you had gone, he stood there for a moment and considered his chances of catching up with you; frowning as he realized it was futile, he turned on his heel and went back inside, the door once more slamming shut behind him.

He could only hope that you showed at the garden that night so that he might explain himself; although how he could he did not know quite yet. It proved unnecessary however for as midday finally turned to night and Aemond found himself waiting in a patch of white roses in the private area of the gardens, minutes turned to hours and still you made no appearance. And yet he waited as time passed him by, eventually laying back in the flowers as he allowed their sickly sweet scent to envelop him, the starry sky hanging overhead as he drifted slowly to sleep.

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authurials · 1 year

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𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄 ... 1/3

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . you and harwin find commonalities on your first date with each other

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations ( MINORS DNI ! ), sexual situations, illusions to sex, strong language

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 . two / three

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is day three of my 12 days of house of the dragon celebration! honestly, this went from being about step!dad harwin (don’t worry it still is) to being about the progression of a blended family over the years during the holidays and i’m not mad about it. so obviously this was just their first initial blind date and how they met; it’s kind of/sort of a big change from the original concept i had but not really if you squint. this first part was legit supposed to have more smut to it but i ran out of steam after all the dialogue but the next two parts should contain more of the good stuff between these two; thank you all for your continued support, i hope you enjoy this newest part to my celebration just as much and make sure to keep up to date because tomorrow is the second part to my aemond miniseries, the language of flowers!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 supposed to meet his date was packed for the season, decked all out in holiday cheer as waiters sped walk around tables filled with groups of friends and families. Harwin was relieved that he had thought to make a reservation–at Laena’s insistence–because otherwise the twenty-five minute wait they were looking at would’ve been much longer. At least he was able to snag a spot at the bar, squished between two people as he nursed a moscow mule–he told himself that one or two drinks wouldn’t hurt, he’d still be good to drive by the end of the meal. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, he saw that it was nearing 6:00pm, when their original reservation was for; he still knew there was time for you to show up but it made him nervous as the seconds tipped by and there was still no sign. This was his first date since the split with Rhaenyra and Laenor, that although amicable for the most part still had taken him some time to get over, but at least he hadn’t had to go through all the legal proceedings of a divorce like they had to.

Sighing, he tapped on the accompanying text notification on the watch’s screen pulling up the last message Laena had sent him an hour ago when he’d departed for the restaurant; it was straight-forward and two words: Good luck! It made him smile as he swiped it away and let the watch’s face fade to dark, leaning once more on his forearms over the top of the bar. He looked around hoping to catch a glimpse of the ‘bombshell’ his friend had described to him in detail at least a hundred times since she had begun to plot to get him and her other friend together; Laena swore up and down that they’d get along great, and even if it didn’t really end up working out casual sex was still an option. The comment alone had had Harwin about to cancel the date, until Laena brought up the fact that you’d gone to all of the trouble already of buying a new dress and getting off work early that day so you’d be ready.

“Another one, sir?” The bartender asked, gesturing to the empty glass he had just downed and set back down on the bartop; Harwin lifted it slightly, contemplating his decision when he heard voices behind him:

“I’m sure we’ll be able to find him at the bar if he’s already arrived, ma’am,” spoke the familiar voice of the host who had escorted him over to the bar earlier.

“Gosh, I really hope so,” a different voice of a nervous sounding woman joined in. “I don’t even really know what he looks like–well, that’s not true. Curly hair, big, tall, handsome apparently–”

Eyebrows raising at the description of himself, Harwin stood up and turned around to look into the pretty eyes of who could only be you as you nearly walked into him, too busy chatting to the host to notice how close to the bar you’d become. Letting out a squeak of surprise, your hands came up to stop yourself, bumping softly against the wall of his chest as you looked up at his face.

“Oh, definitely handsome,” you spoke softly, barely above a whisper, until you gathered your senses and flushed at the realization of what you had just said; clearing your throat, you stepped back to stand once more beside the smiling host, who to Harwin’s relief had two menus tucked into her arm and seemed ready to seat them.

“We had one of our other tables open quicker than expected,” the host explained, looking between the two of you. “If you don’t mind moving a bit further back in the restaurant, I’d be happy to seat you now–or you can wait for that table for two near the windows?”

Harwin glanced at you, wanting to know your preference before he answered; you seemed to be assessing the same thing as you looked over to him, giving Harwin a simple shrug of nonchalance to let him know you had no qualms with either decision.

“We’ll take that table now, I think,” he hummed.

“Great, just follow me,” the host nodded, turning on her heel and leading you deeper into the restaurant; noticing your hesitation, Harwin gestured in front of him so he could bring up the rear, trying not to stare already at the perfect way in which your dress hugged nicely to your curves and the globes of your ass.

When you all arrived at the table in the back, still a two seater just with a more intimate setting, Harwin made a point of pulling out your chair for you; the gesture seemed to disarm you, as you stood there for a moment unsure of what to do before finally sitting down. He helped you scoot it forward before taking his seat across from you, the host giving both of you a menu as she spoke:

“Your waiter will be right with you to take your drink orders.”

“Thank you,” you licked your dry lips as you offered her a nervous smile; Harwin nodded in acknowledgement as well before she left the two of you–alone.

A short awkward silence stretched out between you as Harwin fidgeted with the pre-wrapped silverware laid out on the table in a black cloth napkin. You shifted in your seat, trying to get comfortable as you opened your menu and hummed:

“Sorry I was almost late; my meeting ran long and if that wasn’t enough, my daughter regretfully forgot to inform me she had plans after school so she wouldn’t be able to watch her brother–so I had to try and see if my babysitter would come over at the last minute….it was just a whole ordeal. But, I’m glad I got here on–”

“You have kids?” Harwin found himself blurting out before he could stop himself.

Just as confused as he was by the question, you opened your mouth up to answer just as the waiter came over to get your drink orders and see if you knew what you both wanted to eat. Eyes never leaving your date’s, Harwin was the first to look away, trailing his gaze over to the waiter as he said he would have a moscow mule–a common drink among middle-aged you surmised, as it had been a favorite of your ex’s as well. The thought of him left a bad taste in your mouth that you quickly swallowed, finally looking over at the waiter.

“I’ll uh….I’ll take a glass of the house red,” you hummed.

“Excellent,” the waiter nodded, “and are you both ready to order or do you need a little more time?”

“Just a little more time, thank you,” you smiled, after he left you looked back down at your menu, deciding whether to ask Harwin’s question concerning whether you really had children or not; you were cursing Laena in your head–why hadn’t she told him? It was a typical Laena move and you couldn’t fault her completely, maybe she just hadn’t wanted to be the one to tell Harwin since it really wasn’t her place. Calmed by the rationalization, you surveyed their selection of poultry dishes as you finally answered his question.

“I have a daughter and a son–I suppose Laena decided to leave that out?”

“That she did,” Harwin nodded, looking thoughtfully down at his own menu before he looked up at you, suddenly afraid you might think he minded that you had kids. “Not that I–I mean, I do! It would just be a tad hypocritical of me if I did mind considering I have three of my own.”

“Three?” You exclaimed, looking up from the chicken marsala you were eying.

“I’m assuming she left that part out as well,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” you joined in, laughing as the pair of you were put at ease at the knowledge you both had kids. “Gosh, that makes things a lot easier, I guess. Most guys I’ve gone out with since the divorce don’t call me back for another date once they find out I have kids waiting for me at home–kind of puts a damper on hooking up I suppose.”

“Their loss,” Harwin smirked, something simmering just behind his eyes as he looked at you with a brand new appreciation, one that had you flushing as the waiter walked over to bring you your drinks.

“There’s that Moscow mule for you, sir,” he set it down in front of Harwin, turning slightly to place the glass of red wine to your side. “and your house red, ma’am. Are we ready to order?”

“I think so,” you nodded, glancing over at Harwin and raising a brow in question, only then did he look away from you and back down to his menu, humming in agreement.

“I’ll take the porterhouse steak, medium rare,” he read off where his finger traced on the page, “and I’ll take that with a baked potato and house salad for my sides.”

“Sounds great,” the waiter wrote all that down on his pad, reaching over to take the menu Harwin held out before they both looked over at you.

“And I’ll do the chicken marsala with a ceasar salad,” you answered, offering up your own menu that the waiter took once he had your order.

Once he had left to go put those both in you picked up the glass of wine and lifted it to your lips, once more catching Harwin’s darkened gaze as he stared at you across the table. Feeling the heat rise in your cheeks once more, you still held the glass after taking one sip and cleared your throat.

“What?” You found yourself asking.

“Hm?” Harwin hummed, seeming to come out of a thought as he shifted forward in his seat, elbows resting against the table; he truly was a big man as Laena had described him, muscly but still soft looking in all the areas you loved, his arms in particularly looked like they’d be wonderful to be wrapped up in after–

“You keep staring at me,” you say, taking another sip of your wine.

“Just admiring the view, I guess,” he smirked, and you couldn't help but snort.

“That line ever work for you?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Harwin shrugged, “first time I’ve used it–so what’s the verdict?”

“It….could you use a little work,” you teased, “but it’s a good start.”

“I’m always looking for room to improve,” he smiled in response.

“A man who likes constructive feedback?” you lifted your glass in appreciation. “That’s a first for me.”

“All the other men you’ve been seeing haven’t appreciated your pointers on how to woo you?” Harwin raised an eyebrow. “Means a better chance for me, at least.”

“If by ‘other men’ you mean my ex-husband, then yes,” you sigh with a roll of your eyes as you think of the man you’d wasted fifteen years with; the only good thing to come out of the whole ordeal being your son and daughter. “He hated it when I would tell him anything he didn’t agree with.”

“You mentioned you were divorced,” Harwin nodded, listening. “How long ago did that happen?”

“Oh, just last year,” you reply, “around Christmas time in fact–which really put a damper on our holiday spirit.”

“I’d imagine,” he hummed in agreement. “And how did your kids take it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My son, Eddison, took it as good as could be expected,” you explained, “mostly going through that phase where he was blaming himself. We tried family therapy but Karl, my ex, wouldn’t show up most of the time so it ended up just being me and the kids mostly; I think it helped Eddison process a lot as we went through with the proceedings, and he’s adjusted pretty well to the split custody schedule. He seems happier than when his dad and I were together, not having to witness that tension that was always there between Karl and I.”

“And your daughter?” Harwin asked. “How has she been handling everything?”

“Oh, Mia’s in her teenage angst era so everything’s the end of the world,” you shrug, shaking your head and the memory of how well she’d taken the news that her dear Aunt Laena had set you up on a blind date. “But really, it hit her pretty hard when her dad and I made the announcement. I think up until the end she was hoping both of us or one of us would change our minds and work things out, and when we finally signed the papers I thought she was going to run away–she did run away. I mean, it was just across town to her grandmother’s house but still–god, it scared the shit out of me. Thankfully, she’s come to at least tolerate living with me on the weeks I have her.”

“I can’t imagine how hard it’s been on all of you,” Harwin sympathized with a sigh.

“It’s been difficult, I can’t lie, but….” you shake your head, “enough about all that. Tell me about your kids–three of them huh? How old are they?”

“Jace, the eldest, just turned sixteen,” Harwin seemed pleased to talk about his own offspring, going as far as to pull out his phone to no doubt pull up pictures as he continued, “and then there’s Luke, who’s fourteen, and then my youngest, Joffrey, is eight.”

He unlocked his phone and pulled up his gallery, scrolling down a bit before selecting a photo and holding it out for you to look at. Smiling, you leaned forward to get a better look and took note of the fact that all Harwin’s sons were practically the spitting image of him with their dark hair and eyes. The picture was just of the three of them, the tallest boy who you assumed was Jace had his arm around the one shorter than him–Luke–and in front of the both of them was the baby, Joffrey, smiling at the camera with a hole in his mouth where a tooth was missing. The backdrop was of a forest and they were in camo, so you figured that it must have been during some kind of hunting trip.

“They look a lot like you,” you commented as Harwin tucked his phone away once more.

“Luke and Joff take a little more after their mother in the face,” he hummed, downing the rest of his drink, “but Jace–almost the spitting image of me when I was his age.”

The waiter arrived just at the end of that sentence with the food, dividing it up as you both made room for the dishes on the table. Tucking the tray against his side, he stood up once more to his full height and hummed:

“Is there anything else that I can get you? Another Moscow mule perhaps? More wine?”

��I’m good with just some water,” Harwin replied.

“Same for me,” you smiled, not needing more encouragement to act on the growing tension between you and your date; it was there subtly beneath the surface as you bantered back and forth, just barely palpable but it thrummed most noticeably between your legs which you crossed as the waiter left.

You watched Harwin neatly roll out the wrapped silverware, laying each utensil carefully beside each other in a mannerism that contrasted his burly exterior. It endeared him with you further as you smiled and with less grace unraveled your own, taking the fork and knife so you could dig into your chicken. The food smelled divine, nice and warm as you cut into it, steam wafting up with the delicious scent of herbs and spices.

“So you mentioned the boys’ mother,” you found yourself asking. “Is she still in the picture?”

Harwin seemed to hesitate for a moment, and you feared you asked a sensitive question–it was obvious that you had but he answered it all the same:

“She is, and we’re still friends–or at least trying to be for the boys’ sake; we weren’t married like you and your kids’ dad was, but we were together for such a long time we might as well have been. I….I don’t know how much you know but Laena’s brother, Laenor?”

“Laenor,” you nodded, “yeah, I’ve met him a couple of times.”

“Well, he was actually married to the boys’ mom, Rhaenyra,” Harwin sighed, looking down at his steak as he sawed through it.

It took you a moment to register what he meant, fork stopping mid way to your mouth for another bite of chicken when it finally clicked. Your eyes widened and you lowered your hand, blinking as you continued to try and wrap your head fully around it. Harwin paused in his own movements, glancing up as the silence stretched out; you knew you needed to say something–anything–but you weren’t quite sure what. You were familiar with the concept of polyamory but just had never imagined it would be so close to home; you remember Laena bringing up her brother’s wife a couple of times, a powerhouse business woman named Rhaenyra Targaryen who was being groomed for CEO at her dad’s company.

“So she was married while you were seeing her?” You finally asked, trying to understand better while not coming off as judgemental–you genuinely were curious.

“Mhmmm, but I was also seeing Laenor–in a way,” Harwin cleared his throat. “It was more….physical between us rather than romantic like with Rhaenyra and I.”

“Oh….oh!” a lightbulb popped over your head you guaranteed as you once again connected the dots, cheeks flushing at the implication of his words. “So, you were all in on it together? I mean….you were in a relationship together.”

“Yeah, we were,” he replied, going back to doctoring up his potato so he could hide the blush on his cheeks.

“What happened?” You asked after another brief moment of silence. “If you don’t mind me asking….”

Again, you watch as he sets down his silverware and leans back in his chair, both your appetites disappearing as you feel this conversation grow into something more serious. It is no longer about being on a first date and getting to know each other, it’s about something much deeper–that instant connection you’d felt when you’d first nearly bumped into him over at the bar. You feel just the same as he does you hoped, that you were both of similar hurts–people cut deep by their significant others and just trying to survive the downfall–

Just trying to move on.

“She, um, she got pregnant by another guy,” Harwin rubbed a hand over his beard, letting out a humorless chuckle. “We’re in an open relationship, and she goes behind both Laenor and I’s back to sleep with someone else and….she ends up pregnant. I actually have her baby shower to go to this weekend.”

“Wow,” you exclaim softly, eyes wide, “that’s a lot. But….you’re still friends?”

“I’m trying to be, dammit,” he snorted, pushing his plate away. “Gods, am I trying to be. But I could only ever get so close to Rhaenyra if I’m being honest; father of her three eldest kids and she never even introduced me to her own dad as her boyfriend, which sucks because he and my dad are golf buddies.”

“So how did she explain Jace, Luke, and Joffrey?” You asked, confused. “Wait–she didn’t try to pass them off as Laenor’s–she did?!”

“Yep,” he chuckled this time with humor, “and somehow everyone either believes it or just doesn’t want to question it; well except for her stepmother, but Alicent’s always been a bit uptight. It truly doesn’t matter either way because Laenor is as much of their father as I am.”

“That’s really sweet,” you assure him, finding yourself reaching over to touch the hand he had laid on the table.

For a moment you questioned if you had passed a boundary as Harwin just stared at where your palm laid against the back of his hand, but eventually he turned it around and entwined your fingers. His hands were rougher than yours, well worn from a lifetime of hard work, calluses rubbing against your own soft, smooth skin. It made you shudder in barely concealed pleasure, capturing your bottom lip beneath your teeth as you watched him rub the pad of his thumb against the back of your hand. Your eyes flicked up to meet his gaze, seeing that same simmering heat there that you had earlier, and you hoped he was thinking the exact same thing that you were.

“My place is only thirty minutes from here,” were the next blessed words out his mouth, tongue coming out to swipe over his bottom lip, “twenty if I speed.”

“I’ll call my babysitter while you pay the bill?” You asked breathlessly, legs rubbing together in anticipation.

“Sounds like a plan,” he replied huskily, eyes flicking around the area you were sitting in for your waiter.

You got up, getting your phone from your purse as you went to walk past him, only for him to reach out and gently grip your wrist to stop you. Faltering, you feared he might have changed his mind about sex on the first date–you hoped there would be more than one for once–but a moment later he was pulling you down to press a kiss at the corner of your lips with surprising gentleness.

“Was that alright?” He asked, realizing he probably should’ve asked first before simply taking.

“Harwin,” you gazed at him in amusement, still leaning down to his level, “I’m about to let you fuck me on the first date–of course it’s alright.”

This time you kissed him, full on the lips and longer before you stood once more to your full height and made your way outside to place a call to your babysitter; it would take some persuasion and at least an extra hundred, but you’re sure once you explained the situation they wouldn’t mind staying a few extra hours. And if not, you were sure Harwin would be easier to convince to simply take you in the back seat of his car before he drove you home–never before had you been so thankful that you’d taken a cab.

· • —– ٠ 🍬 ٠ —– • ·

𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 after your first tumble in the sheets since your divorce, you lay in the arms you had fantasized would feel wonderful wrapped around you–and you hadn’t been wrong. Smiling, you turn on your side to face Harwin, who was equally flushed and satiated as you were. Your lips met in a tender kiss, a soft hum of contentment leaving him as he pulled you closer to his body, spent cock already beginning to stir once more. Groaning, you have no choice but to pull away, rubbing your nose against his with a sigh:

“I really should be getting home.” Still, you made no move to leave the warmth of his body or bed as you pressed a gentle peck to his check before planting one on his lips, followed by another….and then another.

“You don’t sound like you want to leave,” he chuckled, dodging your next kiss to press one of his own against your forehead.

“Why would I want to after all of that?” You exclaim, joining in on his laughter; soon you are reluctantly pulling away however, taking the sheet with you as you wrapped it around your naked body. It left Harwin exposed completely, limp cock laying against the length of his thigh as he leaned up on his elbows and watched you start to collect your clothes.

“I did promise the babysitter I’d be no later than one,” you explained, allowing the sheet to drop as you finally located your discarded panties and pulled them up your legs; then came your dress which you had to turn right side out before pulling it over your disheveled hair. “Would you mind calling me a cab?”

“Screw the cab, I’ll drive you home,” Harwin offered. “Save you the money and the headache.”

“So kind to me,” you smile warmly, crawling back in to bed to steal a few more kisses.

“After how hard you came all over my cock, I’ll become your personal chauffeur,” he groaned against your lips, trying to slip his tongue in. “Your cunt was like a vice grip….”

One hand came up to land on your thigh, stroking the flesh there as it teased up the skirt of your dress, closer and closer to your leaking core….

“None of that now,” you scolded playfully as you pushed his hand away, “or else I’ll end up in your bed for another hour.”

Harwin groaned and plopped back against the pillows, looking up at your face as he smiled good naturedly nonetheless; the same hand that had been on your thigh lifted to touch your face, pad stroking over the curve of your cheek as you both just stayed there for a moment. You didn’t know where things went from there, but you sure as hell hoped it involved more date nights that ended up in bed.

#˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 :#house of the dragon #hotd #harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #harwin strong one shot

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authurials · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐋.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . you bring your parents home a christmas present in the form of your boyfriend, daemon targaryen

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations ( MINORS DNI ! ), sexual situations/intercourse, oral sex (male receiving), slight praise kink if you squint, strong language

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is day two of my 12 days of house of the dragon celebration! a little modern!au with professor!daemon x student!reader; honestly he’s a bit....ooc in my opinion but i was on a bit of a time crunch to get this one out--running a tad behind with work and life in general, but i’m determined to keep to my posting schedule (unless something really prevents me from writing); let me know your thoughts--your response was awesome to day one! make sure you keep tuning in because next up is part one of my stepdad!harwin modern!au miniseries

“𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄,” your boyfriend, a silver-haired man of forty-eight, rolled his eyes as you once again checked your updo in the small compact mirror in your hand. “Now, stop fidgeting.”

“Fine, fine,” you sigh, tucking it once more in your bag as you adjust its position on your shoulder; you step up to the door and lift your hand to knock–hesitating. “....what if we just went to get chinese with Rhae and Harwin? I’m sure it’s not too–”

Reaching past you, Daemon wrapped his hand against the door before you could stop him, causing you to freeze in horror at what he had just done; from inside the house you could already hear the family dog, Urrax, sounding the alarm from within followed by the scolding tone of your mother. You already could hear both approaching the door to greet the guests–you and Daemon–and it took all your willpower and him taking your hand to stop you from bolting. Feeling him give you a comforting squeeze, you looked up into his face and raised a pale brow at you.

“What have you done?” You groan, leaning against his arm for extra support just as the door swings open in front of you.

The bells from the Christmas wreath that hung over the window beat against each other, shrilly ringing as they are drowned out by your mother’s excited greeting.

“My baby!” She exclaimed, immediately pulling you into the warmth of her embrace and holding you there for several moments; it allowed you if but for a moment to forget your earlier anxiety, tucking it in a corner for now as you let yourself wrap your arms around her frame in reply. All the while Urrax was at your feet, switching between excitedly waiting for your acknowledgement and sniffing cautiously at the unfamiliar man before him; only with your beloved canine’s approval would Daemon be permitted to enter the home–or at least that’s what your mom liked to let him believe. “Come in, come in–you two must be freezing! How was the drive from the city?”

Your mom was pulling you in before you could even get out an answer, and since your other hand was still death gripped in Daemon’s he was tugged along for the journey. At least she allowed you enough time to stop at the coat rack and peel off the layers of winter wear you had been subjected to only to still somehow remain freezing cold. As you unwrapped your scarf, face rosy from the wind, you hummed:

“It was alright; Daemon drove my car because dad got me those snow tires.”

“See? And you didn’t want to take him up on those….”

“Mom–” You sighed. “I just didn’t want you guys spending any more money on me.”

“Nonsense, you’re our only baby–aside from you, Urrax,” she threw in for the dog’s benefit, as if he could somehow understand them; he simply panted happily at the mention of his name, probably expecting some sort of treat. “Who else are we going to spend it on? Now, you–”

She looked pointedly at Daemon who was peeling off his black coat, stopping with one arm still in as he looked between you and your mother. You offered him no out; this had been his plan after all–wanting to meet your parents finally after nearly six months of dating. It wasn't that you didn’t want your parents to get to know the guy you were seeing, but you weren’t blind to the possibility of their opposition due to the age gap–among other things.

“Let me get a good look at you,” your mother continued, stepping close so she could get a better look at Daemon’s face; still paused in that same stance, arm tucked in one sleeve of the coat while the other held it up, your boyfriend offered your mother a devilishly handsome smile.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he hummed cordially–or as cordial as Daemon could be.

“Hmmm,” was your mother’s only response, eyes looking up and down in that overly critical way she used on all the other moms on the PTA board, “Damion was it?”

“Mom--” you hissed, ears flushing from embarrassment rather than the cold this time.

“What? Is his name Damion or not?” She exclaimed, feigning innocence.

“It’s quite alright–it’s a bit of a unique spelling,” Daemon smiled, though you could see the fire he hid well in his eyes. “It’s actually, Daemon ma’am–Daemon Targaryen.”

“Oh, Targaryen!” Your mother’s eyes widened, recognizing the name. “Like the Targaryens from that fancy steel factory?”

“Correct,” Daemon’s smile had turned into a smirk, and you hid your laughter behind a smile as you finally turned away from them to kneel and greet Urrax; the beast thanked you for your attentions with gross smelling slobber-ladened kisses on your face and hands.

“Where’s dad?” You asked breathlessly as you gently pushed his face away from yours with a laugh.

“In the den, watching that damn It’s a Wonderful for the umpteenth time,” you could hear the roll of her eyes in the tone of her voice. “Couldn’t even pull him away from the recliner to help with dinner; we’re having your favorite by the way–I hope it’s not cold. We were expecting you an hour ago….”

“Well it is snowing, mom,” brushing off the jab, you rise to your full height and turn back to them; your eyes flick to Daemon, who is watching you carefully.

“I know, I know,” she waved dismissively, brushing past you and towards the den area. “Now come on–he’s been dying to meet your fella; hope you’re ready for a hundred and twenty questions, Daemon.”

“Certainly,” he chuckled, arm coming to wrap around your waist and tucking you into his side as he guided the pair of you to follow the woman.

Sighing, you let him be your strength as your head falls to his chest, “it’s not too late to run….”

You say it low enough so your mother won’t hear, already yelling at your father to turn off the TV before she even enters the room. Daemon simply laughs again, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head as his hand gives your hip a firm squeeze. Biting your lip, you tilt your head up to press a kiss of your own against the strong square of his jaw, letting your nose graze the skin there before your gaze falls back down through the doorway. Already you can hear your father heaving himself out of his chair as he and your mother argue over the TV, George Bailey’s iconic speech humming in the background.

“Now where did you put the remote?” Your mother groaned, passing in view before disappearing to the other side of the den. Daemon and you stopped in the doorway as you both peered in, assessing the situation before you interrupted what could end up being one of your parents’ infamous holiday fights.

Without fail on high stress seasonal celebrations like Thanksgiving and Christmas, where tensions ran high, your chronically on the cusp of divorce parents ended up in some ridiculous and avoidable argument that burned brightly and fizzled out just as quickly; by the time dessert was served they were usually back to their amicable albeit annoying selves, and your appetite for food and celebration was ruined for the rest of the night.

“It’s in the chair cushions, mom,” you interjected, wanting to avoid such an instant this year as it was yours and Daemon’s first official holiday with each other; you had skipped out on having Thanksgiving together last month after an argument about the very thing you were doing at your parents’--introducing him as your boyfriend. You had met pretty much every member of his immediate family, which was saying something considering there were a lot of them; he had even introduced you to the daughters he’d had with his late wife, Laena, already. And although it had gone about as good as could be expected, at least he had taken that initiative and wasn’t trying to hide your relationship; honestly, it was hot how much he loved showing you off, it was one of your favorite things about him–his confidence in his decisions, the way he never second guessed himself.

If only you could say the same.

“Like it always is,” you tacked on as you moved away from Daemon’s side and brushed past your father, hand coming up to pat him on the back as you leaned forward and dug through either side of the broken in recliner he had had since the father’s day of the year you turned five; you remembered how excited you had been when you had given your mom the five dollars from one of your teeth–believing it all the money in the world, or at least enough to get that chair your dad was eying out of a La-Z-Boy catalog that came in the mail.

Gripping the remote in hand, you pulled it from between where it was stuck and held it out to your mom, waving it as you gave her a knowing expression. Rolling her eyes, she huffed as she reached out and grabbed it, pointing it at the TV a moment before it finally cut George Bailey off and went dark.

“See? She always blames these things on me,” your dad snorted, a vision in his trademark plaid button up and the brown leather belt that adorned every pair of jeans he’d ever worn..

“Well it technically was your fault it ended up under your ass, dad,” you defended.

“Language,” your mother huffed, and as always you and your dad shared an eye roll.

“Enough with the nagging,” your father hummed, growing serious–or as serious as he ever got–as he turned to Daemon who still stood in the doorway taking in the scene before him. You realized how odd it must be, to be an outsider looking in, at least that’s how you had often felt when initially meeting his family; they had been great about making you feel included at least, except for Baela and Rhaena, and even then they still made it a point to be civil for their dad’s sake after he made it clear you made him happy. “You’re the boyfriend, I presume?”

“Yes,” he pushed off the side of the doorway and stepped forward, raising his hand for your father to shake–it was more than any of your other boyfriends had done in the past. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet both you and your wife.”

“Hm,” was your father’s response, a moment or two passing before he finally grabbed Daemon’s hand and shook it; something seemed to transpire as his critical gaze softened and he smiled. “Well, I’m glad my daughter finally brought you for a visit. She’s told us a bit about you, but I’m eager to hear more.”

“Of course,” Daemon let his hand drop back to his side.

“Now let’s get settled at the table before you begin your interrogation,” your mother playfully scolded her husband. “I already got the table all set and everything; I hope you like roast, Daemon….”

“Sounds delicious,” he hummed, once more falling into step beside you, hand on the small of your back as you followed your parents into the adjoining open concept dining room/kitchen combo.

“It was one of her favorites growing up,” your mother continued, tossing a thumb your way over her shoulder. “We couldn’t have a ham or a turkey, no–it had to be a nice roast with some of that honey barbeque glaze that was her grandmother’s recipe.”

You all settled at the table–you and Daemon on one side, your parents on the other–as your mother prattled on about hams and glazes and the one time you puked halfway digested roast up on the new carpet after getting the flu really bad when you were thirteen. Biting your tongue, you felt Daemon find your hand under the table, squeezing it tightly as your mom pulled the cover off the platter with the roast on it; your dad was already reaching for his piece when your mother stopped him:

“Prayer first.”

Daemon caught your eye and you could see the distaste clearly painted on his face, knowing that he wasn’t particularly fond of religious practices that fell under the Faith of the Seven; his own family were split in their belief systems, his older brother’s second wife converting him over to the Seven while Daemon and his niece Rhaenyra stayed within the traditions of Old Valyria the Targaryens were known for. Personally, you weren’t religious at all, and neither were your parents who had raised you with an open mind to religion but had no expectations for you to follow a particular faith; your mom only threw out that prayer stuff on the holidays and only when you had guests.

Both you and Daemon bowed your heads, exchanging slightly bemused looks as your mother began the prayer. It was as awkward and hilarious as to be expected, your mother thanking the Seven for bringing the both of you there safely that night and for blessing the food you were about to eat. Then of course she blessed your dad and Urrax who had found himself back inside after disappearing through the backroom doggy door; he was now begging at your father’s feet–the weakest link among your defense when it came to resisting puppy dog eyes.

“And Seven, if you could just make it to where I could be at the top of the phone tree at the next neighborhood watch meeting, that would be appreciated,” your mother tacked on. “In your name we pray, thank you.”

“Thank you,” you held back a snort as Daemon rubbed a hand over his mouth, stifling laughter.

“Dig in!” Your mother exclaimed, grabbing two rolls.

Your father wasted no time in claiming the biggest slice of roast for himself as you covered almost half of your plate in the potatoes that had simmered alongside it. Tossing Urrax a sympathy carrot–you hated steamed carrots–you glanced over at Daemon’s plate which had a little bit of everything on it. Smiling, you nudged him before grabbing your fork and spearing one of the potatoes, popping it in your mouth; initially it was a mistake, the morsel unbearably warm as you rolled it around for a few moments while it cooled down.

“So Daemon,” your father began, swallowing his first bite of roast and green bean casserole combo, “what are your intentions with our daughter?”

It was brutally cliche and your father knew it by the look of the humorous smile playing on his lips, one Daemon shared as he chuckled and set down his fork.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “we’re just seeing where things go for now–no definitive plans, no expectations.”

You nodded in agreement, the both of you having made what you wanted and needed from the relationship clear from the start. Daemon was a man nearing his fifties, he had long since sowed his wild oats and was a father of two grown adults, he had no need to play games with any of the women he pursued. And for that you were thankful, because otherwise you didn’t think things would’ve ever worked out for as long as they had; he was the first guy you had ever dated that was in the same age bracket as your father–all your other boyfriends born within the same decade as you–and at first you had feared it would be an obstacle you wouldn’t be able to get over but Daemon had been patient although determined for you to at least give him a chance before you completely wrote him off.

“Good, good,” your father nodded in agreement, “because you know we fully expect her to finish college first before any of that settling down nonsense right?”

“Dad, come on,” you sighed, pushing your food around your plate as heat rose in your cheeks.

“We just worry that those four years of college and the time you’ve already put into graduate school will go to waste,” your mother interjected. “It was an awful lot of money, sweetheart.”

“Well I don’t plan on getting pregnant or eloping in Vegas, so you can rest easy, alright?” You dropped a piece of gristly meat on the floor for Urrax to scarf down.

“We’re just asking,” she held up her hands in defense.

You felt Daemon’s hand on your thigh, the pad of his thumb stroking in the same pattern as he periodically gave it a squeeze. Glancing at him, you saw that he was facing forward, seemingly giving your parents his full attention as you all tabled the discussion of him potentially ruining your future.

“How old are you again, Daemon?” your mother led with the next line of questioning, putting you further on edge.

“I’ll be forty-nine this coming spring,” he answered with ease, no shame evident in his tone.

“Goodness, you certainly don’t look your age then,” she complimented, neither her nor your father showing any concern at the gap.

Of course, you hadn’t expected them to react too badly to that aspect of your relationship; you had been clear from the start that there was quite a bit of a gap between Daemon and you. They had taken it with some relative uneasiness at first until you assured them that proper boundaries to protect yourself had been put in place right from the start.

“And we were told that you teach,” your father joined in, scooping up the scraps of his food and holding it on his fork as he continued, “are you a grade school teacher? Or high school?”

“I’m actually a professor,” Daemon explained. “I chair the history department at King’s Landing University.”

Your university.

“Oh,” was all your mother said, before wiping her mouth off with her napkin and composing herself. “What kinds of classes do you offer?”

You knew she was digging, deeper and deeper, so that she may connect the dots of the secret you had held so close all those months. And if you could hold it close just a bit longer you would, but this had been Daemon’s wish when he had requested you both spend Christmas together at your parents’ house. He didn’t want to hide the truth any longer if there was any hope of this continuing past the six month probationary period the both of you had agreed on in the beginning, and neither did you truly; but facing your parents and their scrutiny was also not something you particularly desired either.

“Mostly ones on Ancient Civilizations,” he replied. “The traditions and cultures of places like Essos and Pentos; I spent much of my earlier studies traveling and writing about them and then of course Old Valryia. My family is rumored to date all the way back to its fall, and growing up I found the prospect quite fascinating–so I decided to make a career out of it.”

“Didn’t you take one of those ancient civilization courses last semester?” Your father asked, not seeming to be connecting the dots just yet as he went for a second slice of roast. By the look on your mother’s face, however, you knew that she had come to the conclusion straight away, fork hanging limply from her hand with a stray green bean that Urrax sniffed at from her side.

“I did….” You gulped, licking your lips as you reached down to lay your hand over Daemon’s; he turned his palm upwards, entwining your fingers together. “Ancient Civilizations of the Old World: The Valyria Chapter….Daemon’s class.”

Your eyes flicked between your parents, mom pale faced as she processed what she’d already known and your father still chewing, though the movement of his jaw slowed visibly and a frown curved his lips as he too began to process what you had just said. For a moment, you fooled yourself into believing that everything would be okay and this was just the initial shock, they wouldn’t really care that much, right? That was until your dad’s fork slammed down on the table and he swallowed his bite, jaw tense as he looked between you and Daemon.

“You two met….in his class?” Your mother asked breathlessly, setting her fork down with more decorum than your father had. “He-He’s your professor?”

“He was,” you clarified, “but he’s not anymore. I made sure I didn’t take any of his classes this semester after we made things official–”

“As if that somehow makes it better,” your father cut you off.

“Dad–” you sighed, expecting the pushback; an age gap you could rationalize to your parents, dating your professor? That wouldn’t be as easy. They were very by the book, your parents, particularly when it came to company politics and procedures, and the golden rule they lived by was that you didn’t date your co-workers–especially if they outranked you. It not only complicated things in their opinion, but it was also unethical for a superior to date someone who was under them because it created an unsettling power balance. And you understood that in some instances of students dating their professors that power imbalance did occur, you were just lucky that that hadn’t been your experience with Daemon.

“It just isn’t right,” your mother shook her head, “for a professor to date one of their students. You must understand that, Mr. Targaryen.”

Oh, now they were on a last name basis–this wasn’t good.

“I understand your concerns,” Daemon hummed, “and trust that they were addressed early on between your daughter and I, but I would never jeopardize my career or her academic future in such a way.”

“But you have by even continuing to see her,” your dad argued. “Even if she isn’t in one of your classes, she’s still a student at the college you work for.”

“Yes, however we both keep our personal lives very separate from the university,” he continued, standing firm in his words. “Your daughter only has two more semesters left, so we see no need to worry; once she has graduated we can make our relationship more public so as to not put either of us in an uncomfortable position.”

“You must see how unethical and even immoral this is,” your mother continued to push before looking at you. “Honey–”

“Daemon has never allowed his private feelings to impact his treatment of me in class,” you defended him. “And now that I’m not on his roster it’s easy for us to keep those parts of our life separate. I understand that this isn’t conventional and it might even be inappropriate but….fuck! I don’t care, okay? I just really don’t and if you can’t accept that then that’s fine–well, not really, but I’m not going to let it affect my relationship. Daemon and I will continue to see each other no matter what you have to say.”

You didn’t dare look at Daemon, too fearful that it would cause you to falter in your words, but you could feel his stare burning into the side of your face; a part of you didn’t even have to look to know that it was an expression of pride he wore as you relaxed back in your seat. Your parents sat across from you, stunned into silence, father staring at you as you mother fiddled uncomfortably with her silverware; all the while Urrax panted obliviously, begging for scraps at the side of the table.

“Now,” you sighed, taking a deep breath as you pushed back from the table and stood up, hand reaching for Daemon, “if you’ll excuse us–I’d like to show Daemon my room. Okay?”

For a moment you feared that they’d ask you to leave the house entirely, unable to process what had just transpired let alone accept the simple fact that Daemon and you had been brought together by his status as your professor.

“Okay,” your father sighed, the one word lifting the burden from your heart as you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “But we’re talking more about this–”

He gestured between you and Daemon with his fork.

“In the morning.”

“Dad–” You frowned, ready to nip any objections to your relationship in the bud.

“I ain’t gonna say nothing more about my thoughts on the whole ‘professor’ thing,” he said the word with a hint of distaste. “I just want to get a better picture of….it.”

You saw your mother nodding in agreement, seeming to come back to herself as she took a deep calming breath in and let it slowly out.

“....Alright,” you agreed after a moment before turning to leave. “Dinner was delicious, mom….good night.”

“Night, sweetie,” you heard her sigh as you left them to the rest of their meal and led Daemon upstairs.

Your childhood bedroom was the same as you had left it when you moved out for college, a shrine to the young girl you had once been when your mom still drove you to practices and away games, back when you spent a majority of your time in your father’s shadow. If only you had stayed that age. But alas, you grew up as kids tended to do and as Daemon pressed you back into the floral print bed sheets all thoughts of your adolescence left your mind.

Moaning, you kissed him back with a fervor, one hand combing through his silky shoulder length hair while the other one pulled his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. Pulling away temporarily, he quickly undid the buttons of the shirt before shrugging it off his shoulders, tossing it to the floor of your bedroom before leaning back down to kiss you. His kisses made you breathless, trying to catch your breath between each one as he rubbed against you.

“I didn’t expect all that down there….” he chuckled, lips trailing the length of your jaw and down to your neck, he sucked on the skin there as you let out a gasp your hands falling down to grip at his lower back; his hips pressed into yours, rubbing the outline of his hardening cock against your core.

“Me either,” you pant, laughter on your tongue as you reach your hands between the two of you to fumble with the buckle of his belt. “Fuck….help me get this off.”

“Eager, aren’t we?” He teased, pulling back all the same to give you better access, his own hands reaching down to help undo the zipper of his pants.

“As if you aren’t,” you shot back, licking your lips as you saw the hint of his cock peeking out from between his open fly.

His hand found the back of your head, fingers rubbing your scalp as he patiently waited for you to shimmy his pants down past his buttocks and pull his semi-hard cock out. Spitting in one hand, you grab it in a firm grasp and slowly stroke from base to tip, eyes flicking up to gauge his reaction. You watched the tilt of his head as he looked up the ceiling, eyes closing as he let out a soft moan, hand still tugging through your hair before pressing back against your skull. Once he stiffened a bit more, you rubbed your thumb over the leaking tip, leaning forward to take it into your mouth. Another groan escaped Daemon’s lips, louder this time, deep in his throat as he slowly pressed forward–feeding you his cock.

“Good girl….” He sighed reverently. “So good for me….that’s right–take me all the way to the back of your throat.”

Glowing under his praise, you reminded yourself to relax the back of your throat muscles as he had instructed you in the past, feeling the head of his penis slip into the narrow opening. It was difficult to remember all of it–relax, breathe through your nose, don’t neglect the base….at that thought you reached up your hand, caressing over the heavy weight of his balls before gripping where the shaft met the bottom. Her jerked slightly in your hand, bumping the back of your throat and causing you to gag but you simply stalled, taking a deep breath through your nose and letting it out before continuing.

“There we go,” he grunted, hooded eyes flicking down to stare at you–jaw unhinged, mouth open as you took his dick so well.

Never one to want to waste cum down your throat, however, Daemon tapped you on the shoulder when he was good to go and you pulled back. Licking your lips, feeling how swollen they had become with the tip of your tongue, you rested back on your elbows, clothes still on but disheveled as you awaited your boyfriend’s next move. He wasted no time of ridding you of your shoes and pants, leaving you in your button up blouse–sans buttons when he tore it open much to your ire–as well as your bra and panties; though the latter quickly followed as Daemon discarded your underwear as well, free hand stroking his cock as he placed himself between your legs.

Using one hand to open you up, he used the other to guide himself inside of you, tip of his cock teasing your clit with a few brushes across before finding its target. Biting your lip, you fell fully on your back as you kept your legs wide open for him, only closing momentarily to squeeze his hips as you resisted the urge to lift and impale yourself on his cock the rest of the way. Daemon liked to tease you in the beginning, pushing in inch by agonizing inch, until he was balls deep into your pussy–only then did he give you both what you wanted.

He fucked into you with an enthusiasm none of your other lovers could’ve ever hoped to match, hands gripping either of your thighs in a vice grip as he held you open for himself, watching at how well he pounded your pussy. A satisfied smirk curved his lips, eyes flicking up to meet yours, which were glazed over and unfocused as all you could do was lie there and take his punishing pace. Gasping, you reached down with both hands to grip his wrists, holding on for dear life as you already felt yourself so close to the edge; usually when he noted your approaching orgasm, he would slow down and drag it on, taking you to edge and keeping you there for hours but tonight it seemed he had different plans. Instead of slowing down when you felt that knot forming in your stomach, he went faster, fucking into your with even more vigor as you held in the more alarming of your moans–last thing you needed was your parents hearing your professor screw you into the matress under their own roof.

“Daemon….” you whimpered. “I–I��.I need to–”

“You know how to ask nicely, pet,” he teased, rhythm never letting up as his hands slipped from your thighs to your hips, slamming you down onto him as his hips met your ass in a stinging slap again and again.

“Can I–oh!” Your body jerked as one of his hands slipped to your clit, rubbing the bud with the warm pad of his thumb as he kept up his onslaught of attacking thrusts. “Oh shit–fuck! Daemon, can I–can I please cum?! I need to cum all over your cock, I need–ah!”

All senses left you as Daemon reared up, the force of his thrust lifting your lower body as he held you there, back arching and pressing further into the mattress as the dam in your stomach broke–your orgasm washing over you. His thumb stopped moving on your clit, instead holding you there in the chasm where pleasure met pain, lips and thighs wet with the slick of your arousal. You felt the pulse of his own release wash over inside of you as he gave small rolls of his hips against your suspended ass, grunting as the tension finally broke and he let you fall once more to the bed, partially into his lap. Your legs rested uselessly on either side of his hips, racked with residual tremors of your post-coital bliss; sweat coated your skin, prickly and orgasmically uncomfortable as your entire epidermis hummed with sensitivity, body jerking involuntarily from the slightest caress of Daemon’s body brushing against yours.

After a few moments of settling, he finally pulled himself from inside you, a broken whimper leaving your mouth at the loss. Chuckling, he settled his body against your side, shifting both your bodies slightly so that he could tuck himself against your backside, flaccid wet cock rubbing against your ass as you leaned back into him. Your head tucked under his chin as you quietly laid there, feeling how his seed slipped out from inside and dripped onto the bed sheets, both of you allowing the quiet to envelop your bodies before sleep eventually claimed you.

#˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 :#house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen one shot

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