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daycourtofficial · 4 months

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A Valentine’s Surprise

Summary: a member of the inner circle asks you to be their valentine, despite you being mated to someone else

Author’s note: this is pretty short, but I thought it’d be really cute and I love Nyx

“Excuse me, everyone.”

Everyone at the table stops their chatter as Nyx stands on his chair, his little voice unwaivering as he draws the attention of his family consisting of his parents, Cassian, Azriel, Nesta, Mor, and you.

“I have an announcement.”

You all look on in confusion and curiosity, wondering what the young prince would deem so important. He does this about once a week now - interrupting dinner to declare something to everyone. Last week it was to inform everyone that Cassian had farted next to his face, causing Cassian to argue, “it’s not my fault your face is at bum level.”

The night derailed from there, the warlord getting quite worked up over the accusations of a five year old until the two were wrestling on the floor.

Nyx clears his throat, looking to his mother for approval to continue. Feyre gives him a nod of encouragement, mouthing the words “go on” to him. He takes in a deep breath and says, “I’m in love.”

Feyre smiles at him, clearly aware of where his little speech is going. Rhys perks up, amusement in his eyes at Nyx’s confession. The table falls even more silent in curiosity. The princeling looks to you before continuing, “I love you, (y/n). Will you be my valentine?”

You spit out your wine, and Azriel’s hand that was covertly wrapped around your thigh tightens slightly. You grab your napkin, dabbing at the wine you spilled on your dress. You can’t help the smile on your face at how nervous Nyx looks, and you can’t hold back the grin as he winnows a rose into his hand, holding it out to you.

“Nyx, I’m honored that you would ask me.”

You try to figure out how to let the young prince down without telling everyone of your secret mateship with Azriel. The two of you were keeping your mating bond a secret because you didn’t want to deal with the ordeal it would cause and wanted the peace to navigate it. And then you two just kept delaying mentioning it.

Unfortunately for Nyx, the two of you had plans that evening to celebrate the holiday to hide out in a cabin and you wouldn’t want the little heir to ruin them.

“Why do you want me to be your valentine?”

Nyx smiles at you, “because I get all warm and fuzzy inside when I see you.”

Your face crumpled at his sweet words, his love for you showing in his toothy grin, a few teeth missing from his smile. The adorable spectacle makes you miss Cassian grumbling, “why doesn’t anyone ask me to be their valentine?”

“How can I say not to that adorable face?”

Azriel’s grip tightens, and you place your hand on top of his, gently rubbing it. Reminding him that his instincts can calm down over a five year old.

“What does being your valentine entail, sweet Nyx?”

The little boy’s wings flutter at your attention, “we’ll have ice cream!”

“I like ice cream. Is that all?”

He preens under your gaze, looking exactly the way his father does whenever Feyre looks at him affectionately. He leans in conspiratorially, covering his mouth with his hand that does nothing to keep his words from being heard by everyone, before whispering, “you can hold my hand through Velaris.”

“Nyx I wonder if our darling (y/n) has other valentine’s plans.”

Nyx looks to you, heartbreak on his tiny face that the woman he loved would dare see another male. Azriel shoots daggers over your head at his brother, realizing the two of you hadn’t been as secretive as you thought at Rhys’s feline grin. Rhys mocks a toast of his glass towards you two, causing Az’s scowl to deepen.

“Well Nyx, nobody’s asked to take me out for ice cream on Valentine’s day, so I will be more than glad to go with you to get ice cream.”

The little boy beamed the rest of the evening, and as he totted off to bed he was telling his father all about what he was going to wear when you two went out. He even gave you a color scheme so your outfits could coordinate.

You and Azriel retired separately, so as not to raise suspicions. You were brushing your hair at your vanity when his shadows allowed him to emerge in your room, where he immediately began walking towards you.

Meeting your gaze in the mirror, his eyes are full of amusement, thinking about how he has to share the woman he loves, his mate, with a child he could drop kick into the clouds.

“You are stunning, my dear, surely you must have plans for Valentine’s Day?”

He starts kissing your cheek, making his way down your neck, causing you to giggle while you reply, “I have plans with another male for the afternoon on Valentine’s day, but I suppose I could pencil you in while he’s taking his nap.”

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar writing #azriel x y/n

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bornfreakdraws · 1 year

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Dahmpir princeling gets the gentle topping he deserves

(look me up @ Born Freak on p4tre0n for the full drawing)

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #netflix castlevania #alucard #alucard tepes #alucard fahrenheit tepes #greta of danesti #gretacard #digital art #self promo

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themotherofhorses · 1 year

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Vic!! I have a request pretty pls hehehe,

Creepy dark! Aemond forcing his way with fem!reader as she sleeps after stalking him for many moons? PWEASEEE

what was mine is still mine, regardless of time.

pairing: soft but dark!aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader

warnings: explicit language. nsfw smut. slight breeding kink towards the end. consented abduction. aemond is (as usual) obsessive and possessive but is actually kinda a sweetheart in this.

notes: ok so small thing: i kinda put my own twist to this request, because this sort of idea has lived in my head RENT FREE since forevvaaa. hope u enjoy it :)

masterlist

Dragonstone was quiet when arrived, the sea tide calm and peaceful.

Aemond Targaryen could not remember the last time he stepped foot in the castle, if he ever did at all, having spent the entirety of his life behind the bronze doors of the Red Keep. He did not care for the damned island, nor did he hold any love for its people, but his twentieth nameday was fast approaching, and his mother was insisting more and more that he take a wife soon.

“Now, where will you be,” he mumbles to himself as he rips off his riding gloves and tucks them into his belt.

The castle hallways were without light, and no houseguards stood afoot. Aemond smirks. It would be much easier for him to find you, tucked away in your own chamber.

Your personal chamber was nicely furnished, in the colors and style of your shared noble house, and had an aura belonging only to a Targaryen princess. Thick wool carpets covered the floor instead of harsh black stone, and your windows were cracked open just a little, with pretty drapes swaying from the light ocean breeze. The walls were hung with different tapestries, all of horses and dragons, and the doors were flanked by Valyrian sphinxes.

And to the corner was your bed, where you, his niece, lay atop, fast asleep.

Aemond wills his heart to continue beating, and for his cock to behave.

He has not laid eyes on you in almost a full decade, ten years too long for him. Both your parents whisked you away to Dragonstone when you were still a child, soft-faced and in the mid of girlhood.

They refused his mother’s offer for a betrothal between the two of you, and broke his heart to the tiniest of pieces that he wondered if they were still scattered around the Keep. But that was so many moons ago, and time slipped by him.

“Gods be good,” Aemond whispers, moving closer.

What has happened to that little girl, that kid niece of his? In her place sleeps a living goddess, too lovely for mankind. You’ve grown beautiful, a mirror image to your mother, his eldest sister. He bends to kiss your bare shoulder- just a simple and tiny kiss- and you stir in your sleep. It is cute, he admits, but he also can not wait another second longer.

Only the gods above know how much he’s wanted you.

With a hard yank, Aemond draws back the bedsheet covers, causing you to jolt up from the bed. You look around, confused and scared and still half-asleep, purple eyes clouding from drowsiness. In front of you sits a stranger, a man- silver-haired and cloaked in black riding leather. Across his eye, an eyepatch.

Your heart quickens at the sight. “Aemond…?” you call out, unsure.

He smiles, teeth and all. “You do not know how happy it makes me to know you are still able to recognize me, my niece. After all, it has been awhile- ten years, has it not?”

You shrug, trying to wipe the sleep away from your eyes. “What…what are you doing here?” you ask, while patting down the bed, looking for the sheets to cover your chest. “Should you not be at King’s Landing? Why are you here?” Your eyes grow as wide as a dinner plate as you soon add, “Oh no, has something happened? Is it my grandfather?”

But Aemond scoots closer, bringing his face to yours. “Do not fret, nice. I’m here on my own wishes,” and he twirls a thin strand of silver hair around his finger, humming as he watches it fall back around your shoulder. In that sheer Dornish nightgown, you look good enough to eat, and the princeling is feeling beyond ravenous.

“I’m here to collect a debt.”

Lucerys…you think, a sinking feeling in your chest. His stolen eye, that night on Driftmark…

Ten years and Aemond still seeks revenge.

“No,” Aemond says, shaking his head. He moves even closer, grabbing at your shoulders. His palms are rough and callous. “I would dare not hurt you. Anyone but you. You…” he sighs, “-you were promised to me, back when we were children. You were meant to be my wife, and they stole you from me. The only good fucking thing in my life, and it was taken away…”

He studies you, his eye running across your face, down your neck and to your chest.

That Dornish nightgown clings loose to your body, and he can see your nipples perk against the fabric. It sends blood rushing between his thighs. “Tell me, niece, what did I do to deserve that?”

“Aemond…”

“No!” he hisses, tightening his grip on you. “No! You have not the slightest idea of the fucking torture I’ve endured these years. The nights I stayed up, begging to the gods that I might have you. I thought…maybe if they heard my pleas, saw my faith, they would…but no. Ten years, and not a single glimpse of you.” Your breath hitches when he meets your gaze, “I dreamt of you, every damned night. Fought the urges to fly over and collect you from here…”

You shake your head. “Aemond…” you say, softly. “I’m betrothed to another, this cannot be.” You press your hand against his cheek, feeling him lean into your touch, and kiss his forehead. “I have missed you greatly, uncle, but it has been years! So many years. I’m to be married soon.” You pull back, “It is best if you return home, and start finding a lady of your own choosing.”

Aemond sighs, and inside his chest, he feels his heart being ripped apart again.

“You are right, my dearest niece. My sincerest apologies for waking you up, it was quite wrong of me. I shall see myself out,” and he kisses your hand, brushing his lips against your knuckles. “I wish you all the luck in your marriage, and may your husband love and appreciate you till the dying days of his damned life.”

You smile at him, though a bit sad now. “Thank you, uncle. To you as well.”

The princeling turns to leave, and you sit up watching as he makes his way to your door, before sinking back into your bed. “Goodbye, Aemond,” you call out, one final time before your eyes close, failing to see him pause and turn around to look at you.

What was he doing? Foolish man, he thinks. Foolish, stupid man!

Was it in his nature to admit defeat so easily, and to some unnamed wastrel cunt of a man? No. Throughout his life, Aemond suffered nothing but tremendous losses, while being denied the goodness and fairness that a child should’ve had. His lips pucker at the thought.

You were right there, close enough for him to finally claim.

And so he did.

“Shhh, keep your voice down,” Aemond tuts next to your ear, a heavy arm slung over your naked breasts as he holds you as close to his chest as possible. It feels as if he is frightened to let you go, worried you would disappear before his very eye, with another ten years slipping by until he finds you again.

His other hand lies between your trembling thighs, fingering you with such an intensity and speed that it leaves you utterly ruined and in tears. “Aemond…” you hiccup, nibbling at your bottom lip as he groans. “Fuck! You sound so good when you say my name like that. Gods be good, you are wet. Absolutely soaking my fingers. Doesn’t this feel good?” he asks, using his thumb to rub at your clit. “Yeah…it does, doesn’t it?”

You sniffle, fat tears streaking down both cheeks as you nod.

Oh, it feels good. So good, but so wrong as well.

You were to be married in less than a fortnight, to a highborn lord of House Stark, handsome and kind. How would you explain this to him? Or to your parents, who proposed the marriage between you two? How would you tell them that you were ruined? And it was your uncle’s fault.

“Please, Aemond…”

Aemond grabs at your jaw, cradling it in his hand before pulling it close to his face. “Shhh, it will be alright, my love. Do not fret. You will be okay, just give in,” he whispers, quickening his fingers as he fucks them into you, curling two to hit your sweet spot. You almost scream, so overcome with pleasure that it hurts. “This is where you are meant to be, darling, make no mistake in believing that. My bride, my love.”

My woman, he thinks gleefully, watching how your face scrunches up. Your eyebrows furrow and your mouth press together in a tight line, and it is the most beautiful sight.

My woman, made for me. Made for my love and protection and seed…

Goosebumps prickle along your arms as wet sounds echo across the chamber, followed by a strew of whimpers and moans. It sounds so dirty, so sinful and wrong that you pray to whichever god was listening in that no one would overhear such, especially your parents and siblings. Your father would have Aemond’s head, no doubt, and your older brother might rob him of his only other good eye.

“Oh, fuck…” you moan, flinging your head back, “-don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

A minute or so later, your vision blackens, the room spins, and your jaw slacks as you cum plenty around his fingers, all with such a high-pitched shriek that Aemond slaps a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise. “What did I say? Stay quiet!” he hisses before chuckling, smearing the mess around your folds while you make an attempt to catch your breath. “Very good, my love. You did so well for me.”

He brings a finger to his mouth, to suck at the taste. “Your taste is heavenly,” he moans, swirling his tongue around it. He then brings two to your mouth, swiping at the tiny bit of drool pooling before stuffing them in. “Suck. Taste yourself now.”

“Dirty girl,” Aemond hums, a smirk curving on his lips as he watches the way you lick and suck at his fingers. “You are digging a grave too deep to escape, darling.”

Ruin me, you want to say. If I’m to die, I rather it be in your hands than anyone else’s…

He lays you back down on the bed next, making sure your head rests comfortably against the pillows. Ten years, Aemond reminds himself. Ten fucking years. He can feel his resolve slowly weakening by the second. You’re too beautiful, too soft and womanly and perfect for him. Every fantasy he dreamt up during boyhood never claim as close as to this. “I dreamt of this for fucking years,” he admits while kissing your pink and pouty lips. “All the possible ways to take you, to fuck this pretty cunt of yours.”

Your legs wrap around his hips as he pushes his cock inside you. It is painful- undeniably painful- yet he swallows every cry and wince and moan that you give. Your fingernails dig into his skin from the terrible pain- the stretch and the sting and the weird feeling growing deep within your tummy.

“It is too much…!” you whimper against his lips. “Hurts!”

“Of course it hurts, darling, it is your first time. Every woman hurts when a man takes her first blood. But you can take it.”

“No,” you whine, trying to shove him away. “No, Aemond, it hurts too much-” But Aemond only kisses your temple, sweet and gentle and lovingly, while rocking his hips against yours. “It’ll feel so good soon, my love, trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you, not my precious and sweet girl,” he coos, leaning to rub your noses together, “-my brave girl.”

Ten years.

He could not stop, even if he wished to. No, not now that he finally has you, underneath his body and wet and ripe for his seed.

“I’ll give you our child,” he mutters beside your lips as he pinches your nipple between two fingers and keeps his thrusts hard, deep, and fast. All of it makes your face twist in a soft gasp, your body tightening as you feel that thick rush of pleasure from before, right before you creamed over his fingers.

“Take my seed and have our child. I promise to take you back to King’s Landing and marry you," he vows through ragged breaths, "and spend the rest of our lives making up for those ten years.”

“Aemond,” you pant, clutching onto his shoulders and dragging his face down for a kiss. His skin is sweaty and flushed, and he has never appeared so beautiful before. You love him. You love him so much, how did you spend ten years without seeing him? It makes no sense. You understand his woes now, clear as day, and you want to rid of them forever.

“I love you! I love you, I love you, make me your wife, please. Please!”

He feels your cunt tightening around his cock, and he is ready to give you everything: his heart, his soul, and his seed.

Come the morning, his son will be swelling within your belly, and he will have you seated atop Vhagar, flying back to the Keep to make you his wife, in both the eyes of the gods and the laws of the land.

The next day, at dawning, Rhaenyra Targaryen’s only daughter does not join her family to break fast together. Her three half-brothers and two half-sisters raise eyebrows as they munch quietly on their meals but keep silent, all until little Joffrey asks where his older sister might be. Rhaenyra does not know, and neither do the houseguards, the men of the small council, and the maesters, and it worries her greatly.

Her husband, though, is quick to remind her that the princess- ever their trueborn child- enjoys morning rides on dragonback. “Give her a few hours and she will surely return with a new story to tell us,” Daemon says, while sipping on his wine.

But a few hours turn into the rest of the day, and soon evening creeps by.

A raven arrives from King’s Landing, bearing the family a note:

“I’ve taken what was owed to me. Such a pity you all forgot that what was mine is still mine, regardless of time.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x you #dark aemond targaryen #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #request #vic writes 🧸

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nevertheless-moving · 2 months

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Continued from this au, where Kaladin gets strung up for a highstorm instead of thrown in prison during Words of Radiance, inspired by @gnecrognomicon

"The King ordered-"

Adolin rolled his eyes. "I am the King's cousin, you seriously believe I would go against his word and cut this man free? In front of a crowd of witnesses?" His tone somehow grew even haughtier the longer he talked.

"Now step back, I said l will speak with him alone."

The guards reluctantly moved away, and the prince stepped close enough that Kaladin could hear his low whisper.

"Say the word and I'll cut you free."

Kaladin blinked, looking at Adolin. He saw only open sincerity.

"...You're serious," Kaladin said.

"Sureblood is a minute's gallop away. I know you're not comfortable on horses, but a Rhysadium is different, he would never throw someone against my wishes. His saddlebags are already packed with a month's supply of food, not to mention enough bromes to hire passage on any ship in any port."

"Ship?" Kaladin asked, bewildered, but the princeling just kept going.

"We can make it to a stable in the outercamps before the stormwall hits. The moment the riddens start, we'll be gone - most won't be able to get their mounts out as early as us."

"Us?"

"Of course, they won't dare to shoot if I'm in the saddle, and anyway Sureblood wouldn't ride without me. I'll return once I see you safe to a port, there will be a punishment but -"

"Brightlord-" Kaladin said quietly. He was sure his expression was doing something strange. Hopefully the guards wouldn't read too much into it.

"Oh! A copy of your writ of freedom is also in the saddlebags - and your Horneater cook packed the meals! And when I say I packed enough bromes to hire a ship, I meant emeralds. You could buy a ship. You'd never have to work a day in your life, if you didn't want."

"Princeling, this is very -"

"Renarin will look after your men until I return, he won't let Elhokar or any of the Highprinces touch them, I swear. I wasn't able to get a spanreed, not without Aunt Navani noticing, but you should be able to hire one easily enough- I'll support your men in leaving the camps, it -"

"Adolin."

The prince finally stopped.

Kaladin took a deep breath, willing himself not to pull in stormlight to help with his throbbing headache. "I appreciate your willingness, I really do."

And he did, to his surprise. He was oddly touched by how much thought the brightlord had clearly put into the escape attempt. This wasn't a spur of the moment idea. Not to mention, there would no gain in it for Adolin, and quite a lot of risk.

"We can do it," Adolin said desperately. "Ten heartbeats and you'll be free. I can even get the soulcast manacle off completely, once we stop and rest, weaken it with -"

Kaladin laughed, the sound shocking Adolin into quiet again, the sound shocking even himself.

"I'll be alright, princeling." He smiled slightly, despite himself. "But thank you. Sorry to waste all your planning."

Adolin narrowed his eyes. "You swear it? This isn't a dramatic suicide attempt, after your earlier, equally dramatic ones failed?"

"I already decided against that, ages ago."

For some reason, the prince didn't seem comforted. The lines around his eyes tightened further.

"Your vow," he insisted.

Kaladin hesitated a moment, and he could see Adolin's right hand twitching to the side.

"I'm not going to promise I won't die," he said, exasperated. "You're a soldier, you know that there's no guarantees. I could get unlucky."

He lacked the delirious, instinctive confidence he felt last time he went into the storm. But he could feel the cool press of spheres, each from a different one of his men, sewn to the inside of his shirt by Hobber. So much more than last highstorm.

It had been difficult to breathe, in the worst of the tumult, but he also had a much better grasp on his powers this time, thanks to training with Sigzil, Rock, and Lopen. He should be able to draw in more than enough.

"I have...better reason then most to believe I'll survive this. I'll be alright. I'm not running."

Syl stood next to Adolin's shoulder. She had listened to the whole speech with thinly veiled wonder. Even though he knew she would be devastated if he broke his oath to flee, she had gasped and looked pleadingly at the mention of a ship. Kaladin smiled at her.

The prince glanced suspiciously at the air next to him, then started visibly.

Syl, in girlish form, giggled, sticking out her tongue, then turned into a ribbon of light, moving straight at the prince, causing him to blink as his yellow and black hair was shifted softly in the breeze.

She made a ring around Kaladins head, then zipped up, joining her cousins playing in the eddies above, the winds just beginning to pick up, sky growing dark.

It wouldn't be long now.

Adolin watched her go with a curious expression, then cocked his head at Kaladin.

"Stormblessed, huh?"

Kaladin just shrugged in reply. Well, he tried to anyway. The chains didn't have much give.

"Adolin, I gave my word that I'd see this through."

Adolin finally slumped, stepping back.

"Your men didn't think you'd run either. This still isn't right even if you do have... something on your side."

Kaladin didn't try and shrug again.

#stormlight archive #words of radiance #stormlight fanfic #adolin kholin #stormlight au #nevertheless cosmere #stone soup #stormlight au no 20

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sky-kiss · 2 months

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Raphael x Jaheira: Leash

A/N: extremely short lol, but inspired by how absolutely damn unhinged Andrew and Tracy got on a stream. And the gorgeous art they inspired. Holy damn, Red is so psycho talented.

R x J: Leash 18+

Jaheira catches his lower lip between her teeth. “Come now, pretty bird. No songs for me?”

Oh, he croons, preening for her amidst his sea of lavish silks. He is red. Red like the kiss-sucked bruises on his throat, red like his sheets, red like the wine trickling down his throat, tracking down his abdomen. The half-elf digs her knees into his hips, pulling back on the leash as she might with any well-trained mount. He arches, lower lip caught between his teeth, as she traces the path of the wine with her nails.

“And in what tongue would you prefer these songs, High Harper?” the devil purrs. “I do consider myself a—” he gasps, hips jerking as she fists a hand in his hair. “ —most magnanimous host.”

Jaheira considers this, fighting back a shiver as he traces the underside of her breasts. She slackens her grip, and he tuts, disapproving, tucking his face in the curve of her neck. Teeth press against her throat, canines threatening to break the skin. She tugs on his collar, and he hisses.

No marks, aye—that is the rule. Much like any spoiled princeling, he is inclined to break these agreements.

“You might have surprised me.” Jaheira clucks her tongue. “Barely house-trained. Ah-ah. You do not bite unless asked.”

He sinks his teeth deeper, and she grunts, instinctively yanking on the collar, binding him. Raphael bears the abuse, tongue lapping at the fresh wound. He groans. “Such a delicious vintage. Why—I can still taste Demogorgon’s fury on you.”

She laughs, tipping her head back to grant better access. Ah, but let him have this indulgence. Jaheira leads him in a lazy rock, pleased by the way his hips judder when she squeezes him—greedy boy.

“Ah, you would drink from me, then? How generous.”

Raphael tweaks her nipple with his thumb. “Behave, Harper. Even these mighty new friends would struggle to wrest you from my claws—should it strike my fancy.”

She pats his cheek, fighting back a groan of pleasure as she takes him deeper. Raphael’s left-hand settles over hers, still gripping the leash. He presses her back and draws the collar tighter, and it’s all the permission Jaheira needs to push them further. Her free hand settles on his sternum, pushing him back, making him snarl, jerking against this binding.

“Oh, beautiful boy,” she croons, pressing her thumb to his lower lip. “You believe I’d need them?”

He thrusts up into her, long lashes fluttering over his cheeks—he is beautiful. Pleasure coils low in her belly as she wraps the leather around her forearm. Raphael grasps the leash and pulls her down to him. Until they press chest to chest, pace erratic as the half-elf rides him. This joining is a savage thing, teeth bared, swallowing each other’s air as they chase their pleasure. Jaheira finds it…well, it is the simplest sort of exchange.

She strokes his hair in the aftermath, pleased when he presses a glass of fine wine to her lips. They are the sort to linger in the afterglow, neither embarrassed by their nudity. Both are old enough to welcome this…calm.

Raphael digs his finger into the small of her back, honey-colored eyes glittering with mischief. “You will convince dear Tav to reconsider my offer?”

She scoffs. “As if they would listen! These heroes will do as they please. You know this.”

“I know this.” He licks the marks he’s left on her throat. “But the devil will have his due.”

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #bg3 #jaheira #jaheira x raphael #they did this #i did nothing #tell andrew and tracy to stop #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #raphael x jaheira #Raheira

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nixiefics · 20 days

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Surrender

The flickering torches cast erratic shadows along the ancient stone walls as the echoing laughter of two figures reverberated through the deserted castle halls. In the lead, stumbling and giggling, is you, hair trailing behind you like a comet's tail as you dart around corners and through grand chambers, your laughter echoing off the cold stone. Your cheeks flushed with wine, you glance over your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Behind you, in hot pursuit, is Aegon, his own laughter mingling with yours as he navigates the labyrinthine corridors with a drunken determination. His footsteps echo loudly against the ancient flagstones, the sound of his pursuit driving you forward.

Your chase takes you through dimly lit passageways and past forgotten tapestries that hang like ghosts of a bygone era. As you careen around another corner, Aegon nearly collides with a suit of armour, sending it clattering to the ground in a cacophony of metal.

"Careful!" you call back, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably as you sprint ahead. You don’t think your heart has ever pounded this loudly in your chest.

But Aegon is undeterred, fuelled by the thrill of the chase and your infectious laughter. With a burst of speed, he closes the gap between you, his hand outstretched to capture you in his grasp. His grip isn't tight, he never wants to hurt you, but firm enough to pull you to a stop… just before a Kingsguard rounds the corner.

You cover your giggling mouth with your hands, trying in vain to stifle them. Aegon has his face pressed into the crook of your neck, breath cooling your heated skin as he pulls you against his chest. The small alcove is not much but it's a good place not to be found out.

"That was too close, Egg." you whisper once the clamour of the Knight's armour has receded. "Your mother would have both our hides."

Aegon's eyes grow lazy as he stares at you, fiddling with a trim on the sleeve of your dress. "My mother does not care for me, not truly."

The sadness in the statement aches and you swallow thickly as you pull him into your arms, petting his hair gently. "She cares… she is just busy."

He hums neutrally and inhales, savouring the smell of you. It had always been a comfort to him, ever since he was little and you had come to the castle for Helaena. You were her lady's maid but his best friend; the only person who had ever believed him to be anything more than a drunken lech.

"I have an idea," you pulled away with a sly grin. "If you can catch me, you may have anything you wish."

Aegon perked up and smiled faintly at your bravado. He may be drunk but he was still more agile than most - even you. "And what would that be?"

You scoffed lightly and slapped his chest, "How would I know what you wish to have? Keep up, princeling!"

You race through the palace corridors, the sound of your laughter echoing like music in the opulent halls. Your pulse quickens with each step, a mix of exhilaration and anticipation propelling you forward. Glancing over your shoulder, you catch a glimpse of the prince, his regal bearing softened by a playful sparkle in his eyes.

The chase is on, a delightful game of pursuit weaving through the labyrinthine passages of the palace. His laughter mingles with yours, creating a symphony of joy that seems to fill the very air around you. Dodging around corners and ducking through doorways, you revel in the thrill of the chase, the world outside melting away as you focus solely on the pursuit.

With each twist and turn, you feel his presence drawing nearer, the excitement building to a crescendo. And then, in a rush of adrenaline, his strong arms encircle you, bringing your flight to an end. Breathless and exhilarated, you find yourselves in front of his chambers, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows across the hall.

"I believe I have won."

"I believe you have, Egg." you say suppliantly. "What do you wish to have?"

He blinks slowly and traces his eyes over the slim collum of your neck, to your exposed collarbone and finally back to your eyes. "My bed. Sleep…"

It's almost laughably disappointing but you concede, pushing open the door and taking his hand to lead him inside. With a playful challenge in the air, you launch yourself onto the bed, your laughter mingling with his as the tickle-fight commences. Fingers dance across the plush pillows, seeking out the most ticklish spots as you both squirm and wriggle in a delightful frenzy.

The prince's laughter fills the room, a melodic symphony that warms your heart. You retaliate with gusto, your own laughter bubbling forth like a spring of joy. In this moment, there is no prince and no lady—just two friends revelling in the sheer delight of each other's company. Though Aegon does wish that his lower extremities would, for once, not harden at the sound of your laughter.

He has long since given up the hope that you would ever invite him to share your bed, and so he merely keeps you close enough to satisfy the beast inside him - the one who calls for fighting and fucking. He feels himself harden further as your dress raises, showing him glimpses of the skin beneath; skin he could, and would, gladly explore with his tongue. You turn suddenly, your back to him as you continue giggling from the pressure at your ribs - and its enough to make Aegon choke.

Your behind is slotted perfectly against his erection and your wiggling is offering just the right amount of friction and, Gods, your smell. It's intoxicating to the point of madness.

"Stop, my Prince!" you plead, wheezing now, but Aegon is only imagining you beneath him as you moan his name with a plead for more. "Egg!"

Aegon groans as he feels his balls tighten and the warmth of come against his leg. He is seeing stars, he swears, as your wiggling slows down and you collapse in a heap of laughter, your breath coming in gasps as you struggle to catch your breath. Egg lies beside you, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his own budding laughter, his eyes wide with pure, unadulterated joy and surprise.

#aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon imagine #aegon ii #aegon the usurper #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen x you

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princeofgaycats · 6 months

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you know i love a good bandwagon

#azzy #princeling draws #copper blood #batstarion

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dark-and-kawaii · 3 months

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Rules: Write a little teaser/snippet of what youve been working on!!

I was tagged by @adevilyoudo!! Thank you so much for the tag <3!!

Tagging: @octarinecat @multi-fandom-imagine

I’ve been working for a few weeks on the next chapter of the Soft Haarlep/The Incubus series!! It’s slowly coming along but here’s a little teaser for it!! Thank you all for being patient with this chapter!!!

The Incubus Series / Soft Haarlep

Prt 1 - Prt 2 - Prt 3 - Prt 4

Raphael was propped against one of his pillars, his arms locked over his chest like iron bands. A disturbing sneer played upon his lips, the kind of deceitful grin that had become his hallmark. You knew it all too well, it was a hollow smirk that made the venom in his heart glaringly obvious.

Your heart plummeted, a leaden weight in your chest, as a wave of dread washed over you. Your fingers clenched around the towel, gripping it with a desperation born of fear, an attempt to use the thin fabric to shield you from Raphael. A lump formed in your throat, words dissolving into a quivering whisper, “N-no-“ You pause momentarily to clear your throat. You- no, Haarlep couldn’t afford for your composure to falter, “No, of course not, Raphael.” You give the devil a charming smile before your eyes flicker to Haarlep.

Raphael's piercing gaze cut through the air, landing on Haarlep with a chilling intensity. His brows knitted together, his visage darkening. Haarlep, seemingly unfazed, offered a smirk at the fury they always seem to incite, taunting the princeling with a cavalier, "I simply bathed your little mouse for you! She was looking awfully dingy~."

Raphael’s hands balled into tight fists, the tendons standing out like cords. You watched as he walked over towards you, his presence engulfing the room, and with a gesture both gentle and terrifying, his fingers coaxed your face upwards so that your eyes met with his and his only, “Is that so?”

A nod was all you could muster, a silent prayer that the cambion might be swayed by Haarlep's deceit.

“If such is indeed the circumstance...” His words trailing off as he closed the distance between you and him. His lips claiming yours with an urgency that left no room for protest, the shock of his action rooting you to your spot. You knew your place, your role to be obedient and for Haarlep’s… That alone dictated your response, and reluctantly… You granted Raphael entry with the parting of your lips.

As your lips separated for him, a vicious stab of agony seared through you. A noxious flavor of iron invaded your senses, the well known savor of blood painting your tongue. You wished to pull away, struggled to retreat, to sever the vile union, yet the iron grip on your chin was unyielding. Trapped and powerless, a feeble groan escaped your lips.

Blood mingled and mixed with yours and his saliva creating the perfect cocktail for him, your fear adding to the enticing flavor that he savored. His eyes locked onto Haarlep’s, delivering a mute yet lethal warning, a threat, not to interfere… And then, with a sinuous motion, his tail wormed its way to the forbidden expanse between your legs. The tip of it grazing your sensitive, damp folds, drawing from you a stifled whimper.

He was inspecting you… And you were caught…

#raphael bg3 #haarlep

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kelbunny · 3 months

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Life tip. Draw princeling to boost your mood.

#Kelbunn's art #triangle strategy #triangle strategy spoilers #Roland glenbrook #I got some sepia tone pens recently and I think they help the lineart to look more natural haha

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knight-of-flowerss · 1 year

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Prompts: “tell me what is behind your back”

Summary: The reader has been Legolas’ nanny for what felt like centuries now, even though he was a man grown, he refused to have you stop being his nanny. But, when he left with Tauriel he left you a note that was hidden underneath his pillow in his chambers. You go to burn it but there is a visitor standing in the door way, awaiting your response for what you are doing in the elvish princes’ chambers.

Warnings: fluff, angst(Legolas’ mother), gets a little- suggestive -near the end.

Pairings: Thranduil x Reader, Platonic! Legolas x Reader

Masterlist

You: red

Thranduil: blue

Legolas: green

Burning desire

Thranduil X Elf!Nanny!Reader

Legolas had always been fond of you, ever since he was a young princeling, you never knew why he favoured you over the over two nannies that accompanied him. So he spent the most time with you than the other nannies, hell, he even spent more time in your presence than he did in his own fathers.

As the boy got older he finally realised why he enjoyed your company so much, you were the mother he never had.

You were kind but strict when necessary, polite but always stood your ground when someone had whispered some obscurities about the prince or his parents. But most of all, you treated him like a person. Not a prince, not a child, just Legolas.

****************************************

Legolas felt that he was betraying you when he ran after Tauriel who disappeared into the woods. He got about a mile from the door and realised that if he was going to leave, he had to give you an explanation.

****************************************

Your hand smooths his sheets out, stuffing the edges in between the mattresses and bed frame. You hands next go to fluff the large pillows, starting on the right side, you do both pillows and order them neatly.

You walk around the bed and reach for the under pillow. You raise it up to Fluff and notice an envelope nearly falling off the edge.

Your delicate fingers pick up the paper and place it on the bedside table while you finish the princes’ bed.

Reaching for the envelope, you go to put it in his draw on his bedside table when you notice your name written on the front.

Eyebrows furrowed and lips frowned, you peel off the wax and take out the piece of paper. It read:

Dear Y/N

I regret to inform you that I have left with Tauriel and sadly, don’t think I will be returning. I have a small box underneath my bed filled to the brim with golden pieces, enough to last you a lifetime, enough to get you on your feet if you wish to leave or find a new job. Please don’t try and find me and do not show this letter to others eyes than your own. Please, as my last wish to you, burn this letter and build a better life for yourself.

Thank you, and all that you’ve done for me.

Love from,

Legolas.

You look at the back of the letter and his guess of where he would be headed was scribbled on the back.

Lake Town.

****************************************

You stood in shock, tears threatening to travel downwards from your glossy eyes. You couldn’t believe that they had just let the high born elf leave like that, letting him morph from a respectable young prince to a wreck less young man.

Your feet moved faster than you brain, leading you towards the fireplace in the elf princes’ room. Reaching out, putting the corner of the envelope into the flame. After watching it burn for a while you throw it into the fire. You look to your side and pick up the note from the chair.

You go to put the corner of the page into the flames when a voices perked up.

“What are you doing in my son’s room?”

You whip your head around and hid the paper behind your back.

“My king, I..didn’t expect you to be here..”

“What did you expect then? That no one would notice that you overstayed your stay in my son’s room? No one would notice you lingering by the fire? I know my son cared for you but now that he has left, you have no business prolonging your stay in his chambers.”

His stoic stature took few steps towards you, coming chest to chest with you.

“I’m sorry my King, it was inappropriate for me to be staying in her as long as I have, I shall be leaving now, my King.”

You try to walk past him but a hand flew out and stopped at your chest, pushing you back ever so slightly so your eyes meet.

He was intimidating to say the least, he made you feel like he was a mountain and you were a mouse staring all the way to the top.

“Dear,…. What is behind your back?..”

Your eyes widen, looking away while putting the paper in your right hand, crumpling it up.

“I don’t know what you mean my King.”

Your knuckles went white while trying to hide the evidence of your princes’ whereabouts.

“I will not ask again Y/N. Tell me what is behind your back.”

You gulped, your eyes flickering from Thranduil’s eyes, to the table in the middle of the room, to the fireplace.

Your mind was fighting with you as you stared at the flickering of the flames. Your rational brain was saying no. To not get you imprisoned and to just give up the not the the KING.

‘Do not even think about it, just hand the paper to the King and and beg for forgiveness, atleast you won’t be imprisoned or feel the wrath of the beautiful king.’

Your eyes widen and you realised your impulsive side came through, ‘throw the note into the fireplace, protect your prince, protect your honour. Maybe the King could have mercy on you after finding out why you defied him, but it is very unlikely.’

You turned towards your king as his hand had travelled upwards without you noticing as you were lost in your train of thought.

His slender fingers gripped the underside of your jaw and turned your head towards him. Tipping it back to look at him in the eyes.

“Y/N this is the last time I ask before I forcefully take it out of you sneaky little hands, what. Is. Behind. Your. Back?”

He exhaled through his nose in anger, the air hitting your face. That made you snap. You got out of his grip, turned around and threw the note into the fire, watching it burn in the flames.

A look of shock adorned Thranduil’s face, as his eyes flick between the lick of the flames surrounding the scrumpled paper to your face.

Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed your arm. Spinning you around and pushed you up against the wall. Your head hit the wall and you groaned out in pain.

He dips his head down and through gritted teeth whispered, “What was on that piece of paper dear?”

You were so close to the Elvish King, up close you could appreciate his features a lot more. His sharp jawline, his porcelain skin, his soft and plush lips, his cerulean eyes, so complex, full of stories.

His eyes bored into yours as you subconsciously moved closer, your noses touching eachother and your lips grazing.

You get thrown back onto the wall while he steps back, his hand covering his mouth, squeezing his nose and then landing back at his side as he breathes out of his nose.

You step forward after collecting yourself, staring up at the King as his eyes flicker all around his sons chambers, avoiding your eyes.

When your eyes finally do meet, you are nearly pressed up against him, head tipped back as you stare at his pretty face.

Your hands reach to grasp for his robes, pulling Thranduil down a bit to your level. He moaned out your name in an almost submissive whimper, “Y/N…”

Your lips meet his as he pauses, in shock. Your left hand leaves his extravagant robes to cup his cheek.

When Thranduil finally clocked what was happening, his hands came up to either side of your face, palms on your jawline and fingertips weaving through your hair.

The once innocent kiss quickly turned heated as Thranduil guided you towards the table in the middle of the room, pressing you up against it.

Years of being ignored by the gorgeous elf where quickly overlooked as soon as he bit your bottom lip.

You knew that Legolas would be upset when he finds out about your little affair with his father. Someone who he loved dearly and someone who treated him and anyone he liked like the dirt underneath his shoes.

He would be livid.

But you didn’t care and neither did Thranduil, you both just caved into your

Burning desires.

****************************************

@thethreeeyed-raven

****************************************

#Thranduil #Thranduil x reader #Thranduil fanfic #fanfic #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #legolas

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thestoryden · 2 years

Text

A Burning Cole

Jacaerys Velaryon x Cole!Reader

Warnings: Violence, Tension, Language

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This started out like any other request, but it took on a life of its own. I have been writing bits of this all week, and I looked at the date and it was Sunday. I figured I should post it at least part of it before the end of the week. There will be a second part in the future. Thank you for reading, much love.

Masterlist / Taglist / Requests: Open

Your sword clashes with Aemond’s, the metal sings. He again swings and you catch his blade with your hilt. He locks his hilt with yours and uses it as a brace. The dirt of the training yard goes up in a puff of dust as he pushes you down to the ground. The point of his weapon is inches from your face.

“Well done, Cole.” He congratulates you.

He lowers his blade and sticks out his hand. You grab on to it and he brings you to your feet. You loosen the tie from your thick dark hair to let it down and shake out the sweat. Besting Aemond would be no easy feat, but you knew if you did that, he would allow you to fight along side him in the future.

Ser Criston comes into the court yard. He motions for both of you to come over. Criston’s face looks rather serious.

“Father,” You greet him.

“You must go get ready we have just received word that Rhaenyra has landed.” He commands.

“But we are training.” You protest.

“Yes, and the Crown must be ready.” He says firmly.

“I am only a ward of the Crown, my readiness does not-.” You argue

“Go,” He orders.

His face has such a stern look to it. You had not remembered it looking like that for some time. You do not take the time to wish Aemond good bye, not wanting to incur further wrath from your father. Instead, you hurry to your room.

Your shoes slap against the stone walkways as you run. You slip through the wooden door to be met with a very unhappy servant. You grimace as she puts her hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry Celia, I got caught up in training.” You say weakly.

She gives you a disapproving look and then sits you down in a chair. She hands you a wet rag and works on drawing your hair into a tight bun with a single braid running to it on the side. You wipe the grime and sweat from your body as you huff.

“This is pointless I am wasting time I could be training.” You complain.

Celia flicks the back of your ear. You scoff. With any other noble person, she would have been punished for her slight, but you were a bit different. You had grown up with Celia running around the streets of Kingslanding, both of you were fishermen’s children.

Or at least Celia was, it had been apparent when you were born that your dark hair was not from either of your parents. When you had come in to your sixth year it had become to much for your family to bear, your father insisted you be taken to whoever had sired you. Your mother complied and that fateful day you had found yourself in the training yard face to face with Ser Criston Cole. Your mother had always told you knights were brave and gallant. You had never met one other than the gold cloaks and so you believed her.

Ser Criston took you in and told you that evening you would go to pray. You watched him train the young princelings all day. When evening came and the sun set Criston took you to a court yard. There was a huge tree there that branched out over the whole area. He kneeled on the grass with you and took your little hand in his. You still remembered his words.

“It is a terrible life to live as a bastard, so we will pray to the gods that your life will be good, in the next.”

He had you close your eyes and guided you through a prayer one to the old gods and one to the new. He then held you tight to him. The metal of his armor felt cold and suddenly white hot pain in your back contrasted it. That is when a voice called out.

“Stop this!”

You looked up to see a young woman with brown hair. She was dressed in a green gown with a large silhouette.

“Is she yours?”

You watched as Ser Criston looked down at you. He wiped away tears from your face and then his own.

“Do not worry, I will take care of this.”

The woman took Ser Criston’s white cloak, wrapped you in it, and picked you up. They carried you to the maesters and you survived your wound. It took many maester and many stitches and the woman held your hand through the whole ordeal. The woman you would later learn was the queen. You took such favor with her after that night that it resulted in the crown legitimizing you.

You snap back to reality and Celia has finished your hair. She combs down the fly aways and uses a scented oil. It smells like roses and thyme.

“Is that really necessary?” You sigh.

“Yes,” She says, “You might even catch one of the prince’s eyes.”

“I’d rather not,” You say, “I hardly think they’ll remember me. It has been years.”

Celia turns to your bed, “I did the best I could on short notice, but the queen was very particular about how she wanted you dressed”

You huff, “So no pants?”

“No pants.” She affirms.

You stand up and go to the bed. Three green gowns lay on top of the covers. One with gold embroidery, another with a stiff silver collar, and the last is such a dark green it almost looks black. You pick it up and hold it to your body.

“Think I will blend in with the whole family?” You giggle.

Celia ignores your comment and starts preparing the dress. You strip off your clothes and allow her to fit you in to the dress. She straightens it out and goes to fetch a necklace. She takes out a thin gold chain with a small seven-pointed star on it. You removed your own necklace and turn it over in your hand. It is similar but your star is carved from a particular kind of wood and looped on a steel chain. She trades you and you fasten the gold one around your neck.

“It is important to look unified.” Celia reminds you.

She mumbles something about needing more green and begins rummaging through a small chest. She pulls out all manners of ribbons and baubles and begins attempting to match them with what you are wearing. She is determined to make you look like a presentable lady. She decides to pin velvet ribbons in to your bun. She is fishing through the chest again when there is a knock at the door.

A small serving girl peeks in, “My lady Queen Alicent has requested you wait with the princess.”

“Yes, I will go soon.” You reply.

She leaves and you look to Celia.

“Are we finished yet?”

She looks you over and her face goes pale.

“Shit, I forgot your underskirts, the silhouette will not have enough volume.”

“It is fine, I’ll be able to access my weapons better.”

You begin strapping your weapons to your body. First your daggers around your upper legs, you check to make sure the handles fall just below the edge of the pocket slits in your gown. You carefully tuck your knives into their slots just underneath your sleeves. They are thin and made of a single piece of metal so they are barely noticeable under your cuffs.

“No sword this time?” Celia notes, “You’ll almost look like a real lady.”

“I highly doubt anyone will mistake me for such.” You jest back.

You say your farewells and head to Princess Helaena’s apartments. When you get to her door you can here wailing from the children’s room. You enter into her room and see her pinning a creature to a board.

“Helaena? Is everything alright?” You ask.

She brushes a stray bit of hair from her face, “Yes, the children had a rough morning.”

Her face is slightly flushed and her brow is wrinkled.

“As have you by the looks of it.” You comment, “Come, let us walk the grounds you need air.”

“It is just dreams that trouble me,” She retorts, “Besides, I am not finished pinning this.”

You pause for a moment, “I will help you catch bugs in the garden.”

She looks up at you with a grin and dashes off to get a stack of small boxes. You take two of them in your arm and link your other arm with hers as you head down the hall. After some time of navigating the hallways, you find yourself outside.

“This is not the way to the garden.” Helaena objects.

“No, but the training ground has beetles.” You say.

“I never thought of that.” She replies.

When you step into the dirt yard. You see Aemond practicing with Ser Criston. Practicing may not be the right word the are so focused in that it could count as a duel. A group gathers around them to watch them move back and forth. You leave Helaena to join the circle. Across from you two boys watch the intricate frighting. Finally, Aemond catches Criston’s mistake and then Aemond take the opportunity to put Criston at sword point. The nobles all clap.

“Well done, my prince.” Ser Criston congratulates him, “You will win tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” Aemond bites back.

You hold in laughter. Aemond switches focus.

“Nephews, have you come to train?” He asks.

Your eyes are drawn to the older of the pair. He has warm brown hair and soft eyes. He opens his mouth to say something but is cut short by the Velaryons arriving. Everyone turns to watch their arrival. You find it strange that despite being Velaryons the princes arrived separately. The older boy whips back to the dispersing circle and catches you staring at him. You lock eyes with him and it causes you to tense up. He peers more intently and starts to make his way towards you. Aemond steps in front of him, blocking his path.

“Training?” Aemond asks.

“Yes, just give me one moment.” He replies.

He weaves around Aemond and then is standing so close you are practically toe to toe with him. He looks into your eyes and a small smile works its way up his lips. Irritation spreads across Aemond’s face.

“I said would you like to train?” Aemond repeats, his voice deepening.

“Just a moment Aemond.” Jacaerys replies.

He offers out his hand. You breathe and try to remember all of the courtly manners Celia had hammered in to your brain. You gently place your hand in his. He takes your hand and kisses the back. You withdraw it with an unwelcoming grimace.

“I didn’t catch your name.” Jacaerys comments.

“You can call me Cole.” You say shortly.

“That is an unusually name for a girl.” He replies.

“It is my house name, the only one of my names that should matter to you.” You snip back.

Aemond has no patience for this pageantry. He puts his sword to the prince’s back. Jacaerys stiffens where he stands. He smiles sheepishly.

“A moment Lady Cole.” He says tightly.

“We do not have all day, Nephew.” Aemond says, “Let us train or let us be done.”

“Yes, let’s.” Jacaerys says, “Lady Cole, do you care to watch us?”

“My apologies, I promised Princess Helaena, I would accompany her in the gardens.” You reply.

“What a shame, I guess I will have to meet you there then.” Jacaerys says coolly.

“I guess you will.” You say politely.

You walk off towards Helaena. You finally take in a breath and realize that your face is heating up. Helaena is looking at a plant trying to catch something.

“My princess, should we venture towards the gardens?” You ask.

She looks up at you her eyes almost glazed over, “Yes.”

She begins muttering to herself. You help her up from the ground and place your hand on her back to guide her. She seems as though she is in a trance.

When you make it to the garden Helaena’s state has not improved. There are attendants flitting about the gardens, you wave one over and ask for pillows to be brought for the princess. You help Helaena lay down on a bench as the attendant places pillows under her. You sigh and sit down on the pathway. You struggle to fix your skirts the way you want to.

“Damn this dress.” You curse.

Helaena stirs slightly, but then goes back to her words. They fall out in strings like poetry, but you can not make sense of them. You sigh and put your head in your lap. You often find yourself worried about the state of your host family. They raised you and made you what you are, but you know your love would not hold them together forever. Everything seems to be fraying at the seams. You feel a hand rest on your shoulder.

“Lady Cole?” The voice asks gently, “Are you alright?”

You look up and Jacaerys is looking down at you. You run your hands over your face and sniffle.

“Prince Jacaerys, I am fine.” You reply weakly.

He helps you to your feet and looks over to the princess.

“Is she alright?” He asks, gesturing towards the bench.

You brush off your dress and see that Helaena has fallen asleep.

“She will be, I will have a guard carry her to her apartments.”

You have an attendant fetch a kingsguard and he carries her away.

“Does that happen often?” Jacaerys asks.

“I wish it were not so, but the princess is often plagued by dreams.” You reply.

Your face falls. You realize you have said to much, made the Crown look weak.

“Pardon me, I did not mean the princess is flawed or” You try to keep up with your thoughts.

“No one is infallible,” Jacaerys says, “Well except for me.”

A smile breaks out on his face and you find it infects you and spreads across your own. You laugh a little.

“Your words are a great comfort, my prince.” You whisper.

“Jace is fine.” He replies, “You are a ward of the crown after all.”

“What do you mean by that?” You ask pointedly.

“Well, you are the crown’s responsibility, and by extension my responsibility as I am the future heir.” Jacaerys replies, “I would want to be familiar with someone who was my responsibility.”

You blush, “You are too kind, my, um, Jace.”

“Your Jace?” He pokes.

Your face gets even hotter.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind being your Jace.” He smiles tenderly.

“It is beneath my station,” You say embarrassed.

“Maybe, for now.” He says a hint of curiosity in his voice, “But I could change that.”

“Your joke has gone too far,” You seethe.

You run off down the path.

“Wait!” Jacaerys calls after you.

He chases you through the gardens. Knocking over attendants and breaking flowers off bushes. You are quite a bit faster than him, but eventually you collapse under a large apple tree. Exhaustion grips your body and you can barely keep your eyes open. The sun makes your face feel warm and you cannot keep yourself upright. When Jacaerys catches up to you he finds you curled up under the tree.

He gently shakes you awake. You groan and he slips his arm under you helping you sit up. Your eyes open and you see his face looking down at you with concern.

“Please, I do not wish to be tortured anymore by your cruel jokes.” You beg faintly.

“It was not a joke,” He implores you, “I was genuinely struck by your beauty this morning in the yard.”

You are not sure whether to look up at him or chastise him for being so brazen.

“Besides I have no other half yet.” Jacaerys whispers.

He stands and reaches up towards a hanging branch. He plucks an apple from it. He sits back down with you and splits the apple in two. He offers you one of the halves. You accept it.

“You must think me a true lady.” You laugh.

You think Celia would be very proud that all her training and work brought you to this moment. Ensnared with a prince, the future heir no less.

“Are you not?” Jacaerys questions.

“Well, my attendant had done her best to make me look like one, but in reality, I spend most days in the training yard fighting.”

You take one of the flat knives from underneath your cuff and cut out the core of the apple. You bite into the apple and sweet juice sprays into your mouth. Jacaerys tilts his head to the side.

“Well, you look quite refined.” He smiles sweetly.

You open your mouth to speak but are cut short, by a very out of breath squire. He huffs and tries to get out words.

“Gods, boy, just speak.” Jacaerys laughs.

“Cole, Aemond, wants you in the training yard.” He coughs out.

“Well, my other prince calls.” You sass.

You drag yourself to your feet, and slip your arms under that of the fumbling squire. You help him to a near by attendant and arrange for him to be cared for. You hear shoes hitting the pavement then coming to an abrupt stop behind you.

“Wait when will I see you again?” Jacaerys asks.

“I suppose, you could watch me practice this evening, Jace.” You reply coolly.

“At least let me accompany you to your apartments.” He insists.

“How could I refuse.” You say sarcastically.

He loops his arm with yours as you walk through the garden together. You feel the eyes of the lords and ladies of the court. Even a few attendants’ stare. You hold your head up high.

“We must be quite the spectacle.” Jacaerys laughs uneasily.

You tire greatly of their vicious stares that you have been fighting off since the day you arrived at the palace. Trying to blend in the best you could with what little knowledge you had of court politics. Today that changes, you decide to lean in to it and you rest your head against Jacaerys’ shoulder. A small choir of gasps come from the garden.

“Is something the matter?” Jacaerys whispers.

“No, just in love I think.” You reply with a smile.

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