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lovelykhaleesiii · 4 months

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A King to Fear...

PAIRING: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x Stark!fem!Reader

WORDS: 2,218.

SUMMARY: What you had intended to be a short, innocent trip to King's Landing, had turned into a bitter pleasure that would forever change the course of your life.

WARNINGS: thicc!aegon, infidelity [on Aegon's part], swearing, thigh riding, breeding kink, corruption kink, degradation kink, exhibitionism, p in v sexual intercourse, female receiving (fingering), brief mentions of cockwarming/creampie.

A/N - since the trailer dropped, the little glimpses we got of Aeg continue to haunt me and this is the product... I need this man to down me so bad, it's not funny anymore.

The chiming bells had rung a bellowing rhythm throughout the city. You felt as though the ancient, stone walls themselves shuddered from the distant echoes of the bells, shaking its very foundation, that Aegon, the Second of His Name, now roamed as the newly anointed King of the Seven Kingdoms.

His liege Kingsguard had rounded the spare subjects, yourself included, like shepherds tending to their frolicking herd. A part of you rooted inside, taunted at you for ever thinking it logical to leave Winterfell. Had Cregan received news of the scandalous outpour in the city, you were certain the wolves would be on the hunt... It was only a matter of when their arrival you had anticipated anxiously.

Hesitantly making your gradual way into the throne with the harrowing sound of scuttling feet, as you felt yourself confined in the centre of the bewildered crowd: every lord and lady by your side fearful of the King before them...

You had seen Aegon in passing before, during his days as a Targaryen Prince. You never found his looming presence to be threatening, nor intimidated by his appeal, often absent from royal events, or found drowning himself in his cups. Yet the young ladies of the court spoke often of his infidelity, that was all you could gather of the eldest Prince. Yet, in this precise moment, a different man sat atop the throne with might, and with his identical face.

Your gut viscously churned as your sole attention remained fixated on the young King. His hair had grown an inch longer, now resting atop his broad shoulders, his ruggedly handsome face looked fuller, as to match the sturdiness of his body. Mahaps, he grew to fit the heavy burden of the crown. He sat perfectly on the Iron Throne, as if the seat was made precisely in dedication to him. Those strange, alluring lilac eyes, remnants of the ancient ancestors of Old Valyria, remained visible as his stern eyes gazed upon his entering subjects. Rather than looking empty and sullen, as you had often remembered, there was a darker, more jeopardising tinge to their hidden intent.

"You stand before King Aegon, the Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. You have all been led to swear and declare your loyalties to the true King and heir of the Seven Kingdoms. Honour your King, and be rewarded generously... Or suffer the consequences of your treachery."

The uproar from the familiar faced, Dornish knight, Ser Criston Cole, sent an immediate wave of chills across your body. The familiar and other strange faces surrounding you began to anxiously peer, stretching from one another, as you all questioned the ordeal.

One by one, Ser Criston has called upon the noble houses, and those that stood present to come forth, some needing to be harshly pulled apart from the crowd, to make known. And one by one, some would see to it that the reward be mercy itself, whilst others, had been dragged away, in support of their loyalties and ties to Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The horrific sight before you, the terrifying screeches and screams of husbands and wives being separated, engraved into your saddened memory. You had completely grown oblivious to Aegon's silent presence, as his henchmen carried out his work.

It was only when the dark, booming echo of his voice, uttering the word "stop" had halted the commotion, an uneasy stillness filled the room.

"What of the North?"

The unseeing mention of home, had captured your attention fervently. As you turned towards the voice that spoke of your livelihood, you were met with the unfaltering gaze belonging to the King himself, his attention had already been fixated onto you, before the eyes of the room followed.

"Th-The North, your Grace?"

"Speak up to your King, woman!" Ser Criston Cole's voice boomed, an aggressive passion seeping through his words.

"I-I have no control over the judgement of the North your Grace, nor their fealty to the throne... I am merely a woman of the North."

"You are not Cregan Stark's younger sister? The beloved she-wolf of the North, that as I have heard, every man has pined and fawned for? Every Northern man, boy and bastard born has sworn to protect with their lives... It is you that, am I to believe, has no indifference with the North?"

Your anxious breath hitched in your throat, struggling to compel the words from your stuttering lips, that would ultimately determine your fate. You felt the dire wish for Cregan and his pack of wolves to burst through the grand, oak doors, ready at arms to savour your life. Those sworn men that Aegon had mentioned, were absent and you felt petrified.

"Y-Your Grace, I-"

"Everyone, out! Except for the she-wolf of the North."

"Aegon-" The sternly still tone of his grandsire, the Hand, Otto Hightower, proclaimed from the foot of the steps. Witnessing the exchange of their grim stares, almost convinced they had exchanged heated words telepathically, did his Grandsire finally retreat defeatedly, disappearing into a door in some narrow corridor. His Kingsguard were the last to leave, Ser Criston in particular, as he took the responsibility to body search you for weapons at arms. Your elder brother had from time to time introduced you to such weapons, yet you felt no obligation to soak in the training, and with your racing mind and empty hands, you had no hope to fight your way out of this.

The sudden shudder of the doors creaking close, sent your body into a complete state of suspense, frosting up like frozen petals during the winter.

"So it is true, I see. That your beauty was captivating enough to lure men to seal their fate. A fate to protect your own greedy, little life... Where are these men now to save you from me?"

Your eyes darted from the stony, grey steps of the throne, back to the hefty King that sat atop the violent throne. You felt his lilac orbs swallowing you whole, as your stomach churned uneasily against his words, desperately holding your hands together ever so tightly to avoid the terrible habit of fidgeting.

"The whispers that reach your ear from the North, your Grace, can be skewered. As I said before, I hold no power over the council of men... Even in the North."

"Do not toy with me, woman... I am the King, the rightful heir by law, and by the Gods. I want to hear where you stand in judgement of my reign."

"My opinion is not credible, your Grace. I-I hold no value here-"

"Answer me- Or I will fuck the answer out of you."

A flustering heat waved over you, as the sudden outburst and intent of Aegon's carnal words sparked an interest in you, snatching your complete attention once more.

"I-I cannot say I extend the pledges taken by my ancestors to heart. I do not know you, my Grace, nor do I know of your kin... I-I take a more... liberal approach."

"Get up here-"

Instead and wrongfully so, you felt your feet shifting backwards, taking slow paces back, adding more distance between yourself and the man who calls himself King. The chill in his tone felt colder than the blizzards of the North.

"Now."

Your thoughts had swayed to their senses, as your body became intact with your mind once more. Rather than ignorantly disobeying, you adhered to Aegon's command, taking hesitant step by step paces up the stony steps until you were a step beneath his Grace. Admiring him this up close, in finer detail, you noticed the faded scars across his supple face: unlike his younger brother, Aegon was much fuller, less lean. He had a bulkier build, and a more threatening, uneasy appeal.

"Wrong answer.... It seems the she-wolf has met her match with the dragon."

Aegon subtly reached over, pulling you strongly in by the arm, closing the last remaining distance between, as you felt his touch beneath your sensitive skin. He remained seated, almost as if he had been forged to the Iron Throne, as his hungry eyes lurked over every inch and detail of your body, before meeting your gaze peering wearisomely down above.

"Is the she-wolf scared? Does the dragon frighten her so? She need not be... Dragons protect the ones they take a liking to-"

Immediately, without a second to spare, Aegon began to hike up her lush silk gown, guiding her body to turn around, as she looked onwards from his royal perspective.

"Y-Your Grace, y-you are married-"

"Stay quiet, or I'll have that smart mouth of yours stuffed shut with my cock, balls deep in your mouth. You speak when I fucking tell you to-"

Once more, your mind instinctively shut, body mindlessly obedient to his demands.

Guiding your bare ass and cunt to seat itself down atop of him, you felt the hard, tense bulge brewing beneath his pants, between your cheeks. With each adjusting motion, your body would grind against his sturdy lap, your flesh colliding with his, only to cause a natural urge to crave for more.

"Look at what the she-wolf has done to her King, look at the power your sheer presence has over me. You think you have no value in court, yet this is your doing..." Aegon's warm breath, cooing his words directly into your ear. His strong, fleshy arms wrapped around your shaking body, coiled firmly around your waist and arms, as if to avoid you from escaping his strong grasp.

"What if I have my way with you, and send you back to the North carrying my bastard seed... What will the North think of their precious she-wolf then, hmm? What will your brother think of you?"

In unison with your King's haste movements, Aegon stood himself as he swiftly undid his trousers, his rigid, thick cock plunging out with excitement. Guiding his cock with one hand between your folds, his fingers ever so lightly grazing between as he teased your opening, making certain he aligned himself perfectly to your sweet spot.

"Already soaking for me, sweet one? It seems I have my answer after all."

Without so much as a second to spare, Aegon thrusts himself deep inside, burying his stiff, throbbing mass as your walls clench over his cock, desperate to ease the stretching tension. One muscular arm remained snaked around your waist, his calloused hand managing to reach to your bosom, where he cheekily squeezed and firmly kneaded your tit by the handful. Keeping you positioned steady as you sloppily bounced on his wide lap. His other hand however, oblivious to your own incoherent mind, to the front of your cunt, his pudgy digits teasing at your clit, pursuing to edge you more, enhancing the pressure that pulsated from inside. Your swollen bud, he intently enjoyed flicking at, earning a grizzly snicker each time you moaned and squirmed in retaliation.

"A fucking mess for me already. If only your dear, stupid brother could see you. The whimpering whore that you are, moaning my name like that. Accepting me as your King."

"A-Aegon-"

"Seven Hells, you feel so fucking tight for me, precious girl. A cunt made just for her King, already so obedient, so frightened of her King, she'll let me fuck her senseless, huh?"

"Hmm, A-Aeg. I-I shouldn't-"

"B-But you want this, baby. I can smell your ooze dripping. So fucking wet. A she-wolf as my pet. Where is the North to save you now? You don't want to be saved, though, look at you!"

"Mhmm- Your G-Grace-"

His thick fingers delved deeper, pumping hastily as his thrusts grew more forceful. Your breathless moans, incoherent besides a few words and his name, you could only build the sheer strength to muster. Your skin felt as hot as the summer wind of the city, Aegon's lips found themselves latched to your mottled hair and sweat-beaded skin. Sucking your very scent in, your taste lingering in his mouth, as he lowly growls.

"No-No, say it- Introduce me as you would your King."

"Hmm- A-Aegon, the S-Second of his N-Name-"

"That's it, sweet girl. Say it all."

"K-King of the A-Andals, the R-Rhoynar a-and the F-First Men. L-Lord of the S-Seven Kingdoms- Ugh A-Aeg-"

"Keep going, baby-" His tone thick and heavy, breathless, his own stocky chest heaving intensely in sync with your own breaths.

"A-And P-Protector of th-the R-Realm."

"That's it, b-baby. Such a good-good job, princess."

With his tender, soft-spoken words, Aegon's warm seed spills into you feverishly, a crescendo of mindless moans escapes your soft, moist lips, as Aegon's wetly coated hand leaves your raw, aching cunt, guiding your head to turn towards him. Meeting your lips with his own, as he seals the ecstasy with a passionate kiss.

"Let me taste you-" His tongue hungrily laps up the remnants of your cum off his thick digits, his alluring eyes shut as he blissfully devours your taste.

"Fucking delicious, they don't make them like the North do... Stay on my cock, princess. Be the good, little whore you are for me. My she-wolf will obey me and stay. I want to make sure you swell with my dragon seed before I send you back to the North."

general taglist - @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @aegonslawyer

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @jawline-of-steel @daughter-of-the-stars11

credit for dividers - @/itbmojojoejo

#aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #king aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x fem!reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x stark!reader #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagines #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction

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bucknastysbabe · 4 months

Note

Ser Criston is OC Princess (Rhaenyra’s younger sister) sworn protector & is in love with her but he knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help being obsessed and Rhaenyra hates it because it’s her little sister & so one night she asks Ser Criston to sneak out for a walk and they kiss & get caught by Rhaenyra idk

Hi yes I totally got carried away bc Criston has me in a chokehold rn. I hope you enjoy, I love the obsessed aspects. I also got to explore the other indications in F&B that insinuated Cole rejected Rhaenyra. Thanks for the ask🥰🥰 I don’t usually do OC’s but since it’s a Targ I mean I can only leave so much up to interpretation! But it was fun and diff

Rating: Mature

Tags: Forbidden love, unreliable narrator, Criston’s POV, oc-ish Princess reader, Sorry I made Rhae a bitch ugh, Criston’s snappy ass, Alicent is his bestie, masturbation, fantasies, dark Criston, virgin reader, clit orgasm, open ending, angst and pining galore, Religious Guilt, Harwin doing his best okay?, character study-ish, obsessive/possessive Criston

Word count: About 6k

@aemonds-holy-milk @aemonddtargaryen

Lucerra Targaryen, called Cerra, was oft said to be the spitting image of the late Queen Aemma. She retained more of her father’s demeanor, none of the resolute strength of Aemma and the fiery nature of young Rhaenyra. The fire that had entranced Criston once. He was told all of Cerra’s quirks when they made him her sworn shield.

He so much did not glance Rhaenyra’s way now, the burly Ser Harwin towering over the heir. They shared a kiss once, Criston ran, their close bond was severed. He knew down deep she coveted her uncle. It burned him, but he did his duty. The duty hanging around his shoulders like a lead weight— just cloaked in white wool. Criston found himself bewitched again.

The sweet Cerra, her gentle innocence and piousness. Something unmarred, not yet tainted by the world. The knight wondered if she was the maiden reborn, sent to test him. He prayed and prayed and confessed repeatedly to get rid of the wicked sin in his heart. Usually after touching himself.

Criston had always been weak when it came to the fairer sex. He’d fall madly in love like a boy and his first fuck. Just no fucking, more of the merest scrap of appreciation and touch had him by the vulnerable throat.

He coveted the young princess badly. Sometimes she would grab his palm when frightened, or on a walk to the Sept. Criston felt disgusting wondering how that soft hand would feel around his cock, the pale flesh clashing against ruddy. Cerra didn’t know, couldn’t know how weak he was.

Rhaenyra obviously knew of the metaphorical chink in the armor. She was becoming increasingly nosy of her sister’s doings as of late. He sourly thought to himself, ‘spoiled cunt couldn’t have me, of course she’ll make sure I part from her sweet sister.’ He frowned in annoyance at the elder’s recent interruption.

He’d merely helped her up to reach a flower in a tall bush. Certainly didn’t expect chaste Cerra to be so…close. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, startling him as she sighed, “You’re too kind Ser Criston, my white knight. What would I do without you?” She didn’t mean anything licentious, the Princess never did. Once a lordling flirted and she blushed to her ears and called for Criston to escort her away.

He preened about that for days. He’d heard the idiot boy scoff, “Stupid Dornish mutt.” Criston grinned and leaned toward the shorter lad, keeping his voice low. The princess shouldn’t hear such filth. He hissed, “This mutt would be glad to cave your fucking skull in with a Morningstar. Don’t come near the Princess ever again.” That was that. Back to his original thought.

At the moment Criston couldn’t help but sink into her soft gesture, pale white waves and lavender eyes gazing up as she laid her head on his chest. The brunette laid a chaste hand on her waist, but the moony look on his face was likely brighter than the Hightower’s beacon.

“My lady is kinder, no need to praise your sworn shield, merely doing my duty Princess.”

His cock was full to bursting at her sweet scent and wide eyes, framed by pretty lashes. Cerra closed those lavender orbs and inhaled gently, relaxing in the center of the Godswood. Criston’s hand thumbed little circles into her waist, feeling the princess relax more, leaning into his stronger frame, lips subtly parting.

“Cole! This is an unseemly position to be seen in with my sister if Larys’ spies are about,” Rhaenyra called with a smile and cocked head. Lucerra stepped back with a gasp, flush flooding her cheeks. She stammered, “R-Rhaenyra, no no, I w-was simply.”

“Simply what?”

Criston cooled his expression to state, “The princess was expressing her gratitude for me. Nothing more.”

Lucerra nodded, gesturing to the knight, cheeks still flaming and eyes downcast. She certainly wasn’t acting as if this was innocent. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes and stepped forward to grab her sister’s hand. Casting a glare toward him she hissed, “I need her for the afternoon, you can wait outside the door.”

He stiffly nodded, anger flaring up in his chest so violently Criston feared he would yell at the heir. Instead he murmured, “Yes princess.” From a distance he trailed the two blondes, aggravated as all Seven Hells. Rhaenyra never paid attention to Cerra, especially since having her first babe. Damned bitch. Where was her loyal whore Harwin?

Waiting outside Rhaenyra’s chambers, Criston thought over her precious sister’s actions. He wondered what it would be like to touch her more. Graze over her sensitive neck, breasts, lower belly. She’d probably squeal if he suckled on a pretty tit. He inhaled sharply, catching himself on a low moan. Repentance would be in order soon.

Maybe he was being punished now— waiting outside like a mangy dog.

For hours.

Cerra came back out with a strange look, apologizing, “Sorry Ser Criston, that went longer than expected, I didn’t think my sister would want that much of the day. Shall we head to supper?”

He nodded, extending an arm forward. The princess was quiet, eyes flicking toward him a couple of times. Criston asked, “Yes princess?” Lucerra stopped on a dime and faced him, face close to tears. She warbled, “You’re not mad are you? I- I can’t deny family. Rhaenyra actually uh- helped. I was acting imprudent in the Godswood, I apologize for being wanton and brazen Ser.”

Oh. Criston blinked a couple of times. She was expressing more than mere affection? He wiped away her tear with a gloved hand, sighing, “No princess, I could never be mad at you, what’s in the past is in the past. You are anything but wanton, the picture of the maiden to me. Don’t let her scare you.”

She smiled, tipping forward on her feet some, eyes entrapping Cole easily. Then he was engulfed into a hug again. What had brought in this madness? He couldn’t complain, yet.

She breathed, “Oh, oh I was so worried you’d be mad. We should go to the sept tomorrow, yes?” The knight’s lips quirked up as he replied, “That sounds splendid my Princess, we shall go in the morn. Now let’s get you to dinner?”

She grabbed his hand again, practically skipping, chattering now about her time with ‘big sister’. Criston listened, he always did, but he needed to go jack his cock before going mad. Then wallow in guilt about it all night at the edge of Cerra’s room. She preferred him taking watch from inside her quarters. Such a frightened little lamb.

Wallow in guilt did he. While the princess slept in her grand bed, Criston couldn’t help but replay the shame in his head. As soon as he’d escorted her to dinner, he went to his quarters and stripped down heavy armor and pants. The man shuddered at the sensation of cool air hitting his achingly flushed cock.

He pictured the pristine Targaryen underneath his tanned body, writhing with pleasure. Criston spat on his hand and worked his prick, panting softly. Cerra’s doe eyes would be teary, overwhelmed with the pleasures of the flesh. She’d whine while he’d pump into her virgin cunt, “Oh, Criston, oh gods! Don’t stop!” The knight gasped and shuddered at the thought, groaning as he spilled all over his hand.

He blinked again, running a hand through his hair. Lucerra was awake, hair shining like silver under the moonlight. She spoke in a soft rasp, “Ser Cole, are you still here?” He laughed at her silly question, replying, “As always, can’t trade me out like the Cargylls.”

“Oh, good,” she pulled the covers off the bed and stretched, white nightgown pulling in the right wrong places, “I had a horrid dream. I can’t possibly go back to sleep yet.”

Criston frowned at her admission— it pained his heart to have her upset. He questioned, “A bad dream? What was it about?” She stepped onto the cold marble floor, shivering, shrugging on a thicker robe hung nearby. His eyes followed her smaller form come closer, curling up in a plush chair adjacent to his position. She wiped a hand across her face, still groggy.

“I can hardly remember now. I was alone, so alone, not even my dragon was around. I k-kept calling out for someone, probably you,” she pulled the robe tighter, “I don’t know. Maybe it was the wine.”

Cerra’s lips were drawn tight, brows pulled together. Criston wanted to pull the pretty girl onto his lap, she was still shivery. He thought of a decent response, something comforting. The knight settled on, “It was obviously a dream, I’d never desert you my Princess. That big white beast wouldn’t either.”

Her lips curled up to let out a tinkling laugh— making Criston’s sick heart skip a beat. Cerra replied, “Cloudwing is not a beast! She’s a good girl.” The brunette chuckled along with the Targaryen, smiling helplessly, such a lovesick dumb dog was he.

A beat of silence grew over them, heavy with something. The earlier revelation of Lucerra behaving with romantic intentions still lay undiscussed. Criston suggested gently, “You will catch a cold if you do not get back under the covers, princess. You won’t be alone, I swore an oath.”

One he would break if she just asked. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted that truly or not. He’d gotten quite far being the son of a common born steward.

She bit her lower lip and shrugged, “I’d much rather sit with you Ser Criston. I’ll be okay as long as I keep my feet off the dreadful stone.”

“Lucerra, please, shall I pick you up then? You need sleep, the Sept remember?”

Her gaze locked onto the white knight’s intensely. Lucerra fidgeted with her robe, the damn air growing heavier. Criston found it hard to think when she was being so confusing. She finally spoke, a meek whisper, “Yes, that would be nice, thank you.”

Lifting the blonde was easy, her squeak and grasp onto his shoulders adorable. Criston had to bat away more thoughts about how simple she was to handle. He laid her down gently, taking the coat she shrugged off. Lucerra grabbed onto his hand with a fervent tightness as he turned back to his chair.

“Please, don’t leave me so alone, I don’t care what Rhaenyra says. Just keep me warm?”

Her pretty face was achingly raw, open, eyes tinged with fear. Criston swallowed heavily. He was weak. He couldn’t run away this time. Didn’t want to run away, bask in the sweet sin. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it was a test from the seven.

“Criston?”

“Yes, just, just- give me a second to get my armor off.”

Now he was shivery with want, warring with trepidation. Ridding his body of armor was horribly slow. The awkward clank of each piece coming off. Each heavy noise reminded him what he was potentially giving up. Soon Criston remained in simple breeches and a linen shirt. Lucerra pulled back the covers and smiled nervously.

He climbed onto the soft bed, pulling the blankets back over their frames. Unsure of what came next, Criston simply laid on his back and gazed at her. Lucerra murmured, “Must you be the pious one now?” He raised an amused brow at the bold comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean princess?”

She frowned and nestled into his side, wrapping an arm around him and tucking soft hair into the crook of shoulder and jaw. Criston exhaled sharply, unused to such intimate touch after donning the white cloak. He reached over to grab her leg, pulling it snug across his lower belly, thankfully out of the way of his swelling prick.

Cerra gasped against his neck, giggling, “Good, now I don’t feel like a concubine.”

“Concubine? Pfft. You’re white as snow compared to my cloak,” he replied.

“It’ll be our secret, I’d fear I would perish without my white knight. I swear it upon my heart.”

He couldn’t respond, lest it be something out of control. Instead he rubbed her back and knee, squeezing once in agreement with Cerra’s statement. Soon she fell asleep, softly puffing against his neck. Criston joined soon after, utterly content and warm.

The simple action of cuddling up couldn��t slake the thirst that grew within him for the lovely princess. They had remained chaste and he arose early every morn to get dressed and step back outside the wooden door. Lucerra would seek out touches in secret, holding pinkies with him, laying her head on an armored shoulder in the Godswood.

She would share smiles with the knight across the throne room, Rhaenyra’s calculating look upon the utterly obvious pair. Criston knew one could see into his bleeding heart if they looked into his eyes. The way Princess Lucerra grew tighter and tighter into his side around the keep, lavender eyes sparkling aroused many curious onlookers.

Rumors began to swirl. Criston reluctantly stood outside her chambers a couple nights a week. One night he encountered a poorly prying Harwin Strong. The fellow knight had made one too many passes and he called out, “Get your big ass over here!” He didn’t mind Harwin, but did mind being spied on.

The hand’s son looked sullen as he walked up to Criston, flicking down a dark hood. He gave a sheepish smile, apologizing, “Uh, you know, the girls want what they want.” Criston crossed his arms and deadpanned, “Your girl wants me expelled from King’s Landing on account of rumors”

Harwin gave him a look, disgusting pity lacing his features. Criston reiterated, “The girl remains pure, she looks to me as a protector, you know how easily frightened the princess has always been.” Somehow he felt like a liar. Still her pretty lips and cunt remained untouched.

“Sure Cole. Just be careful, you know what the punishment is of breaking your oath.”

Criston’s temper flared to life, taunting Harwin with a fake smile, “You be careful too now, two Valyrians making some beautiful brown haired babes is a bit strange no?”

Harwin shoved him into the door with a snarl. Breakbones’ power at full force knocked the wind out of Criston, but he wheezed a laugh. He was no better than him— just another lovesick fool. Strong rumbled, “Keep your damn mouth shut and I’ll stay on my side, but I know you got the princess primed for your dirty lowborn cock.”

Criston didn’t want to get his face pummeled in. The raucous already probably woke his sweetling. He gave another smarmy look and hummed, “Noted, Strong.” That earned the knight another shove and the burly man stomped off to lick the bitch’s teats.

The door opened behind Criston, a bewildered Lucerra in her robe. She questioned, “W-what was that? Are you alright Ser Criston? Come in, please.”

His dark eyes scanned down the hallway once more before stepping inside, sighing as she enveloped him into a warm embrace. Criston spoke lowly, “Big sister had sent her own shield to spy on me. We should be more careful.”

Lucerra frowned, lips setting into a pout. She murmured, “We’ve done nothing horrid. Yes, unseemly, but I’m intact. Turn around, let me get off this dreaded armor.” Criston appreciated her desire to learn how to discard his Kingsguard armor— although he averted guilty eyes from the way the Targaryen would carefully hang his cloak, like it still meant something.

As they laid together, she complained into his neck, lithe fingers playing with his inky hair, “You’re right, we should be more courtly, take more precaution. Of all of my sister’s misgivings, why does she care?”

Criston played dumb, it’s what he was anyway. Lied again and said he had no clue why Rhaenyra took such a deep distaste to the pair’s relationship. He sighed, “It will work out, more careful, yes. C’mon, to sleep, sorry about the noise.”

Another night in her arms was a blessing to Criston. He would be reluctantly busy the next day. The king needed a whole retainer for his appearance in public at the Dragonpit. It was the anniversary of Aegon’s landing. Luckily the princess would be in his peripheral. Along with the conniving heir and her other eyes.

It was a banal affair, King Viserys smiling and waving to the crowds. Queen Alicent held her youngest child, Daeron. Rhaenyra and Laenor were surrounded by her bastard brood, holding her own babe Joffrey. Named after that flimsy knight who Laenor was fucking. Poor sap died in the city under strange circumstances, likely Daemon’s doings.

Criston met eyes with Harwin, vaguely disguising a sneer. He ignored the brute and turned his vision back to the crowds, the smallfolk staying relatively easy. Lucerra stood next to her elder sister, holding Lucerys, her namesake. Her smile was gorgeous, a couple of boys cheered for her, throwing a flower.

After the public spectacle, the princess gave a shy smile to Criston on his horse, cheeks rosy pink before the door was slammed shut by the cunt Daemon. He raised a brow and hopped onto the front of the wheelhouse, offhandedly commenting, “Cunt struck and you haven’t even defiled my niece, Ser Crispin.”

The Dornishman clenched his jaw so hard he feared it may crack a tooth. He rode ahead, staying silent, Daemon didn’t forget a slight and surely hadn’t forgot when Criston embarrassed the rogue prince in tournament. Pompous ass.

More annoying feast and merriment kept the knight from his pretty girl. Lords and ladies filled the grand dining hall, dancing to and fro. He stayed put against a column, watching her. Lucerra wasn’t much of a dancer, but she let the old Sea Snake guide her around some turns.

A body sidled next to him, a familiar face and scent. The Queen herself, Alicent smiled softly up at him. She stated, “You’re distracted Ser Criston.” He sighed in return, “I’m sure you’re quite aware of the rumors. Seven cursed my weak heart.”

“Lucerra’s harmless,” Alicent glared toward the non-green side of the table, “It’s her lying sister, you remained truthful. I’ve been trying to stifle the rumors. Have you stayed chaste? I hope you have on account of your neck, my dear Knight.”

Criston leaned down to murmur, “Agonizingly so. I fear I’ve been bewitched yet again. Harwin Strong was sniffing around the other night.”

Her lips turned to a foul grimace at the mention. Alicent hissed, “The realm’s delight is carting around her bastards like trueborns and she’s deadset on potentially ruining her sister’s reputation to get at you.”

“Always been selfish, hasn’t she,” Criston laughed.

Alicent smirked, placing both of her hands over the knight’s. The green queen spoke plainly, “Please be careful dear heart. You’re a valuable asset to our proud dynasty.” The long-suffering redhead disappeared into the throng of people, ever an ally for him.

Back to scanning the surroundings. Daemon was spinning with Rhaenyra, likely talking horseshit in High Valyrian. He scanned for Lucerra, finding her cornered by the tables with a noble clad in the colors of House Darklyn, known bootlickers.

His chest tightened with jealousy. Criston seethed to himself, chanting internally, ‘I will not make a scene, I will not make a scene.’ The Darklyn lad was too close for his liking. It suddenly felt too hot under his heavy armor. He was close to the brink, gripping the pommel of his sword until his knuckles whitened.

Lucerra seemed uncomfortable, face uneasy and body stiffening. The Darklyn fuck was leaning into her space, lips undoubtedly spewing disgusting things a lady shouldn’t hear. The princess gasped at something he said and turned away, getting yanked back towards the man.

That was enough.

Criston stormed forward, shoving through the nobility, snarling in anger. He yanked the uncouth prick by the collar and dragged him far away from his princess. Parts of the crowd stopped to stare, Rhaenyra perking up to look. The princess blushed and excused herself, quickly finding another dance partner in the more palatable form of Tyland Lannister.

“What are you doing? I have done nothing to the King!,” the black haired teen spat. Criston continued to haul the boy past the columns to a quieter place, anger clouding any sort of judgement. He shoved the noble bitch against an alcove, gauntlet pressed against twitching neck.

Darklyn gasped and writhed for air, eyes wide with fear. Criston hissed, “The Kingsguard protects the family and the king. You should know better than to touch the princess like that. I ought to gut you, throw you onto the spikes of Maegor’s Holdfast and watch you rot.”

The stinking reek of piss filled Criston’s nostrils. He looked down in disgust, muttering, “Weakling piss-ant. Don’t dare come near her-,” his threat was unfinished as he was whirled to face Lord Commander Westerling. His face was hard and eyes flinty— obviously disappointed.

“Come Cole, we need to have a word.”

The walk was quiet and unsettling, only the clank of their gear and footsteps sounding off as they reached the quieter area of Maegor’s Holdfast. Criston apologized immediately, “My temper Ser, I apologize, he was manhandling the Princess.”

Harrold Westerling shook his head with a resigned sigh. He rumbled, “You’ve already toed the line Ser Cole. I don’t want to have a capable fighter like you dismissed or facing the black, gelded at that.”

Criston’s roiling emotions died down into a despairing state— his chest fluttering with fear. He nodded and held his head down in obeisance. Westerling continued, “You must take a step back. You’re of the most elite of elite men, a big step from your beginnings. Princess Lucerra is an enchanting girl, I know this is hard, but as soon as you took the oath— this is your life. You must cease all feelings for the girl or request to be transferred to another.”

Criston fought back the warble in his voice. He wanted to rip his cloak off and shout his love, make someone understand. He swore, “I know Lord Commander, I know. I have never defiled the girl, I would never. This is my calling and I’m shirking it. I’ll think about requesting an exchange.”

Harrold clapped him on the shoulder and regarded him with kinder eyes, “Good. I was struck too once. I had many princesses to tend to with Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s litter of dragons. Just, please, pray on it and keep it in line Ser Cole.”

“Yes sir.”

He sulked about, Harrold ordering him to his chambers until the was called to his usual watch over his Lucerra. Criston hoped she was alright. He guiltily turned dark eyes onto his shrine of the seven. The small flail and beaded necklace awaited. He had been ignoring the faith, so entrenched in sin Criston could hardly bare to look at the Mother’s cold face.

He prayed and prayed to the mother for relief of his twisted desire, depraved lust, uncontrollable need to consume a sparkling untainted virgin. Then to the warrior to ease his temper, make Criston a calm knight, not blinded by rage so he may protect accordingly. Down the list he went until the dead skull relief of the Stranger awaited.

“If I fail, take me into your arms and punish me accordingly,” he whispered, a couple tears leaking onto his armor, shining by the candles. He would confess another time and receive his penance. Bloodletting seemed fit. Flagellation made him think clear, the pain taking away sickness in mind and body.

A sharp knocking snapped Criston out of his religious wallowing. He called out, “I’m coming.” The door opened to the queen and Ser Rickard Thorne. They both were cloaked and Alicent’s doe eyes looked worried. The younger knight questioned, “What? What is it?”

Alicent shushed him and murmured, “Our dear Lucerra and…the heir,” she spat the word like it was bile on her tongue, “Had some intense words after the feast. Ser Thorne escorted Cerra to her chambers.”

Thorne’s gravelly voice was low, “It was quiet and I checked in as she was in quite the state. She’s not in her chambers and the servant’s passage was left slightly ajar.”

Alicent frowned, “I know she’s upset and frightened. I would rather you find her. No one knows of this. I doubt she would leave the keep but gods forbid. We checked underneath the keep and Thorne most of the passageways. I will keep this at utmost secrecy, dear Criston.”

He nodded, quickly gathering his gear and a dark cloak to cover the white of his garb. While fastening his belt he quickly thanked the pair, “I will find her now. Thank you my queen, Ser Thorne. You may rest now. She will be returned.”

He chastely kissed the queens ring, patting his fellow knight on the shoulder and strode forward, urgency at his tail. Criston was fearful, dreadfully so. What did Rhaenyra do? He bit his lip, worked his jaw, making his rounds around the shadows of the outer courtyard. The goldcloaks were obviously not doing their job, playing cards up in a tower.

He worried she finally broke the princess, told Lucerra of the past. She would be heartbroken. He sped his pace, deciding to check the Godswood. Somewhere she would still feel safe. He knew Cerra wouldn’t run anywhere outside the walls, she’d have a fainting spell.

Speeding up he decided to take a turn and clamber up the wall into the Godswood. He must not be seen. Especially after tonight’s mishap. Swinging a leg over the thick red stone, Criston shimmied down and landed with a dull thud. The clouds covered the moon— making it dreadfully dark. Lucerra must truly be upset. He swallowed down a tightening throat. He needed to be the protector, not a weeping craven.

He scanned around the dark trees and arches to the left. It seemed empty. He moved forward, keeping to the brush, listening. Closer towards the heart tree he heard the familiar little hitching of breath. His Cerra. The fear of what came next shivered his spine.

Criston called gently, “Princess, Princess, is that you?”

He slowly approached, holding out a hand like he was soothing a skittish foal. He could barely see her, just the white of hair and a shadow of a figure. He took another step, stopping when she wept, “No Ser Cole, go away, I wish to be alone.”

All of his fears had come true. She’d turned against him. He shook his head. No. This wouldn’t do. The knight would change her mind. Lucerra Targaryen needed him, not Ser Cole, not the loyal dog, just Criston Cole of Blackhaven’s marches.

“Ser, please, I cannot bear this,” Cerra warbled.

He came to her side, kneeling, swallowing another agonized noise when she turned from him. Criston begged, “Sweetling, what’s the matter, why are you distraught? It pains me.” She sobbed, hands wrenching into a now-dirtied dress.

The brunette engulfed her tinier frame into a tight grip, her back plastered to his. Much like they slept many a night. She fought and tried to wrench free, crying, “No! Let go! I’m just a replacement for her! I always come second! Ser Cole!”

He held tighter, exploding, “I love you!”

Her writhing stopped, eyes turning to him, confusion on fine features. Criston swore, “Bythe Seven and my oath, I love you more than anything Lucerra.” She shook her head, confused, “No, no you don’t, Rhaenyra told me why y-you became my shield.”

He hissed, “No, she lied, she lied lied lied! I kissed her yes, but I ran, I knew it was bad. I was an idiot— she merely wanted a fill in for Daemon. I swear it to be true,” he continued in a softer voice, “I never thought I would love so strongly and deeply as I do with you, it’s more than lust. I would worship you until my last breath, chaste forever.”

Lucerra bawled again, curling into him, soft thighs straddling his own as she wept. He held her and shushed and coddled, praising the perfect maiden’s presence. He dumbly reiterated, “Never, never has anyone taken my heart like you have.” Her bejeweled hands gripped into his cloak.

Her face was dangerously close to his, sweet scent filling the knight’s nose. She whispered in a rasp, “Do you mean it? You love me? I love you, it nearly broke me to hear Rhaenyra tell me.” Criston frowned, pressing his forehead to her own. He murmured, “I was dumb, I bolted after it was initiated. I didn’t tell you, b-because, I didn’t want to lose you princess.”

She placed a hand over his rapidly beating heart and said, “I believe you. I forgive you.”

Criston was so relieved he didn’t realize the tear leaking down his cheek, kissed away by impossibly soft lips. She whispered fervently, “Kiss me Criston. Kiss me like you love me, like you said.” He carefully caressed her jaw, peering into those adoring orbs.

He closed the gap, lips finally meeting, the Princess sighing into him. She clung to his chest still, passively letting Criston take the reins. He chastely shared tender pecks, letting Cerra get into a rhythm.

Her lips opened as the kisses got more desperate, boiling tension rising. She whimpered when Criston lapped into her mouth, moaning himself. She tasted like sweet wine and cinnamon, opening for him beautifully. Cerra wrapped her arms around his neck, thin fingers gripping his long locks. He moaned again, lashes fluttering. All guilt was out the window when in the embrace of this goddess.

He tilted her head to intertwine their tongues, Lucerra shivering helplessly, whining his name. She was shy, better for Criston to take her warm mouth. The princess plastered herself tight to his body, breasts pushed up from the movement.

He’d be good. He will not stain her maidenhead, as much as the dark part of him sought to claim every inch of her. The brunette slid his hands down her waist, squeezing soft hips. She mewled again, feverishly smacking her lips against him. Criston felt her overwhelmed trembling, eyes teary just like he fantasized.

She pulled away with a string of drool, panting, “I- Criston- it aches.” His cock jumped at what the implication of that was. He pressed little kisses down her jaw and neck, basking in her cute noises. He purred, “What aches Princess? I shan’t dare to hurt your heart again.”

She blushed so heavily he could see it even in the pitch of the night. Criston smiled gently, breathing hotly against her ear, “You can tell me, sweet love.” The princess shivered again, hips bucking fruitlessly against his garb.

“Y-you know. M-my,” she looked away, “My flower.”

The dog in Criston grinned at that, the innocent little thing. He hummed, “Have you soaked your linens Lucerra? I don’t have to breach your maidenhead to pleasure my sweet girl. Would you like that?”

She practically sobbed, “Please, my knight, Criston. Our little secret.”

“Always,” he said, taking off his gloves and Cerra’s trembling hands undoing the heavy gauntlets. He slid warm palms up her plush thighs, so soft yet strong from dragon riding. She desperately sought his lips to cover an indecent sound.

One greedy hand spread open a thigh, the other swiping thick fingers through her slick cunt, dragging upward to graze her swollen bud. The princess shrieked into his swollen lips, Criston doing his best to cover the noise.

He offered his free hand up, half-groaning, “Suckle on my fingers sweet girl, can’t have you waking half the keep up.” Lucerra shyly opened her swollen lips to let Criston’s calloused fingers in. He pressed slightly on her tongue, earning a cute little garbled whine.

“Now be good my love, I’ll make you feel better, always will,” he promised. Gathering more wetness seeping from her cunt, Criston circled his fingers around that bud, teasingly thumbing too, dragging the roughened digit against her tender untouched flesh.

She seized and cried around his fingers, drooling and sniffling. Criston cooed, “Mm, feels good Cerra? Made for me, swear it, keep singing for me.” He picked up the speed of his fingers, circling and pinching to make her squeal and writhe on his lap.

Soon the princess was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, unable to stop crying and shaking, thighs trembling. Criston suddenly realized his cock was throbbing and twitching, ready to fill his garments like a green boy.

He desperately rambled, “C’mon my love, let it go, let the pleasure take you, I’m so close, together yes? Kiss me, yes, yes!” They gnashed teeth and noses against each other, no finesse in these last moments, the little death.

She gushed over his fingers first, Criston swallowing her suprisingly quiet keen. His belly tightened, balls drawing up, whining out of his nose at the ecstasy. Cumming absolutely untouched, so intense and powerful. They continued to sloppily kiss, stop to pant, kiss some more until the climax passed.

Criston withdrew his hands from her cunt, wiping them on his cloak. The princess was sapped of energy, head tucked under his scruffy jaw. She murmured, “I think I saw the stars.” He smiled, the giddiness of cumming warping his senses, “Mhm, me too sweetheart. But we need to get you back to your quarters.”

He carried her, sharing more intimate pecks and nuzzling in the darkness, all the way back to her quarters. Ser Thorne seemed to sigh in relief before taking in their debauched state and quickly leaving the scene. Criston placed her down and looked around once more before pressing her into the door, taking her bee-stung lips.

“I love you, I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you more, my princess,” Criston praised.

“Do you listen sister? What will they think when they find your maidenhead shredded?,” Rhaenyra stepped out of the gloom. The bitch took a servant’s route. Lucerra’s face reddened in anger, “Like yours was? Good thing Laenor prefers the company of his pretty squires.”

Criston balked at the brazen comment, lips curling up. The elder sister’s hands balled up, pale skin blotching up in anger. She hissed, “Enjoy your night Lucerra,” pointing at Criston she added, “I’ll see you gelded and sent to the wall.”

The future queen whipped around and left with a furious curse. Lucerra looked to Criston for comfort, getting picked up and led into her bedroom. He grumbled, “The Queen won’t allow for that. Rhaenyra has her own secrets to deal with. Relax, relax, let me get you ready for bed.” His lovely girl did so, quiet but still affectionate. Criston ignored the feeling that this would be the close to the last night.

His gut was right. Within a fortnight he stood next to the Queen, tears in his dark orbs. Rhaenyra was absconding to Dragonstone, as she was the heir. Viserys obliged her request to take her sister, indicating she would begin the processes to marry her off. Lucerra gave her goodbyes, hugging the queen, her father, and then him.

“My heart lies with you always, I love you my white knight,” she whispered gently before stepping away to climb upon her white dragon. He remained stony, utter hate in his heart for Rhaenyra Targaryen. He would make sure she never saw happiness, just as she took his.

Alicent grabbed his hand and promised, “Criston, you will have her again. I may not be her, but I will be good to you as my sworn shield.”

He would tear through bone and marrow to get that chance. For now, he would wait, wait as long as needed. Criston Cole always got what he wanted, just had to work for it. There was a war brewing and she would be on the right side. His side.

#hotd fanfic #ser criston cole x reader #criston x reader #criston cole x reader #hotd fic #hotd smut #my shnookums incel knight #incel knight

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darkestspring · 1 year

Note

Aemond inlove with his Older!Sister and trying to spend the most time with her

okay okay okay but hear me out..... you are rhaenyra’s younger twin sister. you take more after your mother than rhaenyra does in terms of softness. you’ve always been so kind and you always looked after others. When Aemma dies, Viserys and Rhaenyra cling to you and that kindness. You never shunned or judged Alicent for marrying your father, you felt a little bad for her, to be honest. Your father will never truly love anyone who isn’t your mother.

Despite Rhaenyra’s pleas, you stood by Alicent’s side, helping her and supporting her. You love both your sister and your friend, now queen. You had attached yourself to your half-siblings as well. Rjhaenyra didn’t like them, you knew that, but you couldn’t blame innocent children for things they had no blame in.

You spoiled Aegon and Helaena greatly and was there when your father wasn’t. He was sick now but even a blind man could pick up on his favoritism. So, when Aemond was born, you spoiled him as well. When his dragon egg didn’t hatch, you assured him that he would get a dragon, comforting him when Aegon and your nephews teased him.

You would sit by his side and brush your hands through his hair. “You will have a dragon, I know it. You’ll be the best dragonrider in all of targaryen history,” You had kissed his forehead and allowed him to fall asleep on your shoulder.

You had never considered that for a child that was teased, bullied and ignored that those moments would make him fall in love with you. You also never thought it would last for years. After the incident between your nephews and your brother, you had been caught between them, refusing to take a side. You had drifted between dragonstone and king’s landing.

When Rhaenyra and Daemon had wed, you had given them your blessings and congratulations. You had calmed Viserys down from his rage at the news. You had watched over Aemond’s lessons with Ser Criston Cole and his Valyrian lessons with the maesters, not to mention his dragonriding lessons in the dragonpit, where your own dragon resided.

Aemond had been in love with you since he was a child, you were so warm. You never teased or taunted him, never ignored or brushed him off. You always made time for him and assured him that he was a targaryen. You had gifted him a sapphire when he was a young boy, which he had fashioned to fit in his eye, so that he might always carry you with him.

He couldn’t help his thoughts of marrying you as he got earlier, he had proposed the idea to his mother and grandfather.

His mother hadn’t liked the idea, she feared what might become of it. Would her friend grow to hate her for forcing her into a marriage she might not want but Otto insisted it might help bring her to their side, she would be loyal to her husband.

His sister was a loyal and caring person, she would never carry bastards, only white haired children that would belong to him as well.

It had been official and though conflicted, his sister had agreed softly, smiling at him with care and promising to do her best, as his wife.

It’s said that when the news of the betrothal between her win sister and her half-brother, Rhaenyra had broken everything in her path in a fit of rage.

#aemond targaryen x reader #LITERALLY IM IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA #VERY SUBTLE YANDERE VIBES HERE

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thesugarsoiree · 7 months

Text

Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER FIVE

The carriage ride to the nearby ‘Maidenswood’ as it was dubbed was moderate in length. They’d been riding for about an hour when the postilion announced they would be arriving soon, Y/n gazing silently through the sheer curtains that covered the carriage windows. The Queen sat across from her, poised posture never wavering throughout their journey.

“Lady Y/n,” Alicent began, catching the girls attention, “when we arrive at the Maidenswood you shall meet your cousins Aegon and Aemond. Helaena informed me that you two met briefly in the gardens, correct?”

Y/n nodded her head, patting down the fluff of her dress.

“Yes, your grace. She is very pleasant to converse with, I hope she did not find me too ill-mannered.” Y/n chuckled, watching the way the Queen fidgeted with the seven-starred pendant in her hand.

“Of course not, my dear. She had only good things to say.” Alicent smiled, although it failed to meet her eyes.

“Your cousin Daeron is in Oldtown with my family, you should meet him soon enough. He is much like your other cousins in looks, fair hair and pale eyes, similar to all those within your family.” Alicent hummed, observing the way Y/n’s dark hair absorbed the light surrounding it.

“I see. As to the Princes Aegon and Aemond, I have heard many stories about them.” Alicent perked up at that, raising a brow.

“And what is it you have heard?” She questioned, stopping her fidgeting.

“I have heard that Prince Aegon has long flowing silver hair and rides the most beautiful dragon in all the kingdoms,” Alicent scoffed, holding her tongue for the time being, “and Prince Aemond is…handsome, with skills in the sword only my father could best.”

“The latter is true, the former not quite.” The Queen permitted her answer, now her turn to gaze out of the carriage.

“How so, your grace?” Y/n asked, curious to what the Queen would say.

“My eldest son cropped his hair recently, he claimed it was too much to maintain.” Alicent soured, thinking on the beauty her son had so readily thrown away.

“Has Prince Aemond also cut off his hair?” Y/n said innocently, as if she didn't know that his hair was far past shoulder-length and very well taken care of.

“No, and gods be good he won’t any time soon—” The Queen paused when the carriage stopped, the postilion announcing their arrival to the campsite. The door swung open, a gold-gilded hand reaching into the carriage to help the Queen down the steps. After she had successfully made her way out the same hand reached in for Y/n, the sturdy arm attached to it leading into Ser Criston Cole.

“Thank you, Ser.” She nodded her head, lifting her skirt so she would not trip. Criston grunted assuredly, letting go of her hand once she was stable on the soft grass. Y/n called out for Tohrren, his heavy padding coming closer until he was in sight. He barked as he approached, leaning into her for scratches behind the ear. He was well rested and ready for the events of the week, as a great hound like him should be. Y/n lifted her head at her name, recognizing Alicent standing beside three silver-haired figures. Y/n approached gracefully, clasping her hands in front of her as she came to a stop.

“Lady Y/n, may I present my eldest, Prince Aegon.” Y/n offered her hand to the young man, Aegon taking it without fuss and kissing it roughly. His hair was cut shorter than Y/n thought, all of it practically gone at the sides, and his hands were softer than Aemond’s were. He did not train, that much was certain.

“My daughter, Princess Helaena.” Both girls curtsied politely at each other, sharing a small smile before the Queen moved on.

“And my son, Prince Aemond.” Y/n gave her hand to him and he held it gentler than Aegon, memories of their accidental run-in flooding her mind. He kissed her hand firmly, the calluses on his from working with the sword and shield rubbing against hers from working with the bow and arrow.

“A pleasure, my Prince.” Y/n grinned, curtsying gently.

“Mother has informed us that this little celebration is to honour your arrival. If that is the case let me be the first one to thank you for the excuse to indulge in Dornish wine without reprieve.” Aegon smirked, adjusting the collar of his golden tunic. Helaena rolled her eyes, playing with the sleeves of her similarly golden dress. Y/n supposed that since they were married colour-matching was to be expected, especially since Aemond had already stolen the green of his mother. He wore it again like a King wears a crown, the dark green of his tunic matching the darkness of the trees surrounding them.

“You should be thanking your mother and father, they surprised me with such an extravagant celebration.” Y/n gestured to the dozens of tents, jousting field, games, and nobles taking a brief home in the forest.

“Of course, of course! Now, if you’ll excuse my wife and I, we must make haste to make our tent feel like a home.” Aegon slurred his words together, breath stinking of ale and wine. Y/n had heard the rumours surrounding him, and it seemed that all were true. He was a drunkard who barely deserved the title of ‘Prince’. Alicent cringed as Aegon dragged Helaena to find their tent, the girl having checked out minutes ago within her own mind.

“Aemond, would you care to show the Lady to her quarters?” Alicent cleared her throat, smile strained as she turned on her heels to presumably find the King.

“If you will follow me, my Lady.” Aemond held his hand out in the direction they were to go, Y/n beginning to walk and Aemond joining not long after.

“You did not tell your mother of our meeting last night?” Y/n watched him out of the corner of her eye, hands still clasped by her front.

“Hm, Neither did you.” Aemond retorted, lip quirking up.

“It would be indecent of me to admit to such a thing.” She stated, eyes still forward for the most part.

“Improper, yes, but indecent? No.” Aemond sighed with a laugh, stopping before one of the bigger tents, this one with northern guards stationed outside the entrance.

“Your chambers, my Lady.” Aemond bowed, the guards opening the curtains for Y/n to enter. She turned to face the prince, his one eye watching the way her cool gaze analyzed his.

“Good day, Prince Aemond.” Y/n curtsied, waiting for his, “Good day, Lady Y/n.” Before she entered her tent. Inside her handmaidens sat with a bath and new dress prepared, Tohrren curling up on the dog bed that lay near the fireplace. Y/n sank eagerly into the bath, allowing the warm water to loosen her tensed muscles. When she was done she changed into another gown, this one darker to match the tones of the sky when supper would be called. Her hair was left down save for a few pieces which were pinned into a bun at the back of her head to keep the strands out of the way. By the time her maids had finished preparing her the dinner bell was rung, Y/n gathering herself and making her way towards the feast.

She entered one of the largest tents, drapes and heavy weavings keeping it insulated from the nightly chill. Nobles lined long tables, all chatting and laughing while torches lit the tent they sat in. Y/n was directed to a table at the front of the room, the one which the royal family sat at. When she arrived she greeted the King first, kissing his cheek before curtsying to the Queen and her children. The Queen’s father, and Hand of the King, sat a table away with some members of his family, watching the Targaryen girl take her place in the middle of the royal table.

He watched her speak, watched her laugh, watched her compliment his granddaughter, all with Daemon Targaryen’s eyes staring at them. Otto took a long sip of his wine, contemplating whether or not what his daughter had planned was a good idea. At first he was thrilled, she was an excellent addition to his plan, but as he saw her now…she was still Daemon Targaryen’s daughter; not just Morgana Stark’s. The Queen whispered something to her husband, the withering man nodding with a smile. He stood, and without having to tap his goblet, the room went silent.

“My Lord’s and Lady’s, I thank you for joining us to welcome Lady Y/n Targaryen to court,” The King looked down at his niece with soft eyes, reaching for his goblet.

“But I fear that her arrival is not the only reason for this grand celebration.” Nobles looked at each other with confusion, Y/n most of all. What was it that the King had planned? More importantly, what did it have to do with her?

“The Queen and I would like to announce a betrothal,” Alicent stood at that, taking Viserys’ vacant hand. Y/n looked around towards her cousins, all three unsurprised and calm, as if they had already known this was going to happen. Aemond straightened out a clasp on his tunic, the prince dressed in all black with hints of red sewn into the details.

“Please, join us in congratulating the betrothal of Prince Aemond Targaryen,” Aemond stood up beside Y/n, the girl looking up at him with wide eyes, “and Lady Y/n Targaryen!” The crowd burst into applause, Aemond offering his hand towards her.

Y/n took his hand, standing up slowly. She looked around at all of the beaming faces, including the King and Queen’s, before turning to face her betrothed. The word stung in her mind, like a poisonous viper biting upon her thoughts. When she faced him his gaze searched hers, expression stoic as ever. She attempted to control her breathing, mouthing slowly, “Did you know?”

Aemond looked away to the crowd for a moment before nodding, his eye meeting hers briefly until she set her sights back within the crowd. She put on a strained smile, curtsying before returning to her seat. The band returned to their merry tunes, nobles taking their turns to come up and congratulate the two and bless their union.

Now Y/n understood Helaena’s words the other day. She was to be the princess’ sister, for she was to marry the One-eyed Prince.

#x reader #x fem!reader #game of thrones #asoif/got #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #ofwintersflame

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generalllimaginesss · 5 months

Text

The Good Old Days

I just feel like Jack would be such a good girl dad and this idea popped into my brain.

When Jack had finally decided to take a more backseat position with professional hockey, it was a decision that both him and his wife made. The money was amazing, but when it was becoming evident that the game was taking a toll on Jack’s body, his wife had brought the idea into his head first. Jack wasn’t going to put the stick down easily, but a bad hit to his shoulder made the decision for him. As much as he dreaded not playing anymore, he was excited because that meant he could help coach on the ice, but be more involved with his family.

Him and his wife had 4 girls: Beck, who had just turned 15, Emerson (aka Emmy) who is 13, and Piper and Presley, twins that brought up the rear at 4 years old. The twins were his last hope at a boy, but it seemed that God had a cruel sense of humor and blessed him with even more estrogen in the home.

There wasn’t anything significant going on this particular night, so Jack decided to invite Cole and Alex over to eat some steaks that he had grilled. Which led to what they were doing now, drinking a couple of beers at the kitchen table and talking about the glory days.

In the midst of talking about some of his favorite plays back in the day, a screech abruptly stops the conversation that Cole was carrying on. Alex and Cole look to Jack for reassurance that everything is ok, but all Jack can do is sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Is everything ok with them?” Alex had a worried look on his face as he looked back and forth from where the screech came from, now replaced with yelling, to Jack who continued to massage the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sure we’re about to find out,” Jack groaned as the sound of stomping came from one side of the house, down the hall, and into the living room revealing a furious Beck. She was holding a poster of a young Joe Burrow in his early NFL career, but there appeared to be sharpie scribbled all over it.

“Dad, I told the twins to stay out of my room and look what they did! Not to mention they dropped my brand new eye shadow palate and broke it! They’re such brats and you and mom let them do whatever they want!” Beck was on the verge of tears, and as if on cue the pitter patter of little feet was approaching quickly.

“Daddy, she’s lying! Beck isn’t right!” The twins protested as they prepared to make the case for their innocence.

“Shut up!” Beck shoved Piper who was trying to cover her big sister’s mouth with her hand, but failed miserably.

Alex and Cole were desperately trying to suppress their laughs, as Jack was already giving them a glare as to say “shut up or you’re going to make it worse.”

“Beck, don’t call your little sister brats—”

“See, they get away with everything because they’re your favorites!” Beck interrupted as her tears were beginning to flow freely.

“If you’d let me finish young lady, I was going to get onto them,” Jack put on a more stern voice while talking to his oldest. He had learned early on that the girls would walk all over him if he let them, so he had to stand his ground. Even though every fiber of him wanted to give Beck a hug and kiss on the cheek and high five the twins for the immaculate mustache that Joe Burrow was now sporting, he was the parent and had to control the chaos.

“Piper and Presley Hughes, did your sister ask you both to stay out of her room?” Jack turned his attention to the twins.

“We didn’t do it daddy,” Piper was the spokesperson for the two, but both had the biggest blue eyes that screamed they were innocent.

“Oh really? So why are there sharpie hearts all over Presley’s arms and smiley faces on Piper’s cheeks and forehead?” Jack raised an eyebrow at the little ones.

He watched as the twins looked at the art that each one had decided to draw on themselves, realizing that they had been caught.

“Piper made me do it, Daddy,” Presley’s bottom lip quivered as a tear ran down her cheek.

“Presley made me do it!” Piper quickly followed, tears brimming her eyes as well.

Jack was unsure how he had 3 girls crying in front of him and how in the world he was responsible for them. Being a middle brother didn’t exactly prepare him for the task of being a girl dad, but he was trying his best and learning along the way.

Jack heard a vehicle pull into the garage, signaling that his saving grace, his wife, had arrived home.

“Do we want to get mom involved, or can we apologize to each other and help Sister clean her room?” Jack put the options out for the girls, their eyes growing in worry that their mom would be involved in the little spat between the three of them.

“Sissy, we’ll help clean,” the twins quickly ran from the kitchen to their older sister’s bedroom.

“Dad, they literally just went back into my room without my permission!” Beck whined, apparently choosing the latter decision.

Before Jack could say anything, his wife walked through the door from the garage and sat down her bag that she carried to and from her teaching job.

“I’m home! Alex, Cole, it’s so good to see you both!” She obliviously made her way to give the two a hug, unaware of the ordeal going on in front of her.

“Hey babe,” She kissed Jack on the cheek and then went to give Beck a kiss on the forehead when she saw the poster in her hand.

“What’s this?” She asked, grabbing the poster from her daughter and assessing the damage that had been done to it.

“Your spawns and their idea of fun,” Beck grumbled and made her way back to her room.

“What did I miss?” She asked Jack, confused as to what the big problem was.

“MOM!” Beck’s voice echoed across the house, and Jack was sure that the entire neighborhood could hear it. His wife immediately ran to the source, leaving Jack alone with Alex and Cole once more.

“Should we come back later?” Cole questioned his friend.

“Please don’t leave me,” Jack was partially joking, but Cole and Alex laughed nonetheless.

Jack braced himself once more when he heard footsteps come from the hallway that lead to the girls’ rooms, but once he realized that it was Emmy, his tension eased and he motioned for her to come sit with him.

“Mom is grounding them,” She said, rolling her eyes as she could hear Beck’s protests.

“She’s a lifesaver,” Jack shook his head and grinned.

“You should’ve just had boys, Dad. I’m the only normal one and you know it,” Emmy smirked at her dad, knowing the button to push to put him into defensive mode.

“Why do you all think I have a favorite? I love you all the same!” Jack’s voice raised an octave as he was determined to convince his daughter, and now his friends, that he didn’t have a favorite.

Cole and Alex laughed at Emmy, finding it humorous that she had Jack’s personality, just in a teenager form.

“Emmy, have you studied for your math test tomorrow?” Her mom appeared from the hallway with inquisitive eyebrows and crossed arms.

“Mom…” Emmy groaned, but knew that was her queue to retreat to her room before getting her iPod taken away.

“Jack, we need to work on your discipline skills,” his wife smirked at him as she wrapped her arms around him and replaced Emmy’s spot in his lap with herself.

“Birth control, guys….just use it,” Jack deadpanned.

He joked about it, but he couldn’t picture his life any differently. He had 5 girls that he loved so very much, even if they drove him absolutely crazy sometimes.

“So Jack,” Alex spoke up, “…did Ellen and Jim have a favorite?”

“Oh, most definitely me,” Jack chuckled, but his friends laugh bounced off the ceiling around the kitchen.

“Jack,” his wife stood up from his lap, thumping his ear before she left the room.

“Love you!” He called to her, finding joy in getting on her nerves.

If somebody would have told the three men sitting at the table that this would’ve been their future when they were in their early 20s, they would’ve denied it.

But now that the time is here, they cherish these chaotic nights, knowing one day the house will be quiet, the visits with friends less frequent, and the good old days but a mere unspoken memory.

Double post in one day? I think so. You couldn’t tell by my writings, but I’m a die hard Quinn fan. I just think Jack would be such a funny dad and I love writing about him like that. Also I have major baby fever right now…..but ANYWAYS. Thanks for reading!!! Please send in request as my good ideas feel like they are few and far between! If you want a specific person or plot, let me know and I’d love to make it come to life through writing!! Winter break just began and I have time!!

#dad!jackhughes #dad!jack #nhl fic #nhl imagine #alex turcotte #cole caufield #nhl fanfiction

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kckt88 · 2 months

Text

The Picture of Aemond Targaryen I

Summary:

The story of a young man who sells his soul for eternal youth and beauty.

Warning(s): Language, Drugs, Sin, Indulgence, Debauchery, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex (M & F Receiving), P in V.

VICTORIAN ERA AEMOND TARGARYEN

INSPIRED BY THE BOOK/MOVIE - THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Word Count: 3750

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

The fog-shrouded streets of Victorian London welcomed Aemond Targaryen as he arrived in the bustling city, a hopeful yet innocent youth with dreams of a brighter future. With the passing of his grandfather, Otto Hightower, Aemond found himself thrust into a world of opulence and intrigue beyond his wildest imagination.

As he stepped out of the carriage onto the cobbled streets, Aemond's eyes widened with wonder at the sights and sounds of the city. Towering buildings loomed overhead, their grand facades casting long shadows upon the bustling thoroughfares below. Pedestrians bustled past, their attire a dizzying array of colours and styles, each one seemingly more extravagant than the last.

Guided by his grandfather's solicitor, Aemond made his way through the labyrinthine streets until they arrived at the opulent townhouse that would now be his home. The imposing structure stood as a testament to the wealth and power of the Hightower family, its grandeur unmatched by any other in the neighbourhood.

As he stepped through the ornate doorway, Aemond was greeted by the rich scent of polished wood and fine fabrics. The interior was a marvel of Victorian elegance, with intricately carved furnishings and sumptuous tapestries adorning every surface. It was a world far removed from the humble surroundings of his upbringing, and Aemond could scarcely believe that it was now his to inherit.

But amidst the grandeur, there lingered a sense of melancholy – a reminder of the grandfather he had lost, and the weight of responsibility now thrust upon his young shoulders. Otto Hightower had been a pillar of the community, revered by all who knew him, and Aemond was determined to honour his legacy in any way he could.

With a solemn resolve, Aemond set about making the townhouse his own, determined to carve out a place for himself in this new and unfamiliar world. Little did he know the trials and tribulations that awaited him amidst the gaslit streets of Victorian London, where danger and intrigue lurked around every corner. But for now, he allowed himself to bask in the glow of his newfound fortune, hopeful for the adventures that lay ahead.

After performing a mesmerizing piano solo in front of the upper classes of Victorian society, Aemond Targaryen found himself amidst a flurry of praise and admiration. As he basked in the warm glow of applause, a figure approached him, his presence commanding attention amidst the throng of well-dressed attendees.

"Bravo, Mr. Targaryen," the man said with a charming smile, his eyes alight with admiration. "Your performance was truly captivating."

Aemond returned the smile, feeling a flush of pride at the praise. "Thank you, sir," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of modesty. "I am glad you enjoyed it."

The man introduced himself as Criston Cole, a renowned painter whose works adorned the walls of the most esteemed galleries in London. He spoke of beauty and art with a passion that ignited a spark of curiosity within Aemond's soul.

"It would be an honour to capture your likeness on canvas, Mr. Targaryen," Criston said, his tone sincere. "Your beauty is a rare gift, one that should be preserved and admired for all to see."

Aemond hesitated, taken aback by the offer. He had always been told of his striking appearance, but to have it immortalized in paint was a prospect he had never considered.

"I... I am flattered, Mr. Cole," he stammered, his cheeks flushing with colour. "But I fear I am not worthy of such an honour."

Criston shook his head, a glint of determination in his eyes. "Nonsense, my dear boy," he said firmly. "You possess a beauty that transcends mere mortal standards. It would be a crime not to capture it for future generations to behold."

And so, with Criston's persuasive words ringing in his ears, Aemond found himself agreeing to sit for the portrait. Little did he know that this decision would mark the beginning of a journey that would forever change the course of his life, leading him down a path fraught with danger and sin.

In the lavish halls of a grand Victorian mansion, Aemond Targaryen found himself drawn into a conversation with Lord Tyland Lannister, a man whose reputation preceded him as an aristocrat with a hedonistic worldview. Lord Tyland exuded an air of confidence and charm, his every movement a testament to his belief that beauty and sensual fulfilment were the only things worth pursuing in life.

"Aemond Targaryen, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Lord Tyland greeted with a smooth smile, his gaze appraising as he took in Aemond's striking features.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Lannister," Aemond replied, returning the greeting with a polite nod. Despite his upbringing and the values instilled in him by his grandfather, Aemond couldn't help but feel a flicker of curiosity at the man before him, whose aura of decadence seemed to pull at him like a siren's call.

Lord Tyland's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in closer, his voice low and seductive. "Tell me, Aemond, do you believe in the pursuit of pleasure above all else? In the beauty of indulgence and the ecstasy of desire?"

Aemond hesitated, unsure of how to respond to such a provocative question. His upbringing had taught him the virtues of duty and honour, but there was something intoxicating about Lord Tyland's words, a tantalizing allure that beckoned him to explore the depths of his own desires.

"I... I suppose I have never given it much thought," Aemond admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But there is certainly a certain appeal to the idea of... indulging in life's pleasures."

Lord Tyland's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Ah, a man after my own heart," he exclaimed, clapping Aemond on the shoulder with a familiarity that bordered on intimacy. "Come, let us toast to the pursuit of beauty and pleasure, and may we revel in its delights together."

And so, with a sense of trepidation and excitement swirling within him, Aemond found himself drawn into Lord Tyland's world of hedonistic excess, where the boundaries between right and wrong blurred in the intoxicating haze of pleasure and desire. Little did he know the dangers that lurked beneath the surface, waiting to ensnare him in a web of temptation from which there may be no escape.

Seated in the dimly lit studio of Criston Cole, Aemond Targaryen found himself bathed in a soft, ethereal light as the artist worked diligently at his easel. Lord Tyland Lannister stood nearby, his keen eyes observing the scene with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

"My dear Aemond, you truly are a vision of perfection," Lord Tyland remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of awe. "Your beauty is timeless, a masterpiece in its own right."

Aemond offered a modest smile in response, though his thoughts were elsewhere. As he watched Criston deftly apply paint to canvas, a sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that this fleeting moment of youth and beauty was but a fragile illusion, destined to fade with the passage of time.

"Will you not sit for your own portrait, Lord Lannister?" Criston inquired, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.

Lord Tyland chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Alas, my dear Criston, my beauty is but a fleeting thing," he replied with a smirk. "Unlike our dear Aemond here, whose likeness will remain untouched by the ravages of time."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at Lord Tyland's words, a sudden realization dawning upon him. His beauty, though captivating now, was not meant to last. And yet, the thought of growing old and withered filled him with a sense of dread unlike anything he had ever known.

"I... I cannot bear the thought of losing this," Aemond confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "To watch as my beauty fades, as I wither and decay... it is a fate too cruel to imagine."

Lord Tyland's gaze softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Then do not imagine it, my dear boy," he said gently. "For there are other paths one can take, other bargains one can strike to ensure that such a fate never befalls them."

Aemond's eyes widened with realization as Lord Tyland's words sank in. Could it be possible? Could he truly sell his soul in exchange for eternal youth and beauty, allowing the portrait to age and fade in his stead?

Without a second thought, Aemond made his decision. "I will do it," he declared, his voice firm with resolve. "I will sell my soul to ensure that the picture, rather than I, will age and fade."

And as the words left his lips, a shiver ran down Aemond's spine, for he knew that he had made a bargain from which there could be no turning back. But in that moment, as he watched Criston continue to work on his portrait, he felt a sense of peace wash over him, knowing that his beauty would endure for all eternity, even as he himself faded into obscurity.

As the days passed and the portrait of Aemond Targaryen neared completion, a subtle unease began to gnaw at his soul. Each time he entered Criston Cole's studio, his eyes were drawn inexorably to the painting, where he couldn't help but notice a subtle change, a shift in the delicate lines and hues that adorned the canvas.

At first, it was nothing more than a trick of the light, a shadow cast in just the right way to give the illusion of movement. But as Aemond studied the portrait more closely, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The features that had once mirrored his own with uncanny accuracy now seemed to possess a life of their own, a vitality that pulsed beneath the surface like a living thing.

"It's remarkable, isn't it?" Criston remarked, his voice breaking the silence that had settled over the studio. "The way a portrait can capture the essence of its subject, preserving it for all eternity."

Aemond forced a smile, though his heart was heavy with doubt. "Indeed," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Though I must confess, I find it... unsettling, to see myself so immortalized."

Criston's brow furrowed with concern as he studied Aemond's troubled expression. "Is there something wrong, my dear boy?" he inquired, his tone gentle.

Aemond hesitated, unsure of how to voice the fears that had been gnawing at his soul. "It's just... the portrait," he began, his voice trailing off. "It seems to have changed since its creation. Almost as though... it's alive."

Criston's expression softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Fear not, my dear Aemond," he said reassuringly. "It is only natural for a portrait to evolve over time, as the artist imbues it with the essence of its subject. It is a testament to your own vitality, your own spirit, that the painting should reflect such subtle nuances."

But Aemond could not shake the feeling of dread that had settled over him like a shroud. For in that moment, he realized that the portrait was not merely a reflection of his own beauty, but a mirror into the depths of his soul.

In the glittering world of Victorian London's theatre scene, Aemond Targaryen found himself captivated by the enchanting performance of a stage actress named Alysanne Rivera. Her beauty was radiant, her talent undeniable, and with each graceful movement across the stage, she seemed to cast a spell upon all who beheld her.

After the performance, Aemond found himself lingering near the stage door, unable to tear his eyes away from the ethereal figure that emerged from within. As Alysanne's gaze met his own, a smile played across her lips, and Aemond felt his heart skip a beat in response.

"Mr. Targaryen, what a pleasant surprise," Alysanne greeted with a warmth that sent a shiver down Aemond's spine. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

Aemond nodded eagerly, his voice tinged with admiration. "It was magnificent, Miss Rivera," he replied earnestly. "You are truly a vision of beauty and grace."

Alysanne's cheeks flushed with a becoming blush as she thanked him for his kind words. And as they spoke, Aemond found himself drawn deeper into the enchanting spell of her presence, his fascination growing with each passing moment.

But amidst the newfound connection between Aemond and Alysanne, there lingered a sense of unease – a tension that seemed to simmer just beneath the surface. And as Aemond glanced over his shoulder, he caught sight of Criston Cole watching them from across the room, his expression oddly inscrutable.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Cole?" Aemond inquired, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to his friend's demeanour than met the eye.

Criston's smile was strained as he approached, though his voice remained composed. "Nothing of consequence, my dear Aemond," he replied, though there was a hint of unease in his tone. "I was merely admiring Miss Rivera's performance, much like yourself."

But Aemond could sense that there was more to Criston's reaction than he was letting on. And as he glanced back at Alysanne, a sense of foreboding settled over him like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the burgeoning connection between them.

Little did Aemond know, the threads of fate were already weaving a tangled web around him, entangling him in a web of desire and jealousy from which there may be no escape. And as he found himself drawn deeper into the enchanting spell of Alysanne Rivera, he could only wonder what dark secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of their newfound romance.

As the nights in Victorian London grew longer and the shadows deeper, Aemond found himself drawn into a world of forbidden pleasures, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blurred in the intoxicating haze of opium smoke.

Guided by Criston Cole and Lord Tyland Lannister, Aemond ventured into the dark underbelly of the city, where opium dens beckoned with promises of oblivion and ecstasy. The air was thick with the scent of incense and whispered secrets as they descended into the depths of their own desires.

Within the dimly lit confines of the opium den, Aemond felt a sense of liberation wash over him like a tidal wave, casting aside the constraints of society and duty in favour of the euphoria that pulsed through his veins. With each inhale of the drug, he felt himself drifting further and further from reality, lost in a kaleidoscope of colours and sensations.

And as he reclined upon the plush cushions, surrounded by the flickering glow of lanterns and the distant murmur of voices, Aemond surrendered himself to the intoxicating embrace of opium, losing himself in a world of pleasure and sensation beyond his wildest dreams.

But amidst the hedonistic revelry, there lingered a sense of emptiness – a gnawing void that could not be filled by the fleeting euphoria of the drug. And as Aemond gazed into the depths of his own reflection, he could not shake the feeling that he was chasing after something that could never truly be attained, a mirage shimmering on the horizon of his own desires.

Yet still, he returned to the opium dens night after night, unable to resist the pull of their siren song. For in the depths of his soul, Aemond knew that he was searching for something more – something that could only be found in the darkest recesses of his own desires. And until he found it, he would continue to chase after the elusive promise of oblivion, heedless of the consequences that awaited him in the shadows.

In the dimly lit corners of Victorian London's seedy underbelly, Aemond couldn’t stop himself from seeking solace in the arms of prostitutes, their whispered promises of pleasure offering a fleeting escape from the turmoil that churned within his soul.

Despite his growing connection with Alysanne, Aemond found himself drawn to the forbidden allure of the brothels, where desire and temptation lurked around every corner. With each encounter, he lost himself in a whirlwind of carnal ecstasy, the weight of his guilt momentarily forgotten in the throes of passion.

But even as he revealed in the embrace of the women who offered themselves up to him, Aemond could not shake the nagging sense of remorse that gnawed at his conscience. For with each act of indulgence, he felt himself drifting further and further from the purity of his love for Alysanne, his heart torn between duty and desire.

And as the whispers of scandal began to swirl around him, Aemond knew that he was playing a dangerous game – one that could cost him everything he held dear. Yet still, he could not resist the allure of the brothels, the promise of fleeting pleasure outweighing the consequences that loomed on the horizon.

In the dark recesses of his mind, Aemond wrestled with his demons, his soul torn asunder by the conflicting desires that waged war within him. And amidst the chaos of his own making, he wondered if he would ever find redemption for the sins he had committed, or if he was doomed to drown in the depths of his own depravity.

As Aemond stood before the portrait that Criston Cole had painstakingly crafted, he felt a chill run down his spine. The likeness that once captured his youthful beauty now seemed to twist and contort before his very eyes, mirroring the darkness that lurked within his soul.

Gone were the serene features that had adorned the canvas just days before, replaced by a grotesque visage that seemed to mock him with every brushstroke. The lines etched into his skin were deeper now, resembling the scars of his own sins, while his eyes bore a haunted look that sent shivers down Aemond's spine.

His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the twisted reflection of his own sins, a sense of horror washing over him like a tidal wave. How had the portrait come to reflect the darkness that lurked within him? And what did it mean for his own soul, tainted as it was by the weight of his guilt?

But amidst the fear and confusion, a voice whispered in the depths of Aemond's mind – a voice that spoke of a bargain struck in desperation, a bargain that had unleashed forces beyond his control. And as he gazed into the eyes of his own likeness, he knew that he could no longer deny the truth that lay before him.

For the portrait was not merely a reflection of his own beauty, but a mirror into the depths of his own soul – a soul that had been tainted by the sins he had committed. And as he watched in horror, the painting seemed to shift and change before his very eyes, its twisted visage a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked within him.

With a sense of urgency gnawing at his conscience, Aemond carefully wrapped the cursed portrait in a thick cloth, shielding its twisted visage from the prying eyes of the world. Every brushstroke seemed to mock him with the weight of his own sins, a reminder of the darkness that lurked within his soul.

With trembling hands, Aemond made his way to the attic of his opulent townhouse, the portrait cradled against his chest like a forbidden secret. The air was thick with dust and the musty scent of neglect, but it was here, amidst the shadows and cobwebs, that he would hide the painting away from the world.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Aemond set the portrait down gently upon a dusty table, his heart heavy with the burden of his secret. With a deep breath, he lifted the cloth, revealing the twisted visage that lay beneath.

Pausing momentarily before he covered the portrait once more, shielding it from the light of day. And as he stepped back into the darkness of the attic, he knew that he had sealed away not only the painting, but the secrets that lay buried within his own soul.

But even as he turned to leave, a voice whispered in the depths of his mind – a voice that spoke of the darkness that lurked within him, waiting to be unleashed upon the world once more.

Criston Cole's voice echoed through the halls of Aemond townhouse, his excitement palpable as he spoke of displaying the portrait to the world. "Aemond, my dear friend," he exclaimed, his words tinged with anticipation, "the time has come to unveil your portrait to the public. The world deserves to see your beauty immortalized in paint."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at the thought, his mind racing with panic as he searched for an excuse to delay the inevitable. "I... I'm afraid that won't be possible, Criston," he stammered, his voice tinged with desperation. "You see, I've put the portrait into storage for safekeeping. I fear that it may not be ready to be displayed just yet."

Criston's brow furrowed with confusion as he studied Aemond's troubled expression. "But why, my dear friend?" he inquired, his tone laced with concern. "Surely the world is ready to behold your beauty in all its glory. Why hide it away when it deserves to be celebrated?"

Aemond's mind raced as he searched for a plausible explanation, his heart pounding in his chest with the weight of his own deception. "It's... it's complicated, Criston," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "There are forces at work that you cannot begin to understand. Trust me when I say that it's for the best."

Criston's expression softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Very well, my dear friend," he said gently. "If you believe it to be for the best, then I will respect your wishes. But know that your beauty deserves to be celebrated, no matter the circumstances."

As Criston turned to leave, Aemond felt a sense of relief wash over him like a tidal wave, though it was tinged with the knowledge that his deception could not last forever. For the portrait that lay hidden away in the darkness of the attic was a reflection not only of his own beauty, but of the darkness that lurked within his soul – a darkness that was consuming him with each day that passed.

TBC

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond #aemond smut #aemond one eye #hotd smut

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astars-things · 10 months

Text

request: Jack Hughes and us are married and we have two kids a son who is 18 and a 5-year-old daughter and we're all at our sons NHL draft

As I sat in the arena, my heart swelled with a mix of pride and anxiety. It was the day of the NHL draft, and my husband, Jack Hughes, and I were here to witness our son Blake's journey into professional hockey. The echoes of the crowd's anticipation surrounded us, creating an atmosphere filled with excitement and nervous energy.

Jack, a former first-overall-round pick in the NHL draft many years ago, had experienced this exact moment. He knew the weight of expectations that could burden a young athlete's shoulders. As we anxiously awaited Blake's turn, He wanted nothing more than for Blake to succeed, but he also understood the pressures that came with being a highly anticipated prospect.

Sitting beside me was our youngest, Olivia, a five-year-old bundle of energy. She clutched her stuffed bunny tightly, her big eyes scanning the crowd. Olivia adored her big brother, and the separation from him during his training and upcoming professional career had been tough on her. She missed the days when they would play together and share laughter. The thought of Blake leaving for the NHL only heightened her emotions, and tears welled up in her eyes.

"Mommy, when is Blake's turn?" Olivia's voice trembled with a mix of excitement and longing.

I smiled and brushed a gentle hand through her light curls that she got from Jack. "Not long now, sweetheart. He's going to make us all so proud."

Olivia's tears cascaded down her rosy cheeks, and her tiny hands reached for her brother. "I miss him, Mommy. I want him to come back home."

My heart ached at her innocent longing. I pulled her closer, enveloping her in a warm embrace. "I know, my love. But Blake is pursuing his dreams, just like Daddy did. We'll always be here for him."

As we comforted Olivia, the tension in the arena reached its peak. The commissioner stepped up to the podium, announcing the beginning of the draft. Every eye in the arena focused on the stage, waiting for the next name to be called.

With bated breath, I glanced at Jack, whose eyes were locked on Blake. The anticipation was etched on his face, a mixture of nerves and pride. Blake's name had been whispered among scouts, and he carried the weight of his father's legacy on his shoulders.

As the moments stretched on, I watched Blake take deep breaths, attempting to steady his nerves. The commissioner's voice boomed through the arena, announcing the next pick. And then, the magic happened. "Canucks Proudly select 1st overall Blake Hughes"

and soon the arena lit up with applause

Taglist~ @cole-mcward48 @stopsign94 @swissboyhisch

let me know if you do want to be added to the taglist

#jack hughes x reader #dad!jack #Jack Hughes #thanks anon!#send in requests

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ethereallocs · 11 months

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Eyes On Me- Ser Criston Cole x Targaryen Princess

This is based on a request from @grxce101-blog I hope I did your request Justice.

Pairing: Ser Criston Cole x Targaryen Princess

Content/Warning: !!🔞 PLUS ONLY!!, age-gap, p in v penetration, fingering, cunnilingus, angst, swearing, and smut.

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: Being deprived of true pleasure, you seek it for yourself…

You were one of the youngest of Rhaenyra’s children, but you were her only daughter. In an attempt to build a stronger bond for your house, your grandsire Viserys offered your hand to his oldest son Aegon when you were but a babe. When the time came you and your family were well aware of what Prince Aegon was capable of and the menace he had become within the walls of The Red Keep and it was too late to turn back now.

You and queen were always very close, often seeing her lost innocence within you and promised her knight, Ser Criston Cole to you. And in turn he swore his life, soul, and sword to always protect you. You grew to be a beautiful young maiden inside and out. Regardless of your circumstances you were still so very kindhearted and soft spoken. But, you’d be lying if you said you enjoyed your life. You were either being ignored, by your husband or used like a common breeding whore. Fulfilling his desires and birthing his children, with no care for you wants or your desires.

You often read about love in the many book you found in the library and it left you wanting more. Ser Criston found himself watching you a lot more closer than he should and that wasn’t by much since he was sworn to protect your very life, but he was becoming emotionally attached. He would stand outside of your chambers on those God’s forsaken nights that Aegon decided he would have you and he could hear your pain and it broke his heart every time. It was something he could never get used to.

Such a beautiful soul such as you deserved to be cherished, spoiled, loved, and desired. He would find himself overcompensating for the lack of your husband’s affections. Giving you wildflowers or even just listening to you read. Soon enough he was falling for you, thinking of you constantly. Dreaming of you, fantasizing about you giving yourself to him. He prided himself in how honorable he was, but you were making him question just how important that was to him.

Quickly growing tired of the same routine of being stuck in a loveless marriage you found yourself escaping into the pages of books, imagining yourself being loved and wanted like the maidens in the books. Until one day in search of new material, you stumbled upon an unmarked book. You flipped through a few pages and your pale cheeks flushed and you quickly closed it knowing a lady shouldn’t be reading this type of literature, but your curiosity would get the best of you.

You were like a thief in the night sneaking around like you had truly done something awful, holding the book close to your chest, quickly making your way to your chambers. Criston quickly following after you in confusion trying to understand why you were acting so strange.Tonight your husband was not taking refuge within his own home and you were thankful for it. You could get some privacy. Sitting by the light of fireplace you started skimming through the pages realizing this book was about sex.

You read about a man’s pleasure first, but what really got your attention was the places where they spoke of a woman’s pleasure and something they called an orgasm. “What in the Seven hells is an orgasm?” You spoke out loud, biting your lips at the description of what the act was truly supposed to be like. Not once had Aegon ever asked you did what he was doing to you feel good. Honestly, it did not it hurt most of the time and you normally laid limp while he…finished.

You were in awe and shock as well as anger. Was this really to be your life. A life with no love, not even the smallest thing pleasure. Your pig of a husband deprived you of such and in your anger and defiance you decided she find out what real pleasure was like. Opening your door with a slight crack you called to your knight. “Ser Criston…” He had been standing at your door steadfast looking straight ahead vigilant as always. Hearing your sweet voice call his name he turned slightly to see you there peeking through the door. “Yes, my Princess?” Your hand grabbed his and you tugged at his arm to signal him inside. He hesitated knowing all to well how this could end, but he saw those lilac eyes and that sweet pout of yours and he could not resist your command.

Stepping inside he stood awkwardly and you too never having another man other than your husband alone with you in your room. The two of you sat in silence, Ser Criston clearing his throat to break it before speaking. “What do you need of me, Princess?” You pick up the book you looked puzzled and opened your mouth, but hesitated slightly. “Ser Criston do you know what an orgasm for a woman is?” Red flushing to your cheeks, he almost laughed at how innocent you were. Your eyes wide with curiosity…oh he could teach so many things, but it was not his place. “Y/N, that is not my place to tell you.” He spoke in a sweet tone looking at you like you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. You put the book down and twiddled with your fingers dancing around the question you wished to ask.

He watched you closely watching the way you debated with yourself. Should you say it, what if he agreed, or worse what if you got caught. Was this worth it…mustering up the courage you stepped toward him and it spilled out. “You don’t have to tell me, but you can show me. Right?” Eyes of lavender searched for an answer in those sweet brown eyes of his and his breath hitched within his chest. “Princess, I cannot do what it is you ask of me.” The thoughts that already dwell in the back of his mind coming to the surface causing his member to harden.

Going out on a limb you grab his hands wrapping them around your tiny waist and pull him in closer. “Please…” You whisper, looking into his eyes knowing that it could only be him to show her. “I know you hear what happens here in this room and it is not what I want for the rest of my life. I want to know what it feels like to be pleased and not used. Please, Criston even if it’s just once. I promise I will not ask this of you again.”

He had thought of you having you just like this, your body in his hands. You wanting him, needing him so. It was all too much to handle with his cock pressing against his breeches and armor. He was in agony what was he to do, the was treason not to mention you’d be put to death if anyone found out, he could not risk your life. It meant too much to him, but this was a once in a lifetime experience. He might not ever get the chance again.

Your hands cupped his face and his gaze found his way back to you. Leaning forward stopping just as your lips touched he broke the barrier and pressed his lips to yours kissing you feverishly. Pulling you in he almost lifted you off the ground as you moaned into each others mouths. Was this what lust and desire felt like. A warm between your legs began to radiate and the feeling of your slick pooling within your undergarments confirmed it. Ser Criston pulled away to remove the annoying armor that kept him from feeling you entirely and you helped quietly placing it aside.

After he was undressed your eyes scanned over his body. He was beautiful and his cock…well let just say you were in for a hell of a ride. He turned your back to him carefully unlacing the corset of your dress letting the garment pool at your feet. He left you in your chemise and took in how angelic you looked. His strong arms picking you up and carrying you to the bed where he laid you down ever so gently .

His hand resting on either side of your head while he hovered over you while his lips crashed into yours again. It felt like he had sucked all the air from your lungs but you wanted more, he pulled the layer of fabric up from your legs pulling it over your head, throwing it aside, finally seeing the body he dreamt about every single night. “You are breath taking…” Calloused hands ran over your soft skin fingers rolling and pinching your hardened nipples causing a whimper to fall from your lips.

He smiled at how you reacted leaning forward to take the stiff pink flesh between his lips slowly sucking. His left arm curled around you to hold you close while his free hand ran down your stomach until his finger spread open your sticky mound. He groaned in excitement feeling your slick coating his fingers already and he hadn’t even placed them inside yet. Two fingers rubbing circles around the ball of nerves sending shocks of pleasure through you. You gasped and your body twitched as he laid next to you burying his face into your neck leaving sweet kisses along your collar bone.

“May I put my fingers inside, Y/N?” Unable to speak you grabbed his hand pushing it further and he smiled kissing your lips once more and one of his thick fingers entered you starving cunt. Your sounds of pleasure only aroused him more, his cock throbbing so much it was almost painful soon another finger followed and he growled and how tight you squeezed just his fingers he could only imagine how it would feel to bury his cock into you.

“Oh Gods…fuck..” He chuckled. “I never knew you could say something so naughty, Princess.” He teased curling his fingers to hit that spot that he knew would send her over the edge. Her head dropped back and her breathing quickened feeling pressure and pleasure building and intensifying within her stomach. “That’s it, my love let…it…go” You listened and releasing you slick coating his fingers he cooed in delight licking them cleaning savoring the taste. “ohh Criston…”Trailing kisses down your stomach, Ser Criston laid in between your legs, pushing them to your chest.

Your exposed cunny made him smile. You looked ethereal this way the light from the fire illuminated your skin and showing him the aftermath of your first orgasm. He licked the entirety of your cunt with hunger relishing the taste. “So…delicious.” He words dragged his desire to have you growing intensely. Your eyes closed and you looked away causing him smack your inner thigh. “Ah, ah, ah…eyes on me, Princess.” The sudden shock from the smack sent electricity through you and it turned you on more than ever before.

“You are a depraved little minx..so innocent, but so naughty.” He groaned sucking and lapping vigorously until he couldn’t hold himself anymore he needed to fill her with his cock. He was now on top of her his cock lined up at her soaking core . “Are you ready?” You looked into his eyes and nodded. Without another word he pushed into your needy heat moaned at how her tight walls squeezed him so. “oh fuck…Y/N..” His voice shuddered and he kissed your lips slowly rolling his hips into you.

Writhing underneath him you wrapped your arms around his body digging your nails into his back as he made love to you. The sounds of your love making carried and you now knew what it felt like to be wanted and desired. You could feel him fucking all of his love and devotion into you and you wanted more. He flipped over now with you on top of him.

You weren’t use to this new position but the way his cock filled your stomach made you understand how good this position was about to make you feel. Your hips rolled hesitantly his cock hitting the sponges flesh inside you over and over causing you to buck your hips wildly against him. The coil in you stomach tightened with each thrust. He was almost close as well grabbing you hips to slam up into. Pulling you in he kissed you lips quickly pounding up in to that pretty little cunt. The sounds of skin slapping and him stirring up those sticky insides of yours sent him over the edge and you quickly followed. Coming together the two of you didn’t even care that he had just spilled his seed inside of you.

In the glow of your orgasms he held you close and kissed your forehead. “I love you, Y/N. I will follow you to then ends of the realm.” You ran your fingers through his dark tresses kissing him once more before he stood up to get dressed and stand at your door once more. “And I love you..”

I hope you all enjoyed the ride. Let me know how you liked it and if it should be continued…

#ser criston cole #ser crispin #criston x reader #criston cole #ser criston #ser criston x y/n #ser criston lovers #read it #fic rec #highly recommend #request

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writerscurse · 1 year

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Possess your Heart | Aemond Targaryen x reader

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Word count: 2,422

Summary: Aemond and you used to be inseperable during your childhood. That was until you had to leave the Red Keep. 10 years later you come back, only to find him betrothed to another.

Warnings/tags: Angst, pining, mostly angst

‘Fuck off! All of you’, you shouted as you sprinted through the empty dragonpit, straight towards Aemond, that pig still standing before him. The other kids were laughing. God, how you hated them. You didn’t expect much from Jace and Luke, but not even his own brother would stand by his side.

You took off one of your shoes and threw it straight at Aegon’s head.

‘Get out of here’, you shouted, darting towards him. His eyes widened and he rubbed his head where your shoe had hit him. As soon as he saw you, he dashed away, Jace and Luke right behind him.

Aemond just stood there, staring at the pig. You noticed tears in his eyes. Once you were close enough, you slowed down a little and instantly wrapped your arms around him. He didn’t hug you back, still too upset and angry at his brother and nephews. But you kept him close, not even caring about your bare toes freezing on the ground.

‘Ignore them, Aemond. They’re idiots. I just know you’ll find your dragon one day. And it’ll be better and bigger than all of theirs combined’, you whispered in his ear, gently stroking the back of your head. A sigh erupted from the boy in front of you and his arms finally came up to your waist, pulling you in tighter.

The young prince and you had always been close. Ever since your father had been summoned to the Red Keep to be part of King Viserys’ small council, you had grown up around the royal family. And you quickly developed a soft spot for the younger, silver-haired Targaryen in your arms.

It seemed that he was always around. While his brother preferred to laze about or mess with his family, Aemond had always preferred to educate himself, to become a better person. You loved that about him. It was an innocent and childish love, but everyone in the castle could see that you two were meant for each other.

You would sit by his side in the library for hours, reading your books. Sometimes, Aemond would teach you a few words in High Valyrian, joking that if you were to be his princess one day, you would need to know more about his family’s history. It always made you blush and you knew that secretly he loved that.

Other days, you would watch him spar with Ser Criston Cole, practising his sword fighting skills. You would cheer on him, if he did well. Or you’d help him up, if he fell, always making sure he was okay. And whenever Ser Criston wouldn’t look, Aemond would hand you his sword, letting you play with it for a while and teaching you what new things he had learned.

You knew his life wasn’t perfect and he often struggled a lot. But you were happy enough together. Until one day, your father was summoned back home and you had to leave the Red Keep.

10 years later

You smiled remembering all the good times you had at the Red Keep. Sure, your life back at home was fine, but you had always missed the bustle of King’s Landing. And you had missed your company. Nothing ever compared to the friendship you used to share with Aemond Targaryen. The thought of seeing him again made your heart jump. You couldn’t wait to finally arrive, get out of this damn carriage and wrap your arms around the man you had missed so much for the past 10 years.

And then you noticed the gates of the Red Keep. You were here. Any moment now. You felt the carriage come to a stop and the door was opened. Your father climbed out first, offering you his hand to guide you. Taking a deep breath, you straightened your dress, smiled at your father and finally stepped out of the carriage.

Queen Alicent immediately came closer, greeting your father and then putting her hands on your shoulders, ignoring all protocol.

‘Y/N, how you have grown. It is wonderful to see you again’, the queen warmly smiled at you.

‘Your grace, I am pleased to be back’, you bowed before her, trying to be polite.

‘You’ll remember my children?’, she asked, stepping aside and revealing the rest of her family standing beside her.

‘Of course’, you responded and took a step towards them, noticing Aegon first, as he was closest to you.

‘Prince Aegon, Princess Helaena, it is good to see you again. I congratulate you on your union’, you bowed before them. All of you knew that you were lying. You could never stand Aegon and he equally despised you. So both of them just nodded their heads, Helaena giving you a kind smile.

It was time for you to move on to the next person, you knew it would be Aemond. As soon as you laid eyes on him, a smile spread on your face. Of course, you had heard about that terrible incident that made him lose his eye. You had never liked Luke much, but knowing what he had done to Aemond, made you hate him. Not much to your surprise though, a missing eye didn’t change anything about it. Aemond was stunning. His tall figure towered over yours and the eyepatch gave him a mysterious aura that only intrigued you more. You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around him, but it would have been improper. So you simply bowed before him.

That’s when you noticed another person. Right beside Aemond, you saw a beautiful woman with long black hair. She must’ve been just a few years younger than the prince. Unsure of how to proceed, you moved over to her, when you saw Queen Alicent joining you.

‘Ah, yes. This is Lady Cassandra Baratheon, Aemond’s betrothed’, she announced, joy noticeable in her voice.

Your heart sank. Aemond was betrothed? How had nobody told you? A gasp escaped your mouth and you stared back at Aemond in disbelief. His gaze never met yours, but his clenched jaw line didn’t escape you. He desperately tried to ignore you. Not wanting to make a scene, you looked back at the woman before you.

‘My lady’, you bowed, ‘I am pleased to hear of your upcoming wedding.’

The words coming out of your mouth sounded rigid and forced, but you tried your best to smile at her. Sensing that the situation was a little tense, Queen Alicent ushered you all towards the doors and motioned for the servants to carry your belongings to your chambers. You hesitantly followed them, trying your best to ignore Aemond and Cassandra, before you made your way to your chambers to get ready for tonight’s feast.

A few hours later, you took a deep breath, as you stepped into the great hall. Most guests were already there and sharing conversations, laughing with each other, or just sipping from their cups. You were relieved at the realisation that nobody actually looked at you as you found your place by your father’s side. That was until you sat down and realised that Aemond’s seat was right in your line of vision and he was staring straight at you. You couldn’t read the look on his face but decided that given the circumstances of the situation it would be best to avoid his gaze. So you simply looked away, engaging in the conversation your father was sharing with the other noblemen sitting at your table.

‘My lady, may I ask for this dance?’, a voice behind you caught your attention after a while. You turned around to find the most beautiful stormy grey eyes staring right back at you. The tall man before you quite frankly took your breath away.

‘Of course, my lord…?’, you took his hand, letting him guide you to the dance floor.

‘Stark, Cregan Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N’, he gave you a gentle smile before placing his hand on your waist, softly swaying to the music.

‘I see, you have heard of me?’, you grinned up at him, enjoying the attention.

‘Rumours of your beauty and kindness are heard all across the realm, my lady. Although, I must say you exceed any stories I have heard’, he mused.

‘You flatter me, Lord Stark’, you giggled. In truth, you were rather grateful for the distraction he provided and let him spin you around. A joyful laugh escaped your mouth until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

‘Lord Stark, I will take it from here.’

You froze immediately, recognising that voice.

‘My prince’, Cregan Stark bowed before you, giving you a sympathetic smile before he walked away.

You didn’t dare to look up when you felt Aemond’s hand on your waist, gently pulling you into him as you moved to the music. Your heart was beating heavily and you felt butterflies in your stomach. You weren’t used to being that close to him anymore. And as much as you hated the situation, you couldn’t deny the attraction you undoubtedly felt towards the one-eyed prince.

‘You look beautiful, Y/N’, he whispered. When you looked up at him, your breath got caught in your throat and you forgot how to speak. Seeing him brought back so many memories and secretly, you had hoped that meeting him again would go vastly different.

‘Have you lost your voice, little bird?’, he hummed, a smirk spreading on his face. The situation amused him. He clearly knew of the effect he had on you and pulled you closer to him. The feeling of his chest pressed against yours almost made you forget yourself and you struggled not to give in and lean your head on his shoulder.

Looking over to the Targaryen table, you noticed a set of deep brown eyes, staring at you. Cassandra’s hand tightly gripped her cup and she couldn’t stop staring at Aemond and you.

‘Your betrothed seems upset, my prince. I do not think she appreciates the attention you’re paying me’, you sighed, ready to pull back, but Aemond kept you firmly held against him, turning slightly so you wouldn’t be able to see Lady Cassandra anymore.

‘I merely wish to reconcile with my old friend’, Aemond leisurely stated, looking down at you.

‘Old friend’, you huffed, ‘is that what I am to you?’

This time you pulled away from him, simply staring at him, ignoring the eyes that were carefully watching you now.

‘Y/N, please. Not here. You can’t do this right now’, he muttered, trying to keep face.

You felt anger rising within you. You were angry at Aemond for being with someone else. Angry at your father for making you leave all those years ago. But mostly, you were angry at yourself for the stupid feelings that you couldn’t get rid of.

‘I can do whatever I want, Aemond’, you hissed, ‘in fact, I might go back to dancing with Lord Stark. He seemed much more delightful than you.’

Just as you were ready to stomp off towards the Stark table, you felt a hand around your arm and before you knew it, Aemond was dragging you out of the great hall and into the corridor. He looked around, and pulled you behind a large pillar with him, trying to make sure that you could have a quiet moment together.

‘Why are you acting like this?’, Aemond spat, his nostrils flared as he stared down at you. You were pushed against the pillar, stuck between him and the cold stone on your back. The closeness to him made your head swim and you almost forgot how angry you had just been.

‘Me? How do you think I felt? Coming back after all those years, finally seeing you again, hoping you would…’, you trailed off, trying to hold your deepest wishes back, ‘and then you stood there with her by your side.’

You waved your hands towards the door, tears welling up in your eyes.

‘Oh Y/N’, Aemond sighed, bringing a hand up to your cheek. Seeing you like this broke his heart. He wanted nothing more than to be there for you, but he knew he had other duties now.

‘And you know what hurts the most? I want to hate you. I really do. But I just can’t. I lo-’, you caught yourself before you could say it. Your eyes widened and you looked up at him, realising what you had just done.

His expression matched yours. Sadness and shock covered his face. His thumb still gently stroked your face and you caught yourself leaning into his touch. He took a step forward, his body now pressed against yours. You could feel his breath on your face.

‘Don’t hold back’, he whispered, his voice so soft, you almost couldn’t hear it, ‘nobody can see us.’

And within the blink of an eye, you pressed your lips against his. Your hands came up to his neck, your fingernails digging into his long hair, softly scratching at the back of his head. It was a desperate kiss. The bitterness from years of longing for him and then coming back to see him lost to another was pouring out of you. Your lips moved against his in unison and his thumb was digging into your cheek. His other arms came up to your waist, pulling you even closer into him. A deep growl escaped his lips and you opened your mouth, letting your tongue glide over his lips and teeth, fighting his tongue for domination. A soft moan fell from your lips.

And suddenly you realised what you were doing. Your eyes opened wide and you pulled yourself away from him. Breathing heavily, you brought your fingers up to your lips and just stared at him in shock. You couldn’t believe what you had just done. Aemond wasn’t yours to be with.

‘Y/N’, he tried, taking a step forward and reaching out to you, but you just shook your head.

Taking a deep breath, you fought back the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes. Another deep breath and you took a step forward, approaching the fragile looking prince before you.

You placed your hands on his shoulders. Standing on your toes, you leaned in and gently pressed a loving kiss on his cheek, just below his scar.

‘I love you, Aemond. Always’, you sighed before turning around and walking away from him.

That was the last time you had ever seen Aemond.

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#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x female reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fic #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #ewan mitchell #hotd fanfic

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