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feyhunter78 · 1 month

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Think I'm Gonna Call it Off

Description: You have been Prince Aemond's secret for years now, but a certain visiting Stark opens your eyes to what could be.

Inspired by the line “think I’m gonna call it off, even if you call it love, I just wanna love someone who calls me baby.” From Good Luck, Babe by Chappell Roan

Part 2

This was ridiculous, you are a Lady of a fine house, virtuous, beautiful, intelligent, kind and your embroidery skills have been praised by Queen Alicent herself and yet here you sit waiting for Prince Aemond to return. To return and not spare you a single glance. Not until you are tucked away from the prying eyes of the court, until he is confident no one can hear your conversations.

You wonder if it is foolishness that keeps you sitting there, leaning against one of the many windows in the library, searching the skies for Vhagar’s great form set against the clouds.

You have rejected a number of suitors, worried your father and mother, made yourself seem all but undesirable in the eyes of the court, all because the prince swore that he would tell his mother. That he would announce to the whole of the realm that he loved you, and that you would be wed as soon as possible. He does not want a Valyrian wedding he said, he has no taste for it, he wants to honor you, honor his mother, and the Seven whom he worshiped.

“Lady y/n?” Lord Cregan Stark’s voice rolls through you like thunder, the deep baritone, the rouge northern brocade that made him pronounce your name just slightly different from everyone else, just enough that shamefully it makes you feel special.

You turn your head away from the towering window and give him a small smile. “Lord Stark, I did not expect to see you here.”

He returns your smile and leans against the wall; arms crossed over his chest.

Seven help you, he did have such strong looking arms, the sight of them never ceases to distract you. Even his thick tunic, and his dark-colored cloak could not hide them. Truly, everything about Lord Stark seemed strong. Queen Alicent said it is common of a Northmen, that they must be strong to survive the winters, while Lady Frey said it was the wolf’s blood in his veins. That all Starks had unnatural strength, speed, and stamina granted to them by the Old Gods. Neither woman’s explanation accounted for the man’s looks though.

Lord Stark is quite handsome, a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones with a close-cut beard, more stubble than a full beard though, and gray eyes like a winter storm. His dark hair is around Prince Aegon’s length, though often tied back and much better cared for. His lips are full and healed, having been cracked and dry from the drastic change in temperature on his trip down south. A small scar runs through the corner of them, on the right side, giving him a more roguish appearance. He said he had gotten it as a child, playing around with his father’s sword. And he was tall, so, so tall, towering over you in a way no man has before.

Then he laughs, the sound warming you to the bones, making a blush rise to your cheeks. “Do not tell me you think me a barbarian, as the others do. I thought you knew me better than that, little fox.”

The name he has graced you with never fails to make your heart stutter and disrupt any coherent thought you might have had. It is a reference to your house sigil, you know that. But the way he says it, how his accent wraps around each syllable, makes it seem far more…intimate than simply a friendly moniker given to you by a man who does not know your customs.

Aemond calls you his, or some sweet term of endearment in High Valyrian in private, sticking to Lady y/h/n in public. You wish he would use your name, you have told him time and time again, even the Queen and Princess Helaena use it. You have been at the Red Keep for nearly a decade now, been in the Princess’ inner circle of friends for almost as long, it would not seem strange to others.

“Lord Stark—”

“Cregan, or Lord Cregan if you must add the lord, as I have told you before.” He corrects you, but not unkindly, his lips curling up into a fondly exasperated smile.

“Lord Cregan, I did not mean to imply I believe that libraries were not your preferred place to spend your time, only that I thought you would be joining the other men on their hunt.”

He glances out the window towards the Kingswood. “And I would think you would be taking tea or sewing with the other ladies.”

You have been caught.

“Ah yes, well, as you know, Prince Aemond is to return today and Princess Helaena asked me to keep watch. She loves her brother very much but has to entertain the other ladies so could not watch for him herself.”

You pray Helaena will forgive you for involving her in a lie.

Cregan hums low in his throat and his eyes flicker to you, picking you apart. “Did she now?”

You nod, not trusting your own voice.

“The prince is lucky to have such a vision of beauty to return home to.” He says, running his eyes down your form, drinking in every detail with something akin to reverence? Though you know you must be seeing things. Cregan Stark would not look at you in such a way, there is no reason to.

“Princess Helaena is quite beautiful.” You agree, trying to keep an air of propriety around you even as your mind screams at you to flee for fear you will say something utterly stupid.

Cregan reaches out, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment caressing your cheek. “Aye, but she is not who I speak of.”

You? He means you?

You duck your head, cheeks warming once more. “You flatter me.”

He shifts forward, invading your space, the scent of forest air and woodsmoke filling your nostrils. “Is it flattery if it is true?” He is so close, still a respectable distance but close enough that you can reach out and touch him, can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“I believe that is a question for the maesters.” You tease lightly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You are a smart girl, little fox, I am sure you can figure it out.” He teases back, a glimmer in his eyes that excites you.

No one teases you; no one jests or challenges you like Cregan does. You assume it is because they all know Prince Aemond has claim on you, or because you are a lady, but you are educated, and strong-willed, you enjoy a good challenge. You enjoy Cregan speaking to you like an equal.

“Truth is relative, as they say.” You offer, cocking your head innocently, barely able to keep a smile off your face.

“Aye, some say. Though your beauty is truth, relative or not. Surely you must know that.” He counters.

“Vanity is not a virtue.” You say, meeting his gaze. The storm gray of them has softened to a dove gray, mirth dancing within them.

“Neither is lying and yet…”

“Are you accusing me of lying, Lord Cregan?” You gasp in mock outrage.

“About knowing that your beauty is what every man dreams of returning home to? Yes.” He says, his tone light and blithe, but his words, and the way his eyes darken for a moment? It takes your breath away.

“Your beauty, little fox, is one that haunts men’s dreams, that keeps them fighting when they are the last standing. That they keep in their mind as they clash swords, traverse through snow and sea.” He continues, holding your gaze, voice no longer light, but heavy with intent and promise. “It is a beauty one wishes to see the moment they return home before all else, or any others. A beauty that should be admired in all lights and shadows. The setting of the sun and its rising, the summer days and winter nights, one to be cherished.”

You break away from his gaze, a twinge of sadness in your chest. Aemond has never spoken to you in such a way, he has waxed poetic about your beauty, flattered you, lavished you with sweet words, but it has never felt the same as Cregan’s did now. Guilt replaces the sadness, and you toy with the edge of your sleeves. You should not be engaging with Cregan in this way, it was not right, even if it made you feel…something. “You are too kind, My Lord.”

Cregan reaches for you, breaching what was proper, and taking your hand in his. They are so much larger than yours, so warm, so gentle. “Have I spoken out of turn?”

“No, no, I am just—I am a maiden of the South, Lord Stark, I am not used to such forwardness from a man I am not courting with.”

“Honesty, it is honesty, though I apologize for my forwardness.” Cregan says, subconsciously stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Either way, I am not used to it.” You say heart calming with each stroke of his calloused thumb.

Cregan’s brows furrow. “I have heard tales of—the other noblemen, they speak highly of you. Of your beauty, your kindness, your wit, are they all struck dumb by your very being, is that why no one has praised you as you deserve?”

You feel you should say something about Aemond, but what could you truly say? There is no formal betrothal in place, he has not publicly staked his claim beyond a possessiveness that those who spent enough time in court could see. But nothing is ever outwardly stated.

You go to speak, but Cregan stops you. “My apologies, I should not have asked such a thing, how are you to know what lies within the minds of man?”

“You are correct, I do not know their minds.” You say instead and bury down any explanation involving Aemond and his invisible claim.

A dragon roar fills the air, the window vibrates with the force of the sound, and your eyes shoot back to the window. Prince Aemond is home.

“Or they fear the mind of one man and thus hold their tongues.” Cregan says, releasing your hand.

“The prince? I—he—we…it is not—” You cannot get the words out fast enough.

“I will take my leave.” He says, remaining for a moment searching your face until it seemed he had found what he is looking for, and left.

You watch him go, admiring the strength in his stride, when he turns back, a strange look in his eyes. “At the feast tonight, might I have a dance?” He asks.

“With me?” Your heart is pounding against your chest.

He nods.

Footsteps rush by the open library door, and you can hear Princess Helaena calling out to Prince Aemond.

You stand, smoothing out your skirts with shaky hands, why did he make you so nervous? Or is not nerves, but excitement? “Of course, Lord Cregan, I would be honored.”

“I will hold you to that.” Cregan smile, then he disappears down the hall, and you are left alone to hurry after the princess.

Aemond does not call for you until hours after he has returned. When you knock on the door to his chambers, dressed already for the feast, he bids you to enter in a soft voice, exhaustion tinging each word.

You hurry to his side, clasping one hand between your own. “My Prince, I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have returned safely.”

He uses his free hand to cup your cheek, that half smile, half smirk he wears so well on his well sculpted face. “I was only gone for a mere moon, and I was never in any danger, did you doubt your Prince, ñuha nūmio?”

“No, of course not, but…you would not tell me where you were going, no one would.” You say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“That is simply because it was not information you needed.” He says, brushing the pad of his thumb across your lips.

“But if I am to be your wife, would it not be prudent if I were to know where my husband is?”

Aemond’s eye, a brilliant amethyst, hardens, then he looks away and sighs. “Lady y/h/n I have told you patience is a virtue, and your virtue is what I adore most.”

You bite your lip, internally chastising yourself. You know better than to rush him. “My apologies.”

Aemond frees your bottom lip from between your teeth and brushes his lips across your forehead. “Do not take my words so harshly, your eagerness is quite endearing, and I to wish for us to be wed, but it is not yet time.”

You lean into his touch, “I understand.”

“How have you been amusing yourself while I was away, ñuha nūmio? Did anything exciting happen?” Aemond asks, his thumb resting beside the corner of your lip.

“Not much, it seems you had taken all the excitement with you. Though as you know Lord Stark’s arrival has caused quite a stir and now two moons later still is. Many ladies are jockeying for the position of Lady of the North.” You tell him, giggling at the memory of some of your friends’ actions.

“But not you?” Aemond asked, his tone making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“No, I am yours, why would I wish to be Lady of the North?” You reassured him, brushing back a lock of silver hair from his face.

For a moment, you are struck with the feel of Cregan’s fingertips, rough and calloused but gentle against your skin. The warmth of his skin, the softness of his gaze, the earnestness of his words. What was he looking for when he stared into your eyes, when he took in every detail of your face?

“If you are too distracted, you may leave, My Lady.” Aemond says, the irritation in his voice drawing you from your thoughts.

“No, no, I am not, I am just so happy you have returned.”

Aemond hums in acknowledgement, dressed in his feast finery as well. “I have missed you.”

Your heart flutters. “I have missed you as well.”

He releases your chin to trail his fingers down the column of your neck. His cool touch causes goosebumps to follow in his wake, and he dips his head low to press his lips to your cheek, then begins to follow his fingers with his lips. “I have missed you, your voice, your smiles, your touch.”

You shiver in response, grabbing onto his doublet.

“Do not touch, you will wrinkle the fabric.” He warns, even as his hands grip your waist.

You remove your hands, clasping them behind your back.

“I will not be able to dance with you tonight, mother has brought another girl for me to try and charm.” He says, into your skin, his silver hair brushing against your exposed décolletage.

Your heart sinks. “Not even one dance?”

Aemond sighs and presses a final kiss to the hollow of your throat. “You know I detest it as much as you do, but it is my duty.”

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to appear on your waterline.

He smooths down your hair and turns you towards the door. “I will try to find time for one dance, but I cannot make any promises.”

His words lift your spirits, and you smile at him. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Prince Aemond, we have guests tonight.” He reminds you, then he shuts the door, and you hurry back to your chambers.

The Great Hall is decorated beautifully, and you sit at your table with the other ladies of Helaena’s circle. A wine glass in hand as you watch Aemond dance with Cerelle Peake, her brown hair pinned up with a net of gold and sapphires, her umber gown flowing beautifully as she twirled.

“Come now, y/n, you will never be asked to dance with such a scowl.” Johanna Swyft says, poking your cheek goodnaturedly.

“No, she will never be asked to dance because the prince glares at anyone who tries.” Mina Redwyne says, clinking her glass against yours in silent sympathy.

Johanna shoots her a look. “Do keep your voice down, Mina.”

You take a long drink from your glass, emptying it, then setting it down, scanning the crowd for another servant. “Perhaps I do not wish to dance.”

“I am crushed to hear that Lady y/n.” Cregan’s presence makes every lady at your table sit up straight, and you turn to face him.

“Lord Stark.” You say, bowing your head in his direction.

He holds out a hand, and you remember how it nice felt, the phantom warmth still lingering. “I do believe you agreed to a dance, earlier today?”

“Lucky.” Mina hisses, as Johanna juts her elbow into your side to prod you up and out of your seat.

You stand, and take his hand, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in your side. “I did.”

Cregan leads you to the dance floor, and you can hear your friends giggling behind you, much to your utter embarrassment.

“Your friends seem quite encouraging.” Cregan says, barely holding back a laugh.

“When they learned I have no sisters, they decided that they would act as such, apparently that means acting in a most embarrassing way.” You say, falling into the rhythm of the dance.

“I knew you had brothers, but I did not know you were the only daughter, that must make you very precious in your father’s eyes.” Cregan ventures, his large, warm hand pressed to yours as you circle each other.

“I would like to think so.” You smile, your heart aches for a moment with homesickness. “He could not attend this feast, he is too ill to travel, my eldest brother is here on his behalf, accompanied by my second-eldest brother who is here to drink and presumably enjoy the Silk Streets.”

“I never had a taste for brothels.”

“Nor I.”

Cregan smiles and twirls you. “I thought not, for I have heard you are far too virtuous.”

You shrug. “It is more, I do not wish to spend the coin.”

Shock flashes across his face then he laughs, repeating your words quietly with a chuckle, and as you are spun back into his arms you cannot help but laugh as well.

“You are clever, little fox, I will miss you when I return home.” He says, his eyes searching you once more.

Your heart stops, and you trip over your feet. “You are leaving?”

His grip on you tightens as he helps you right yourself. “Aye, I have here for two moons, that is far too long, my people need me.”

You do not want him to leave, you will miss him dearly, his laugh, his expressions, his stories. You will miss the walks you had taken together, the discussions that ran late into the night, just outside your chambers, the men standing guard pretending they were not listening. The way he presented you with the pelts of animals he had hunted, regaling you with the tale of how he felled it. Who would challenge you now, who would make you laugh, would listen to your words, and respond as if you were an equal, as if your sex did not diminish your intelligence?

“When will you leave?” You ask, unable to keep your voice steady, so you spin away from him to give yourself a moment to smother your emotions.

Cregan pulls you back into his arms, trapping you with his steady gaze. “In a few days time.”

“Oh…” You manage to choke out, swallowing hard, your eyes on your feet.

“I have been meaning to tell you, there just never seemed to be a good time.” Cregan says sheepishly.

You nod, still staring at the floor. “Well, I will miss you.”

“I will miss you too, y/n,” he says softly, then he slips a finger under your chin and lifts it gently. “In all lights, in all seasons.”

Tears blur your vision, and you hastily blink them away, not even noticing he has said only your given name, no title attached. Cregan’s warm thumb catches any stray tears that fall, and you lean into his touch, desperate for more of that something he had made you feel before. That something you realize he was always making you feel, and that he is making you feel right now, though it is tinged with grief. “Cregan, I—”

“Lady y/h/n, I believe I promised you a dance.” Aemond’s voice is steel, ice, the frigid fear that ran through the veins of Vhagar’s victim, and you hurriedly wipe away any remaining tears plastering on a false smile, before you turn, Cregan’s other hand still on your waist.

You drop into a curtsy. “My Prince, that you did.”

Cregan’s hand lingers, and your heart lurches in your chest when the warmth of it is finally removed.

Another song has begun to play, one you love dancing with Aemond to. It allows for close movements and lingering touches that you always long for with him.

“I thought you did not wish to be the Lady of the North.” He says, his eyes picking you apart as Cregan’s did but there is a cold methodical feel to it that makes you feel utterly and horribly exposed.

“He was merely being kind, no one else had asked me to dance.” You protest, falling into the rhythm as you had before.

“No one else should, you are mine.” Aemond say, spinning you out, and then back in.

His hands burn through your gown, your skin, meeting bone, and before you would have loved it, relished the feeling, but now you feel they are too hot, your skin prickles uncomfortably.

“I like to dance; I do not get to dance when you are occupied, and you are often occupied.” You say quietly, your head bowed ever so slightly.

“I had them play your favorite song, as a reward for your patience.” He says, ignoring your words. “Do you like it?”

“I do, thank you.” You smile and raise your head, hoping to catch his eye and find it brimming with affection. That would soothe your wounded heart, would banish the grief you feel at Cregan leaving.

Instead, his eye is elsewhere, you follow its gaze to see it land on the Peake girl. You do not blame her, do not hate her, though your blood turns to fire in your veins, and you brace yourself for what you are going to say next.

“When are we going to be wed, I have been patient for many years, and you never tell me when my patience will be able to end.” You say, holding your chin high. You are not a Peake, but you still have pride.

His eye flicker back to you, his grip tightening. “Are you truly asking this now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am, because I am tired of waiting, tired of watching as you charm others, tired of being shunted to the side because even though you will not claim me, no one else is allowed to.” You can no longer keep your emotions contained. “I want to be happy Aemond, I want to be happy with you, but I am not happy.”

“Not everything is about your happiness, Lady y/h/n.” Aemond snaps.

You reel back as if you have been struck. “I did not say it was. You have been the one saying you wished to marry me, promising me you would tell the whole of the realm how deeply you care for me. I have done nothing else but dote on you and be patient.”

Guilt flashes across his face, and he reaches for you, but you push his hands away. “It is not so simple.”

“Do you see my face in your dreams, does it keep you fighting, keep you marching on, am I the first person you wish to see when you return home, do you wish to see me in all lights, in all seasons?” You throw Cregan’s words in Aemond’s face and wait for a response.

Aemond laughs, taking your hands, and bringing you back into the dance. “You have picked up a new book of poetry, I see.”

You cannot find it in yourself to be angry, the shock settling in, muffling everything until it is as if you are floating underwater. The rest of the night passes that way, you go through the motions, avoiding Cregan, your friends, shooting you concerned looks.

Then the feast ends, guards escort those too drunk to find their chambers, all others dispersing to their places for the night, or into Fleabottom for more revelry.

You try to sleep, but it will not come, Cregan and Aemond’s words echoing in your sleepless mind, until finally you throw off your blankets and wrap a robe around your nightshift.

You creep through the halls, no true direction in mind, letting your feet take you where they wished, when a flicker of umber catches your eye. Pressing yourself behind a pillar, you wait a moment then peek out.

“Lord Stark, might I be allowed to enter?” Cerelle Peake’s voice is soft, as was required for the late hours.

“Lady Peake, might I ask why you wish to enter my chambers?” Cregan asks, his words thick with sleep. His hair is loose, his night shift exposing his broad chest.

“I thought perhaps you might enjoy some company.” She says, as she takes a step towards him, moving to run a finger down his chest.

Cregan catches her hand and gently returns it to her side. “I do not wish for your company, Lady Peake. Please return to your chambers quietly, and I will not speak with your father about this.”

Cerelle scoffs and turns on her heel, storming down the hallway. You wait until Cregan’s door closed then follow her.

Halfway there, you know where she was going, you have walked these halls many times. Not wanting to further your own pain, you turn back to your own chambers, but your feet disobey you, and you find yourself in front of Cregan’s door.

You knock before you could stop yourself and the door swings open, a tired and angry Cregan standing before you. “Lady Peake, I do not need any comp—” His words die on his lips as he realizes it was you and not Cerelle. “Y/N?”

“All those things you said, about my beauty, about me, did you mean them? Truly?” Tears prick at the backs of your eyes, your chest tight, your bottom lip trembling.

Cregan rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Do not tell me you woke me only to hear more flattery.”

A sob escapes your lips. “I thought you said it was truth, not flattery.”

Cregan snaps awake, pulling you into his arms. “Little fox, I am sorry, I was half asleep, yes, yes, it is truth.”

You cling to him, gripping his night shirt, your face buried in his chest as you sob, every fear, every pain spilling out into his warm embrace. “Tell me you meant it, that you see me in your dreams, that you want me, in all lights, all seasons, that I am not destined to wait forever for someone to love me.”

“I love you, y/n, I love you, you do not need to wait, I will tell you as many times as you desire. I meant it, all of it, you haunt my dreams, you plague my waking thoughts, I want you in at any time, in any manner, or light, or moment I can have you.” He says, his voice is steady, and you can feel the vibrations of it deep in his chest, alongside his beating heart.

“I want to go with you to Winterfell, I want to be your Lady of the North, or even just your mistress if my house is not a good enough match, Cregan I do not care. I love you and all I care about is that we are not parted, that we are never parted, I do not think I will be able to breathe if we are parted.” You confess, looking up at him afraid to see what you saw in Aemond’s eye.

Cregan cups your face and kisses you, the taste of honeyed ale on his tongue, his hands warm as he keeps you close, using his foot to kick the door closed so he can press you against it.

Now in the safety of his chambers he breaks the kiss, your breaths intermingling. “You will not be a mistress, you will be my wife, none will come before you.”

“Will you tell your people, will they know?” You ask, your lips brushing against his with each word.

“I will wake the whole Red Keep to announce it now if you wish.” He says, his forehead resting against yours.

You reconnect your lips with his, his stubble brushing against your skin, but you pay it no mind, letting Cregan devour you, his hands moving into your hair, as you loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

He groans against you, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, delving in when you part them and exploring every inch of you. “My little fox, my y/n, my wife, my beautiful, clever wife.” He presses the words into your skin, heated lips trailing down to your pulse point.

“Husband.” You sigh, tilting your neck further exposing yourself to him, his teeth sinking into the skin claiming you as his own.

“Say it again for me, my wife, tell me who I am.” He breaths, sucking, and nipping at your neck, returning to darken the marks between creating new ones.

“You, Cregan, my husband.” You say, eyes snapping open when he releases you and stalks over to the window.

He threw it open and stuck his head out, shouting. “Y/N Y/H/N, is to be my wife.”

You rush forward and pull him from the window with a scandalized giggle. “Cregan it is the middle of the night.”

“Then at the very least a few guards heard.” He says, pulling you close and kissing you again, in full view of the window, the moon, anyone else who might look up, and it is exactly as you want it.

I lied in the comments imma do a part two I’ve given into the peer pressure stay tuned my loves!!!

HOTD taglist: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305

#meg's writing #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #aemond x reader #this one is so long omg #it hurt me to write Aemond like this I love him so much #cregan stark

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asumofwords · 2 months

Text

Unsought Betrothal - Part 2 - Part One Here

Dark!Aemond x Reader Velaryon x Cregan Stark

Summary: After attempting to humilate your betrothed by laying with Lord Cregan Stark the night before your wedding in the hopes that Aemond would call the wedding off, you find that not only is he determined to still wed you, but also to punish you for your indiscretions. Part One Here

Pairings: Dark!Aemond x Reader, Cregan x Reader, Cregan x Aemond

Warnings: Arranged marriage, threats of violence, acts of violence, forced voyeurism, dubcon, elements of noncon, naked reader, clothed men, fingering, finger fucking, pussy slapping, p in v sex, creampie, pussy eating, cum eating, degradation, praise, voyeur.

Word Count: 13k oops... sorry

Notes: Wow, whelp, its been a while since I have posted some of my writing, and even longer since I wrote the first part of this abomination, but when you get the urge, you just gotta scratch it. Thank you all for all your beautiful messages of kindness as usual, I'm sorry I've been gone a while. I have had a bit of a rough time this year but hopes for a brighter future! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this, and I hope I can write again very soon for you, hehe ;) Enjoy! <3

The wedding came just as it was planned. Just as it was arranged. Sleep had evaded you, anger and confusion clouding your mind with memories of the night before, ache still throbbing between your thighs. Your little attempt at stopping the engagement had no affect on your betrothed. No affect on the uncle you had grown up with. On the man you would now call husband.

You had thought that if you could humiliate Aemond in court by flirting with Lord Cregan Stark that he would call off the engagement. That the embarrassment would be too much for the pious prince. That the shame would turn him away from you, making him demand to his mother that they call off the engagement.

You had thought that maybe if you lost your maidenhead to the Northerner, Aemond would be so disgusted, so filled with rage, that he would call the engagement off, what with him being a dedicated follower of the Seven.

But you were wrong.

And so you spent an evening limping back into the Keep, escorted by none other than the One-eyed Prince himself and Ser Crispin. The front of your bodice had been ripped by Aemond's hands, but thankfully your hooded cloak covered up your sullied gown, the bottom of it dirtied with mud from where Aemond had bent you over in the alleyway and taken you roughly. With each step you took, you felt his seed slide down your legs, sticking to your inner thighs tackily.

When you got to your chambers, you used the small basin at your dressing table filled with water to wipe and wash away the blood and seed from your body, pain and a lingering dull ache causing you to jerk with each swipe.

You didn’t get much sleep that evening, staring blankly up at the ceiling. The urge to run was strong, to just leave out into the night through one of the secret passages and onto your dragons back, but the urge to stay was stronger. You hated him, truly hated him, but the way he had treated you that night, the fire in his eye, it lit something inside of you. It almost made you want him.

Need him.

Yet, there was another urge to stay, to make his life hell. To humiliate him at every turn, to ensure that he knew that forcing the engagement to continue would ensure him a life long marriage of discontent and disharmony.

You were not going to bend to his will. You were not going to bend to his needs, to bow at the husband, and say ‘yes’, and ‘thank you’, and ‘please’. You were going to be who you have always been.

A Valaryian.

Your eyes stayed open, watching as the ceiling eventually became light with the sun, indicating the break of dawn, and soon enough your maids were entering your chambers to get you ready to be wed. You were thankful that none of them asked questions about the dirtied ripped gown, or the bloodied rag in the basin, though you knew they were likely already aware.

The doors to your chambers opened as they pulled your hair back, pinning it atop your head in masses of braids with gold pins, tips glowing red with circular rubies. The colour of your mothers house dripping from you. Footsteps moved through your chambers, your head lifting to find Rhaenyra coming towards you, wearing a dress of black. Her silver hair half up, half down, small braids weaving around the back of her head beautifully.

A soft smile pulled on her lips as she came towards you, causing you to turn in your seat to fully face her. She looked sad and also lovingly devoted all at once. And whilst you knew it was not her greatest wish to marry you off to her half-brother, you also both knew that it was the only way to prevent bloodshed.

“My sweet.” Rhaenyra cooed, a slender hand coming to brush against your cheek dotingly, the scar on her arm from Alicent peeking beneath the cuff of her dress.

Blood already shed.

“Muña.” You smiled back, pulling her hand down into your lap.

Your mother leant forward and placed a kiss atop your head, “You look so beautiful, my love.”

“Thank you, mother.”

“Are you ready?” Her tone was gentle, as though she didn’t wish to startle you. As though she didn’t want to break the bubble that was the safety of your chambers.

The last time in your chambers as an unwed woman.

You gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes, and she could see it, “I must be.”

The small smile she had worn slid away, “This is not what I had intended for you. I did not wish to force you as I had been. I wish-“

“-I know.” You squeezed her hand, “I understand. It is my duty as your daughter to be wed to the Hightower’s to prevent bloodshed and war. To ensure your ascension to the throne. Let me perform my duty for you.”

“You know that we love you.” Rhaenyra squeezed your hand back, “Daemon has almost gone mad with rage. He does not wish to see you be wed to him. Luc feels that it is his fault.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from either of them.” You stood, still clutching her hand.

Her violet eyes roamed down your body.

The dress you wore was similar to the one she had worn for her wedding to Laenor, white with gold and licks of red in the lining. The dress sat below your collarbones and drooped against your shoulders, pearlescent beads sewn onto the short sleeves like dragon scales with a red silk peaking underneath.

“I wish this could be different for you.” She came to your side, placing a white cloak atop your shoulders, the Velaryon House sigil embroidered on the back, readying you to leave your chambers.

You looped your arm in hers, steeling a breath before you gave her a confident smile, “I don’t.”

Your heart rattled in your chest as you tried to stop the anxiety that churned nauseatingly in your stomach. Your hand was clenched tightly against Daemons arm, who slowly walked you down the many tables filled with people towards the man who would soon be your husband.

“Breathe.” Daemon cooed softly in your ear, his hand attempting to soothe you with soft brushes against yours.

Your eyes had not once left Aemond, who watched you with a dark glare.

The second son stood before the table, Viserys slumped behind him in his chair, the barest of smiles on his rotted face, half covered by a golden mask as you came towards them all. Your mother and Alicent sat on either sides of the King, followed by your brothers, your uncles, your cousins, and your aunt.

Aemond stood stiffly as he always did, the perfect posture with his shoulders back. He was higher on the stairs so that he looked down his nose at you, which wasn’t different to any other time he did. Each step towards him was nerve-wracking, the Lords and Ladies who had travelled far and wide watching you with keen eyes.

When finally you were standing before him, Daemon let go, coming to stand between you and Aemond momentarily, breaking your eye contact for the first time since you entered the room. Your uncle Daemon’s face was a kind one, and one you had grown to love as a step-father. He did not offer you a reassuring smile like your mother did, nor did he offer a consoling one. Instead, he leant forward to press a kiss to the side of your face before standing straight, towering over the both of you in both height and size before he moved back towards the table, sitting beside your mother.

And so the ceremony began.

In the light of the chambers Aemond looked sinister, shadows cast across his sharp face as he continued to look down his nose at you, chin still raised high. The Prince’s hair was styled in the way that it always was; straight and down his back, with two plain pieces pulled away from the sides of his face, tied neatly behind his head. He wore all black, the lining and undershirt the deepest of greens that was almost onyx. A symbol of his mother and her war that she had declared on a night such like this, many years ago.

The room felt hot, the back of your neck sweating as you stared at each other, all eyes pinned on you as the Septon’s voice boomed throughout the room.

“Father, Mother, Warrior,” The old mans voice was so loud in your ear that you winced, “Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. Hear now their vows.”

You swallowed thickly, momentarily looking down at your hands before back into his sole lilac one, watching as his posture straightened further, surprised that he could even do so.

“I am yours, and you are mine.” Aemond’s voice dipped lower, “Whatever may come.”

Your throat felt dry, but your gut was filled with anticipation. You were frightened, but there was something else simmering beneath it all. A need for the danger he brought, a feeling of protection from him. Not from him and his anger, but from others.

A possessive desire.

The Septon looked at you impatiently to say your vows, and a small wave of quiet whispers spread across the room as you stood silently. The Prince shifted on his feet, muscles in his jaw clenching.

“I am yours,” You breathed softly, hands gripping each other tightly in front of your dress, “And you’re mine. Whatever may come.”

The purple of Aemond’s eye was half hidden by his lid, his gaze having softened at your short vow. You watched as the corner of his sharp lips twitched upwards lightly into a small smirk.

The Septon continued, “Here in the presence of Gods and Men, I proclaim Aemond of House Targaryen and Y/n of House Velaryon to be man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Man and Wife.

Wed to Aemond Targaryen.

Your husband.

Now and forever.

An eruption of congratulatory joy spread throughout the room, the noise almost deafening as everyone celebrated what could be your demise. And though the noise around you was distracting, you could not look away from him, even as he shifted closer.

Aemond’s hand lifted and you flinched, the only people having noticed was your family seated behind you. His hand continued despite your shock to cup the side of your face and jaw, and as quickly as it happened, it ended. Aemond’s face grew closer as his eye slid shut, pressing his lips tenderly to yours in a brief moment before he pulled away, hand dropping back down to his side. The hand that had cupped your face grasped your hand for all to see, before he led you around to your seat at the table.

The night of celebrations became a blur, too in shock to really enjoy yourself, but wine still flowing heavily. Most of your evening you spent ignoring your new husband, opting to speak mostly to your mother and brothers, as well as Daemon and his daughters, who threw you pitying smiles, yet words of encouragement.

Aemond sat by your side, though he made no effort to join your conversations or create ones of his own. He had always been the quiet of his siblings, always sticking to the shadows and tomes of the library, never quite fitting in.

Helaena leant forward towards you, Otto eyeing her warily whilst Alicent looked as though she was about to chastise her daughter. In your aunts hand was a beetle, all black, though when the light of the candles shone on his shell, it seemed to glow. Greens and blues, and purples and pinks, danced across the beetles wings as it crawled atop her hand.

Your aunt had always loved insects, and had always been a sweet and kind person. You loved Helaena, and if there was anything that could help you endure living in the Red Keep alone without your family, it would be her.

“He appears dark,” She breathed watching as it crawled through a gap in her fingers and back towards her palm, “But if you look closely, you’ll find that he’s not.”

You shuffled in your seat, your shoulder pressed to hers as you ducked your head to look closer at the beetle, “He’s quite beautiful.”

Healaena lifted her face towards you, as she smiled at you dreamily, “He is, if you let him.”

Frowning, you looked back to the beetle, “How do I let a beetle be a beetle?”

Helaena did not answer you, instead continuing to twist and turn her hand as the bug crawled around on it.

Aegon watched from above the rim of his cup, drunk with red rimmed eyes. His hair was oily and wavy, unbrushed atop his round face. You could not help but feel a shiver crawl over you as he smiled.

“Our sweet niece and brother are finally married.” Aegon purred, Helaena barely giving him a second glance as though over the years she had attuned herself into pretending that he did not exist.

“A joyous occasion, uncle.” You smiled falsely back, picking up your own goblet of wine, ready to go back to talking with Helaena. Or the beetle.

Anything to escape Aegon.

“Do you know what happens tonight? After the celebrations of course.” Your uncles voice creeped along the surface of the table like a snake, so that only you and his siblings could hear.

You swallowed thickly.

Of course you did.

You had done it last night.

Bar a bed. Or walls.

In fact, it wasn’t even in the Keep, and instead in a dirty alley in Flea Bottom, hidden amongst the shadows.

“I’m aware.” Your voice was clipped, which seemed to goad Aegon.

“And how does our sweet little niece know of such things?”

You swallowed thickly, head turning to look at Aemond, whose eye was trained on his brother.

“My Septa.” You tuned back to face him, “And your whoring.”

Aegon chuckled, filling up his goblet with wine once more, “I suppose then you know what to expect.”

“Yes.”

“Should you ever be in want of a demonstration-"

“-Leave her be.” Came Aemond’s voice, almost a growl. His hand was clutched tightly around his own goblet as he challenged his older brother to say something more.

Aegon laughed loudly, eyes on his brothers clenched hand before looking up to watch him, “I only jest, brother! It is a night of celebrations!” He thrust his goblet towards the One-Eyed Prince, “It’s not everyday that my little brother is married off to such a beautiful princess. The daughter of the Realm’s Delight, no less. Do you think-“

Helaena shifted, turning her body towards you, “It isn’t so bad.” She spoke emotionlessly into your ear to distract you from Aegon, “It only hurts the first few times.” Your aunt paused in thought, lavender eyes still on the beetle as it moved, before looking at you, “Or when he’s angry. Or drunk.” She added as an afterthought, “But mostly when he’s drunk.”

Sorrow coursed through you for your aunt, your gaze immediately staring into Aegon’s angrily. How could he do this to her? How could he treat her like one of his whores? If not because she is his wife, but because she is his sister. Aegon seemed to sink into his chair after Helaena’s comment, soft anger simmering off of him in small waves.

But Aegon has never truly known when to stop.

“I am sure my brother here will barely draw blood.”

“I am sure your interest in your brothers cock speaks loudly.”

Elbows sloppily placed on the table he leant towards you, “I tried to take him once you know, to a whorehouse.” His voice became more hushed, “He hated it. Made me think that maybe our dear Aemond was perhaps like your father, Laenor.”

Blinding rage shot through you, “Don’t speak about my father.” You hissed, “He was more man than you shall ever be.”

A cruel smirk pulled at Aegon’s lips, “I am sure he has had more men than I ever shall.”

Your hand shot forward to grasp your goblet, ready to hurl it across the table at him, peace be damned, but Aemond was quicker and snatched your wrist before the tips of your fingers could even reach the cup.

A quiet fell over your table as all watched the interaction, your wrist in Aemond’s hand, Aegon smirking cruelly at you, and your face hot with anger.

“I pity you.” You quietly seethed, “Always so desperate to get a reaction out of the people around you, because if you didn’t you would simply cease to exist. Though you are the first son of Viserys, a peasant bastard from Flea Bottom would garner more respect.”

Aegon’s gassed darkened, his mouth readying to fire back at you.

“Aemond.” Alicent called to her son, a questioning and yet chastising tone in her voice.

Aemond looked at his mother, and then back to you, checking to see if you were going to continue on with your thought. But you had grown tired of the grip he had on you, his large hand squeezing your bones painfully as they shifted beneath the skin.

“Don’t touch me.” You sneered at him, snatching your hand away as you stood, chair scraping loudly against the flagstones.

The throne room quietened, all stilling to watch as you stood at the table, seething down at your husband. The rest of your family all watched warily, except for the Rogue Prince who smirked broadly at you. Your chest heaved with anger as you looked down at Aemond, who stared up at you with similar rage.

King Viserys sensing the tension smiled, though it looked more like a grimace, “Our young lovers wish to dance!” A distraction on his end, and a clever one at that.

The room erupted into cheers and clapping, and the musicians in the corner began playing music loudly for all. Lords and Ladies stood from their seats and moved into the centre of the room to dance together.

Glaring down at your husband, your hands clenched into fists, waiting for him. Aemond slowly stood, towering over you, a large hand stretched out towards you, palm up.

“Wife.”

“Husband.” You growled, taking his hand roughly, digging your nails into his skin as you led him down the stairs towards the people.

The court parted to the sides like a wave, creating a path for you straight to the centre as you lead Aemond down to it, almost like a dog. Each man and woman watched with excitement, either for the celebrations or the rising tension between the two of you. You’d be a fool to think that the court wouldn’t love a quarrel to arise so that they may whisper about it in corridors later to come.

It could be a way to press the wound so to speak with Aemond later.

You stopped in the centre, finally letting go of your husband as you spun to face him.

He stood as he always did, stiff, emotionless with a hint of arrogance, watching you with a cool glare. The court waited for you to begin, as the music continued to play, but even then you couldn’t push yourself to touch him. To feel his hands on you once more, alighting a fire within you that you did not know was possible, the embers still burning from the night before.

Would they be able to tell?

That he had already deflowered you in Flea Bottom?

In a dirty alley like one of Aegon’s whores?

In a way, you hoped they would. Let it bring him dishonour. Let it bring him humiliation from the court that his wife would take him in such a filthy, commoner way. You wished for his disdain, you wished for his anger, anything but the clear desire which seemed to move through him as he watched you from down his nose.

“Well?” You snipped, waiting for him to make the first move.

Aemond came forward swiftly, much like he had in the alley, and you had to bite your cheeks to stop the gasp that would have escaped your mouth.

It came to him so naturally to touch you, to hold you. One large hand immediately grasping yours by your side pulling it up, the other skating up your hip, over your collar bone, slowly down your shoulder, and down, down, down your arm.

Goosebumps rose on your skin, a shiver running down your back as his other hand connected with yours, and slowly but surely, the dance began. Even with the noise of the room, the music playing, the talking, and laughter, and joy from the guests, you could still hear the small little gasps and breaths you let free as you danced with Aemond.

It was likely one of the only times you hadn’t bickered after so long in his presence, let alone whilst touching him. The two of you stayed silent, moving this way and that, your gaze occasionally flitting to the table to your mother and Daemon, who watched with kind eyes.

“Don’t let Aegon goad you.” Aemond finally spoke.

His hand brushed against your shoulders, and round the back of your neck, a heat beginning to simmer in your gut from his touch. You turned to face him, watching as he observed you closely.

“He won’t stop if you show it bothers you.”

“He always bothers me.” You snipped, but this time with much less anger, “He is like a fly you wish to swat but can never reach."

Aemond’s lip twitched as he looked at you, turning around you slowly, “Mm.”

“Mm.” You mimicked, turning away from him.

“Behave yourself, wife.” Aemond purred, irritation flitting through you momentarily.

“What? Like how behaved yourself last night?”

“I could say much the same to you.”

“A shame then.” You sighed, moving to come chest to chest with him, your breath stilling in your lungs as you looked up at him. You would never get used to how tall he had grown over the years, “You bring much dishonour to your mother.”

“As do you. Whoring yourself to a Lord of the North-“

“-King of the North-“

“-In a dirty, whore riddled tavern.”

“A dirty, whore riddled tavern that you knew about.”

Aemond stilled, his head dipping towards you, “Did you think that I wouldn’t know of your movements in Kings Landing? Did you truly believe that I would be so foolish as to think that you would come to me willingly?”

You swallowed thickly.

“No.” He continued, sucking on his teeth, “You forget that I know you. You are much like your brothers. Getting into places where you don’t belong.”

“And what of yours?” You became defensive at the mention of your brothers, remembering how he and his would call you all bastards, “Loudly and brazenly whoring himself to any and all who would dare risk fucking him.”

“My brothers whoring does not concern me.”

“Then I suppose I am not a concern either.” You sniffed, “You needn’t worry, I am sure that he should find his way into our chambers one way or another.”

The hand on your arm tightened to the point of pain, your cheek twitching as you tried to hold in a wince, “I told you, he is not of concern.”

“I know Aegon. I have heard of what he does-“

“-And you know me. Know that he will not-“

“-He will not, what? Sully me? Taint our marital bed? It is already tainted. You made sure of that last night.” You stood closer to him, still as the others danced around you, your gaze peering up into his as your chest heaved, “But what if I want him to? What if I willingly invite him to take me? I’m sure you do not mind sharing after all, he is your brother.”

Aemond’s eye flashed with anger, before his head slowly ducked beside your ear, “If you think I am fool enough to stoop to your provocations then you must forget that we grew up together, side by side. I know your tricks.” The hand on your arm released its strong grip, coming to brush against the back of your neck, “I know that you despise him just as much as I. I know that you used to cry at the Godswood when he called you bastard.”

You bristled, purposely stepping back as you stared at him angrily. You hated that word. You hated what it meant for you and your siblings. You hated that he and his brother and his mother and the court whispered about all of your parentage. You hated that once, when you had been young, despite all of this, you had been friends.

Rage bubbled up inside of you, and before you could stop yourself you leant forward, hand coming to touch the side of Aemond’s face with his one seeing eye, the other covered by his leather patch.

You rubbed your thumb atop his cheek, “Imply that I am bastard once more, and I shall blind you with the purpose that Lucerys lacked.”

Aemond’s chest rose and fell jaggedly, inhaling breaths faster than yours, anger coursing through his veins. His sharp lips twitched as he watched you, “I wouldn’t dare. I know just how Strong you are, Princess.”

Your thumb moved fast, but Aemond was faster, anticipating your movements. His hand caught yours against his cheek, trapping your fingers between his hand so that they may not move further to pluck his remaining eye from its socket like intended.

“People are watching, ābrazȳrys.” Wife, He purred, though there was a lick of danger behind it.

A warning.

“Ivestragī zirȳ urnēbagon.” Let them watch, You sneered, “Nyke kessa laesdaor ao hae iā dīnilūks irudy.” I shall blind you as a wedding gift.

Aemond’s silver brow lifted, “Skoros iā sȳz irudy.” What a good gift, His eye turned dangerous, “Eman iā irudy syt ao, mēre nyke gōntan daor jaelagon naejot tepagon.” I have a gift for you, one I did not wish to give.

“Is it your death?” You countered cheerily, not wanting to show him that the way he spoke to you set your hair on end.

“No. I think it will be much better than that. We will both come to enjoy it.” The danger in his eye still flickered like a flame, “I was considering not giving it to you, but since you are behaving so wonderfully, I simply must insist.”

You turned away from him, moving to go back to your seat, “I want nothing from you.”

“And yet, you'll have everything.”

As the night grew long, your fears grew larger. And though he had taken you the night before in an alley, his subtle threat of what may come tonight lingered in the back of your mind. Each cup of wine was drained eagerly by your lips, hoping and wishing that you could somehow make yourself sick enough to not have the bedding ceremony.

But it came all the same, just as the wedding had.

Aegon was the one who initiated the beginning of the end.

A large clap came from in front of you, the short haired Prince leaning towards you on the tables with his hands clasped together, silver and gold rings adorning them. A sinister smile pulled at his lips as he beamed at you and his brother.

“The night is late!” He proclaimed loudly to the chambers, many Lords and Ladies turning their heads to watch, “I think we have held these two young lovers hostage for far too long!” Aegon smiled out to the room and then stood, lifting his goblet.

His shirt was untucked, his gait unsteady and he swayed on his feet as he continued, “My brother is too polite to remove himself from festivities such as these! But brother,” He thrusted his cup towards you, “I can see that you wish to take your new wife to bed! The love these two share is a tale for story books, though they are too polite to say a thing.” He chuckled, and laughter followed from the Lords behind you, “Worry not! We will continue the festivities without you!”

Cheers were heard from about the room, though none came from your own table. Aegon sipped his wine greedily, eyes watching you from above the rim of his cup. The Prince took the goblet from his lips and clicked his fingers impatiently beside him, pointing at an uncomfortable Criston Cole who came to his side like a well trained mutt.

“Ser Criston, take these newly weds to my brothers chambers. It seems it is time for the bedding ceremony.”

Ceremony.

Your blood ran cold.

Aemond stood abruptly beside you, head on with his brother.

“No need, Ser Cole.” His smooth voice icy, “I shall escort the Princess there myself.”

Aemond pushed his chair backwards as you continued to stare at Aegon, not quite ready to be alone with the Prince.

Your husband.

You blinked, turning your head towards your family, who all gave you pained smiles. But it was your duty. And you had given your mother your word. Slowly you stood, letting your eyes scan the table, softly landing on your grandsire before meeting with a pair of large brown eyes. Alicent Hightower watched on with a nervous energy, her hands shifting on her lap as you assumed she picked at the skin around her fingers. The look in her eyes almost held empathy.

Almost.

You bowed your head to the King and Queen, ignoring Aegon’s shit eating grin.

“Your Grace.”

Pushing your chair back you ignored the outstretched arm of Aemond and made your way down the stairs, Lords and Ladies watching as you made your slow exit from the room, taking false prideful steps through the court to delay the inevitable, giving all who watched smiles and nods of your head.

The shifting of armour moved loudly behind you, before soon enough, Ser Criston Cole was overtaking your step to lead you out of the chambers and soon to Aemond’s. The white cape attached to his shoulders billowed behind him as he speedily kept on.

The skin on your elbow burned, a hand gripping it tightly as you were momentarily slowed as Aemond came to your side. You refused to meet his eye, feeling his gaze upon the side of your face as you exited the chambers, the sounds of cheering and laughter loud behind you. The chamber doors shut with a thump, the sound dampened and muffled, footsteps echoing down the darkened corridors of the Red Keep.

“Does Ser Criston not wish to watch you bed me?” You sneered, eyes flickering to the lit lamps on the walls as Aemond led you down a wing of the Keep you had scarcely been down.

“I have instructed him to prepare my chambers for your arrival.” Aemond replied, his strides long and rigid as he almost hauled you with him.

“Do not pull me.” You yanked your arm back, halting your steps, “I am not your dog.”

Aemond stilled, looking down his nose at you as he towered above, “Dogs are better behaved.”

The Prince’s head snapped to the side, pain spreading through your palm as you sneered at him. The side of his cheek bloomed an angry red, yet Aemond did not react to your slap, nor did he hit you back, instead, a slow smirk pulled at his lips.

“I shall allow that, but only because I know you will regret it.”

Rising to your tiptoes you tried to make yourself come to eye level, “I regret nothing.”

“Mm.” He looked at you blankly, “I shall give you a choice.” Anger rose within your chest, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, “Come with me to the Godswood.” Your brows furrowed, “Pray to the Gods for forgivingness for striking your husband, kneel and apologise. Swear obeisance to me-”

“-If you think-“

“-And I shall let you go to your own chambers alone. No need for a bedding ceremony after last night.”

You flushed, swallowing thickly, “I would never lower myself to apologising to a second son. And especially not to a Prince who is owed no inkling of respect.”

Aemond watched you for a beat, eye scanning your face as his held flat, “Then we continue to my chambers.” The hand that pulled you began again, and your feet struggled to keep up with his, bruises no doubt to be on the tender flesh of your arm in the morning.

Your heart raced in your chest as you felt yourself get closer to his chambers, his strides not once slowing down, though you tried to dig your heels into the flagstones to slow him.

“You care not to have a woman enthusiastic in your bed?” You tugged fruitlessly at your arm, “You wish to drag me to a night of suffering, like a savage. Like your brother, Aegon.” You sneered, fruitlessly tugging your arm to escape his grip.

“A savage would have had you atop the table before all to see when you first defied me. I gave you a chance to apologise, remember that you scorned it.”

“A chance? What chance was I given? A loveless marriage with a man who is not my equal? A burden I am forced to bear as I am forced to lay beneath him!”

Aemond’s steps halted once more, almost causing you to crash into him, his fingers tightening against your arm as he yanked you against his chest angrily, “You needlessly make this more difficult. I extended an offering to you of peace, and you burnt it.”

“Peace?” You screeched incredulously, “You have done naught but provoke me! Naught but push and prod and goad me into reaction so that you may justify your sick desires.”

“Provoke you? I seem to recall you sneaking into Flea Bottom to try and lay with a Lord to spite me.”

“I was trying to save us from a loveless and cruel union.”

“Us? Or yourself?”

You paused, mouth feeling dry. Anger and fear swirled within your gut viscously as you stared at him. The both of you panting heavily at one another. Aemond shifted, moving away from the wall beside you, revealing two large wooden doors.

You were there.

And you had not even realised.

“Wife.” Aemond purred sarcastically before pushing open the door, the smell of his room engulfing you.

It smelt of him, but far more intensely. Of leather and smoke, and spices which he dabbed his skin with, and still, behind all of this, the natural scent of him. The smell that was only his and his alone. A scent that had wrapped around you in that alleyway the night before.

The fireplace raged wildly, the room filled with dark mahogany furniture. There was a chaise, arm chairs, a table seated for six, a large bed on the other end, a reading desk with piles of books and scrolls, and candles sitting on every surface, lighting the room.

The second thing you observed as your eyes roamed the space was that you were not alone.

Your heart skipped in your chest.

There by the bed, was a man sat in a chair. Arms tied down to it as his feet were tightly bound to the legs. His long dark hair was knotted atop his head as he stared at you in shock, and beside him, Ser Criston Cole.

“Cregan?” You breathed in shock, running towards the Northerner as you dropped to your knees, hand reaching out to cup his face as he only looked at you with sorrow, “Are you hurt?”

“I did warn you,” Aemond growled from behind, “That you would regret it. I had a plan, you see. A moment of mercy to let you apologise at the Godswood, for you to go-“

“-Let him go!”

“-To your chambers untouched and unscathed. I had given you a choice, and this is the one you have chosen.”

You turned your head sharply to face Aemond, “What have you done?”

“This man was caught conspiring against the crown. He planned to take the Princess’ honour and humiliate her betrothed. A Prince.” His lilac eye held Cregan’s icy blue ones, “I have done my duty by capturing this traitor to the realm.”

Fear began to bubble inside of you, eyes looking back to Cregan. The left side of his face was bruised, small cuts littered across his cheek and brow. His soft lips were swollen and split, and dried blood had gathered in one corner.

“He is innocent.” Your knees ached as they dug into the stones below, your upper body turning to face Aemond again, “He knew naught of what I was doing. Punish me. Let him go.”

Aemond hummed and walked towards you, “Brave. Admirable if it wasn’t for nothing. No. I gave you a choice before, and you have made your choice. I gave you the option to apologise, to bend to me as your husband, to go to your chambers alone, but this is what you have chosen. This was your choice.”

“You gave me no choice!” You sneered, moving to stand, shielding Cregan’s body with your own, “All this talk of choices when all you have gave was an unknown ultimatum.”

“A choice nonetheless. Godswood or chambers. And so here we are. The consequences of your actions.” The Prince came closer, shadows cast across his face, “I told you that you would regret it.”

“You’re a savage! A foul beast.”

A smile pulled at Aemond’s lips, “Choose your words carefully, wife. I have no qualm with slitting his throat where he sits should you continue to defy me.”

Cregan pulled against his restraints, angrily sneering at Aemond, who simply hummed once more as he came to stand before you, looking down at you with false pity, “But, it is the night of our union, and the betrayal is still fresh and something I am willing to move past. I shall give you another choice. One that I feel may be far too lenient.”

Tears began to well in your eyes.

This was all your fault.

“The Lord of Winterfell shall sit where he is, and watch as I fuck you in ways that he never shall-“

“-You disgust me!”

“-Or he shall be tried and hung for treason.” Aemond came closer, his chest almost brushing against yours as he stared at you, “The choice is yours.”

You sneered upwards at your uncle, tears gathering in your eyes, “I would rather die than let you touch me again.”

“I recall you seeming to enjoy it, wetting my cock in that filthy alley as you begged for it.” He purred, hand lifting to brush hair from your face as he sighed, “I don’t mind what you choose, I could simply slit his throat myself right now? If you'd prefer it?”

A lone tear fell down your cheek as you turned and held Cregan’s gaze, his brows furrowing as he saw you come to your decision.

“Y/n, don’t-“ Cregan’s head was jerked back roughly, Ser Coles hand in his hair as he stuck a blade beneath his chin. The edge of the blade nicked the skin lightly, a small bead of blood travelling down his neck.

He would die.

He would die and it would be all your fault.

“Please, Aemond.” You begged, “Please do not do this. Let him go. Let him go and I swear to you I will obey your commands. Let him free and I am yours.”

The silver haired mans head tilted as he cooed you, “I am sorry, my love. But it is too late to beg for my mercy as I offered it to you before. What kind of man would I be if I excused such treason?”

You stepped forward swiftly, “A strong one. A merciful one. A man who can see the error of my way. That I am repentant.” You tried to cajole him, “I promise you I will be good. I will perform my duty and do what is expected of me.”

“You are sweet when you beg, but it is too late.”

“Uncle, please! I will do anything! Anything you ask of me. I swear to the Seven.”

Aemond smiled at you, “I know you will. And that is why you will do this.” Aemond swallowed, eye roaming down your wedding gown hungrily, defiantly.

Angrily.

“Strip.”

“Aemond-“

“-Strip, or he dies.”

Tears rolled down your cheek, your stomach rolling in disgust and fear.

“Please do not make me do this.” You sobbed, arms limp by your side as you looked down at the flagstones, feeling defeated.

Your husband tutted you, long slender finger brushing the tears that fell from your eyes away, “Do not waste your tears on him, my love. I can be gentle, and soon you will come to love my touch. This, I promise you.”

Pain bloomed in your jaw as you ground your teeth together, wary to not trigger Criston’s excitable hand. Short breaths puffed from your nose as fury and sorrow rose within you like a tide, little by little building in a wave. In your periphery, Aemond stepped back, a pale hand presented in front of you, palm outstretched for you to take.

Slowly, you let your gaze meet his, heated glare ignoring his offering as you refused to move. One last act of defiance. And one Aemond did not take lightly. Pain bloomed in your shoulder as you were roughly yanked forwards, and thrown backwards against the bed. Cregan shouted from behind you, the chair creaking beneath him.

“I said, strip.” Aemond growled.

Your eyes flicked to Cregan, and then up towards Ser Cole who watched with conflicted eyes.

“Please,” You begged softly again, keeping your eyes on Ser Criston, “Not him too. Not Ser Cole.”

A shifting of armour moved from behind Aemond, and a small ‘Your Grace’ fell from the knights lips.

Aemond spun, momentarily ignoring you as he turned to the knight standing awkwardly beside Cregan Stark, “You may leave, Ser Cole.” Aemond sniffed, “I am certain our guest will behave accordingly.”

Ser Criston’s eyes flickered to yours and then to the Prince as you tried to plead to him with yours for help.

To help the daughter of the woman he was once sworn to.

But no help came.

The Dornish knight bowed his head and left without another word.

“Let her go-“

“-Ah.” Aemond turned slowly towards Cregan, slow steps coming forward until he stood towering over the northerner, “Speak again and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

“Kepus,” You stood from the bed, grasping Aemond’s elbow tightly, hoping, praying that if you asked once more that he could see reason, “Please, let him go. I am yours. I will always be yours.”

Aemond stared at you, his pupil dilated as he stared at you intently.

“Strip.”

You fought the sob that threaten to rise up your throat and slowly lifted your chin.

You would not show weakness.

You would be strong.

With shaking hands, you let your fingers find the strings at the back of your dress, and slowly but surely you pulled the laces, keeping your eyes on your husband who watched with intent.

The gown sagged against your frame, the soft material falling down your chest slowly as you held it for one last moment, hoping that it was all a test, that he would change his mind and stop this madness.

But he didn’t.

Breath held in your chest, you let the gown fall to the floor below you, leaving you in your thin shift before the two men. Cregan looked away, his eyes focusing on the stones of the wall in shame, his hands tucked into tight fists against the arm of the arm of the chair, knuckles turning white.

A shiver ran down your back as the cool of the chambers stiffened your nipples into peaks, brushing against the white of your chemise. Aemond took a slow step towards you and then another, hand lifting to brush under your chin, an attempt to direct your gaze to him. You turned your head defiantly; looking to the wall where Cregan’s gaze laid.

“Y/n.” Aemond warned softly, thumb and forefinger pinching your chin as he turned your face towards him, “Look at me.”

Reluctantly you let yourself, and all you saw was the black of his pupil as he devoured you with his darkened gaze, “You’re so beautiful.” He cooed, “My wife.”

You swallowed thickly, his hand slowly skimming down your neck raising goosebumps along your skin as his fingers came to rest against the edge of your chemise. The tips of his nails scraped softly against your skin as it slipped beneath, and with an even slower movement, he tugged the chemise down off of your shoulders, the thin material floating down to the floor below leaving you completely exposed to the two men in his chambers.

“I will not harm you, though you would deserve it.” Aemond purred, his eye roaming your exposed body, your stomach and core clenching in anticipation, “I plan to make you beg for it.”

You opened your mouth to snap at him, but in the moment his long fingers came to brush under your breast, fingers teasing your nipple softly, your mouth clamped shut. You shyly glanced at Cregan, who’s eyes were scrunched tight. Aemond followed your line of sight, sighing.

“If you do not watch,” Aemond fully turned to Cregan, “I will take out your eyes.”

Even at the One-Eyed Princes threat, Cregan did not lift his gaze from the wall. The Lord of Winterfell willing to risk his sight so that you may keep your dignity.

“Fine.” Aemond grunted, pulling the blade from his belt, “Then I shall take hers.��

Fear shot through you as you stared at Aemond tearfully, watching in your periphery as Cregan’s head turned towards you and yelled.

“No!”

“Then,” Aemond sneered, “Watch.”

With eyes filled with shame, Cregan looked up at you. You didn’t know what to do, what could make it better. What could make any of this not what it was, and so you tried to offer him a reassuring nod. A small promise that it was okay to look when all you knew was how very much it wasn’t.

“Good.” The Prince hummed.

Aemond resumed his touch against you, hand coming to cup your breast fully as he rolled your nipple between his fingers. His touch sent sparks across your chest, shame washing over you in a wave.

Aemond ducked his head towards your face, beckoning you to kiss him. Would he be gentle as he was when you were married? Would it soften his actions? Or would it only make him worse?

Deciding that you didn’t want to push what little patience he had, your eyes slid shut, breath stuck deep in your chest as you felt the heat of his body come closer, the hand on your breast skating around your ribs to pull you closer to him.

When his lips pressed against yours it was light, gentle, almost cautious, your hands staying stiff by your sides. But that softness was short lived, and soon Aemond deepened the kiss, his teeth clashing against yours roughly.

You gasped softly as his other hand wound into your hair, tugging you closer as he nipped your bottom lip roughly. Your hands instinctually came up to his chest, gripping onto his jacket tightly to steady yourself. Anger poured into the kiss, and from behind you could feel the reluctant glare of Cregan.

Aemond pulled away, your eyes fluttering open to look at him. His lips were swollen, having turned a rosy pink as a blush settled across his cheeks. His chest heaved against yours, the stitching on his coat brushing roughly against your stiffened peaks.

“Have you ever bed a woman, Stark?” Aemond asked smugly, brushing the back of your neck as you turned you to face the Northerner again, your back to Aemond’s chest.

Even as exposed as you were, Cregan’s eyes did not shift to look at your body, keeping his simmering glare on Aemond.

Clicking his tongue, Aemond continued, “I’m sure you’ve fucked wildlings and mudmen alike, being a man of the North.” An arm wrapped around the front of your chest, breasts squeezed beneath the toned arm of your uncle behind you, “Tell me, are Winterfells brothels full of sheep like the Vale? Or maybe they’re full of pigs since you’re both fond of the mud.”

The chair beneath Cregan creaked, his jaw tensing in anger as Aemond taunted him. His pale eyes narrowed, lips tensed together in a sneer as his nostrils flared, breathing heavily whilst his hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

“No? Hm.” Aemond’s other hand slid across the skin of your back, travelling around to the front of your stomach slowly, brushing his fingertips along your hip bone as he continued, “You see, Stark, mudmen of the North have no place with the blood of Valyria. The Blood of the Dragon would never sully itself by laying with a Northerner. Nor would a Princess.” His hand continued to dip down, fingers brushing into the hair atop your mound.

Your back arched in instinct, trying to escape his hand, but it only pushed your backside into his clearly hardened member, “Targaryens don’t fuck like animals,” His voice dipped lower, “We bring pleasure to our lovers.”

Aemond’s hand continued down, parting your folds with a finger, seeking out the heat and slick that had gathered at your entrance. Once found, Aemond’s chest vibrated from behind with an appreciative hum, dragging a long slender finger from your entrance, back up to your pearl. You jerked in his hold as he pushed lightly against it, slowly and torturously swirling the digit against your bud, your arousal aiding his movements.

You watched Cregan curiously, the urge to hide yourself strong. His eyes never once left Aemond as he continued to bring you soft pleasure. The Stark’s chest rose and fell shallowly as he glared at the man behind you, who watched back with impatience.

“I won’t tell you again.” Aemond purred, fingers dipping down to your entrance as he suddenly shoved one long finger inside of you, causing you to gasp at the small sting, “Watch her, or I blind her.”

Cregan’s eyes shut as he took a shaky breath, Aemond’s finger crooking inside of you, pressing against your front wall roughly. A whine fell from your lips causing the icy blue eyes to catch yours finally. Cregan swallowed thickly as you stared at one another, your hands gripping the sleeve of Aemond’s arm across your chest, twisting the material between your fingers as you shifted your hips back, pressing against him as he sped up his fingers movement.

Cregan’s stare was hard, his eyes apologetic, watching you shift against your husband behind you as he began to fuck his finger inside of you, the sound of your slick filling the room. Your face flushed with embarrassment.

“She’s quite reactive,” Aemond purred, slipping his finger from within you to rub at your bud again, causing you to jerk in his hold, his arm tightening further around your chest, “Her body knows what it wants, even when she tries to fight it. Do you hear how she needs me?”

Aemond’s finger moved back to your entrance, but instead of one, he forced in a second, the ache from the night before settling within you again.

“Gods.” You whispered softly, pain and pleasure mixing into a confusing blend. Your head fell back against Aemond’s shoulder as he sped up his hand, fucking his fingers inside of you roughly. All you could do was lean your weight back against him, his arm the only thing that held you upright as his arousal pressed into the small of your back.

A familiar warmth began to build within you quickly, a coil rapidly tightening within your gut as Aemond switched from fucking you with his hand, to rubbing slick circles against your pearl. You scrunched your eyes shut, mouth going slack as your breath hitched. You were so close, so close, to reaching your peak, but each time you would almost get there, Aemond would slow his hand down.

You whined in his arms, shifting as you just wished it would end, wishing he would let you peak. It was torture. And with each time he did it, the frustration and desperation built, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin.

“What is the matter?” Aemond cooed into your ear, his fingers slowing to almost a halt, “Did you need something?”

You huffed a breath through your nose, eyes scrunching shut as you tried to thrust your hips into his hand, anything to alleviate the pressure that was strung to snap at any moment. You didn’t care anymore, you just needed it to end. Aemond’s fingers stopped, hovering over your pearl.

You didn’t even want to think of what you must have looked like, bare, hair likely a mess, and body aching for release.

All while Cregan Stark watched.

“If you want something,” Aemond’s lips came to the side of your ear, pressing a ghostly kiss to them, “You need only ask.”

You bit on your bottom lip, willing yourself to not give in, to not give him what he wanted, but all you could think about was reaching your peak. Logically, you told yourself it was for Cregan’s sake so that it could all end quickly, but in reality, it was so that the throbbing in your core would cease, and the sweet feeling of relief could wash over you like it had the night before.

“Come now, you’re not one to hold your tongue. Ask.”

You wet your lips timidly, keeping your eyes shut in shame, not wanting to see Cregan’s face as you begged for the man behind you to touch you again as he watched.

A sharp sting shot through your centre, your eyes springing open as you gasped, you gaze immediately meeting the cold icy glare of Cregan, who’s fists tightened around the arms of the chair.

“Speak.” Aemond commanded, voice sharper in your ear as he watched Cregan tensing to the chair he was tied to.

Your mouth felt dry, and you licked at your lips once more before you softly whispered, “Please.”

“Please what?”

Cregan’s gaze looked back to yours, his eyes softened.

“Please,” You begged softly, “Touch me.”

You heard Aemond hummed from behind you, his finger slowly pressing into your cunt as he gathered slick from your entrance to drag back up to your bud.

“Like this?” He purred, slowly making circles against you, the coil within tightening again.

All you could do was nod, but that was not the answer that Aemond demanded. His fingers left your pearl as he waited, and you huffed in frustration.

“Touch me. Please, Aemond.” You weakly begged, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment, not wanting to see Cregan’s face.

His touched resumed once more, but the arm wrapped around your chest shifted, his hand coming to grasp your chin as he lifted your head to look squarely at Cregan, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks.

“All you needed to do was ask, sweet wife.” Aemond purred, the movement speeding up, bringing you closer and closer to your peak, “I want you to wet my hand, and watch him whilst you do it. If you do not,” His voice dipped low, fingers pressing almost painfully against you, “I will know.”

You swallowed dryly and nodded your head in his grasp, feeling your peak begin to barrel towards you. Cregan watched your face, his own a soft pink and ice blue eyes half lidded.

“Does this feel good? Am I making you nice and wet?” Aemond cooed, hand plucking pleasure from you in ways you didn’t know was possible.

You nodded weakly, “Yes.”

“You can do better than that. Tell him what it feels like.”

Your eyes widened, embarrassment flaring inside of you.

“Tell him or I’ll stop.”

“It-“ You paused, swallowing the last of your pride, “It feels good.”

“What feels good?”

“When you touch me.”

“How so?”

You exhaled shakily, shifting in his arm as his fingers softened their movements, “It feels good when you touch my cunt.”

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, Aemond praised you, causing arousal to spark inside, “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Does it feel good when I fuck you with my hand?”

“Yes, uncle.” You whined weakly.

“Tell Cregan that it feels good when I fuck you with my hand.”

Blinking at the man tied in the chair, you grit your teeth, “It feels good when he fucks me with his hand.”

Cregans nostrils flared as he shifted in his seat, and your head fell back against Aemond once more, “I’m close.” You panted.

You were so close, so, so close to just tipping over the edge, the smell of Aemond behind you suffocating you as heat began to rise through your body. The gaze of the man before you wavered, his eyes momentarily dipping to where Aemond’s hand was rubbing swift and slick circles. That was all it took for you to feel yourself fall undone.

You writhed against Aemond as your peak washed over you, the Northerner watching on as Aemond’s fingers became wet with your release, his gaze darting up to watch your face, jaw slack as he breathed shallowly.

“Shh, shh, shh. Good girl.” Aemond praised you, his hand finally stopping as he smoothed up and down your sides.

A warm glow settled over your body and your eyes slid shut, head lolling to Aemond’s chest behind you as you breathed deeply, the pulsing of your cunt halting any and all thoughts that you had.

But as quick as the calm had come, the quicker it left, your world tilting as you were spun and pushed back onto the bed. Your eyes shot open as you watched Aemond step towards you, Cregan observing with slight concern before you were yanked back down the bed towards the Prince by your ankles, legs splayed open.

On instinct they tried to close, too exposed to the room, but your husband wouldn’t allow it, standing between them as he held them open with his hand, his lone eye commanding you to stay still from above.

Would it be painful like the night before? Would he bring you pleasure as well? Or would it be something entirely different now that you lay down on a bed, the way that your Septa’s had told you it would happen, and certainly not inside a dirty alley in Flea Bottom?

But what your Septa’s had not informed you of was that your husband, who seemed to be more concerned with punishing you than bringing you any reward, began to kneel before the bed, his back to his prisoner.

“I need to taste how sweet you are, and then I shall fuck you.”

With a broad swipe of his tongue, Aemond parted your folds from your entrance to your bud, collecting your release on it as he went. His eye closed as he hummed, coming to lap at your folds once more, pleasure sparking up through you.

You gasped softly, the feeling foreign but not unwelcome. It was more intense than you had thought it could be, but perhaps you were over sensitive from the release you just had. You watched Aemond, his lilac eye opening to look up at you with a smirk.

He pulled away from your centre, lips wet with your slick, “You are as sweet as I thought you would be.”

Aemond stood, towering over you as he began to pull at his belt and breeches, wherein he began untying them, lace after lace ripped from its eyelet until they sagged. His shirt was pulled away, revealing the pale skin of his lower stomach, and the dusting of hair that trailed down from navel to pubis.

The Prince’s length strained against his breeches, the base of it just showing, a purple vein standing out against his starkly pale skin. You hadn’t gotten to see it properly the night before, and the sight of it made your core clench around nothing.

Before he pulled himself from the confines of his pants, Aemond grabbed you once more and shifted you to lay sideways atop his bed, the plush green sheets soft beneath your skin. Your eyes rose to the ceiling, looking at the soft canopy that lay atop before the screeching of a chair on stone caught your attention.

You snapped your head to the side, watching as Aemond effortlessly dragged Cregan by the chair closer to the bed, only an arms length away. He towered over the man from Winterfell who looked up at him with nothing but contempt.

“You’ll watch me fuck her,” Aemond began smugly, “And know that it could never be you. Know that it will never be you.” Cregan attempted to sit up higher in the seat, chest pulling at the ropes that held him back, “You’ll watch me bring peak after peak from her as she wets my cock and likes it, and you’ll remember that it was me doing it.”

“Aemond.” You tried to distract him, try to take the attention away from Cregan, who watched with burning eyes, “Please.”

The silver haired Prince turned his head towards you and smirked before looking back at Cregan, “You see? She already begs for more.” Aemond walked back towards you, only two short steps from the bed as his eye roamed your naked body, gaze settling into the crux of your thighs, “She only had me last night, and already she begs so nicely.”

With jerky movements, Aemond pulled his length from his breeches, the length and girth large and intimidating. The tip was a rosy pink, and long veins travelled up its length. A bead of arousal had begun to form on top, slowly leaking down the base as he knelt on the bed, pulling you down to meet his hips, and had you not already experienced it, you would have been filled with fear.

Aemond thrust into you quickly and sharply, pain filling you before a feeling of fullness, his tip pressing at the end of your walls. You hissed softly, hands having raised to grasp his arms, nails biting into his skin beneath his shirts.

Your husband leant down, lips brushing against your cheek as it moved to your ear, “Do you like when I spear you on my cock?” He purred, his breath tickling your neck.

With clenched teeth you nodded, willing your body to adjust to his size quickly.

“Use your words, you’re not a mute.”

“Yes.” You grit out, turning your head away from him as he loomed above you, arms on either side of your head as he lay between your parted thighs.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Aemond.”

“Close.

You swallowed, “Yes, Husband.”

“Good.” Aemond pulled out of you swiftly before he thrust back in, “Girl.”

You exhaled sharply, the angle so far different from the night before. He felt deeper, more intense, everywhere all at once.

It was overwhelming.

You scrunched your eyes shut as Aemond began to rut into you, your hands not once leaving his arms as you clutched onto him, shifting your hips to alleviate the way his tip pressed harshly against your cervix with each thrust.

His hips clapped against yours brutally, speeding up, the movement shifting you up the bed as you squeaked with each impact, a warmth beginning to pool in your gut once more. The hair at the base of his cock brushed against your pearl roughly as his pelvis slid against yours, the stimulation winding that all too familiar coil again.

A moan broke free from your lips as Aemond shook a hand free, hoisting up one of your legs atop his hip, shifting the angle entirely so that his cock brushed against the small spongey patch within you deliciously, pleasure sending sparks through your limbs. Your eyes were shut so tightly, you could see stars behind them, your bottom lip gnawed between teeth.

“Open your eyes.” Aemond breathed from above, his pace not once faltering.

Your head tipped to the side, away from where Cregan sat, eyes still scrunched shut as you whined beneath him.

“I said,” Aemond grunted, hand roughly coming to grasp your chin as he turned your head back towards Cregan, “Open.”His fingers squeezed painfully against your jaw, bruises likely to show in the morning, your eyes finally opening to find Cregan watching you already.

“Lord Stark knows how to follow orders. He’s not once taken his eyes off you.” Aemond purred, thrusting particularly sharply into you causing you to wince, “Do you think he wishes he were I?”

Your mouth felt dry again, and all you could do was watch as the blush on Cregan’s cheeks depend and his eyes momentarily flashed away form you before returning, remembering Aemond’s threat.

“I think he does, sweet wife. I think he wishes that he was in your tight, wet, cunt as I am now. Don’t you agree?”

Your breasts moved with each thrust, the sound of your slick sliding against his length loud as it was before as you huffed beneath your husband.

Aemond’s fingers tightened against your jaw, “I asked you a question.”

“Yes.”

Another squeeze.

“I do.” You breathed, your face suddenly feeling flushed.

The man on top of you pulled out suddenly, hands moving under your sides to flip you over onto your stomach.

“Do not-“ You began angrily.

“-Quiet.” Aemond snapped, grabbing your hips as he pulled you up onto your knees, your hands fisting the sheets as you looked ahead, uncertainty filling your features before you felt the head of Aemond cock slide through your folds, and push straight back inside.

“Fuck you.” You hissed as he began to fuck into you, “Gods.” The angle made you feel even fuller than before, but shallower too, his length constantly batting against your walls as his hips clapped against your ass.

You struggled to stay upright as he continued, his grip on your hips painful as he pulled you back onto him, the air being punched from your lungs each time, making you gasp out small little high pitched huffs. A hand in your hair wrenched your head back and then to the side, directing your face to meet the Stark’s who’s eyes were not on your own, but instead upon your body.

The heat of his gaze caused you to clamp down on Aemond’s length, the Lord’s roaming eyes watching as the Princes cock buried itself over and over inside of you, before slowly roaming back up your body, catching sight of your breasts below you as they moved, and then finally to your face.

Seeing that he was caught, Cregan flushed, eyes casting down briefly before looking back up at you. He shifted against the chair, hands still tightly clenched against the arm, chest heaving, his thick muscled thighs clenching against the seat, and to-

Oh.

Cregan shifted again, knowing where your gaze had fallen, his hips trying to shift back against the wooden chair, but there was nothing to hide the hardening length within his dark leathered breeches, which pressed painfully to the front of his pants.

Your core clenched again, and from behind you heard Aemond grunt.

You should have been upset, you should have been horrified, but all it did was set the heat that was already simmering in your gut ablaze, your nipples stiffening to peaks. Instinctually you arched your back, hoping to better the view, which got another grunt of appreciation from your husband, who’s pace was yet to falter, his stamina owed to years of hard work in the training yard with Ser Criston Cole.

Cregan’s lips parted as he watched you, the pink of his tongue coming out to wet his lips, and that was all it took for you to come undone. You cried out loudly, keeping your eyes on Cregan as Aemond fucked you through your release, triggering his own. He came with a growl, his hips slowing to a halt as you felt his seed pulse inside of you.

You collapsed against the bed, eyes half lidded as you watched Cregan shift again against his chair as Aemond slowly pulled out of you with a hiss. Warmth dripped from your folds and down your thighs as you felt the soft press of kiss against your shoulder blades.

Your uncle manoeuvred you on the bed again, your body pliant in his hands as he pulled you to the edge of the bed, legs spread wide for Cregan to see. The man’s pale eyes drifted down to between your thighs, watching hungrily as Aemond’s spend dripped out from within you.

“Tell me Cregan,” Aemond stood by the bed panting, tucking his length back into his breeches whilst he brushed a loose hair over your shoulder, “Did you enjoy watching me fuck my wife?”

The taunt earnt him a sneer.

“An honest question deserving of an honest answer. I thought Stark’s were known for the honesty and oaths?” Aemond pressed.

You breathed heavily as you watched Cregan’s gaze fell to you and only you in that moment as his answer was given.

“Yes.”

There was no denying the edge of arousal that roughened the edge of his answer.

“Hm.” A beat, “Would you like a taste?”

You brows furrowed as you looked up to your husband, who kept his eye on Cregan, his hand atop your shoulder brushing gently in thought.

A taste?

Did he mean to-

Your heart leapt into your throat, watching as Aemond took his blade from his side and moved towards the Stark man.

“Stop!” You yelled, watching as Cregan did not flinch when Aemond approached him.

“Worry not, I mean no harm. I am feeling generous.” Aemond purred, lifting the blade towards Cregan, “He watched dutifully as I put my seed inside of you.” His lilac eye dropped to Cregan’s hardened member, “And it seems that he has enjoyed it.” The Prince turned to face you, “I only wish to give him a parting gift. Something to remember… to agonise over for years to come.”

With a swift hand, Aemond sliced the ropes that bound Cregan's chest to the back of the chair, the Northerner staying still in his seat. The tall Targaryen bent down and cut the ropes on the mans legs loose, one by one.

“Now,” Aemond stood to his full height again, pointing his blade towards Cregan’s wrists, still tied to the chair, “Know that I have your men in a holding cell, and should you try anything, I shall have them all cut into seven pieces and strung about the gates.” Aemond paused, his gaze hardening, “And then I will stay true to my word.”

Cregan’s chest heaved with anger as he watched the prince, still not speaking a word.

“Do we understand each other?” Aemond questioned him, one silver brow lifted in challenge.

Cregan’s jaw clenched, a click audible to the chambers, “Yes.” He growled.

Aemond hummed in acknowledgement and released his hands, taking a step back as Cregan stood slowly, rubbing at his raw wrists as he looked at you on the bed. His head turned back towards your husband, uncertain of what he meant.

Impatiently Aemond thrust his arm towards you, blade still in hand, “Go to her. Taste how sweet she is, and know that you will never taste her again.”

Cregan shifted on his feet uncomfortably, looking to you for permission, for denial.

You didn’t know what to do, or what to say, so instead, you widened your legs in invitation, feeling desire begin to stir in you once more.

It was wrong.

But Gods did you need it.

“Clean her up.” Aemond commanded, and with slow and cautious steps, Cregan walked towards you.

The scent of Aemond was overpowered by that of Cregan’s. He smelt of cedar wood and fur, and the soft smell of musk beneath it all that just felt right for a Northerner.

It felt as if each stepped dragged on for days. You shifted against the bed nervously, casting your eyes to Aemond, who watched with a desire of his own.

Cregan dropped to his knees, his hands twitching by the side of your hips on the bed, cautious to even touch you, a stark difference to the way Aemond simply took. The dark haired man looked up at you breathlessly as you gave him a nod, shifting your hips towards him again, likings the way his eyes dropped down to your centre and then back up.

His large calloused hands grasped the soft meat of your hips, his eyes keeping on yours as he leant froward slowly, the heat of his breath fanning across your sensitive folds. Your mouth parted as you panted above him, watching as he wet his lips before finally pressing a chaste kiss to your core.

A soft moan escaped your mouth, head dropping back momentarily, giving him a strike of confidence before burying his tongue between your folds. You dropped back onto the bed, hands coming to grasp his hair as he licked and suckled at your folds, lapping at both your and Aemond’s release which only served to spark your desire further, that same familiar coil winding rapidly.

You tilted your head to watch him, his eyes still on you as you began to come undone on his tongue. Your name pulled you away from his stare, and you turned your head to face Aemond who watched hungrily from beside, his jaw tensed.

Already sensitive from such an intense night already, you writhed against Cregan’s mouth with a moan, his ministrations bringing you to your peak swiftly, your slick gushing into his mouth. You kept your eyes on Aemond this time, watching as he breathed deeply, his cock already beginning to swell in his breeches.

You panted and whined as the pleasure became too much, and only then did Cregan remove his face from between your thighs, roughly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The chambers became still as you all breathed deeply, warmth spreading through your limbs as you couldn’t decide who to look at for longest.

Your husband.

Or the Northerner.

All you could think about was what you had done.

What had just transpired.

Your husband had trapped a Lord of the North in his chambers and forced him to watch you be fucked by him, and not only that, commanded that he cleaned you after. But what was the most confusing part of all, was that all in the chambers seemed to have liked it.

“Cole.” Aemond’s voice broke the stillness of the room, the door to the chambers opening swiftly.

Cregan stepped in front of you to shield your body from Ser Cole at the same time Aemond did, his back turning to his knight as he grabbed the sheet of the bed to drape over your exposed body.

The knight entered, flagged by two guards.

Confusion flashed across Cregan’s face as he stiffened, body gearing itself up for a fight.

“Relax, Stark.” Aemond mused, not even bothering to look at the man as he observed the guards, eye landing on Ser Cole again, “Take Cregan and his men to the travel roads. Ensure they have food for travel and water for the ride. They are to leave Kings Landing immediately to return back to Winterfell.”

Ser Cole nodded, as did the guards who swiftly approached Cregan, grabbing each arm as they began to remove him from Aemond’s chambers. The dark haired man looked back at you in confusion as you clutched the sheet your chest, unsure of what to do.

“Stark.” Aemond called out before the dark haired mans foot could cross the threshold. The Northerner stilled, eyes suspicious, “Expect a raven.”

Without another word, the guards pulled Cregan out of the room, Criston shutting the door behind them. The silence in the chambers was nerve-racking, and you turned to look at your uncle, who was already making his way to fill two goblets of wine.

Your mouth opened, a myriad of questions ready to pour out your mouth, but as usual, Aemond seemed to be one step ahead.

“You’re my wife.” He began, the sound of wine filling goblets. He turned with them in hand, coming to stand beside the bed as he handed you one.

You kept one hand with the sheets against your breast, the other shakily grasping the goblet, fatigue weighing your body down. Aemond spun to sit in the very chair that Cregan had been tied to, the ropes still on the floor in a heap.

“Our marriage is one of a prospect of peace, not love.” His words stung you in a way you didn’t realise they could, “Though, I do hope to change that one day. I wish to make you happy,” He paused, taking a sip from his goblet as he thought carefully, “And it would be remiss of me to say that what just happened didn’t spark something within me.”

You frowned, “I do not understand.”

“You looked like a Queen having him kneel before you.”

A beat.

“My Queen."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to any tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3

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shutupcrime · 11 months

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Show Jaime:

“I know I just slept with Brienne who I have a deep attachment to, and I’m about six seasons deep into a redemption arch but Ima peace out and get crushed by rocks with my sister wife”

Book Jaime literally in the middle of reading a letter from Cersei begging him to come and save her:

“I wonder what brienne is doing right now”

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arcielee · 4 months

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The Dragon and the Wolf

Summary: “...perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.” Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 2700+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, kissing, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity, slight overstimulation, creampie. Author’s Note: This was the poll winner! 💜 Thank you to my lovelies @aemondsbabe and @valeskafics for helping me brainstorm the title. No beta, my mistakes are my own and I am woefully sorry for them all. This will be a series of one-shots of the moments between Prince Aemond Targaryen and his Northern bride-to-be (which I pulled from my OC!Stark x Aemond Targaryen story, but whatever). There will be fluff and there will be smut. Enjoy!

You could feel the panicked gaze from your handmaiden, her visceral exasperation spilling as she watched you pace the room, but you could not hold still.

Not tonight, not after that kiss.

She begged until you finally allowed her to help you change into your nightgown, despite how your skin felt aflame. She then took your hand to lead you to the vanity to sit, to hold still, to allow her to brush and braid your hair for bed, just as she had every night since you first arrived to the Red Keep months ago.

You had traveled from Winterfell at the behest of your brother, a promise to see through what the late King Jaehaerys failed to accomplish: to solidify the bond between the North and South kingdoms. Cregan saw no harm with the capital’s proposal, as you had already scorned all of the Northern lords who called for your hand.

“Who knows, sister,” his eyes twinkled just as your father’s had when he was still alive, “perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.”

You had scoffed, but soon realized how right Cregan had been, that you were enamored from the moment you met Aemond. The rest of the Keep seemed to fade away as you watched him, his imposing severity that settled into the sharp contours of his face and in the way he held himself. He towered you; he watched you with his one eye, a lovely lavender that flitted over you, while the other was hidden beneath a leather patch with the wrathful scar that curled above and below.

You remembered the touch of his hand–his palm calloused and warm and gentle–when he took your own; you recalled the spill of silver as he leaned forward and the softness of his lips against your knuckles with his kiss. Even his low timbre soothed you as he repeated your name; the introduction left you blood rising to the surface.

Your courtship with the prince was something to be displayed–an ailing king’s desperate grasp at legacy. Aemond played the role of the perfect, regal gentlemen, but you wished to pull him away from the prying eyes of the court, to learn everything about the infamous one-eyed Targaryen prince.

There were stolen moments scattered with Aemond and you collected them piece by piece, but still you were rarely, if ever, allowed a moment to be truly alone with him.

It was not until the crowned princess returned to the capital, and the chaos that followed and ruined the family supper, that you were able to follow after Aemond, out into the gardens of the Red Keep.

You recognized his silhouette at once, and moved closer until you saw his ethereal glow from how the moon poured over him. Your tone was soft at first, a teasing kindness until you saw the upwards curl of his lips, and you dared giggle with your encouragement that he should teach you swear words that would best describe his nephews in High Valyrian.

And then something changed, something shifted. Aemond stepped closer and you felt the cool night air pull away, enveloped by his warmth, the scent of smoke and leather and sandalwood. His palm moved to cup the side of your face and then he kissed you.

This was your first truly intimate moment you shared with your betrothed. And it was also your first kiss.

You sighed sweetly in his mouth, a kindled passion that thrummed from where his hands touched your hips, his hold to pull you closer only to quickly recoil once one of the Cargyll knights finally found you both.

The White Cloak then escorted you back to your quarters, your steps lead-filled, and here you were expected to sit still as your handmaiden fret over your hair.

But you could not sit still, hence why your slippered foot tapped the stone floor, your heart pounding violent against your chest as that kiss in the garden replayed in your mind…

“Please, my lady,” your handmaiden squeaked, the ivory comb tangling in your hair.

Your hands flared out to ward off her touch, your tone cutting. “Thank you, but that is enough. You are relieved from your duties for the rest of the night,” you stood up, pushing the poor girl and sending her stumbling towards the door.

Her eyes were wide. “I–I have not finished with–”

“I have hands of my own,” you grabbed the silk robe to cover yourself, “I shall manage,” and when you turned to step towards the girl once more, she squeaked again. She moved to open the door and paused to see Prince Aemond already poise, his one arm tucked behind his back and the other lifted as if he meant to knock.

It was an eternal silence; Aemond looked startled, but his gaze eventually found yours, and you stared back, unabashed, burning from the sight of him.

Meanwhile your handmaiden, mortified, shrank to slip past the prince and leave.

Only when you heard the soft sound of the door closing behind did you find the courage to move towards Aemond, reaching for his tunic and pulling him close. You fell into him, your lips hungry for his own and he returned your passion before slowing to savor, his tongue running your bottom lip and then curling into your mouth.

It continued until your breath was an exchange between, his exhale becoming your inhale and trilling through your veins, pumping your heart. Your mind was clouded with his proximity–you felt giddy and your hands twisted into his tunic to hold yourself upright.

He hummed, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flushed against his chest. A shy sigh spilled when you felt his length pressing through the fabric and against your stomach, a bolt of warmth and want curling together. But your passion was replaced with a trepidation, something that now curdled instead.

You broke the kiss, a rosiness spilling from your lips to your cheeks, to the tip of your nose: “I lost my maidenhead on horseback.” You felt your blood thicken with your confession. “But I have never been…”

The words would not come, but Aemond did not need them. Instead he closed the little space you created, his warm palms moving to cup your face and bring you back to capture your lips with a tender kiss.

“I will be gentle,” his low timbre promised. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

You believed him, as you had seen his actions that spoke far louder during your time at the capital. He had always shown you a careful consideration since the courtship began, but now you found that you could not wait another moment.

Your fingers pulled at the silk robe you had thrown on, allowing it to slip from your shoulders and puddle onto the floor. Your hands moved to the lacing that lined the front of your nightgown, but you paused, pinned under the lavender of his eye.

His chest rose and fell with his steadied breath a moment before he offered his hands, his slender fingers gentle to loosen the ties. Aemond stopped to place kisses on the slope of your shoulder, your chest, a soft tickle of his lips as more of your skin was bared to him.

You felt vibrant, ignited by his touch, and you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, admiring the flush of rose that now stained his skin. You pulled at your skirts, grabbing the bottom hem and peeling it over, dropping it into the silk puddle already at your feet.

Lust now swallowed the lavender, but Aemond only hummed his admiration as his gaze slowly dragged from your face, following your curves and then returning to meet with your eyes again.

“Gevie,” he mused with a slight curl to his lips.

You burned, cursing your Septa for the little Valyrian she indulged to teach you, too shy to ask now for a translation, but bold enough to reach for him. Your fingers touched the buckles of his tunic. Aemond hummed again as you began to undress him, until he was bare from the waist up, and the heat that pooled from him now seeped and curled into your core.

His form was lean, taut, with a muscular definition and its decoration of silver scars scattered across his chest and his abdomen. Your fingers trailed the lines that cut into his trimmed waist, and then you stepped closer to press a soft kiss to the right side of his jaw.

Aemond caught your chin, bringing your lips to meet with his own again. His kiss was drawn out, wringing the air from your lungs but still so gentle that you could not help but melt into his chest, into the warmth that he embodied.

Your fingers reached to touch his jaw but paused, a hovering hesitation. He took your hand and brought it back to cradle against his chest, watching you. You swallowed. “Aemond, please,” you began slowly, your voice careful, “I wish to see all of you.”

His jaw steeled with your request, tense for that moment but then he reached with his other hand to remove the eyepatch. The crimson seemed bolder, brighter, cutting through from his brow and into his cheek, and you also saw that placed in his scarred socket was a sapphire stone that glittered in the amber light of the room.

You pressed to your tiptoes, your fingertips touching to tilt his jaw down and you pressed a kiss beneath, your lips careful to trail his maim before placing another against his cheek. “Ñuha zaldrīzes,” but you were slow with the only Valyrian you knew, and finished with another kiss to his lips.

My dragon.

His expression was unreadable, and for a moment you believed that you had ruined the practiced pronunciation. But then Aemond moved to wrap his arms back around your waist, his face burying into the softness of your neck and his hands grabbing into the curves of your hips. Your laughter spilled as you felt him lift you enough for your feet to not touch the stone floors, your arms wrapping around his neck, and Aemond moved with wide steps, bringing you back towards your bedside.

You fell back onto the mattress, looking up at him. His neck bobbed as his eye followed the pink hues that now spilled from your cheeks to your neck and onto your chest. Your nipples were peaked and your eyes shone bright as he stepped closer, climbing onto the bed and moving on top of you.

He tucked his head to trace the slope of your neck with his lips and your back arched with the desire to feel his chest against your bare skin, a fluttered moan spilling from you. Aemond moved lower, placing warm, open mouthed kisses that scorched your skin, with a warmth that was pouring into your core.

Aemond continued lower, his silver tresses spilling and tickling your skin as he moved between your plush thighs. You mewled with the touch of his lips to the inside, and your thighs squeezed to stop him.

You are breathless. “It tickles.”

He only hummed, reaching to press his hand onto your stomach, a comforting touch as his fingers traced abstract lines on your skin. “Let me,” and his exhale was titillating as he nestled back between.

Aemond was careful with his touch, just as he always showed himself to be. He was aware of your every sound and sigh, pacing himself with a slow rhythm that began to build until his clever tongue had you pinned to the mattress.

You blossomed with bated breath, grabbing fistfuls of the bed linen to ground yourself from falling into the trance of his ministrations. You felt a prod at your entrance, his finger curling within, and your pleasure fluttered up your spine. It was too much and you writhed from his mouth, but his other hand moved underneath your thigh, gripping into your soft flesh, halting you.

Let me.

Aemond quickened his pace, encouraged by your quiet pants, from how your heartbeat now pulsed around the digits that were knuckle deep in you. You felt Aemond pulling you towards a precipice that was consuming, a warmth that crashed against and spilled throughout. Your heart still bruised against your ribs from the cresting tremors of your fading pleasure, and only then did you notice it.

How Aemond grinned smugly against your wet cent.

You reached with boneless fingers that tangled into his silver hair, pulling him back so you could capture his mouth that now glistened with you. It was your own bittersweet taste on his lips and you felt emboldened to grab his waistband. When your fingers brushed against his heavy bulge that pressed the crotch of his slacks, a sweeping shyness returned.

He pulled back with a sly smile, removing them before he moved back on top. His arms cage you to the bed and your skin rose with how his breath fanned against your cheeks. “I do not wish to hurt you,” he repeated after a moment, but his heavy hesitation lifted as you pulled him into the cradle of your hips.

You sighed from how he molded into the softness of your body, and Aemond gave another savoring kiss. “Please, Aemond,” your eyes wet from your want, and his head dipped to watch as he grabbed the base, careful to line himself with your entrance.

Aemond paused with a new trepidation that settled along the rose hues that dusted his sharp features. You squirmed beneath him, searching for friction, to feel the blunt press of his cockhead against your silken folds.

“Aemond,” you now plead, a honeyed whisper, another kiss to encourage him, “I want you.”

He watched you as he pressed forward, and you felt a stretch, a fullness as his hips moved against yours. You tensed from the new sensation, your nails biting and leaving red crescent marks that startled against the white of his skin.

Aemond stilled at once, allowing you a moment to adjust, his brow furrowed with his concern. You then let out a soft exhale before tilting your chin to give him a kiss, a promise that you were fine.

And only then did Aemond move, slowly, carefully, with each gentle thrust that split you further as he sheathed himself fully within you. It rekindled a deeper passion, and your eyes widened with a small gasp; he dipped his head to press his lips to your neck, decorating the column with his kisses, your pulse thrumming beneath. It began to ripple through you and your thighs tightened around his slender waist, beckoning him closer still.

“Aemond,” you gasped.

He hummed his acknowledgement, pushing himself up. He used one arm for balance while his other hand moved to press onto your hip, his palm trailing closer to your bloom above, his thumb moving in circles.

You felt raw, sensitive still from before, and something sparked with his touch. The air was thick and caught in your throat; a passion spilled from you without the same tensity from the first time, though still with a melody that played sweetly throughout your veins.

Your velvet walls clenched with your climax and it pulled Aemond after. He groaned his own release, melting against you and burying his face back into the curve of your neck. You gasped again from how he pulsed between your legs, his heart rattling through to your bones.

After a moment, Aemond rolled to the side, his chest expanding to catch his breath before he reached to pull you to curl against him, equally breathless and aglow. Your arm was thrown across, your face pressed against to feel the rhythm of his heart, his seed spilling onto your thigh; his fingers began to trace patterns on your skin.

He leaned to press another kiss to your hairline, and he whispered the same word from before. “Gevie.”

“What does that mean?” You cannot help your grin, tilting your head back to look at him.

His other hand came round, a finger pressed to your cheek to look at you. “Beautiful,” he said and then he gave you another kiss.

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arcie's masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #stark!reader #the dragon and the wolf

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dragons-and-handcuffs · 4 months

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Okay but imagine Aemond and his niece!reader. The usual love story between them that is bound to end in tragedy. It ended with just Aemond confessing that he was using you, a sort of like revenge.

But you get married to Cregan Stark. You didn't love him at first but he constantly proved his devotion and affection towards you. Aemond's betrayal made you believe that you will never be able to love anyone, not even your husband. But now you are with child. The heir of winterfell. You won't say you love Cregan but you don't dislike him. You have feelings for him but your past heartbreak is stopping you from realizing them.

Imagine Aemond takes the war to winterfell. You thought it was to kill you and your child, but it was actually to get you back. Aemond is certain you don't love your husband, and he is ready to leave the war and finally fly away with you. You don't know any of it. No one does.

Imagine Aemond and Cregan fighting. Sword to sword. Aemond has Cregan beaten, telling him to hand you over. That's when the wolf realized that Aemond loves you. Cregan knew you were never able to return his feelings because of Aemond and he was certain you would go with him.

But you came running. Going to your beaten husband instead of Aemond. You believe Aemond has come to kill you, but there was no reason for Cregan to die because of you. You can't let him die. You can't let Aemond kill your husband, the man you love.

You looked at Aemond with nothing but hate and anger. A look you have never given anyone before. "I know you are here to kill me, uncle," You said, spitting hate, trying to keep Cregan behind you. "I am right here. You can drive that sword right through me, and no one else has to die," Aemond was speechless. Cregan was trying his best to regain his strength and protect you. "But if you ever love me for even a single moment then I beg you to leave us alone. I beg of you to give me the chance to raise my child with my husband, with the man I love," You said with teary brave eyes, believing this is your last moment.

Aemond was broken. He lowered his sword. His lips slightly parted as if he was about to say something but he couldn't form any words. Meanwhile Cregan finally stood up, barely able to keep his balance but pointing his sword at Aemond. It didn't go unnoticed that you just confessed your feelings for your husband.

"I wish you get to live the life this war tried to take from you," Aemond said rather emotionlessly and left, not giving another look to you. He can't. He won't. Otherwise he will break.

You were surprised. Cregan was not. He knew Aemond spared his life because you love him. Because Aemond loves you.

Imagine that night you are tending to your husband's wounds, bandaging him up. Cregan's eyes only on you. Both your eyes met and stayed connected for a few seconds. Lots of silent words and emotions filled the room. Cregan gently pulled you into a kiss and for the first time you immediately kissed him back. You finally let him in your heart.

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blakeswritingimagines · 5 months

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Reaction to you asking for a kiss

Aegon: He smiled and leaned towards you, allowing you to close the distance the same as he does, as he reached out to lay his hands on your waist. As you get closer, he presses his lips to yours softly and tenderly. The passion he holds for you burns brightly and warmly, and he presses his lips more firmly to yours as passion begins to take hold.

Aemond: He'll hold your face in his hands and pull you into a long passionate kiss. He holds you close pulling you into his chest. Making you feel safe in his arms. He then runs his fingers through your hair, down the back of your neck, rubbing your shoulders and caressing your skin. Causing you to shiver.

Jacaerys: His lips curl up into a confident grin, and his dark eyes shift their focus from your face to your lips as he leaned in close. Your noses brush against each other and the warmth of your breathing creates a small cloud of condensation between you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist, the heat of your bodies mingling together as you share this moment of passion. Your lips touch and the world fades away, the only thing that matters is the sensation of your mouths and tongues melding together.

Rhaenyra: "Come here" She'll reply, leaning down to kiss her partner. Your lips lock softly at first. Your tongues twine, exploring one another with passion and ease. Her hands run up and down the curves of your body, enjoying the way you fit against her. Your lips part and you kiss deeply again. This time your lips stay open and your breaths mingle as your tongues explore one another. You'll break apart, both breathless and hungry for more.

Daemon: It depends on how he feels in the moment. If he is just doing it for the sake of doing it, he would feel nothing - no warmth, no rush of endorphins. But if he truly loves you, then he would feel that rush, that warmth, and his body would tingle with every kiss. It is as if your bodies and minds were merged together, and every kiss would be an intoxicating bliss.

Alicent: She pulled you in close and pressed her lips firmly to yours. Your lips respond willingly, meeting hers with passion and warmth. As your tongues gently dance together, she slides her hands between you and pulls your body close against hers as your bodies melt together.

Helena: She would wrap her arms around your waist, bringing herself fully into your embrace. After gazing into your eyes for a moment, she would place her hands gently on your face and lean in slowly, taking care not to make it too sudden. Her hand would hold the nape of your neck as the kiss began, with her fingers sliding through your hair as she brought her lips to meet yours.

Harwin: He would look you in the eyes and wait. He would wait for a couple of seconds, and in those moments, he would take in your beauty. your delicate features, sharp and vibrant, and your soft lips. He would watch your breath slow and still, and he would notice how the air would catch in your throat and then leave in a sigh. And then... He would move in slowly and kiss you. Gently and softly, but with longing and passion.

Cregan: Cregan would probably react by kissing you tenderly, pulling you in close, and wrapping an arm around your hip. He would start off slowly and sensually, then speed up as he felt the desire growing and your responses becoming more passionate. He would tease your lips with his tongue before opening his mouth fully and allowing your tongue to explore his mouth as well. He would make you feel so desired and loved in his embrace, the heat of your bodies filling the air.

Criston: He smiles at you and leans forward, pressing his lips against yours softly. Your tongues intermingle and your breath becomes tangled between you both. Your arms wrap around one another, pulling each other closer. As your lips part you continue to stare into each other's eyes, letting your thoughts and senses intermingle together in a deep connection of passion and understanding. Your heartbeat pulses in sync, a symbol of your eternal love.

#aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys valaryon x reader #lucerys velaryon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #alicent hightower x reader #helena targaryen x reader #ser harwin x reader #cregan stark x reader #criston cole x reader #house of the dragon

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thewriterwithnoplan · 4 months

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THE WINTER KEEP (2/2)

Summary: You have fled the Red Keep, the Greens and Alicent's poison. It is time to play your hand and herald your mother's ascension on a larger scale. You will fly to Winterfell, treat with the Lord Cregan Stark and await your brother. You are weak and a girl, no longer. You are a dragon ready to spill blood to ensure your promises are kept.

[Part 2 to The Highest Tower]

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader

Word Count: 5631

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd, pretty sure I'm missing something...

Masterlist

Laesuvion had taken to the skies through a hole in the dragon pit. Swift and lethal and stealthy as a white dragon against dark clouds could be. Come morning the whole of Kings Landing would know that you had fled. Come morning the usurper King and his council of snakes would be plotting your demise. You would need every advantage, every inch of distance you could gain before they found the wherewithal to send men after you. The Queen could protect you no longer, your time as her ward had passed. As Laesuvion crested the skies above the Red Keep, and you urged him north, you left just as you had arrived all those years ago. Rhaenyra’s only daughter. Her greatest supporter. Her most loyal weapon.

It took some days to fly north, you rested only once. On the second night of flying, setting down in the swamplands just beyond Greywater Watch. You swaddled yourself in your flying cloak and huddled in a hollow tree as Laesuvion hunted. Sleep came in fitful bursts, each gust of wind and animal sound convincing you that despite your head start from having flown through night and day and night again, the king's loyal men had somehow found you. You awoke around dawn to find Laesuvion’s bulk curved around your tree, his breathing deep and rhythmic in sleep. You crept toward his front claws and the charred mass caged there.

Your first food in some hours, since the day prior when you had polished off the meagre supplies you had smuggled out of the Keep. You tore charred clumps from what might have once been a deer or livestock from a nearby farm. You set these aside in case Laesuvion woke hungry, as you shredded his offering until– There, protected by the cocoon of hardened char, well-cooked meat. You gorged yourself.

You took to the skies an hour later, dehydration your greatest enemy so close to the searing sun. You wrapped your cloak around you, tied yourself firmly to the saddle and tried desperately to catch another snatch of rest. Through that morning, that evening and night, Laesuvion tore through the skies of Westeros.

You landed in the Northlands on the third dawn of your travels. The south gate of Winterfell rose to greet you, a small host of men waiting under its shelf. Dehydrated, exhausted, terrified, you could have wept with joy.

“Holt!” You startled. It was a woman.

“I mean no harm.” You dismounted Laesuvion carefully, moving purposefully to disguise your limb's feeble shakes. At eye level, though separated by a good fifty yards you repeated, “I mean you no harm.”

“Your dragon?” The woman demanded.

The men shifted nervously as Laesuvion gave a chest-deep rumbling purr. “Merely glad to have found our destination.”

“Come forward.”

“To whom do I speak?” You inched forward, Laesuvion nosing at your back.

“Sara Snow.” Up close you found Sara Snow to be very beautiful. With ebony hair twisted in intricate braids and eyelashes so long they caught snowflakes. A true northern beauty, with a sword strapped to her back and a pelt secured to her shoulders.

“I seek an audience with Lord Cregan Stark.”

“He is in a meeting with his men.”

“He will want to speak to me.” You smiled pleasantly, “He owes loyalty to my mother, the Queen.”

“House Stark owes loyalty to King Viserys.” Sara jutted her chin, “No oaths were sworn to his lady-wife.”

“You misunderstand me, Sara Snow. I speak of my mother, the Realms Delight. Queen Rhaenyra to whom Lord Rickon swore fealty.”

The men sent furtive glances to one another. Sara paused and then curtsied. “Forgive me, Princess. The North had not heard word of you for some years now, we feared you had been lost.”

“Ah, I have been kept to the Keep for some time.”

“Winterfell is most honoured to–” Sara turned.

The sound of crunching snow, hurried footsteps, quickened breath. One of Sara’s men toppled to the ground as a dire wolf barrelled through his legs. Pitch black but frosted with snow, it careened toward you. The man giving chase shouted the wolf’s name, skidded around the line of men, and stumbled to a stop mere inches in front of you. In what seemed to be perfect, practised coordination, Laesuvion jammed his snout into your back as the dire wolf danced around his owner's legs. In a heap of limbs, winter cloaks, and riding leathers, you collapsed on the man and fell to the snow.

You wheezed; the air knocked from your lungs. Your limbs shook as you scrambled up, plating a hand on the man's face as leverage.

“Sir.” You hissed; with all the royal poise you could muster. Alicent would be appalled. Your mother would be beyond amused.

“My apologies, lady.” The man grabbed your hips to lift you from him. Mortified you slapped his hands away and fought to your feet. “If you would just let me–”

You struggled, “Unhand me!”

“Here, just–” You planted a knee in his groin. He tried to curl up beneath you.

“Get off me!” You gave him a harsh shove and fumbled to your feet. “How dare–”

Sara Snow launched into raucous laughter. Hand clutching her side as she howled in delight. Her men shuffled as if wondering whether to intervene. Your assailant hobbled to his feet, one handheld protectively over his front, the other outstretched toward you as if to keep you at a distance.

You whirled toward Sara, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Apologies, lady.” The man heaved, his dire wolf prancing about his feet. “It was an honest accident. Shadow has been tense of late.”

“You let your wolf run wild in such a way?” You sneered.

“As wild as you allow your dragon to be.”

As if on cue, Laesuvion pressed the length of his head to your back again. The dire wolf herded his owner.

“Laesuvion?” You turned, pressing your freezing fingers to the scales of his nose. “Lykirī, iōrās aril.” (be calm, stay back).

He huffed and shoved at your hands. You toppled again; this time the man caught you against his chest. Laesuvion shuffled back, his tail swishing through the snow in a great arch. A growl rumbled up his throat as one of Sara’s men tried to approach.

“Ah.” The man smiled down at you in understanding.

You tried shoving at him again, but his grip held firm. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I am a wolf pup or a precious stone, or some covetous thing.”

“You are more precious than both I fear, and certainly something to covet.” He held your forearms to contain your struggle. “I have waited many years to find my Promised. I did not imagine you would be so violent.”

Sara coughed, “Welcome brother. Might I be the first to introduce you to our Princess, daughter of Rhaenyra. She has come from King’s Landing to treat with you.” She sketched a bow, her lips still trembling, “Your Highness, my brother, the Lord Cregan Stark.”

You gaped, your mouth opening and closing. A myriad of emotions warmed your face. Bone deep mortification. The purest delight. Wonderment. Utter confusion. Behind you, the dire wolf, Shadow, ran playfully around Laesuvion. Your dragon moved to face the tiny yipping creature, stealing his warm breath from your back. You shivered the cold striking through you like a physical blow.

“Princess?” Cregan Stark asked softly. “Are you well?”

“I am cold and hungry and tired, and I wish to bathe.” You said in a rush, utterly horrified with yourself.

But your Promised only smiled, “Of course.”

Cregan Stark was a most gracious host. In the hours since your arrival, you had been given quarters in the same hall as that of the Starks. A maid had gone about filling the tub in your rooms with water warmed on the fire, to which she added fragrant oils and sweet-smelling soap. As you bathed the maid returned – Atara, you learned – to ply you with cheeses and fresh bread, soft meats, and stewed root vegetables. Once you had been thoroughly scrubbed and fed, you dressed in the soft night clothes Atara had brought with her and curled up in the thick expanse of blankets atop your bed.

You were allowed to sleep for far longer than you might have suspected. Only being roused by Atara once the sun had well and truly set.

“Your Highness, Lord Stark asks that you join his family for dinner.”

You tumbled out of bed, and over to the dresser where you let her braid back your hair in the northern style. She handed you a thick winter dress that Sara had sent for you to borrow and allowed you to don it yourself. Stepping in only to tighten the taught laces at its back. You delighted in the simple joy of dressing yourself, so used to the Queen’s maids who scrubbed you raw and laced you tightly into dresses all shaded the same insidious green.

Atara whispered to you as she led you through the halls of Winterfell, “Lord Stark is a good and generous man. He has been Warden of the North for some years now, he is a just leader and kind to those in his employ. It is his uncle, who was his regent, and his power-hungry cousins you must watch.”

“Will they be at dinner?”

“No, they are north and east in Karhold. Though his sister will be present.”

“Sara Snow. She is his sister born? I assumed the Lord was her brother-at-arms, not a true blood relative.”

“Indeed,” Atara corralled you down another cavernous hall. “She is his sister and among his most trusted advisors.”

“Why does she bear the name Snow?”

“It is the surname given to those born out of wedlock in the north.”

“And this is not an issue in the north?”

Atara considered it for a moment, “For some it is. But Lord Stark is a better man than most.”

You wondered if she had been sent to sing his praises or if the people of the north were truly so enamoured with their lord.

“Is he not married?” You asked hesitantly, the thought had not yet crossed your mind.

Atara grinned, “He is not, Your Highness.”

“Nor betrothed?”

“Nor does he have a lover.” She assured. “We servants would know.”

“Thank you, you have been most enlightening.” You smiled as you reached the Stark’s private dining hall, “I will see to myself tonight. Please, enjoy your evening.”

Atara curtsied, “Have a most wonderful night, Your Highness.”

You most certainly would.

The Starks took private dinners in a humble hall. Three places had been set at the far end of the dining table with a generous spread laid out between them. Cregan and Sara looked up from their conversation as you crossed to your seat.

“My apologies, Lord Stark, Lady Snow.” You bowed your head. “I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

Sara snorted into her cup, “Please, Princess, formalities are for the feasting hall and for those whose names you cannot remember.”

“Sister,” Cregan hissed.

You fought a smile, “Forgive me, Sara, I would not have you think I had forgotten your name already.”

“How does the dress fit?”

“Wonderfully,” You swished from side to side, “You are most generous.”

“I have never had a sister,” she said thoughtfully.

Cregan spluttered into his cup. You grinned, “Nor I.”

You thought only briefly of Heleana and her mother and their glittering cage.

Cregan leapt from his seat to pull yours out for you, “Please, ignore my sister, she is overly friendly.”

“Please, ignore my brother,” Sara mocked. “He is overly nervous.”

“Tis not everyday one meets their Promised.” He met your eyes fleetingly.

What a soft demeanour for the Warden of the North, you thought. Though you supposed you had smiled more today than you had in all your years in the Red Keep, so perhaps today was not a good judge of anyone’s character. You allowed him to serve up your plate as Sara kept up a steady stream of conversation. First marvelling at the fit of her dress on you, then the colour of your eyes, your hair in northern braids, your improved state after some well-needed rest.

“Is she not a sight, dear brother?” She teased.

“I apologise for my earlier state of unkempt.” You winced. You had hit the Lord of this castle, your Promised rather hard.

“I thought you looked marvellous.” Cregan argued, then seemed to realise what he’d said and hurried to add, “We have received reports that your dragon has taken to the Wolfswood.”

You exhaled slowly, “Laesuvion flew through day and night twice over to get me here so swiftly. He will be in need of food and rest as much as I.”

“Laesuvion. That is a beautiful name.” He said softly. “We can send meat if you wish?”

“He is a good hunter; he has fed himself since I was ten.”

“Still to have flown so fiercely, with so little rest…”

“It does not do well to deprive a dragon of its hunt. Especially in such times as these.”

Cregan placed his utensils down carefully, “Princess, what has brought you to Winterfell?”

You lowered your fork. Good, time to stop dancing around the subject. From the pocket of your skirt, you withdrew the King’s missive.

“I am not sure how far and fast word has travelled,” You looked to the siblings and frowned. “King Viserys is dead, and Aegon has been crowned in my mother's place. The night of his coronation Queen Alicent gave me this letter for you, Lord Stark, she wishes for us to marry.”

Cregan broke the seal of the King’s letter and read silently.

“There are worse things than to be told to marry ones Promised,” Sara joked lamely. You smiled weakly in the tense silence.

Finally, Cregan folded the letter and turned to you, “Why were you with the Queen, not with your mother on Dragonstone?”

“I have been the Queen’s ward for some nine years now.”

“And are you loyal to her?”

“As a dog is to its owner.”

“They are very loyal in the North,” Sara said.

“I was traded to her as reparations when my brother gorged her son's eye.” You said plainly, “I was her possession, but I remain my mother’s daughter.”

“House Stark swore fealty to Princess Rhaenyra when she was made heir,” Cregan watched you carefully. “There has never been a Stark who has forgotten an oath.”

“I too have made a promise to my mother. I intend to keep it.”

Cregan brandished the letter, “This offers your hand in return for the North’s neutrality in the coming conflict. Is that what you wish?”

“May I speak plainly, my lord?”

“Please.”

“That letter is likely a forgery by the Dowager Queen’s hand. She is mistaken on many fronts, I fear, the least of which was Aegon’s ascension to King. I do not wish to go to war with my kin, but if it becomes inevitable I would rather do so with strong allies and in support of my mother.”

His head tilted, “House Stark is already an ally of your mother.”

“Yes,” You folded your hands on the table. “I should tell you, Lord Stark. My mother has sworn to marry me to my Promised for my service as her spy in the Red Keep.”

“You wish us to marry?”

“I wish to offer you my hand, outside my mother’s promise or the Queen’s demands.” You cleared your throat, and just as you had carefully prepared on your journey here you said, “I have been trained in the ways of the court, I will be of use to you in councils and in handling the affairs of your territory. I am of royal breeding, you will be made Prince-Consort, our children Princes, and Princesses of the realm. I have dragon eggs for their cradles and Valyrian blood for their veins. I would ask only that you allow Laesuvion to stay with me in the North. If not, I shall wait here until such a time as my brother Jacaerys comes to treat with you, that I might return with him to Dragonstone.”

You watched the Lord, his eyes dancing with an unnamed light as he listened to you. “I will need time.”

“Of course, my Lord, speak with your advisors.”

“You misunderstand him, Princess.” Sara grinned.

Cregan smiled, “I will not marry you hastily. I will need to summon my family and prepare a feast. It is a special thing, for those of our station, to be given leave to marry our Promised.”

“I–” You were unsure what you expected. “I suppose it is.”

Sara clapped gleefully, “Shall we call for dessert?”

You wore the soft nightclothes once more as you sat at your vanity and penned your mother a letter.

Mother,

How I have missed you. Know that I have thought of you often and never strayed from my mission nor my loyalty to you.

I have fled King's Landing and taken the Lord Hands life with me. Though the smallfolk have no mind to protest whichever Targaryen collects their taxes, you have many allies in the Red Keep. I have interred a list of those Lords and Ladies who remain loyal to you as well as those I have heard of beyond and some whom we may turn with careful diplomacy.

I am at Winterfell with my Promised, Lord Cregan Stark, whom I will marry in the coming weeks. With your blessing, of course. I await Jacaerys, with news of our family and our strategy. In the meanwhile, I intend to discuss what supplies and men Winterfell may have to offer you.

Mostly I am writing to you because I can. I am overwhelmed with the freedom to do so, to be able to tell you once more how much I love you. I cannot imagine how this week has been for you, know that though we are separated I am your most fierce supporter.

I have had a thought, in my hours here, about how far Winterfell is from the capital. How far we will be if we are forced into battle and bloodshed. Perhaps you might consider sending Joffery here, to mine and my soon-to-be Lord Husband's care.

I hope you are well, Mother. I love you from the very depths of my heart.

You signed the letter with a careful flourish and set it aside. You would ask Atara where you might find a raven-master to have it sent. You touched your fingers to it softly, your first contact with your family in nearly a decade. To tell your mother that you were preparing for marriage and war.

As you blew out your candles and settled into bed, you hoped your mother would like Lord Cregan Stark.

On your fourth morning in Winterfell, you took morning tea with Sara. She had taken lengths to make you comfortable in the days since your arrival, and you took great joy in breaking your fast with her each morning. Today, you spent the early hours humming and haring over the tiny sample cakes you had been sent to taste for the upcoming feast. As you ate, Sara told you all that she could about the castle, the arriving lords, the Stark territory, and their histories.

Northern marriage traditions, you had learned, were not so different from those celebrated at King’s Landing, there would be the exchanging of cloaks and binding words spoken before gods but there would also be a hunt. Women such as yourselves would not be invited but you would find your own fun, Sara assured.

“It is tradition to have the pelts in your quarters and the meats on the feasting table.”

You lifted a citrusy cake between your thumb and forefinger, “Husband and wife share quarters here?”

“Most,” Sara said thoughtfully, “Though I’m sure Cregan would accommodate you if it is different in the south.”

“What happens if their hunt is unsuccessful?”

“I imagine there will be much embarrassment among the North, that we could not bring our Princess quarry for her wedding table.” Sara snatched the half-eaten cake from your hands and winked, “Fear not, Cregan is a good hunter.”

“If he is not,” You smiled fiendishly, “I suppose the two of us will have to find meats for the feast ourselves.”

Sara snorted, “I think my brother would be rather put out at being unable to provide you with a gift on your wedding day. But the look on his face as we return from our own hunt is almost worth it.”

You jolted, “Am I to bring him a gift?”

“You have brought him dragon eggs.”

“For our children.” You argued.

“For his heirs,” She assured, “I think he is already downtrodden at the idea of only being able to bring you fur and meat.”

“I bring only scales and fire.”

“You will be a very warm family.”

“And very well-fed.”

Sara snatched another cake from you, “Only if you keep eating all of these before I get a taste!”

You guffawed. “I am hungry, and they are so tiny!”

“They need be, so you can keep eating.”

“And I shall!”

“Your Highness, Lady Snow,” Atara curtsied as she entered, “Lord Stark has requested your presence in the courtyard.”

“Another lord has arrived?” Sara sank her teeth into another teacake. “Which house does he hail from?”

“No Lord, my Lady.” Atara looked to you uneasily, “A Prince. Of House Targaryen.”

After nearly nine years kept apart by the waters of Blackwater Bay, and three long days separated by your duties, the time had come. You caught your first look at your eldest brother as you left the comfort of the Great Keep and nearly crumpled to the ground. Sara laid a steadying hand at your shoulder as Atara whispered sweet comforts. But nothing could prepare you for the sight laid out in the courtyard.

Jacaerys, with Vermax perched atop the walls of the keep. Jacaerys, with tousled dark hair. Jacaerys, once the awkward boy you followed dutifully, now an emissary of the Queen. Jacaerys, your brother. Jacaerys, your mother’s son.

“Jacaerys!” You ran. Past Sara and Atara, past Cregan and his warning cry. You ran. Almost straight into the end of your brother’s sword. You pulled to a halt, the blade a whisper away from your sternum, “Jacaerys?”

“Sister,” He sneered. “How far you are from your castle.”

“I have escaped.”

“You have been sent as an emissary of the usurper and his cunt-mother.”

“She did not tell you?” Your arms slumped at your side. “Mother sent me as a spy, she and Daemon trusted me to–”

“Her trust was misplaced. You have betrayed us.”

“I have come here to rally the North for our mother’s claim, just as you have.”

“You have come here to better your station.”

“I am a Princess.” You hissed, confused, and insulted.

“You are Princess of nothing, of no house.”

“I am of House Targaryen,” You pressed forward until the tip of his sword tore through the bodice of your dress and blood welled. You turned, held out your hand and gave Cregan a pleading look, he shifted but stayed back. “I am Princess of loyalty, of oaths and duty. I have come to the North to escape the Greens, to tell our mother, the Queen, all that I have discovered these years.”

“Where was loyalty,” Jacaerys shook with rage. “When they dragged us before the Iron Throne and called our mother a whore and our brothers bastards? Where was duty, when Lucerys was nearly stripped of his birthright? Where were you when Laenor died? When Rhaenys flew to our mother's side to tell her of–”

“Our father is dead?” You whispered.

“Your father is Daemon.” He growled under his breath.

You reeled back, “My father is Laenor Velaryon.”

“It is Daemon. He told us so himself when he married Mother.”

“Daemon and mother are married?”

His sword sagged slightly, “The Greens did not tell you? What of Viserys and Aegon?”

“Our grandsire and uncle?”

Jacaerys looked pained, “Our brothers.”

You fell to your knees, shoved your face in your hands and wept. Jacaerys jerked his sword backward and staggered away from you as Cregan rushed to your side.

“Princess?” He wrapped a protective arm over you. “What is the matter?”

“The question of Driftmark’s succession,” Jacaerys stared at you in horror. “Where were you?”

“I did not know!” You sobbed. “I did not know!”

“Otto Hightower said you would not see us, that you felt abandoned and betrayed when Mother gave you to the Greens.”

Cregan pulled you closer to him as Jacaerys inched forward. He growled, “Stand back. You have no enemies among the Starks. Do not make one.”

“I went willingly, for mother, for Lucerys.” You glared up at your brother. “You watched me! I traded my life; you watched me do it!”

“Otto Hightower–”

“Is dead!” You bared your teeth. “I fled King’s Landing, and I killed the man who usurped our mother, and you as her heir. I am loyal, I am steadfast, I am your greatest supporter as heir.”

“Tis true.” Cregan attested. “She has come to the North in support of your mother's claim. She has offered her hand to me, and we have talked much of giving your mother’s children sanctuary here.”

“You are betrothed?” Jacaerys whispered.

“I am.” You said proudly.

Cregan smiled at you softly, “The North is yours, my Prince. So long as my Promised wills it.”

“Sister.” Was all Jacaerys could say. “Sister.”

“Come,” Cregan lifted you to your feet. “My betrothed will catch a cold out here, let us speak inside.”

Cregan sat you gently by the fire swaddling you in the great expanse of his cloak. Sara brought tea to your side while your brothers sat at the other end of the room to discuss politics.

“Did you hear?”

Sara blew on her cup, “I heard a lot.”

“Did you hear what he said about my father?”

“That you lost one? Or that…” She pursed her lips.

“That I am Daemon’s bastard.”

“I did.”

“Do you think Cregan heard?” You burrowed into his cloak.

She gave you a secret smile, “Does it matter? You are a Princess, twice over. And Cregan keeps me around, does he not?”

“I only meant…” You turned away. “I fear he may think me liable to follow in my mother’s footsteps.”

“Will you?”

You stared at her, “Cregan has been kind to me, listened to me, protected me – given me more than anyone has ever offered me. And he is my Promised. Why should I stray from him?”

“Then there is no reason to fret.”

“And the King’s Hand?”

“What of him?”

“I killed him.” You half hid your face in your teacup.

“Do you regret it?” Sara asked curiously. “It is no small thing, to kill a man.”

“He has haunted my family for generations. I would do it again.”

Sara shrugged, “Then we will speak no more of it, justice has been served. I’m sure Cregan will more than agree.”

“Will he?”

“He has been forced to make decisions even further North of here, at the wall.” She took a long sip of tea and stared into the flames. “Some even I do not agree with. But we are family, and he is your Promised. So, it does not matter, does it?”

“No.” You stared into your cup. “I suppose not.”

“Princess!” The man in question came over with a charming grin, “Your brother has offered to escort you at our wedding.”

Jacaerys looked at you timidly, “If you will have me, sister.”

You looked first to Cregan who nodded, and then to Jacaerys with a soft smile. “Of course, brother. Nothing would please me more.”

The letter from your mother arrived another four days later. It came to you clutched in Jacaerys’ hand with the seal broken. He had caught the raven just south of Winterfell as he, Cregan and the Northmen returned from the ceremonial hunt.

“I apologise, sister, I have never been accused of being patient.”

You scoffed, “Some things do not change.”

“Indeed,” Jacaerys said rather gravely. “I must ask a small favour of you before I give you this letter. It is on behalf of myself and our mother.”

You straightened, “Of course brother.”

“You will not open it until after you have been blissfully wedded to Lord Stark.” He paused at your dubious look, “Mother has words she wishes to share only after your wedding. Congratulations and such.”

“I suppose that is agreeable.” You took the letter carefully, “Though we require her blessings to move forward.”

“And you have them.” He tapped the letter. “In there. You shall marry your Promised tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

And so, you married him that night.

The Godswood was eerie in the darkness of night. Though lit by the torches of countless Northmen, it felt as if the darkness were reaching cool unnatural fingers toward your procession. Coaxing you, in your red-black Maiden Cloak toward the foot of the weirwood heart tree, where your Lord-Promised, his uncle, and the dire wolf Shadow wait. Jacaerys held your hand tightly as if frightened to let you go. Around you, Lords and honoured guests planted their torches in the snow, lighting the way for you and your brother. The wind whistled through the silence, broken only by the great rumbling in Laesuvion’s chest where he perched on the lip of the keep’s gate.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Called Bennard Stark.

Jacaerys whispered your name, then cleared his throat in embarrassment and announced it proudly, "Daughter of the House Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Cregan, of House Stark,” Your Promised sent you a small secret smile, “Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. Who gives her?"

"Jacaerys, of the House Velaryon, who is her brother and Prince." Jacaerys gave your hand a firm squeeze as he gave you to Cregan.

"Princess,” Lord Bennard made an admirable effort to say your name without disdain, “Will you take this man?"

You took Cregan’s large warm hands in your own and smiled, “I take this man.”

Silently, hands joined, you knelt to the cold earth. Around you, the Lords of the North fell to their knees and bowed their heads in deference. Foreheads pressed together, you and Cregan offered silent prayers to the Old Gods. When you stood as one, Sara was there in her uncle's place, a cloak of thick, luscious fur in the silver-grey of House Stark.

You tipped your head back as Cregan fiddled with the ties of your Maiden’s Cloak. You smiled at the sky as he struggled gently against your neck. Finally, it loosened, there was a brief shock of cold and then there was wonderous heat, the furred collar tickling your chin. You look to Cregan then, donned in his colours, wrapped in his protection. You smile softly at one another and lean into a soft kiss.

The black sky lights up with swashes of red as Laesuvion spits fire at the stars.

All at once sound returns to the Godswood as the witnesses of your nuptials cheer, chief among them is your brother. You laugh in delight as Cregan grips your cheeks and plants another kiss on your lips. Shadow yips at your heels as your husband sweeps you up into his arms and carries you toward the Great Hall.

He whispers sweet promises for your future, and you have never been more grateful to know how fiercely a Stark is at keeping their word.

It was the wolf’s hour when the festivities swelled through the Great Hall and you found yourself drawn to a quiet corner. You excused yourself from your husband by pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. He smiled softly at you and trailed his fingers from yours as you walked toward the hearth roaring at the far end of the hall. You pulled your mother's letter from your pocket and pressed your fingers against her seal as if you could fuse the two halves back into a whole. She and Jacaerys would not mind, you were sure, it was your wedding day after all, and you craved an inch of your mother’s presence.

You unfolded her letter and read:

My dearest girl,

I have never doubted you and I do not do so now.

You have my blessings. Marry the Lord Cregan Stark and take joy in your Promised. I will entrust Baela and Rhaena to bring your young brothers into your care.

You have served me well, which is why I write to you now, though my heart tells me to spare you.

Aemond has taken Lucerys’ life. War has come.

You looked up gripping the letter until your fingers drew indents in the paper and made desperate eye contact with Jacaerys’ pained face. A sound halfway between a scream and a sob tore from your throat, drowned by the thundering roar of Laesuvion overhead. Cregan stood, fighting to stumble his way toward you, as the walls of Winterfell rattled with your fury.

Nine years you had spent in the Red Keep, learning your enemies inside and out. Carefully ushering pieces across a board too vast for you to comprehend, hoping desperately you could stop a war conceived long before you. It all narrowed to this moment. Wrapped in the cloak of your husband’s house, framed by the hearth fire, as your dragon raged above.

Your Brother. Your Dragon. Your Husband.

By Blood. By Fire. By the Old God’s Promise.

You would avenge your brother and bring war to the Greens.

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #queen alicent #alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #otto hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #soulmate au

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elorday · 1 year

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— ✪ valerie's may fic recs

thank you so much for all of these writers for making me smiling with a lots of butterflies in my stomach, making my mouth hanging agape, or crying so hard and sweating hot. i really can't thank you enough<3

some fics contain nsfw (✦)

𖥔. SCREAM—

⭒ — ETHAN LANDRY

✦ title taken : @astermath

20/20 vision : @echnated

slyther-in to my heart?! : @ghostfacd

✦ “it's okay, i'll show you.” : @messylustt

sleepy : @corpsebasil

bejeweled : @xyzstar

𖥔. ENOLA HOLMES—

⭒ — SHERLOCK HOLMES

we'll be alright : @love-strawberry

✦ exactly what you need : @delicate-moon-princess

bewitched : @cinebration

what happens after death : @hannibals-favourite-meal

𖥔. HOUSE OF THE DRAGON—

⭒ — AEMOND TARGARYEN

would you love me if i were a worm? : @chiss-and-crackers

valentine's day : @vhagarlovebot

you belong with me : @mybeautifuldelirium

⭒ — CREGAN STARK

among dragons and wolves : @fairysluna

✦ dissolve : @vermithorn

the snow fairy : @wackapedia

⭒ — HARWIN STRONG

✦ i am his and he is mine : @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics

keep you save : @auroraborealyss

✦ princess : @faith-forgxtten-land

𖥔. BRIDGERTON—

⭒ — BENEDICT BRIDGERTON

drunk sketches : @delehosies

little things : @inpraizeof

⭒ — ANTHONY BRIDGERTON

✦ right in front of me : @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

✦ melt away : @healmydesires

𖥔. F1—

⭒ — DANIEL RICCIARDO

meet me at midnight : @fleetwooods

don't wipe away my love : @avisgrace

memories hold me hostage : @libraryofloveletters

it's okay, i'm here : @norrisleclercf1

still into you : @starkwlkr

⭒ — CHARLES LECLERC

when you're missing me : @silverstonesainz

name(s) of love : @kiwisa

𖥔. SPIDERMEN—

⭒ — TASM!PETER PARKER

lean in, lean out : @literaila

i know : @vivwritesfics

✦ hold you here, my loveliest friend : @p3mybeloved

clingy : @bruisedboys

⭒ — MIGUEL O'HARA/SPIDERMAN 2099

i need you to stay : @intoxicated-chan

mid night : @eyelessfaces

⭒ — PAVITR PRABHAKAR

dance with you tonight : @foreverwiththeunknown

�� — MILES MORALES

cheesecake : @ichorai

first kiss : @moralesie

𖥔. DC—

⭒ — ADRIAN CHASE / VIGILANTE

five times vigilante definitely does not have feelings (and the one time he does) : @tropes-and-tales

now or never : @whirlybirbs

⭒ — BRUCE WAYNE / BATMAN

talk : @ichorai

𖥔. JOHN WICK—

⭒ — JOHN WICK

one-sided love : @desoolate

remember me : @arece

⭒ — MARQUIS VINCENT DE GRAMONT

stay : @unreliablesnake

✦ something wrong with me and you : @fonteyn

𖥔. LOCKWOOD AND CO.—

⭒ — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

the language of longing looks and stolen glances : @fleetingvow

just another love song : @tangledinlove

public displays : @vi-trying-to-survive

ain't a life many splendored thing? : @wellgoslowly

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missglaskin · 2 years

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Yan!HOTD CHARACTERS MEETING THEIR SOULMATES

All thanks to @the-mechanical-angel for the idea & credit for prompts to @r-evolve-art

Viserys Targaryen + Meeting soulmate in dream every night

He was always looking forward to his dreams, looking forward to you. Initially, he believed it might have been one of his visions, one that somewhat always involved you. But he came to understand there were more than just visions.

Whether you two were lying in a flower field or strolling along the beach, Viserys loved the conversations and times he shared with you. The moment he opened his eyes in the mornings caused his desire for you to swell with each passing day. In the dreams, he begged you to tell him where you are, willing to sail to the end of the world just to see you.

The intensity increased when he assumed the throne and realized that you were the only person with whom he felt at peace. The king was allegedly never to be awakened from his sleep by the servants. When there came a day, he looked up across the court and saw you. The lord and ladies all stare in surprise as the king leaves his throne to approach you, cradling your face in his hands, becoming teary-eyed.

Rhaenyra Targaryen + Sharing the same injuries as your soulmate

Your father brought you along to the coronation ceremony of King Viserys where named his daughter Rhaenyra as his heir. Your father decided to spend a few days at King’s landing, leaving you free to explore the castle. It’s there you could truly meet the princess and befriended her.

During your many walks together, you trip scraping your knees only to hear the princess wince in pain as she lifts her dress, revealing a scrape on her knee. Could it be. It was expected that your soulmate would be a man.

The princess and you exchange a look before she presses her nail into her knee, making you flinch. This all confirms it. You weren’t sure how she would respond, but you weren’t certainly expecting her to reach for your hand, a smile showing on her eager face. Rhaenyra told your father that you’ll be staying at King’s Landing with her from now on. Her father agrees, happy that his daughter made a new ‘friend’.

Daemon Targaryen + Sharing your soulmate’s emotions

You came to the conclusion your soulmate must be quite a violent person, often feeling their strong emotions-their bloodlust and rage, which left you feeling all the more frustrated. Daemon could feel your frustrations and it left him amused. With you, there was much more happiness in the air. Giving him a taste of what inner peace might be like.

Sitting among your family during the tourney. You felt it. The adrenaline, the unbridled excitement of your soulmate. But this time, the feelings were much stronger that it almost made you feel queasy. It's when the rogue prince comes riding on his horse wearing his black armor, do you make eye contact.

And at that moment, you're sure he knows it's you. Sinking back further into your seat as the rogue prince gives you a smirk. Feeling your chest tighten as his horse got closer to you. His lance is right in front of you and he asks for your favor. And you do it all while he can sense your giddiness. Returning to your seat, you are well aware this isn't the last you'll see of Daemon.

Corlys Velaryon + Soulmate has a constellation that points to where they’re

During his nine sea voyages, Corlys was said to return with countless treasures. Silk, jade, spice, ships, gold and so much more. But upon his return from Essos, he was said to have returned with what he told to be far more valuable than any of his treasure. When he returned, he had a princess by his side—who now is his wife.

Corlys knew what he wanted. And he set out to pursue it. He observed the constellations in the night sky and learned that the brightest one pointed in the direction of where he needed to be. Upon his arrival to your kingdom, the sea snake requested your hand in marriage.

Once he had seen you. It had to be you. Corlys was certain. The sudden beat in his heart. An unseen string tugging him in your direction. And there, he gave you the most extravagant gifts with a ship big enough to carry half of a village, and a dress so plush that it felt sheer. And how could your father refuse upon seeing such devotion.

Rhaenys Targaryen + Touching your soulmate allows you to see glimpses of their future

Soulmates. Seemed like a ridiculous notion to Rhaenys. But perhaps that notion was needed. In this world soulmates rarely cross each other's paths. And if they did, it was not as happily as all those tales portrayed over and over again. But what were the chances she’d meet you on this particular day.

After arriving at King's Landing, you spent some time getting to formally know Rhaenys. Many times, having her over for tea. But once, your hands unintentionally brushed against hers. Rhaenys catches a fleeting glimpse. Her hair blown by the wind. Sensing the touch of another. The aroma of salt and seaweed. When the haze clears, a face so eerily similar is seen.

A cup breaking on the ground rouses her senses. A look of worry on your face. You can't help but ask if she's disappointed. Her expression, however, tells you otherwise.

Laena Velaryon + Sharing the same heart beat

At driftmark, you attended the wedding of Laenor and Rhaenyra. The entire ride, your heartbeat has been slightly racing. It continues to bother you, yet you ignore it. As the door opens, it starts pounding rapidly and intensely, almost flopping in your chest.

As you look at Lady Laena, you feel faint and short of breath. It seems she is also struggling, but her expression remains calm that perhaps you are only imagining things. All eyes are on her when she asks you for a dance. When your hand finally touches her, you feel as though you can breathe again. With each passing second, your body becomes more relaxed and at ease.

As the two of you danced, you tried to hide your awe in the face of her breathtaking beauty. When the dancing comes to a close, she whispers in your ear how she would love for you to spend a few days at Driftmark. There was no way you could refuse.

Otto Hightower + Meeting your soulmate after the worst event in your life

As any with common sense, Otto believed the concept of soulmates was utter nonsense. Believed duty to far more proceeds one’s desires and whims. And taking a wife who wasn't his soulmate-whom he loved deeply further solidified his convictions.

But all good things come to an end. Now left with the news of his wife's death. Days after, he still carried out his daily duties. That's when he finally took notice of you; a friend of Rhaenyra and Alicent. As soon you walk away, Otto notices his eyes start to follow.

Moments are spent where he'd ask you of your house or day, and soon the subject shifted to more personal manners. Right then and there, Otto understood his feelings, his gravitation towards you. You must not have known. Envisioning someone much more spirited and youthful. Surprise trickled through you when Otto announces his impending marriage and at the sight of Alicent's expression of betrayal.

Alicent Hightower + Soulmate marks are only visible after touching

In her younger years, Alicent found some solace in the prospect of soulmates, but that all changed when she was made to wed the king. Beginning to scoff at the notion, dismissing it as nothing more than a frivolous dream of little girls.

As she awakens in the morning, a new handmaiden greets her. The queen moves to stand as the handmaiden hastily dresses her. There, she felt fingers graze her skin. An intense stinging pain ran over her body, giving her skin a burning sensation. Holding her wrist. She sees it now. The mark.

A gasp is heard. The handmaiden grasping her own wrist. The implications cause the handmaiden's eyes to enlarge and her mouth to hang open. As they lock eyes, a knife-cutting silence permeates the chambers.

Aegon II Targaryen + A timer for when soulmates shall first meet

As far as Aegon is concerned, he couldn't care less whether he discovered a supposed soulmate—if they even existed in the first place. Looking at his wrist, the timer indicates a decade or possibly longer. And as he grew older, he became more detached to the prospect. Maybe not even his soulmate would have loved the man he came to be.

A day at the feast, however, Aegon's vacant eyes drifted to his wine cup. Where he saw it. His wrist. His head tilted downward, eyes narrowing when seeing the timer rapidly decrease. Has it been that long since he last looked. His wife speaks, but it is all muddled to him. Eyes glued to his wrist, watching it still go down.

He hears more wine being poured into his cup. And then it happens. 0-Inked on his wrist. Finally, Aegon lifts his head at the servant who had stopped pouring his wine, and the prince is met with a horrified look in return.

Helaena Targaryen + Voices in Your Head is your soulmate’s

As with her prophecies, Helaena's claims that she had a voice in her head were ignored. Servants have also claimed the princess is often seen smiling or humming to herself.

With Helaena as your soulmate, you come to find her mind constantly wanders, whether it be the ramblings of the many bugs she found or the cryptic messages. Although initially overstimulating, you've adapted to it. And she didn’t seem to mind when you did the same. Your voice is soothing. Was her response when you'd apologize for your mental babbling.

As long as she could still hear your voice in her head, the princess wasn't too concerned about finding you. But all of that changed when first saw you at her court. Her face softened, and her family had never seen her so delighted. And now, you spend most of your time in her chambers when her husband is away.

Aemond Targaryen + One eye is your natural color, the other is your soulmate’s

It was said the day the prince opened his eyes for the first time, only one violet eye was visible. Clearly seen in the other was his soulmate's eye. His eye will return to its natural color once he meets his soulmate, the master assured his mother. In this world, soulmates hardly ever cross paths. Still, young Aemond caught himself daydreaming about finding you-his other half.

Tragedy struck on the day Aemond claimed Vhagar. Gazing into the mirror with only a violet eye staring back at him. Throughout those years, he was persuaded that he no longer yearned for the dreams he once had. But that day when he first saw you.

There was a momentary expression of surprise. Recognizing the eye he once possessed, the other mirroring his only to return to its natural color. A puzzled look was cast at the one-eyed prince, making him realize you’re oblivious to what had just happened.

Criston Cole + Reflections in the mirrors are the appearances of your soulmate

As a young boy, Criston had placed a mirror that faced his bed, hoping to catch glimpses of you. You had to be the most beautiful creature he ever laid eyes on-his love, his soulmate, his other half. But his chest tightened when he took in your surroundings and the dress you wore. It told him you were much of a higher status-a lady. But the young idealistic Criston still believed the two of you were meant to be. Destined to be like the knights and their pretty ladies in all the tales he had heard.

Even as he matured into a man, Criston always carried a reflection with him at all times. In his pocket, a mirror was safely tucked away. He pulled it out to look at it, and there, in the palm of his hands, was his soulmate—the center of his universe.

So what a coincidence that he was competing in the tournament where your family must be. There, a knight approaches you with a house sigil you've never seen before; asking for your favor. He was quite handsome, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of giddiness as you gave him a timid smile. When Criston emerged victorious, he requested one final favor. To be your sword shield. And you agreed, unaware of the consequences that would follow.

Harwin Strong + Touching your soulmate causes you to relieve each other’s entire lives

At Harrenhal for the visit, you came with your father. Keeping pace with him as they lead you on a tour throughout the castle. There, you first encountered Harwin and Larys Strong, Lyonel Strong's sons. When it was your turn to greet Larys, you greeted him, and when it was Harwin's turn, he took your hand and gave it a courteous kiss.

Then it took place. All sorts of scenes pop in front of your eyes, one of a baby being born, crawling, taking their first steps, and speaking. Watching him grow into a boy, learning to hunt and wield a sword. Everything comes to a close with you facing the man whose entire life you just saw. For everyone else, it lasted only a few seconds, but for you two, it lasted a lifetime.

With his hand still in yours, Harwin now gazes into your eyes. A gaze of longing. When your father asks what's the matter, you pull your hand away from his, reassuring him that it's nothing. Lionel gives you a knowing look. His son certainly won't allow you to leave after this.

Jacaerys Velaryon + Soulmate’s name on each other’s wrist

On his wrists, read your name. The prospect excited Jace. The idea of unwavering love, being one's other half. He'd study with the Septon intending to learn of other houses, asking them of their daughters. Perhaps he'd find you among them. Only to be left disappointed when your name was never mentioned.

Still, he remains hopeful. He knew his time was limited and that by now he must be betrothed. It's when his arrival at King's landing, did he hear something that perks up his ear as he walks across the hallways. Your name being uttered. Spoken by one of the servants. The said servants are taken aback when Jace approaches them like a madman, asking of the name. One of the servants steps forward. It's you.

The other servants are to leave, leaving just you and him. Reaching for your hand, he sees a cloth wrapped around your wrist. Removing it, he exhales heavily upon discovering his name inked on your skin. It's you. At last, he found you.

Cregan Stark + See color for the first time when you meet

The wolf of the north never bothered himself with the idea of seeking out a soul mate. More important than love or desire were one's duties. He has long since come to terms with the fact that the world he lived in will always be a shade of gray. When the princess and her brother, Jacaerys Velaryon, arrived on a dragon back.

Cregan’s protracted silence was recognized by everyone in the room. Wide eyes are fixed on the princess and she shares his expression. Colors suddenly flood into their world, and the two are suddenly overcome by the sensations that flooded their minds.

As she and her brother explain their arrival to the situation, the princess's voice is shaking as she still hasn't fully recovered from her recent overstimulation. There’s also a slight waver in Cregan’s voice as he speaks. As he pledged to fight for them, the princess swears she saw his eyes soften for a brief moment.

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mystcldydrms · 2 months

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you're rhaenyra's daughter. ever since birth, your future has been laid out for you. everything has been planned out. your betrothal to aemond had been finalised as soon as the two of you could walk. he has been a dear friend to you your whole life, although he had attacked your brother when he was younger. you have always been looking forward to your and aemond's wedding. but now everything has changed. the news that your betrothed had killed your brother tore you apart. there was no desire in yourself left to still get married to him. the only thing left inside of you was hate and rage. you confided in your mother, knowing she would be on your side. she immediately called off the betrothal, but unbeknownst to you, she already had another man in mind for you to marry. and it was none other than cregan stark.

this idea came to my mind today, and I'm not sure, but I feel like I'd love to write it. I just don't know if I can do it justice, but let me know what you think of it.

#hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon imagines #aemond targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #cregan stark imagine #aemond targaryen blurb #cregan stark blurb #rhaenyra targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen headcanon #cregan stark headcanon

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feyhunter78 · 1 month

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Even If You Call It Love

Description: You are set to leave for Winterfell with Cregan, but Aemond doesn't want to let you go.

Part 1

“I have already had the servants pack the spices you wish the kitchen to use when we arrive, and the Glass Gardens, I will have the gardener clear out a space, you may plant whatever you wish.” Cregan says, his hand in yours as he spins you around, your new cloak—Stark gray and trimmed with fur—flares out around you as he does.

“Thank you, but I would not want to make more work for them.” You protest, smiling up at him as he pulls you into his embrace, lowering his head to brush his lips against yours.

“You are their Lady; they are and will be glad to do it.” He says, before connecting your lips, his hand moving to support your lower back as he dips you, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You cup his cheek, heart skipping a beat when he leans into your touch, his storm gray eyes closing, a blissful smile adorning his face. “If you say so, husband.”

Cregan chuckles, eyes open, staring down at you so lovingly it takes your breath away. “Once we are home, I will show you I make good on my word, wife, and if the gardener has too much work to do then I shall simply clear the space myself.”

“You would get in the dirt and do a servants’ work for me?” You ask, peals of laughter spilling past your lips at the very idea.

“There is an endless list of things I would do for you.” He breathes, his lips brushing yours with each word, punctuating his statement with featherlight promises.

“We shall test that at home then.” You jest, tangling your fingers in his hair, your lips parting instinctually for him when he deepens the kiss.

A servant knocks on Cregan’s door, shattering the moment, and he groans, the vibrations buzzing against your lips.

“Yes?” He calls, kissing the corner of your lips, then the other, then your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, until he has covered the plains of your face with chaste kisses, making you giggle.

“Lord Stark, there are servants preventing us from loading Lady y/h/n’s belongings onto the wagons.” The man calls through the door.

You bite your lip, watching as Cregan’s brows furrow. “One moment.” He says, pulling you back up onto your feet. He presses a kiss to your hand, bidding you to take a seat on the settee, then opens the door and steps outside with the man.

Their conversation is quiet at first, then increases in volume until you can hear each word as clearly as you heard Cregan whisper his affections for you, his lips pressed to your ear only two nights prior.

“I care not what the prince says, he cannot keep my betrothed’s belongings hostage.” Cregan says, his voice is a mountain, sturdy, unyielding, unable to be ignored or burrowed through.

“My Lord, she is a lady of Princess Helaena.” A new voice explains.

“Yes, and the princess has given her blessing, so that is not a shield he can hide behind.” Cregan snarls.

You purse your lips and get up from the settee, toying with Cregan’s ring around your neck. You join the two men outside, placing a hand on Cregan’s bicep. “My love, please, I will speak with him.”

Cregan takes your hand and presses it to his lips once more before turning it in his hand, with such gentleness it makes your heart stutter. “You should not have to trouble yourself with him.”

“And yet, I must.” You say, giving him a reassuring smile.

He sighs and presses his lips to your palm, then your inner wrist, nipping at the pulse point before soothing the sting with the tip of his tongue. “I will escort you there, then we shall depart to see your father and then onwards to Winterfell.”

“I cannot wait.” You say, and you mean, truly, deeply, mean it. You cannot wait to be married to Cregan, to be his wife.

“I will not call off the servants; you are not thinking straight.” Aemond says the moment you enter his solar, his arms clasped behind his back.

“Prince Aemond…” You sigh, moving further into the room, watching as he paces. This is not unlike him, he detests change, and is beyond possessive. Truly you should have seen this coming and had your things moved in the middle of the night, then perhaps you would have been able to slip from the Keep without ever facing him again.

“Aemond, please, call me by my given name, if any shall, it should be you.” He says, stopping before you, a torn expression you have never seen before on his face.

You do not wish to hurt him, you never have, but you can no longer put his feelings before yours.

“I need my things, Aemond, I cannot travel without them.” You say carefully.

“You cannot leave, I have need of you.” His voice is steady, that sense of confidence still lingering, though it is fading fast.

“Need? What need?” You ask, unable to reconcile the man before you with the man who turned you away only two days prior.

“What need? All of them, you are mine, are you not? I simply did not realize how essential you were to my day-to-day life, but I have now, so you cannot leave.”

You bring your hand to the front of your neck as Queen Alicent does, a calming gesture you believe she does not realize she does, but you have picked up, nonetheless. “Aemond, why now? We have been doing this dance for years, I am tired of it, the steps have grown listless, the music dull, the other dancers have left the floor, and I would like to leave with them.”

He reaches for you, fingers curling in the air just beside your cheek. “I have made you wait; it was cruel of me, and I see now it has driven you into the arms of another, but I would end your wait if you would stay.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you close your eyes against his mournful gaze. “You have said that many times, made many promises, how am I to know if you would keep your word?”

“I am a man of my word; how could you question that?” He says softly, his hand finally making contact with your cheek, caressing it gently.

You meet his gaze now, heart heavy, you cannot make him see what he does not wish to, but you will try. “I must question it, for if I do not, I will spend many more years here waiting for you to love me, and I cannot do that, not anymore, not when I kno—”

“That there is a wolf pup willing to chase your skirts and slide into your bed now that you have revealed how truly desperate you are for affection?” His words are harsh, but his tone is still soft, as if he does not think it an insult what he has just said.

Your brow furrows, ice creeping in your veins. “Are you insinuating that Cregan sees me as some kind of whore?”

“It is Cregan already, not Lord Stark or Lord Cregan?” Aemond slides his knuckles down your cheek, your neck, ending at your collarbone, taking care to stop at each mark Cregan has left on your skin even though they are covered with cosmetics. “I am insinuating that he is a beast, and beasts can sense weakness. He is seeking to exploit your weakness, ñuha nūmio.”

“He is not a beast, and he would not do such a thing.” You say, turning your face away from Aemond, your hands buried in your skirts.

He scoffs and picks up the signet ring—Cregan’s signet ring—that hangs from your neck on a sturdy but elegant silver chain. “Why else would he set out to charm you? My dear y/n, you bring no benefit to House Stark, and while you have many wonderful traits, you are not a highly sought after prize by any means.”

You take a step back, Cregan’s ring slipping from his hands and knocking against your breastbone. It is sobering, the cool metal, and it gives you strength. “That is your opinion, Aemond, but it is not Cregan’s.”

“Since when have you cared for any opinion but mine? What has changed, tell me who has turned you against me?” He pleads, his violet eye shining with a strange light.

“You, Aemond It was you who has turned me against you. I told you that I was not happy, and in truth I do not think I have been happy for a long time. So please, tell the servants to allow Cregan’s men to collect my things.” You beseech him, silently begging him to see sense. “I do not wish to share all my future husband’s clothes until I am able to procure more, but I will if need be. Do not make me do that, you know I hate dull colors.”

“We could be happy, I could make you happy, if only you would give me time.” He promises, taking your hands in his own, ignoring your words as he always has. His hands are cold, and you realize they do not fit yours as Cregan’s does. Your fingers do not seamlessly interlock, instead they fight each other for dominance, for room, for freedom.

You shake your head sadly. “No Aemond, it is too late…I am sorry, but you must let me go.”

His eye is rimmed red, and he shakes his head as well, silver hair falling forward like a curtain. “I cannot.”

“You must.” You whisper, squeezing his hands before sliding yours from him and taking a step towards the door. “You do not love me—”

“I do, I do, I love you, y/n.” He insists, grabbing your hands again and taking one step forwards for your backwards one.

The pain in your chest is a sharp, piercing one. This is all you have wanted for so very long, but now…it is nothing, it feels hollow, desperate, and you see Aemond as he truly is for the first time.

“No, My Prince, you do not. If you loved me, we would be wed. You would not have let anything stand in your way, I know you, I loved you, I have seen what you do when you do love someone, and you do not love me.” You tell him, giving him a tearful smile.

“And this…Lord Stark does?”

“He is marrying me.” You say, and it is the only thing that needs to be said.

Aemond releases your hands, but not before pressing a kiss to each one. “A victory for the North.”

You nod, fighting back a sob as a single tear hits your joined hands, and Aemond turns his face from you.

“You must write to me, if you have need, or…miss me.” Aemond says, clasping his arms, behind his back once more.

You turn and reach for the doorknob, “do not wait for my letters Aemond, it would not make either of us happy.”

Cregan stumbles back when you pull open the door, a sheepish smile on his face, but he is ready, with open arms, sweeping you into them and whispering how strong and brave you are.

You can feel Aemond’s eye burning into you, into Cregan.

“My Prince.” Cregan says, nodding his head towards Aemond, before he brushes the tears from your face and kisses you gently.

There is a strangled sound from inside Aemond’s solar, but Cregan’s lips on yours drowns out any sense of guilt, and you smile when he pulls away.

“Are you ready, Lady Stark?” Cregan asks, offering you his arm.

You take it and lean into him. “I am ready, Lord Stark, let us go see my father, and then home, to Winterfell.”

“Y/N—” Aemond’s voice, a broken, frantic thing, follows you, but Cregan merely pushes the door shut, and leads you away, towards your new, happier future.

TL: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305, @solkara

#meg's writing #aemond targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #still inspired by Good Luck Babe #my Aemond girlies this one is not gonna make you happy

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fragileheartbeats · 23 days

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⌗ 𝘏𝘖𝘛𝘋 𝘔- 𝘈𝘜 𝘏𝘊 ⁝ 𝘚𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ( ♡ )

— 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯, 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥, 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯, ��𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 <3

˚꒰🌼꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 ─ ♕ . ♡𝆬

𝓖𝓾𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓪𝓷 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵

1. Protective Glances: In crowded spaces, Aegon subtly positions himself to ensure you're always within his sight, offering a sense of security without words.

2. Exclusive Sneak Peeks: Aegon shares details of his day or personal projects with you before anyone else, valuing your opinion above all.

3. Unexpected Gifts: Small, thoughtful gifts appear from Aegon, each telling a story or sharing a part of himself, from shows he loves to gadgets he swears by.

4. Deep Conversations: He engages you in long, meaningful conversations, genuinely interested in your thoughts and dreams, often losing track of time.

5. Social Media Engagement: Aegon, not one for public displays, consistently likes, comments, and shares your posts, a digital nod to his affection.

6. Impromptu Visits: Aegon makes surprise visits, often with your favorite drink in hand, turning an ordinary moment into something special.

7. Protective Escort: He insists on walking you home after a night out, a silent guardian in the bustling city, making sure you're safe and sound.

8. Handpicked Flowers: Instead of store-bought bouquets, Aegon prefers giving you flowers he's picked himself, each selection meaningful and personal.

9. Sincere Compliments: Aegon's compliments are always genuine and specific, focusing on qualities he admires about you, from your laugh to your resilience.

10. Cooking Attempts: Not one for the kitchen, Aegon nevertheless tries his hand at cooking your favorite meal, a labor of love however it turns out.

𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 ─ ⸸ . ♡𝆬

𝓐𝓭𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓔𝔂𝓮𝓼

1. Empathetic Listener: Aemond pays close attention when you speak, his singular gaze locked on you, showing you're the only person in the room.

2. Adventure Partner: He's always suggesting new and exciting activities to try together, from skydiving to scuba diving, eager to make new memories with you.

3. Tattoo Companions: Aemond is passionate about tattoos and enjoys going with you to get matching or complementary tattoos, each one telling a story of your relationship.

4. Deep Trust: He shares secrets with you that he's never told anyone else, his eyes gaze softening, a sign of deep trust and affection.

5. Handwritten Notes: In an age of digital communication, Aemond leaves handwritten notes for you to find, each word a testament to his growing feelings.

6. Motorcycle Rides: Aemond takes you on thrilling motorcycle rides, the world a blur as you share the exhilaration of speed and freedom.

7. Protective Jacket: On chilly nights, he drapes his jacket over your shoulders, a silent but warm gesture of care.

8. Unexpected Calls: Aemond prefers calls over texts, wanting to hear your voice and share moments in real-time, however brief they may be.

9. Steadfast Presence: In moments of need, Aemond is there without question, his actions speaking louder than words ever could.

10. Adventure Planning: He's always plotting your next adventure together, each one more ambitious than the last, eager to explore the world by your side.

𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 ─ ✦ . ♡𝆬

𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓓𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻

1. Spontaneous Trips: Daeron invites you on spontaneous road trips, each destination a surprise, creating a tapestry of shared adventures.

2. Early Morning Calls: He calls you early in the morning just to hear your voice, often before an early flight, making you the start of his day.

3. Gentle Teasing: Daeron teases you gently, a sparkle in his eyes, always quick to laugh and quicker to make you laugh as well.

4. Shared Hobbies: He takes an interest in your hobbies, even if it means stepping out of his comfort zone, from painting classes to cooking lessons.

5. Caring Gestures: Small acts of care, like making sure you've eaten or that you're dressed warmly, are Daeron's way of showing his affection.

6. Surprise Pickups: Daeron shows up unexpectedly to give you a ride, turning mundane commutes into opportunities for connection.

7. Night Sky Gazing: He shares his love for astronomy by inviting you to stargaze, a telescope and whispered stories enhancing the experience.

8. Photography Hobby: He has taken up photography as a hobby and loves capturing candid moments of you, creating a scrapbook filled with memories of your time together.

9. Shared Dreams: He's keen to discuss future aspirations, dreaming out loud with you and intertwining your hopes with his.

10. Genuine Interest: Daeron takes an interest in your interests, genuinely wanting to learn and participate, be it in art, music, or literature.

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍 ─ 𖤐 . ♡𝆬

𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓢𝓮𝓪𝓯𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓻

1. Coffee Companion: Jace makes it a point to learn your coffee order by heart, bringing you your favorite blend each morning, a silent testament to his attentiveness.

2. Playlist Curator: He crafts playlists filled with songs that remind him of you, each track a lyrical confession of his burgeoning feelings.

3. Texts First: No matter how busy his day, Jace sends you good morning and goodnight texts, ensuring he's the first and last person you talk to every day.

4. Meme Sharer: He sends memes and funny videos that he knows will make you laugh, hoping to be the reason behind your smile.

5. Stargazing Invites: Jace finds any excuse to share moments with you under the night sky, pointing out constellations and sharing tales of the sea, his voice soft under the moonlight.

6. Late-Night Snack Runs: Jace knows your favorite comfort food and surprises you with late-night deliveries, ensuring you have something sweet to end a hard day.

7. Sneaky Selfies: He sends you selfies from wherever he is, often with hidden messages or inside jokes only you would understand, making you feel connected no matter the distance.

8. Watch Parties: Jace organizes virtual movie nights for just the two of you, sharing screens and laughter over films that have become your shared favorites.

9. Consistent Check-ins: Throughout the day, Jace checks in, not just with texts but with voice messages too, so you can hear the smile in his voice.

10. Personalized Gifts: He's all about giving gifts that mean something to you both, like a custom keychain of a quote from your favorite book or a playlist for every mood.

𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊 ─ ＊ . ♡𝆬

𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓲𝓬 𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽

1. Quiet Support: Cregan offers unwavering support for your dreams and ambitions, his encouragement steady and strong like the ancient trees of the North.

2. Intimate Walks: He loves taking long walks with you, through city parks or along snow-dusted trails, where conversations flow freely.

3. Shared Silences: Comfortable silences are common, where simply being in each other's presence is enough, a silent language of love.

4. Book Exchanges: Cregan shares his favorite books with you, each one holding a special meaning, inviting you into the world of his thoughts.

5. Warm Embraces: His hugs are rare but meaningful, enveloping you in warmth and safety, a silent confession of his deep affection.

6. Morning Runs: Cregan invites you on morning runs, a peaceful time to share together before the world wakes up.

7. Handcrafted Items: He enjoys woodworking and makes you items, each piece imbued with care and thoughtfulness, from bookends to picture frames.

8. Quiet Evenings: Cregan prefers quiet evenings in, cooking together and sharing stories by the fireplace, valuing intimacy and connection.

9. Nature Escapes: He plans escapes to the countryside, believing that a walk in nature is a perfect way to reconnect and share in the beauty of the world.

10. Silence Support: Cregan offers a shoulder to lean on, a rock in turbulent times, his support unwavering and given without a need for words.

@ 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔 . 𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒, 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠.

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asumofwords · 1 year

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So this is a rquest. Aemond and his niece got bethroted but shes not happy about it. So, to tease him in hopes of him putting an end to their bethrotal, she starts flirting with every lord, guard or men that she finds attractive on the Red Keep. But, one night, she takes things to another level and sneaks out to a party at Flea Bottom and hes the one who finds her dancing on top of a table and, even if its a sight to be seen(thats what the men watching her with hungry eyes think too), he finally snaps and drags her out of there into a private place where some dubcon smutty action happens ;). With him telling her "if you want to act like a whore, ill treat you like a whore".

A/N: Oooooh, juicy. Thanks for the request!!! I honestly love the idea of giving Aemond a run for his money haha. I love seeing a man become feral. I hope you enjoy hehe.

Unsought Betrothal

TW: Dark!Aemond, 18+, Noncon, Dubcon, Aemond being a cunt, forced marriage.

Words: 6k

Pairings: Aemond X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader

Your betrothal to the One-Eyed Prince was a shock you.

Alicent had insisted that you marry your uncle in order to strengthen the bonds of your divided house, and your mother Rhaenyra was all too eager to agree. Despite the relationship of the two women having soured over the years, and efforts to rekindle it beginning, you could not say the same for Aemond.

As a child, Aemond had been quiet, dutiful and albeit awkward, kind. Not quite fitting in, and baring the brunt of your brothers and other uncles bullying. Yet, underneath his quiet demeanour, was a simmering rage and vicious jealousy.

Lords and Ladies from all over the realm had come to join you this evening in the Red Keep to celebrate the engagement of the Velaryon Princess to the Targaryen Prince. The Hall was lined with tables and chairs, food piled high on gold and silver plates and goblets of wine and mead held in every persons hands. Music played loudly, and the overall mood of the room was happiness.

Except for you.

You sat at the table, watching the Court converse with each other, laughing loudly, and others dancing in the middle of the room as music played from the corner. All wore their finest gowns and silks, necks and fingers dripping with gold and jewels.

Aemond sat beside you stiffly, having not tried to converse with you as he simply observed the room of guests, goblet in his hand with a spiced wine from Dorne within.

You sipped heavily from your goblet as you watched the celebrations, wishing for them to end so that you may disappear into your chambers, and enjoy the last few moments of solitude that you may have before you are wed to the Prince.

How terribly dull.

You had begged your mother to not allow this to go forward, to not accept the betrothal, but she refused. It was a way to prevent a war, she had told you, and that she had not been allowed to marry who she had wanted to either.

And so you bit your tongue, and did what your mother bid you to do.

Sighing loudly, you pulled the goblet up to your lips, drinking the rest of the spiced wine quickly, feeling it leave a warm path down your throat as you swallowed. It settled in your stomach, and the buzz from drinking that evening began to rise.

You turned your head to look at your uncle, “Are you going to ask me to dance?”

Only the slightest, most imperceptible movement of his head, allowed you to know that he had heard you. You stared at the profile of his face, his sharp nose and face accentuated by the candle lit room.

“Hm.”

The least he could do was dance with you, to pretend that he wanted you. To pretend that he cared for your happiness. You both had gotten along when you were younger, but when Lucerys took his eye, he had become most bitter and spiteful, always looking at ways to take it out on you.

Aemond would openly call you a bastard, trip you over and sneer at you. He would make comments about your hair, and dresses, your brothers and your father.

He made your life hell.

Standing abruptly you slammed the cup onto the table and shoved your chair backwards, before walking down into the space where everyone was dancing, leaving your betrothed to sit at the table with your family in silence.

Bodies weaved around each other and smiles lit up the room. The Lords and Ladies parted like the sea, to allow you to dance with them all, their hands coming up to their partners before spinning back around.

As they made room for you, you were stood in front of Lord Cregan Stark.

Cregan was who you had hoped to be wed to, in fact who you had begged your mother to wed you to. You had heard nothing but praise about the man; of his bravery, of his loyalty, and of course his handsome looks. He had dark brown hair, almost black atop his head, it was lightly curled and sat just below his ears.

He wore all black that evening, and the way his clothes fit his body made you want him all the more. As you looked at him he smiled, teeth showing as he bowed before offering you a hand.

“Congratulations on your betrothal, Princess.” He spoke to you above the sounds of the music and people around you, as you held onto his hand and danced.

“Thank you, My Lord. You are too kind.” You blushed, as his hand came to hold at your shoulder. So respectfully.

“You have travelled far for such an occasion.” You noted.

“Of course, Princess. Who wouldn’t want to see such an event. And meet the famed Rose of the Red Keep.” You felt his hand come to the middle of your back, as you moved.

The wine coursed through your veins as you spun again, feeling a burning sensation on your skin. As you looked up, you saw Aemond watching you and Cregan dancing, one eye narrowed and his lips pursed into a hard line.

Perhaps you didn’t have to go through this marriage after all…

“I had hoped this would have been for us.” You purred, voice low so that only he could hear.

Cregan almost paused as he looked at you, dark brown eyes searching your face.

“You mock me, Princess.”

“I assure you, I don’t. I had asked my mother to betroth me to you. Though, she thought my uncle would be more advantageous. It is… tradition.”

The Stark did not answer you, instead his hand moved further down your black dress, settling on your lower back as you moved. You pulled apart from him, glancing up to see if Aemond was still watching.

He was.

“Would you mind accompanying me to get a drink, My Lord? I find that my feet are beginning to become tired, and I am thirsty for more wine.”

Lord Cregan bowed his head in acknowledgement, and led you through the crowd to the tables on the side. Picking up a goblet, you poured yourself a full cup, turning to face the dark haired man before thrusting the cup out to him to sip from first.

His large hand brushed over yours and you felt heat pull through you. He pulled the cup to his lips and sipped, before talking.

“If I had known about your intentions for me, I would have rode here sooner.”

His voice was as smooth as butter, and you felt yourself drawn to him.

You felt that watchful eye on you still, burning into the side of your face.

“Or maybe I will have to ride back to Winterfell with you.” You stepped away from the table and closer to Cregan, pulling the cup form his hand, sipping the wine heavily as you slipped up to whisper in his ear.

“I heard that Starks never break an oath.” You let your lips graze his ear, and you felt the man pull in a breath, deep into his chest.

“We don’t.”

“That is… impressive.” You purr leaning back to look at him again, “So if we were to marry, and to speak our vows, you would honour them?”

“Would you?”

“One flesh,” You placed a hand on his chest above his heart, “One heart, one soul, now and forever.” You smiled at him.

As you moved to lean closer to him, to invite him to follow you, to ensure people would witness you leave with him, to embarrass Aemond so that Alicent would annul the betrothal, you heard your name.

Both you and Cregan turned your head to see Aemond himself, standing beside you, eye glaring at your hand upon the Stark mans chest. Cregan took a step back, nodding his head at your betrothed.

“My Prince.”

Aemond did not even spare the Lord a glance, nor even an amused, aggravated or bored hum like he usually did. He simply stared at you, and where your hand now hung limply by your side.

“Come.” Aemond challenged you.

“Why?” You snipped back, turning to look at Cregan who stood where he was, looking all the more uncomfortable.

“You wished to dance.”

“Not anymore. I am tired.”

“Then I will accompany you to your chambers.”

“No thank you. I can walk myself.”

Aemond then turned his attention to the man who still stood beside you both, watching the stiff interaction.

“Do you have intentions to bed my betrothed?” Aemond questioned, as though he was asking about the weather. Tone all too uninterested, but lone eye bright with that quiet simmering rage.

“No, My Lord. We were merely talking.”

“Hm. Excuse us, we have much to talk about.”

Aemond wasn’t asking.

Cregan nodded at your uncle before back at you, “Of course.” Before he turned back away and into the sea of people celebrating behind you. You watched, eyes wide and rage building inside, as your uncle stood in front of you were Cregan had.

“I see what you’re doing.”

“I don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about, Aemond.”

“Hm.”

“Excuse me, I have to finish my conversation.” You pushed to try and walk past him, back into the crowd.

Aemond’s hand grabbed your arm as you moved to follow Cregan back into the crowd, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of your arm.

“Let go of me.” You grunted, as you tried to yank your arm from his grip.

Aemond turned his head away from you, looking to the far wall where Ser Criston Cole stood. The man caught the Princes eyesight before coming towards you.

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” You growled, hand roughly pulling the One-Eyed Princes fingers backwards and off of you.

Ser Cole stood beside you, ever the dog of the Hightower’s.

“Please escort the Princess back to her chambers. She has had enough wine for the evening.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Ser Criston bowed, his brown eyes looking at your face expectantly.

“No. I’m not going. These are my celebrations. And I am celebrating.” You snapped. Trying once more to weave your way into the crowd, finding Cregan’s gaze on yours as he watched the scene play out.

“Don’t think you can whore yourself out to these Lords without me knowing.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hm.”

You snatched your arm away from his, before walking away from him back to the large table where you all sat. Alicent watched you anxiously as you sat back down, anger rolling off of you in waves, whilst your mother watched on in exacerbation.

You spent the rest of the evening sitting at the table, not speaking to anyone else, watching Cregan from across the room, and feeling the gaze of your uncle as he observed you from your side.

You grew tired and restless from the celebrations and eventually excused yourself, bidding the table a curt good night before leaving the Hall and making for your chambers. The further you got from the Hall, the quieter the hallways became, until all that you could hear was the distant laughter and chatter of the court, celebrating an already doomed marriage.

As you reached the end of another corridor that led to your chambers, you heard quickened steps on the stone floors behind you. Clasping your hands at your front you turned, expecting to see an angry Aemond, hot on your tails to berate you for the evenings events.

What you did not expect was Cregan Stark, rapidly approaching you, hair wild and smile wide. His cheeks were a soft pink from the alcohol and likely the brisk pace he made to catch up with you.

“My Lord?”

“Please, call me Cregan.”

“Cregan.” You smiled, “Are you alright?”

The tall man stepped forward in a rush, his large palms coming to grab each side of your face before pulling you hurriedly into a chaste kiss, his lips pressing roughly against yours. He pulled away just as soon as they touched.

You smiled at him, stomach doing flips, heat crawling up your neck.

“Some Lords and my men will be going down to Flea Bottom on the morrows eve. Join us.” He asked, voice rushed.

Your smile only widened.

“Where?” You asked, looking behind him to make sure that no one else was listening.

“At the White Stag. Say you will come.”

“I will.”

Cregan’s smile made your heart warm.

“Until the morrow. Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight.”

The next day went by slowly, as you anxiously waited on night to fall, and for you to leave the Keep to sneak down to Flea Bottom to the White Stag, where you would meet with Lord Cregan Stark.

You had avoided Aemond like you usually did, opting to stay hidden in the gardens or your own chambers away from him, planning what to wear in your head mentally all day.

Soon the moon rose high in the sky, and you had your maids prepare you for bed, bringing a bath to your chambers, letting you soak in the hot water, scented with fragrant oils.

They could not leave your chambers sooner, and after you had finished your meal alone and had your hair brushed, you slipped into your bed and closed your eyes, pretending to be tired so that the maids would leave sooner.

As you heard the chamber doors close, you shot up out of bed, discarded the chemise over your head before throwing one of your black gowns on. Although you struggled to lace it yourself, you still succeeded. You pulled a large black cloak from your closet and pulled the hood over your head before placing a hand on the face of a painting. With strength you pushed the painting backwards, revealing a hidden pathway behind, one that you and your siblings and uncles had used as children, and one in which, you knew your mother had used in the past too.

Shutting the path door behind you, you slunk down the passageway, winding your way through the Keep, and then finally descending down large steps to Flea Bottom below.

As you reached the small city, the streets were lined with people and noise, drinks were being drunk, songs being sung and even performances in squares were watchers looked on at puppet shows and plays.

You wound your way through the streets, not entirely sure of where you were going. That was when you felt anxiety. You did not even know where you were, or how to get there. Or what even the White Stag looked like. You looked behind you and noticed that you couldn’t even remember what way you came.

Before you could let the anxiety overwhelm you, you felt a warm hand placed on your shoulder.

“Princess.” Came the smooth timber of Cregan Stark.

You smiled at the man who stood before you. Dressed in dark brown leathers with his hair brushed backwards out of his face, bar one lone curl that hung down from his forehead.

“You look lost.” He joked.

You huffed a relived laugh, “Would you believe me if I told you I wasn’t?”

“Not one bit.”

“Well, you'd best lead the way.”

The White Stag was a large inn, with stone flooring and walls, exposed wood detailing and low light coming from candles and a large fireplace. The windows were adorned with rich red curtains, and tables and chairs sat strewn amongst the space. As soon as you stepped inside, the air changed. It was hot, bodies were everywhere as they laughed and sang and even danced. Women sat atop mens laps or sang loudly as they stood nearby.

Cregan sat you down at a table that was full of men, you assumed also from the North, with three to four women standing beside, or leaning against them. Most ignored you as you sat, a large pint of mead being placed in your hand, as Cregan sat beside you. Turning his chair to face you fully, as you looked at each other.

“So, I have been thinking about what you said last night.” He spoke loudly over the sound of the inn.

“What did I say?” You teased.

“About oaths.”

“Oh, I think remember.”

“I thought of something else.”

“And that is?”

“Oi Cregan, who’s the girl?” Came a booming voice of a man across the table. His skin was pale and dotted in freckles, almost like constellations. He had short dark hair and piercing green eyes. Before Cregan could answer for you, you replied.

“Y/n.”

The man tilted his head. “Has the Princess lost her way?” He teased, smirk rising on his face.

“Leave her be, Dustin.” Cregan lightly warned the man, which only seemed to spark his interest more.

“So you are the Princess then. Where’s your husband?” Dustin asked, thick accent curling his r’s, as he looked behind you.

“I’m not married.”

“Ah, but you are betrothed.”

You sipped heavily form your drink.

“Not for a lack of trying. I had hoped to have that betrothal annulled. Do you have a spare horse?”

Dustin’s brow furrowed as he looked at you, then to Cregan beside you who laughed.

“You lost your dragon?”

“No, but I think the North would be far too cold for him. Plus, easily spotted.” You smirked, sipping again before turning your attention back to Cregan.

“So, what else had you thought of?” You inquired.

Stark smiled down at you as he shifted his chair closer, the sound of the wood scuffing on the stone below catching in your ears.

“Thought about oaths that I would make to you.”

“And what would those be?” You leant in closer, hand coming to touch his thigh.

“I would swear to honour you.”

“Go on.” You urged him.

“I would swear to give myself to you fully.”

“And?”

“I would swear to ensure that you never hunger or thirst for naught.”

“For naught?” You ask, heat building inside of you as you drank.

Cregan smirked in response.

“And what if I told you that I was starved?” You asked.

“Are you?”

“Of a sort.” You let your hand crawl higher up his leather clad thigh, the muscles rippling under your touch.

“Then I would have to work to fix that.” He smirked.

As the night continued, you and Cregan sat closer and closer to one another until your knees were brushing against each other. Dustin watched on shamelessly as a woman sat upon his lap, long slender fingers brushing against his neck as she spoke quietly into his ear.

The night was filled with the laughter and joy you had hoped for last evening. Ale was spilt upon wooden table tops and floors, as men and women began to sing louder and dance upon tables and chairs. Before long, the woman who had seated herself upon Dustin pulled you up with her, onto the table to dance.

You let her grasp your hand, as you laughed, looking back at an amused Cregan and and even more amused Dustin, as you pulled up your skirts to jump atop a large table, where four others had begun to stamp their feet and sing loudly to a song you had never heard. A sea shanty tale.

You let the ale guide your body as you twisted and danced, laughing loudly with the woman, who you learnt was named Sara. Her long auburn hair glowed in the light as you leant on each other to dance, one hand still tightly grasped in your skirts to keep them from ripping beneath your feet.

Cregan’s icy eyes watched your movements as you let a hand trail up the bodice of your dress, watching him with intent as you swayed. Stark leant back in his chair, legs widening, with one arm leaning upon the table as Sara placed a soft kiss to your cheek in excitement. You felt a blush crawl over your cheeks.

All eyes were on you, as the men watched you sway your hips, hands smoothing up your body in a slight tease. The ale making your movements bolder as you stared at Cregan, challenging him to take you somewhere more private, or if he so desired, there on that very seat.

Never before had you felt so desired.

As you bent forward to give the men a show of your cleavage, you felt the world tip suddenly, as a calloused hand ripped you from the table. Your ankle rolled sharply as you stumbled back onto the stone floor, iron grip bruising the soft flesh of your wrist. Your sight caught those of the table who watched you, no longer in a trance, stiffly.

You turned your head to you assailant, finding one piercing purple eye and another sapphire watching you in distaste. Aemond’s lips were pulled down into a sneer and he held onto you tightly, three men from the Kings Guard behind him, as well as Ser Criston Cole.

Cregan watched as Aemond towered over the both of you, looking down his nose as he watched in disgust, anger pouring from him in waves. And although he looked somewhat calm on the outside, you knew that this quietness was telling of Aemond’s simmering rage.

“Do continue.” Aemond purred, pushing you roughly towards Cregan, your feet stumbling beneath themselves.

“Don't-” You began before he interrupted you.

“-I think he was talking about fixing your hunger. Were you not, Lord Stark?” His one purple eye, boring a hole into Cregan's head.

Cregan did not answer, instead his jaw clenched.

“No?” The One-Eyed Prince mused.

“Aemond, stop.” You hissed, ankle sore from the way you landed on it.

“But you seemed so content, dancing for these Northerners, niece. Continue.”

“Fuck you. Craven.” You hissed, watching Aemond’s lip twitch upwards, before he looked back at Ser Cole.

“Ser Criston, have these men escorted to the edge of the city. I fear there has been treason this evening.”

Ser Cole and his men stepped forward, surrounding the table, as Cregan and his men looked up in shock. You looked at Cregan, wide eyed before turning back to Aemond.

“What? They did nothing wrong!” You began to panic.

“I fear there was a plot to tarnish your good name, Princess.” Aemond purred, snatching your arm painfully before beginning to pull you through the White Stag, and back out into the streets of Flea Bottom.

You dug your feet into the ground, trying to pull away from him, ignoring the slight pain of your ankle, but he was too strong for you, his bruising grip getting tighter the further he dragged you away.

“Stop! Let me go! They did nothing wrong!” You dug your fingers into his, trying to pry them away, but it was no use. He dragged you through Flea Bottom as onlookers watched.

You pulled a hand back, making a fist before you slammed it down onto his shoulder, “Get off!” You yelled.

Aemond stopped in his tracks, and you breathed heavily, still trying to pull away from your uncle. His head turned to gaze at you, his face completely devoid of any emotion, except the small twitch of his lip. His eye roamed you before looking behind you.

Then suddenly he was moving again.

Aemond pulled you into a small dark alley, bruising grip painfully throbbing up your arm. You looked frantically around you, but all had gone back to their business, and ignored the two Valyrians. He threw you forward into the space as your chest heaved, looking about to escape, but there was none.

“If you want to act like a whore, I’ll treat you like a whore.” He purred before he descended on you. His hands pushed you roughly against the wall of the alley, brick digging painfully into your back. You squirmed, desperate to get away from his grip, hands coming up to his chest to push your uncle away from you.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” He growled, hands roughly coming up to palm at your breasts and you fought to push him off, fear crawling its way up your throat.

“Did you truly think I wouldn’t know what you were doing?” He sneered, one hand pushing against your throat roughly, cutting off your air. Your hands flew up to try and pull his away as he kept you locked against the wall in the dark depths of Flea Bottom.

“You thought you could parade yourself like a whore,” His hand ripped the front of your bodice down, your breasts spilling forth from their confines as his violet eye watched greedily, fingers coming to pinch painfully against your nipple, “To try and have this betrothal annulled.”

The cool air kissed at your breasts, causing your nipples to harden. You pushed at him with all your strength, trying to run away from the sharp pinching of his fingers, and the lack of air he denied you. Each pinch made your body stiffen.

You whimpered.

“But you misunderstand me, niece.” His hand left their cruel assault upon your breasts to roughly begin hiking your dress up your body, you felt panic and fear begin to settle in your stomach as you dug your fingers into his chest sharply with your nails , trying to get him to let you go, shaking your head.

“Do you think I would let some filthy Northerners touch you?” His hand slipped under your skirts, brutally digging into the soft skin of your sex, “It will be my seed that will grow inside of you.”

Aemond’s fingers rubbed up and down your cunt roughly, gathering what little wetness was there, before he thrusted two fingers inside of you. Your eyes widened in shock as you felt the sharp sting of his intrusion. His fingers moved in and out quickly and painfully, pushing roughly into your warm heat as he watched your face.

“This is what you wanted, yes? To be treated like a dirty whore?” He purred, as breathless whimpers left your lips, your hands weakly pushing against his chest as you felt your vision begin to blur from lack of oxygen.

Your uncle’s hand left your throat and you sucked in a greedy gulp of air, a sob escaping your lips as you clawed at his arm, trying to stop his movements, whilst the hand that left your throat came down to roughly grasp at your exposed breasts.

“What would Lord Stark say to see you like this, hm? To see the Princess exposed in the filthy streets with her uncle inside of her cunt. Would he still want you?” He growled, hand quickening its pace as you felt a warmth begin to settle in your lower stomach, the pain fading away to be replaced with the soft trickles of pleasure.

“Stop, Aemond. Please.” You begged him, voice hoarse as a tear slid from your cheek. He had you pressed so tightly against the wall that you could not move your hips back to escape him, so that all you could do was let him use you.

“Please?” He mocked, face coming close to yours before he kissed the tear away from your cheek. He hummed.

Your betrothed thumb came to press sharply at your slit, as his fingers rubbed the soft spongey flesh inside of you, pulling pleasure from your forcefully.

A ragged moan left your lips as you jolted from the sudden pressure.

“Mmm.” Aemond hummed close to your ear, moving his hand faster and more brutally. You felt tears begin to prick at your eyes, as you felt yourself being forced closer to your peak.

“Are you going to cum, zaldrītsos?” (Little dragon) He purred in your ear, as his thumb swirled roughly against the small bundle of nerves, the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten.

“Are you going to cum on my hand like a filthy whore? Out in the open for anyone to see? Perhaps I should have had Cregan and his men watch how disgusting you are.” He mused, and you felt yourself clench.

“Go on, be a good whore and cum for me.” He growled, and you felt the coil snap, as his thumb and fingers sent you over the edge, crashing down into a powerful orgasm.

His hands did not stop their assault, as you tried to push him away from you, tears sliding down your cheeks as your body twitched in the aftershocks of your orgasm. His fingers only became rougher as they pulled at you, before suddenly they were ripped away, a gasp leaving your lips as Aemond roughly spun you against the wall, your cheek digging into the rough brick of the alley.

His hands pulled your skirts over the rump of your ass, before pulling you backwards towards him. Your hands caught the brick as you tried to pull yourself straight and away from him, as Aemond clicked his tongue behind you.

“Be a good whore, and take it.” He hissed before you felt the soft hard head of his cock brush against the lips of your cunt.

You moved to pull away but you were trapped.

“Uncle, please. No.” You cried, as you felt him push sharply inside of you, pain blooming within as he broke through your walls.

Aemond grunted from behind you before he started a brutal pace, his hips slamming against yours roughly, as you felt the painful sharp intrusion of his cock inside of you. The head of it, roughly hitting your cervix causing shooting agony to ripple up your body.

“So fucking tight.” He growled as he continued his assault, broken whimpers escaping your mouth as you used your hands to hold you up against the wall in purchase, trying to crawl away from him.

Your uncle leant forward, crushing you with his body as he rutted up inside of you, changing the angle suddenly, brushing over the soft spongey flesh inside of you, causing you to mewl.

“Does that feel good?” He mocked as he continued to rub himself against the spot, the pain of him taking your maidenhead replaced with the warm sparks of pleasure, building faster than before. You shook your head, trying to move away from him.

“No?” He asked, “Let me help you.”

Two of Aemond’s fingers shoved roughly into your open mouth before it snaked down the front of your dress, pressing against your clit, swirling softer circles around the nub.

Your cunt clenched against his cock as he continued to rut against you, his soft grunts in your ear as you felt yourself begin to wet around him, his cock sliding in and out of you smoother, aided by your arousal.

“I think it does feel good. I can feel your slick.” He mused as he continued to rub on you.

You felt yourself rapidly descending towards your second release, your fingers digging into the bricks as you began to chase after the peak, hips subtly pushing back against him. His fingers began to rub faster against you, as he thrusted harder into you, cock grazing that special spot as the coil wound itself tight, ready to break again before suddenly he stopped.

Aemond pushed himself fully into you, the head of his cock pushing snugly against your cevix as his fingers lifted away from your clit, preventing you from reaching your climax. A soft sob fell from your lips as your hips pushed back into him, chasing what was denied.

“Uh uh.” Your uncle tutted, “Beg.”

A whimper left your lips.

You refused to beg.

Instead, pushing yourself up and down his shaft shakily, trying to catch your release, though your movements were jagged and shallow, prevented by him pushing you up against the wall.

“Aemond.” You whispered his name, feeling the pleasure begin to simmer away from you, dwindling rapidly.

“Beg.” He purred, softly pulling out and then slowly pushing back in, his shaft rubbing through you, causing pleasure to spark.

“Uncle.” You whimpered again, grabbing his arm trying to pull him closer, but he did not budge.

“Be a good little whore, and beg for it.”

“Aemond, please.” You begged, as you pushed your ass back into him, using your hands to attempt to rind against him.

“Please what, sweet niece?” He purred in your ear, hand grasping your hip tightly to stop your movements.

You shut your eyes tightly before sucking in a shark breath, head turning against the bricks so that you could peer at him from your periphery.

“Please fuck me.” You whispered.

“I can’t hear you.” Aemond mocked, as ground his hips into you, causing a wave of pleasure to curl its way around your stomach.

“Please fuck me, Aemond.” You begged louder. Feeling shame and arousal crawling through you as you hid your face back into the brick of the wall, pushing your ass back into his crotch, feeling his cock gently slide through your folds.

“Good girl.” He praised, before thrusting roughly into you, setting a sharp pace, hips clapping into the flesh of your ass, echoing in the empty alleyway.

A hand wound its way up your throat to hold you still as he pulled you backwards, arching your back against him as he thrusted wildly into you, before the other hand snaked down to begin rubbing at your clit again, fingers slipping around it smoothly with your slick.

“Please, please, please.” You whimpered, hips pushing back against him as his lips kissed against your neck, your second release rapidly arriving with every thrust of his hips.

Aemond grunted against you as he felt you clenching around him, each push and pull of his hips dragging the head of his cock against your sweet spot, before it sent you tumbling over the edge.

The coil snapped and you found yourself moaning loudly into the alley, his hips continuing their brutal pace as he pushed you through your climax, his fingers continuing to rub circles against you, prolonging your release. You felt your slick drip down your thighs, and moaned.

“Yes.” He purred into your neck, before his teeth dug sharply in to your shoulder, his hips stuttering against you, as you felt his warm seed spurting inside.

You sagged against him, letting him hold you up as he continued to thrust into you slower, letting each spurt of cum settle deep inside of you, as some began to leak out of you and down your legs.

“Fuck.” He sighed dreamily, as he pushed himself to his limit inside of you, feeling your cunt twitch around him.

A dull ache began to settle in your core as you felt Aemond slowly slide himself out of you, feeling his seed and your release drip onto the dirty ground below.

You breathed heavily as you caught your breath, leaning your head against his shoulder as his hands gripped your hips, bruising your tender flesh, before he spun you around to face him.

His hair was messed, and a light layer of sweat had settle upon his forehead. The pupil of his lavender eye was blown out so that you could scarcely see the iris behind it. His gaze trailed down your body to your exposed breasts which heaved with every ragged and exhausted breath you took. A hand came to stroke the underside of one softly, causing goosebumps to erupt across your body.

“My sweet niece,” He cooed, “Such a good whore for me.” You almost keened at his praise as his eye landed upon your lips.

Your uncle leant forward to press a rough and punishing kiss to your lips, hand curling in your hair at the back of your head, denying you to pull away. You kissed him back lazily as you felt him smirk.

The One-Eyed Prince pulled back watching you intently before he smiled.

“We will be wed on the morrow, and you will carry my seed, and grow heavy with my child.” He looked down, brushing a hand against your stomach.

You blinked as you looked at him.

“If you thought you could escape me, you were sorely mistaken.” He leant in close, lips brushing your ears, “Iksā ñuhon.” He purred.

You are mine.

I hope you enjoyed that lil request! Thanks so much for sending it through, it was fun to write. :)

2K notes · View notes

fairysluna · 1 year

Text

little wolf.

Cregan's little sister is the only one who can change his mind, which is why Aemond decides to use his charms and convince her to support the Green using some peculiar methods.

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Tags/TW: smut (p in v, loss of virginity, f!oral sex, praise, breeding, kinda innocent!kink), teasing, a bit of mean!aemond, slight dubcon, cregan being an overprotective brother, cursing. if something is missing let me know!!

Author's Note: mimor @tvrgvryen sent me this request a few days ago and I had to do it bc i loved it so much. So here it is!

Word Count: 4.9k

Aemond has always been a good observer. He has always noticed the small details, the reason why people acted as they did, the way people treated others. That's why it wasn't hard for him to realize how important you were for your beloved brother Cregan.

The day he first stepped into Winterfell after Vhagar gracefully landed on the snow, he saw how brave Cregan was for stepping between you and the enormous beast. However, that mere gesture exposed the big affection he had for you; his only sister, and with that, Aemond knew what was Lord Stark's greatest weakness… you.

He went to the North with a mission, a task to fulfill, and he was not a man that was known to give up on things. Aemond was resilient, determined. He would not accept a negative answer from the Warden of the North, and even though he knew about the oath and how Starks are famously known for being loyal to their words; he was eager to find his way to gain the North's support.

And his opportunity came up with you; the sweet, kind Lady Stark. Beloved by all, you were also known as the Heart of Winterfell, for it was said that even the small folk held dear for you. Everything that Aemond heard about you were nothing but good words, showing how much people appreciated you, which only impulsed Aemond's bad intentions.

It is true, a Stark never forgets an oath, but the North gathers when the wolf howls… and even though your brother was the visible face of your House, everyone knew that it was you the one that had true power over the masses; your gentleness made you the Queen of the North, and that information was enough for Aemond to start his devious schemes.

It all started at the training yard. The snow had fallen earlier in the morning, covering the ground with a thick layer of snow. He was staring at you as you struggled with a bow and arrow, not being able to hit the bullseye. This would only make you groan with impatience, despair even. Aemond pressed his lips and looked down at his shoes, trying to show himself amused by you wrestling.

"You're too tense, my lady," he said as he slowly walked towards you.

His black fur coat covering his slim shape, his white hair perfectly still despite the crazy wind, his hands at the back of his body. He looked so effortlessly elegant, it almost made you blush.

"My prince," you greeted him, bowing swiftly, "I'm sorry you have to watch this terrible attempt."

"I didn't know women were allowed to train here in the North," he spoke, politely as he stretched his arm to touch the fine wood of the bow you were holding.

"We're not," you replied, "but my brother insists I should be prepared to defend myself, so he forces me to train either way."

"Mhm…" he nodded, "your brother is a clever man. A beauty like yours is the target of many deprived men, he's doing well by letting you learn how to protect yourself."

"But he barely has time to teach me," you complained, placing your arms in position to shoot again, "now he's in a meeting with the Mormonts, and I am here," you let the arrow go, but it didn't even hit the target. "...failing miserably."

Aemond chuckled, and you inevitably blushed at the low sound that came out of him. You stared at him from your peripheral view, analyzing his undeniable beauty and flirtatious smirk which made your heart beat a little too fast.

"You're too tense," he repeated, as he shifted his position until he was behind you.

His hands went to your shoulders, and he squeezed them softly giving you a soft and short massage that made you close your eyes. Soon, one of his hands reached yours, the one that was holding the bow's grip. He wrapped it around yours, and you immediately felt his warmth on your cold skin. It made you gasp silently.

"You see, I'm not so good at using a bow, I think my weapon of choice is the sword," he whispered, getting closer to your ear, his breath smacking against your shivering skin, "but I know things… and I can teach you if you please, my lady."

His nose rubbed against your hair, and your delicious smell almost made him groan. Soon, the prince helped you to fix your position as your breathing was getting heavier and an unknown feeling was installed in your lower belly. You feel the heat even though it was freezing cold, you felt his body pressing against yours leaving a sensation of distress, as if your body was begging you for something.

You feared of someone seeing you; the position was quite compromising, and you were certain your reputation would be stained if someone witnessed such a scandalous scene. It felt too intimate for you, perhaps not so proper for a maiden like you. You would have tried to push him away, but there was something within him that did not allow you to do so; it was as if he had bewitched you with his charms, and you were under a spell from which you were not able to wake up.

"It's simple, my lady," he explained, "you must relax, you must let go," his voice so deep and low against your ear, "come on, no one's watching, you're under no pressure…"

His touch, so delicate and gentle, mixed with his words, which you quickly misinterpreted; 'no one's watching', it sounded more like an invitation rather than words of comfort. You couldn't help but to sigh, a gesture that brought a slight smirk upon Aemond's face.

"Let yourself go, Lady Stark," his voice turned more breathy, rapier. "That's it, so good… now, eyes on the target, don't take your eyes off of it, okay?"

You simply nodded, wildly blushing at his praise. There was a subtle shiver that went to your trembling hands, you cleared your throat trying to play it down.

"Take deep breaths, don't close your eyes," his hands left yours, now going to your abdomen, his nose brushing against your ear as he kept whispering, "good, good girl."

Your teeth captured your lower lip as you held back a whimper. Squirming in your place, you felt weak on the knees as his hands left a squeeze on your hips.

"Now… shoot."

You listened, and your hand let go of the string. Your eyes widened with surprise as the arrow hit close to the bullseye, which was certainly not perfect, but it was an improvement. A smile appeared in your face as you tilted your head to appreciate your achievement, and soon a giggle escaped you.

"Oh, Gods…" you sighed, "I did it."

"You did it," Aemond said, "you did so well."

His words made your face turn to face him, and his lips were just a few inches away from yours. Your breath hitched, as your heart pounded with so much strength that you thought he would be able to hear it… even feel it. His hand traveled upwards your body until it reached the nape of your neck.

For a moment you thought he would kiss you, that his soft-looking lips would dare to touch yours. But suddenly, he pulled away. Few seconds later, footsteps were heard dragging the snow beneath their feet, and soon you found out the reason behind his abrupt reaction.

"Sister!" you heard. The deep and roaring voice of your brother woke you up from your trance, and you turned around to face him.

You saw a frown upon his face as his eyes narrowed. For a moment you thought he saw how close you were with Aemond, but soon his own words proved you wrong.

"Septa has been waiting for you for an hour!" he scolded you, "why are you still here?"

It took you a while to speak, you knew your voice would come out weak and thin if you dared to utter a word in that moment, which not only would make Cregan be suspicious of what happened, but also would embarrass you in front of the charming prince.

Luckily for you, Aemond decided to step in.

"I was helping her train, my lord, I'm sorry for the disruption I might have caused," you looked down at the steps Aemond had left in the snow, right beside yours.

You were quick and subtle once you purposely stepped on them to erase them. Aemond noticed and he couldn't help but smirk.

"Well, stop your training and go," he demanded, "you might continue tomorrow."

You had no choice but to obey. One last glance was given to Aemond as you bowed to him, saying goodbye. Cregan followed your frame as you entered the castle, and then he turned to look at the prince. Aemond was no fool, he knew Cregan was not ignorant of his intention… he was a man after all, he could see through his facade with no big effort.

However, he did not say anything about it. He just nodded, and then he left leaving Aemond standing alone with the burning desire running down his body.

At first, he planned on just seducing you… but now? Now he will have you. He needed to have you.

That same day, quite late at night, you were found in your chambers, laying on your belly on top of the fur carpet right in front of the warmth of the fireplace. A book was between your hands as your eyes followed the traces of the poetic words that were written in it. The sound of the fire crackling and burning the wood was the only thing you were able to hear until three soft knocks interrupted the quiet calmness of the night.

You barely looked up as you muttered a soft 'come in', turning the page to continue with your reading. The door was opened in a subtle movement that you barely noticed, and soon you heard steps getting close to you.

It wasn't until you were able to see the shoes of that person that you decided to look up, only to find Aemond's grin staring back at you. You immediately sat up, crossing your legs and trying to cover your breasts with the book; the fabric of your nightgown was thin, and you knew that your skin could usually be seen through it if he dared to squint to take a look.

Your body hasn't forgotten about his touch and closeness, and in a certain way it was actually craving for more of that. But you knew it was not proper, you've heard whispers around the castle claiming that he was actually betrothed to one of Lord Baratheon's daughters, meaning he already belonged to someone else.

And yet, you couldn't help but to feel the eagerness to touch him.

"My Prince," you said, the shock of seeing him there, sitting on the carpet right beside you was shown in your voice, "what- what are you doing here?"

"I found myself alone and bored in my chambers, so I decided to wander around the castle and the path brought me here… to you," he smiled kindly as he said those last two words. Words that made your heart beat faster and your cheeks turn red, "were you reading?" He asked, pointing at the book that was covering your pebbled nipples.

"Uh… yes," you nodded, shyly, "it's a book about poetry."

"Poetry?" He asked, raising his eyebrows, "Mind if I have a look, little wolf?"

You couldn't help but to wildly blush with the pet name, feeling butterflies inside your belly as you pulled the book out of your chest and left it in his hands. Aemond's eyes inevitably went to see your soft breasts covered by a thin white layer of silky fabric, breathing deep and harsh as he felt his cock twitch inside his pants once he managed to see your nipples through it.

He remained calm, even when the only thing he wanted was to rip that gown out of your body and take you right there. Instead, he just sighed as his fingers elegantly turned the pages, reading some extract of the love poems in the book.

"I see you're a romantic person, my Lady," he commented, without taking his eyes off of the pages, "do you consider yourself a fan of the genre?"

"It's something that I enjoy reading, yes," you nodded.

"I had the impression," he confessed, closing the book and leaving it aside, "have you ever been in love?"

You shook your head, "I don't- I don't think so."

"Mhm…" he sighed, "that’s odd, you're a gorgeous lady, one might have thought you had a lot of suitors waiting for you."

"You're too kind," you said, looking retrained for a few seconds.

"I'm just stating the facts, little wolf," he spoke softly, "It seems like your brother likes to scare them away."

"Them?" You asked confused.

"Your suitors," he clarified, "that's the only reasonable explanation of why you are not married yet."

"He just wants the best for me," you defended him.

"And what would that be?"

"A husband who not only sees me as a womb with legs, but also as something precious, something worthy of love and care," your dreamy voice made Aemond smirk, the naiveness in you amused him in so many ways.

"You're asking for too much in a society like this, don't you think?"

You shrugged, "a girl can only dream."

The prince nodded, "and a man can only fulfill those dreams, am I right?" You remained silent, avoiding his heavy and penetrative stare at all cost, "have you ever been this close to a man before?"

"No…"

"I could tell," he chuckled, a sound that buzzed into your ears and made your mind go fuzzy, "you were quite nervous when I helped you with your bow this morning."

"I don't feel very comfortable with the proximity of men…" you confessed.

"Of all men, or just of me?"

That's when you realized where this was going, and the panic quickly installed in your gut as you swallowed hard. It took you some time, but you finally noticed his true intentions. You knew you had to stop him before things went further.

"My prince, I'm not quite sure what you mean by those words," you started to stand up, tumbling in your knees, "but it's late and it wouldn't be proper for you to be seen in my chambers, so please-"

Your words were interrupted by the sudden action of Aemond, who pulled you closer until you stranded him, your legs at each side of his body as he forced you to sit on his lap, his hands pressed in your hips firmly, not allowing you to escape from his strong grip.

"I think you know what I mean, my lady…" he whispered, leaning closer to your ear only to mutter with his seductive and raspy voice, "I think you can feel it."

Your breath hitched in your throat at the same time you tried to speak, "I- I don't know…"

"Tell me what you felt when I touched you this morning," he commanded, his hands lowering to your thighs, starting to lift the thin fabric of your gown, "was it similar to what you're feeling right now?"

"I… I don't-"

"I sensed your nervousness when I said how good of a girl you are," he chuckled, starting to breathe in your neck, smelling your sweet scent, "does that arouse you, little wolf? Being praised?"

"Prince Aemond, this is not proper, please-" you tried to pull away, but his grip pushed you down once again. Now you were able to feel his hard-on pressing right down your core, which sent you a sensation that caused chills down your spine.

"That's not what I'm asking you," he spoke sternly, massaging your thighs, squeezing them every now and then, "Mhm… my sweet little wolf, you're shaking. Are you nervous now? You don't have to be, I won't hurt you."

"I told you I do not enjoy this," you breathed out, feeling his hands reaching your hips underneath your gown.

"So you're telling me that if I dare to touch between your legs… I would not find your cunt drenching for me?"

His words made you squirm, the blush running to your cheeks as his thumb started to caress your mons pubis. Your body tensed as you widened your eyes, feeling his finger pressing down.

“I- I don’t- my Prince, please stop-” a small moan interrupted your words as he found your clit between your folds. His thumb rubbing it slowly as you closed your eyes; embarrassed that he was touching such a private part of your body.

“Have you ever been kissed, my lady?” He asked, trying to hold back a groan as he felt your slick coating his digit, “Has someone been lucky enough to be the first to claim your beautiful lips?”

You shook your head, Aemond hummed with delight.

“Then I guess I’ll be the first…”

You barely were able to process his words when he pressed his soft lips against yours. Slow movements that were easy for you to follow without much struggle as you held back whimpers of pleasure, for his thumb was still torturing your pearl in a slow and gentle manner.

Your hand fell on his chest, not with the intention of pushing him away. You grasp his thin blouse, catching the fabric between your trembling hands as you felt the tip of his tongue starting to tease your lips. Hesitantly, your lips parted just a few inches, enough to give him space for him to claim your mouth; swirling his tongue against yours as you tried to keep up with his slow and tempting actions.

He was able to taste your inexperience, the way you would doubt your movements before actually doing them was enough proof for him to know that you were not lying; he was the first man to kiss, which now made him more eager to also become the first man to fuck you.

A gasp escaped your swollen lips when, in a sudden movement, he laid your body in the soft carpet, spreading your legs and placing himself between them. Your nightgown was wrinkled around your hips, exposing your glistening folds to him as he kept playing with your now sensitive clit. Soft mewls were heard as he stopped kissing you in order to taste your skin. You felt the wet caresses of his lips in your neck, your jaw, your collarbones, all while your hands were grasping the fur of the carpet beneath you.

His fingers were soon covered in your juices, your hips trying to move against them in an attempt to feel more, but he pulled them away and you widened your eyes once you saw him licking them and humming after he felt your sweet taste against his tongue. Your breath was caught in your throat as you heard him groan.

"My lady, you taste as sweet as you are," he spoke slowly, you blinked a couple times still feeling your mind fuzzy, "do you want a taste?"

You gulped, not entirely sure of what to reply. The words were unable to come out, so all you could was nod.

A careless smile appeared on his face as he left a soft kiss on your cheek, before you realized your legs were on his shoulders and his face buried in your drenching cunt as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure his tongue was providing you.

His slurping was heard, echoing in the room as you tried to push his head away from your pussy, breathing fast and unsteady as he devoured you. You felt his tongue teasing your needy hole as his nose rubbed against your clit, making you moan a bit too loudly. His hands were grabbing your hips tightly, just to make sure you don't escape from him; his fingertips burying in your soft skin as your body writhe under his skilful mouth.

You could feel your own slick slipping down your thigh along with his spit. It was messy, far from being as slow and calm as the kiss he gave you before. He was eager to make you cum; licking, sucking, and fucking your cunt until you were nothing but a moaning mess.

It was over before you even noticed it. With a loud gasp, your eyes rolling and your thighs pressing at each side of Aemond's head, you reached your first orgasm, which finished with you gulping and hiccuping with pleasure. You heard him moaning against your soaking folds, collecting all your slick to then lean over your body.

He took a look at your face, your lips quivering as your cheeks were burning and tinted with a furious red. His fingers reached your chin, and made you open your mouth, which you did without hesitation. His spit fell in your tongue before your glistening eyes closed as you whimpered. You were able to taste yourself in it, the sweetness of your release coating your tongue.

"Swallow it," he commanded, and you quickly obeyed him, "good girl…" he let out a chuckle, and you couldn’t help but to feel an unknown heat running down your body. "See? I told you you were sweet, doesn't it taste good?"

You nodded, sighing.

"So good, so delicious…" he leaned to kiss you again as his hands pulled down your gown, freeing your breasts, "I swear it, my lady, I will not rest until your cunt is mine forever."

His big hands left a soft squeeze on your tits before they went to his pants, untying the lace and pulling them down. His leaking cock was now on your sight, hard and reddish. You barely noticed he took off his shirt as you were too hypnotized seeing that specific part of his body. Aemond immediately noticed your curious eyes, and he teasingly grabbed his cock in his hand only to stroke it a few times before letting it on top of your clit.

"Do you want it, my lady?" He whispered, starting to rub himself on you.

You whined, looking down at the obscene scene of his cock parting your puffy lips.

"Do you want my cock to make you feel good?" He groaned, feeling your slick coating his shaft, "I will give it to you if you ask me… Tell me what you want."

You gulped, trying to pronounce pleas.

"Aemond… I- I want…"

"Tell me, my beautiful lady," he muttered, "tell me what you desire."

"I want you… please… it's hurting, I-"

The head of his cock reached your hole and he slowly started to sink in you. Your eyes widened as a soft cry escaped your throat. Your legs closed as you brought them against your chest, and Aemond groaned in disapproval.

"Come on, darling… keep your legs open for me," he cooed, "I want to see your pretty pussy taking my cock."

He held the back of your knees, keeping your legs folded but spread. His cock was buried in your tight cunt as tears of pain started to fall down your cheeks. A loud cry was heard, louder than all of the others, and Aemond was quick to put his hand on top of your mouth.

"Sh, sh…" he whispered, "It's okay, it'll pass. Just relax, my lady, it will feel so good."

He spreaded you open with one push, your back arched as you struggled to take him. He stayed still for a few seconds before his own lust decided that he could not wait any longer. Your walls were squeezing him deliciously as he started to pound against you, groaning and moaning as the pleasure was taking the best of him.

Grasping on the fur beneath you, you started to sob. Aemond saw the signs of pain in your face and he quickly leaned over you in order to take one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth. The feeling that brought you was indescribable, and soon the pain became bearable as his thrusts remained slow but became harder.

Aemond would choke his moans against your tit as his tongue skilfully swirling around it, licking and sucking as he kept fucking you, each thrust going deeper and deeper.

"Fuck…" he sighed, "your pussy is so fucking tight. Made by the Gods just for me."

His words made you drool as the warmth of the fireplace was starting to affect you, making you sweat. His hand left your mouth, now going to play with your swollen and needy clit.

"This little cunt belongs to me now, doesn't it?" he purred against your ear.

"A-Aemond..."

He hummed, "how sweet you sound when you moan my name like that."

"P-please…"

"What is it, my lady?" he teased you, "do you want to cum? Do you want to make a mess on my cock?"

"Y-yes…" you managed to say, choking with your words as he thrusted harder, "Oh, Gods! Yes…"

"That's it, sweet girl…" he praised you, "taking me so well, so good. I'm gonna fill you up, leave you leaking with my cum. Is that what you want?"

"G-Gods… yes, p-please!" you whined.

"Then I guess I have no other choice but to give you what you want…"

A soft chuckle left him as his thrusts became faster. His hips smacking against yours as he gripped your arsecheeks to gain stability. The sound of your slick drenching around his cock echoed in the room as you started to cry out, sobbing with pleasure and begging for more.

Aemond looked at your cunt, and a soft and subtle whine was heard as he saw the way his cock disappeared between your folds. Your pleas would only make him desperate, eager to reach his climax and seeing your abused hole leaking his pearly seed. The image alone was enough to make his cock twitch inside you.

"Fuck, so good… so fucking good," he lifted your hips, pounding restlessly against you as he leaned his head back, closing his eyes as his breathing turned unsteady, "such a perfect pussy, squeezing me so fucking good."

You clenched around him, and that was what sent him over the edge, spilling his big loads of cum inside of you at the same time that your release exploded. Your cries were heard even in the hallway, as the intensity of your orgasm took over your shaky body. The feeling of him stuffing you with his seed sent you a shiver down your spine that made you twitch your hips.

Aemond leaned over you to kiss you, pounding lazily as he was coming down from his orgasm. You receive the sloppy kiss as your eyes were closing by themselves, too worn out to keep them open.

But then, Aemond decided to speak.

"Look at you, sweet girl…" he said with an odd tone that you haven't heard from him until now, "what would your big brother say if he saw you now, huh? Filled with my seed, a mess under my touch."

Your breathing stopped for a second and only then you realized what you did. You opened your eyes only to find a smirk on his face, and your heart dropped.

"You probably will be swollen with my bastard in a few months… then what would the people think of you? The Heart of the North carrying the Prince's bastard child…"

"N-no…" you muttered, starting to softly push his chest.

"Mhm, yes…" he scoffed, "unless I take you as my bride, of course."

A shaky breath came out of your nose as tears of despair fell down your cheeks, your bottom lip quivered as your gleaming eyes looked at his.

"W-would you… would you take me as your wife?"

Aemond smirked, starting to pull out of you. He hummed delighted with the view as he saw the pearly drops leaking out of you. He sighed, putting his pants on and fixing his clothes.

"If your brother decides to join his forces with ours, I will take you as my bride and no one will know this happened before our marriage…" he said, standing up and looking down at you. "But, if he decides to join my sister's army…"

He doesn't even need to finish the sentence for you to know the consequences of that. The panic ran down your body as you sat in the carp carpet, covering your nudity with your nightgown and crying.

"How- how am I supposed to-?"

"Cregan Stark will do anything his little sister commands," he interrupts you, taking a few steps towards you to gently grab your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look at him, "so you better choose the right option, my lady."

He left a caress in your cheek with a smug smile on his face. He abandoned your chambers, letting you there feeling helpless and a bit scared.

It wasn't a big surprise for him when a few days later Lord Stark gave him the good news… and Aemond fulfilled his words, marrying you a month after the North joined the war and helped King Aegon II win the final battle against Rhaenyra.

What was a surprise, was the birth of your first child, a month earlier than what the Maesters expected.

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