#aemond targaryen x stark!reader

[vivalarevolution]

𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽'𝓼 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

Viscount Aemond Targaryen x Curvy Stark Reader

Summary: She had never seen Viscount Targaryen , nor she ever exchanged a word with him. But that changed one evening, after which the man unexpectedly began to appear everywhere she looked , not letting her mind forget him. Even for a moment.

A/N: I'll admit I had a lot of fun creating the whole idea, mainly because a lot of inspiration was taken from the Bridgertons as well as from Pride and Prejudice, but I think the title explains it all. I can only hope you will like it as much as I do and you will enjoy reading it.

Please remember that english is not my native language and mistakes can happen.

Work contains smut.

Viscount Aemond Targaryen. A man known to few. With a mystery hidden behind his lavender eye, with a hair color of the December snow and a face cold and sharp like a stone.

He radiated both seriousness and arrogance, and with every word he spoke there was a sense of crude indifference to all those he considered unworthy of his presence.

And yet , despite all this , despite his status and sense of superiority , he stood here, stood and looked at the woman he couldn't have.

Her skin looked as soft to the touch as the most expensive velvet , her hair smooth and glistening , were pinned up and styled , highlighting her face , which was adorned with full , kissable lips and rosy cheeks. Her curvy body hidden behind the material of an expensive dark purple dress left little to the imagination , letting his eye and mind feast.

But whenever he tried to force her to level gazes with him her eyes seemed to run away from him. She never submitted to him. Instead, she chose to hide from the man, which made him want to hunt her, suddenly being more determined than ever in his life. And just as he was about to seize her , trapping her in the snare of his long arms , a female hand grabbed his shoulder, halting his movements.

-Mother - he said through a clenched jaw, looking at the older woman out of the corner of his eye.

-Where are you going Aemond? - she asked , wrinkling her eyebrows in consternation -Your betrothed has just arrived , don't keep her waiting - she confessed , shifting her gaze towards Floris Baratheon , who was standing at the other end of the ballroom.

-There are matters , which I must attend to. Immediately - he replied in a controlled and cool tone of voice, gently pushing his mother's hand away , leaving her before she could stop him physically or verbally.

His steps, like himself, were full of control and composure without betraying his true intentions even for a moment. Intentions that were able to crush him under the weight of future consequences, which, despite everything, seemed of little importance to the viscount ,especially when he finally found the mysterious woman who has clouded his senses with her mere presence.

She stood on the balcony , gazing at the night sky , letting the moon illuminate her immaculate face , giving her person an almost angelic glow.

But when Aemond crossed the threshold , placing his foot on the marble slab , the stranger's gaze almost immediately turned in his direction , finally allowing him to drown in the depths of her eyes , which looked at him with intrigue as well as a shadow of irritation.

-Who are you? - she asked , looking for an answer in the features of his face , unfortunately unsuccessfully.

-I should ask you the same question Miss- he stated , walking slowly towards her.

-And yet it was not I who burned the imprint of my eyes on the stranger's body - remarked the young woman , turning fully toward the viscount , now facing him -You did sir. And now you have decided to follow me.

-I did not follow you - he replied , placing his large hand on the stone railing , giving her a feeling of almost being trapped , by how close he was to her now - The truth is that I tried to find you.

-Since you have achieved this goal , what more do you want? - she asked almost in a whisper , studying his face , which was decorated with a long scar and a sapphire in place of the left eye.

-Your name. I want to know it- he said as quietly as she did , bringing his face closer to hers.

The air around them suddenly seemed to become hotter and heavier.

-I will tell it to you…if you tell me yours sir- she replied ,breathlessly , not knowing why.

-Aemond Targaryen - he said almost immediately wanting to know the name of the stranger, who with each passing second made him forget about the bride that waited for him downstairs.

-You're a viscount - she pointed out, placing her hand on his chest to create a previously non-existent distance between them.

Aemond furrowed his brow and took her wrist in his palm , feeling her quickening pulse under his fingertips.

-Are you worried that someone will see you with me? - he asked her with a shadow of amusement on his face.

-I'm worried about what a man like you wants from me , when he is about to marry one of Borros Baratheon's daughters - she stated , stepping away from the stone balustrade , forcing the viscount to let go of her hand.

-I simply wish to learn your name - he answered , repeating his earlier words.

-Y/n Stark - she said , finally revealing her identity, causing a satisfied smile to appear on the viscount's face, which disappeared as quickly as it appeared as she continued - Now if you'll allow me, I'll go my way and you go yours, and we'll act like this encounter never took place.

-Your secrets are safe with me , I assure you Miss - he reassured in a serious tone.

The woman's gaze fled from him for a brief second, as if she needed to think deeply about something. After a moment she shifted her gaze back to him, looking into his violet eye with stoic face.

-Goodnight lord Targaryen - she said before she left the man, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

When the silhouette of the woman disappeared , he wanted to follow her , but stopped himself , turning his gaze in the opposite direction. Yet he could no longer focus on anything other than the beautiful female he meet at the ball to celebrate the engagement, his engagement.

And he wasn't the only one.

It seemed that he was everywhere she was. No matter what she did , no matter where she went , his figure always appeared in the corner of her eye. He haunted her mind as much as she haunted his , and despite how much it tormented both of their souls , she kept her distance , running away from him like a game , while he was the hunter , hunting her. With each of their encounters being closer and closer to catching her.

Until finally there was nowhere to run , nowhere to hide. The only thing left was confrontation.

They met again at the ball , in the same place where their eyes first met , the first time they heard each other , the first time they touched each other's skin.

But this time the man wasn't alone.

Floris Baratheon held on to his arm , smiling shyly at the people who were watching the viscount and future viscountess.

And Y/n was one of them. Her eyes stared at them with a shadow of longing , that the young woman did not even try to hide.

-Are you all right sister? - asked her older brother, standing by her side since the beginning of the ball , watching her closely.

-Yes , yes - she whispered , turning her gaze toward the man, -I just need to get some fresh air.

Cregan sent her a concerned look but did not stop her , silently watching as she left the residence in a haste.

Her breathing seemed to become heavier by the minute , and her footsteps got more and more aggressive.

The realization of what was happening to her began to sink inside her brain. Miss Y/n Stark had fallen in love with a man who belonged to another.

And if fate hadn't mocked her enough , the bane of her existence appeared when all she wanted was to forget.

-Miss Stark - Aemond greeted her , standing still as she turned to face him.

-Viscount Targaryen - she replied , with distress in her tone -Why are you here?

-I saw you leave in a hurry - he explained , scanning her face, which had a grimace of fatigue on it -I wanted to make sure you were okay.

-Why? - she asked , frowning her eyebrows -Why you do this when your betrothed is inside , waiting for you. Why do you do all this? These unexpected encounters , fleeting glances. Why my lord?

The man suddenly appeared by her side. He was so close that their breaths mingled and there lips almost touched.

-Because I care about you - he confessed with seriousness in his voice , looking hard into her eyes.

-You don't know me. And I don't know you - the woman said , stubbornly trying to push away the viscount , but in vain - We can't love each other , we can't.

-And yet, despite your proclaims , I can no longer eat , I can no longer sleep , I can no longer breathe without letting you consume my every thought - he proclaimed , capturing her cheek in his large hand -You haunt me in my dreams , you haunt me during the day , you haunt me when I'm with my family , you haunt me when I look directly into the eyes of my betrothed - he growled , brushing her ear with his lips -You can deny it , but at least don't make me do it , don't make me continue to suffer without you by my side.

Y/n felt as if something had possessed her.

His words made her finally forget, but unfortunately not about him, but about the outside world that was so close to them, almost at her fingertips.

She let the viscount finally taste her full pink lips, embraced her wide hips in his rough hands, and dragged her to the carriage standing just behind them, locking them inside. The interior of it suddenly seemed so small , as their bodies pressed against each other.

His palms, large and warm, touched her in places that were forbidden to him, but in his movements there was not a shred of thought about the later consequences, only uncontrollable lust.

-From the moment our eyes met, I knew that I had to possess you, that I had to make you mine - he whispered into her neck, gliding his nose over her pulse, brushing the skin of her neck with his tongue again and again, leaving wet marks behind.

The woman moaned quietly in response , closing her eyes and tilting her head , making herself putty in his hands , which he took advantage of by pushing her onto the seat ,kneeling himself on the floor of the carriage , with his large hands running over the white material of her dress , therefore revealing the smooth skin of her legs , which he sensually kissed, leaving an electrifying sensation that caused her to shiver.

Her eyes closed involuntarily when the viscount's lips found their way to her heated and moist inner thighs , while his fingers melted into her firm bum , lifting her curvy body so her ankles could fell on the man's broad shoulders.

His teeth found their place on the woman's undergarments, tearing them in one strong movement, which caused the cold air to hit her sensitive womanhood, that trembled under the sudden change of temperature.

-Aemond - she whispered , calling him by name for the first time - What are you doing? - she asked, looking down.

-I want to taste you - he muttered , kissing her ankle - I wonder if you taste as sweet as your lips do - he said , slowly pulling up her long gown , so that nothing would block his view of the woman before him.

Before Y/n could respond to his words , his tongue touched her swollen clit , swirling it around the pink pearl , making her uncontrollably thrust her pelvis forward , imprisoning the man in the softness of her thick thighs.

Aemond , in response , growled , clamping his hands on her firm flesh , drawing her impossibly closer , feasting. His mouth explored her femininity , kissing and licking every part , leaving nothing without his attention . He was bestial , greedily drinking her juices , which tasted like the sweetest dessert of his life , as his eyes stared at the woman in front of him , who was consumed by convulsions of pleasure that tore their way through her body , making it burst into flames that consumed her mind.

The viscount watched with delight as she broke under her first orgasm of the night, licking everything she gave him , feeling under his fingertips how her muscles went limp , and seeing how her eyes became clouded by uncontrollable desire.

-Aemond - she said breathlessly , desperately grabbing his jaw , trying to pull him close to her.

-What is it my sweet? - he asked , purring like a cat.

-Please…please…make love to me, Aemond - she begged, brushing her lips against his, tasting herself on them, combing her fingers between strands of his white hair.

In response, the man embraced her curvy body , securing it in his strong arms , positioning the lovers so that this time he was resting on the seat , placing Miss Stark on his legs , immediately proceeding to assault her neck with slow kisses, while his hands crept to her throbbing entrance , which was waiting for him , embracing him tightly as he inserted two fingers into her , sensually moving them.

-So warm and tight - he muttered into her ear , biting its lobe - Full of desperation and need.

-Don't make me wait…I beg you…I can't stand it - she whimpered , burying her face in the hollow of his neck.

Viscount took her flushed cheek in his hand , making her look at him while his other hand skillfully unbuttoned his black pants , freeing his thick and long member , which he directed at her wet entry , entering her slowly and carefully , looking deeply into her eyes.

She felt like she could feel him in her throat. He rammed her insides , mixing the feeling of pain with pleasure , spreading it from the top of her head to her toes. She moaned, whimpered and mewled, letting him move her as he pleased, making her see stars. His member was hitting sensitive places that were never known by her, making her walls clench tighter and tighter against him.

The second orgasm that overtook her body felt overwhelming , yet he kept moving, wanting to feel the sensation of her thight walls clenching onto him for as long as possible, before he did what he wanted from the moment he saw her. He maked her his.

Y/n moaned softly, feeling the sudden heat that poured from inside of her , right between her wet and sticky thighs. Holding the viscount by the neck, she pulled him even closer, snuggling into his muscular body.

Everything seemed to quiet down around them. The windows of the carriage fogged up through their passionate act , and the air became hot and suffocating. However, they did not care , they were too busy melting into each other's embrace.

But this changed when she heard his words , whispered directly into her ear.

Will you marry me , miss Stark?

#house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #bridgerton au #pride and prejudice au #my writing #hotd #asoiaf #aemond targaryen fanfiction #viscount!aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x plus size reader #curvy!reader #aemond targaryen x curvy!reader #aemond targaryen x stark!reader

[arcielee]

Ours never knew peace.

Summary: On the morning of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark's granddam visits to give her an heirloom, a necklace with a sapphire stone... Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 7600 Warnings: Third POV and first POV, AFAB, mentions of infidelity, graphic violence, character deaths, and there is a hyperlink for the smut, so mind those warnings too. Author’s Note:  I definitely played with the timeline of the Dance of the Dragons a lot to fit with the narrative. Also, the idea is the bloodline stems from Cregan Stark's sister, which is why Lyanna's granddam is still kicking. Also, this was not beta read, please feel free to DM me any mistakes you may find 💜 A huge thank you to my Tumblr kindred spirits: to @aegonx for this inspiring gifset, and to my darling @itbmojojoejo for these perfect dividers 🦝💜 Also, to Hozier. I started writing this in June and had not touched it until I started listening to Unreal Unearth. The title for this and the smutty one-shot are from the song Francesca.

“I have a gift for you, my dear.”

Lyanna was leaning against the ornate balustrade and watching how the sun rose above Gods Eye. She drank in the sight of how the rays danced against the blue-green gemstone surface, shimmering with the rippling waves that met with the shoreline and towards the center where the Isle of Faces jutted upwards; she saw the weirwoods shift lazily with the breeze, its red foliage breaking away and littering the laketop, like drops of blood.

She pulled her eyes away to see her granddam standing in her room, poised with her walking cane; a handmaiden was in tow, carrying a wooden box that had once been intricately carved into, though its detailing was now worn with age. 

Her granddamn was the matriarch of House Stark and the only mother figure she had ever known as hers passed away when she was very young, leaving Lyanna with her father and three brothers: Brandon, Eddard, and Benjen. Though she originally had come from a noble house in Oldcastle, she had been proud to don the grays and whites of House Stark, dignified in such a way it seemed that she was born into and not just married. 

Her reputation was notorious and though some would consider her shrewd, Lyanna knew her granddam had a sharp mind and wit, an undeniable ability to see beyond the façades of court with her storm colored eyes; she was gallant, devoted to her husband until his last breath and remained in Winterfell after, her devotion extending to the North. 

“This is my home,” she had explained as if it was the simplest thing. “Always.” 

Time now showed itself in silver streaks, a bold contrast with her dark hair that had been meticulously combed and knotted at the base of her neck, showing the severity that lined her features. This look alone had the other handmaidens–who before had been aimlessly flitting around her room, coaxing Lyanna to ready for the day’s events–quickly excuse themselves, allowing her a moment alone with her granddaughter.  

“Set it there,” and the remaining handmaiden jumped to command, placing the wooden box on the vanity before following after the others. 

There was the click of her cane with her sure steps, one hand resting on the gilded handles and the other coming to place on the edge of the wooden box, its brass hinges groaning in response to her opening it. Placed against the velvet inlay was a necklace of a peculiar silver that did not shine, but seemed to permeate a strength despite its delicate, celtic chains interwoven with one another; its pendant, a sapphire stone no larger than a silver pence, was nestled in the same style, curled around to hold it in place. 

Only the stone gleamed, just like the water’s surface–alluring, calling, but she kept her hand at her side. “It is beautiful,” Lyanna acknowledged. 

“It is reforged Valyrian steel,” her granddam continued, and she was pleased to see how her eyes widened with a reverence for the rare medium. “This is a heirloom that has been passed down, once belonging to your thrice over granddam. It is something for you to wear today.” 

Lyanna remained rooted, only a wistful sigh in response. “This is my duty in life now, to be adorned in gems and silks and rare silvers, just to be shown off at this event.” 

“It is our lot in life, yes,” her tone cut through the self-wallow. “Lord Whent wants nothing more than to parade the money he poured into this cursed castle, to show off his simple-minded daughter to the highest bid. The queen of love and beauty,” and her laugh was sharp, “only her brothers would defend that nepotist title!” 

Lyanna felt her lips curl; she loved her granddam, dearly, especially when she was unabashed with her bold opinions. Her eyes fell back to the necklace. “Love and beauty,” Lyanna murmured. “No man has want for a clever wife.” 

It was her turn to sigh. “This can be true, but some are fortunate with their matches.” 

“Robert has no want for a clever wife,” Lyanna continued as if she had not spoken. “He wants something docile and pretty at his side while he wags his cock at every set of tits in Westeros.” She could see how the inside sagged with the weight of the necklace and a bundle of parchment that was tucked beneath, hidden in the folds of the fabric. 

Her granddam plucked the paper bundled together with string and then moved back towards one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace. “My dear girl, love is always unexpected. Perhaps in time, despite the faults you each share,” she gave a knowing look as Lyanna moved back towards the bed, “you, hopefully, may have a gradual love and respect grow between.” 

“He is already convinced it is love,” she sat back on the mattress, sinking against the goose feather pillows piled at the head. “But it is with this idea of me. He does not know me, who I am truly or what it is that drives me…” her eyes were drawn again to the box, opened still, and to the glint of the sapphire. “How did this come to our possession anyway?” 

“It was a gift,” her granddam scoffed, untying the string and smoothing the letters on her lap. 

Lyanna closed her eyes a moment, her own smile playing at her lips. “Yes,” her tone forced, “but who would have gifted this to her to begin with?” 

Her granddam hummed, now her turn to smile. “How clever of you to ask, sweet girl,” but she did not answer Lyanna. “I saw how you are blossoming into a lovely young woman, especially after last night’s banquet,” and she saw that her granddaughter grinned, cheeky. “Ancestry has its weight with House Stark, and I thought now is the time to gift this necklace, just as your grandsire gifted it to me, and how it was given to your mother, who listened to me read this, years ago,” and she gestured to the letters.  

Lyanna reached for the pillows, fluffing them and sinking back into them, her arms folding behind to hold her head upright. “I would never deny my granddam of my company,” she teased.

“Yes, how kind of you,” her tongue wet her lips, her eyes flitting over the first page. “Now shut up and let my old eyes read.” 

And so she began.

It was the unmartyred act of my mother to bring me into the world. My father was a proud man, an honorable man who would never blame me, but I could see how he would wilt in my presence; perhaps it was that I reminded him of her as I grew, reminded him of the cost of her life so I may live instead. My brother, Cregan, kept his grief quiet, though it clouded his storm-gray eyes with this pain, this hurt that shadowed behind his irises. 

With the unsaid, I know my existence haunted my father, Lord Rickon Stark, the Warden of the North, to his grave. It was only then that Cregan truly recognized me with our sorrow now shared, as well as the burden as our uncle Bennard was quick to come to Winterfell, bringing his shrewd wife and his sons, our wretched cousins. 

I could only watch from the shadows with how Cregan fought to stay afloat with the smothering regency brought with them; our uncle was cunning, wishing to isolate my brother, which was why it was decided for me to be sent away to King’s Landing. It was under the promised lady-in-waiting for Princess Helaena Targaryen, though its true intention was for me to marry a Targaryen prince, for the opportunity to have a Stark within the royal inner circle and a direct line to the Iron Throne. 

Cregan hugged me farewell, the whispered promise that he would write, and I was ushered into the carriage, cramped with my trunks, and my aunt Margaret, with her wardrobe and endless idylls of how I would lure King Aegon II. 

I reminded her that King Viserys was not dead, and of the crowned Princess Rhaenyra. She bristled with her response: “No woman will ever rule the Seven Kingdoms.” She embellished this, and her inane plans to make me a princess; I had just turned ten and three with the soured taste of her words the further south we traveled. 

We arrived at the capital almost two months later, coming as the last of the daylight disappeared in the horizon, with the full moon and stars already glowing in response. I wished to sleep, but was forced to bathe, to be soaked in a gilded tub with rose petals that floated on the surface while hands flitted over combing and scrubbing and cleaning every bit of me, all while my aunt hovered with her critiques. 

The next day was our debut luncheon, allowing my formal introduction to the House of the Dragon. My aunt was peevish that the king did not join, we still met with the queen and Lord Hand, who introduced Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena. 

It was said that Prince Daeron was away in Oldtown and Prince Aemond would not attend either, but did not speak more of it. 

The prince and the princess held their old blood features, the shades of purple in their gazes and the gold-silver of their hair, a contrast to their mother’s auburn and her dark eyes that were watchful and worrisome. 

Prince Aegon already had an exhaustion lining his face, with shadows that stretched beneath his lilac eyes, something heavy for someone only two years older than myself. In time I would learn that his shoulders sagged with the forced Hightower expectation placed, and its accompanying slow suffocation. The prince responded to it as well as any adolescent with unwanted responsibility: to rebel. 

The princess–who we learned, to the woe of my aunt–was his betrothed, but that day she also became my savior, in a sense. Though she carried her own burdens, something deeply rooted within the ichor of Old Valyria that surged her veins, her company was enjoyable, nonetheless. 

I enjoyed my time spent with the princess, learning of her fascination with entomology, with a favoritism that stemmed towards arachnids; though I found it unsettling, I still knew it was better company than my aunt. I was devoted to the task to fill mason jars with dirt, leaves, sticks to create little habitats for her ever growing collection, and it became our daily ritual to walk the gardens of the Red Keep, always in search of more to add or to release others who dutifully served their time in their glass confines. 

One thing I noted was her utterances, her singsong riddles on repeat. “Be mindful,” she said with a hum one afternoon.

“Of what, princess?”

“A song of ice and fire,” her eyes were glassy, sorrowful. “It is a tragedy, again and again…” 

My evenings were held captive by my aunt and her ever growing determination to force her way into the royal social circles; her daily mantra to remind me of the two remaining Targaryen princes, how I need my focus to be on snaring one of them. 

I knew that Prince Daeron was a child and away in Oldtown, which left the second son of King Viserys, Prince Aemond, who I thought peculiar and quiet. He was isolated the first six months after we arrived, and I heard the whispered incident at Diftmark that had involved the crowned princess and her bastard sons; I also learned how it ended with the loss of his eye, but that was not learned until Princess Helaena brought me to visit with her brother. 

“It would be good for him,” and her lilac eyes sparkled. 

He was sullen, but rightfully so; he was still bandaged and refused the milk of the poppy, though I knew he was hurting, his anguish was vicariously heard with the roars of his dragon, Vhagar, whose bellows rattled the entire capital, leaving the inhabitants uneasy. 

Eventually, Prince Aemond healed enough to leave his room, though the queen was still adamant he not venture outside of the Keep. I watched him, a dragon caged, stalking the corridors, a dark passing in search of confrontation, his unbridled want for vengeance and his inability to see it through; a tormented unrest, an unruly anger from the injustice of what happened that fateful night at Driftmark.  

I had been present for over a year and would inevitably have the misfortune to cross his warpath, alone, without my shield of his sister. It was a foreboding presence that drained the air, a palpable anger that hung heavy, and I flinched, perched by the window, curled up with Ten Thousand Ships. 

“What are you doing here?” He spat. 

I remember how his anger darkened his features shown, but the rest was still hidden beneath bandages wrapped around his silver head. “Reading,” was all I dared reply, refusing to look away from the pages as if the very tale of Nymeria held me captive. 

“They educate the women in the North?”

His words were mocking and this is when I pulled my eyes away to meet with his one uncovered. “The North does not only teach their women how to read, but how to fight as well, my prince,” my tongue had a life of its own I could not control, sneering his title in return.

Her granddam paused a moment, peering over the edge to see how Lyanna had shifted; she was now closer towards the foot of the bed, curled up with one of the pillows, her eyes glowing with admiration. 

“My great-great-great granddam was fearless,” Lyanna concluded.

She chuckled in response. “It is a trait in Stark women, that is for certain,” she clucked her tongue. “Stark men also search for strong women to survive the winters. Maybe another day I will tell you about your great-great-great aunt Alysanne Blackwood.” 

Her eyes shone. “I would like that very much.” 

And then, her granddam continued. 

I would learn that Prince Aemond was just lonely; allowed out of his quarters, his mar was forever isolating with how the castled treated him with kid gloves, like an open wound that never healed despite the jagged red of new flesh mended, cutting from his brow to his cheek and peeking beneath the eyepatch he took to wearing. Though he would never apologize for that day in the library, the next time I found him within the walls I saw he was lost in the pages of Winter’s Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell. 

I could only assume it was all the apology that could be expected of a dragon prince. 

Our friendship was something predetermined by the gods, or this was what Princess Helaena wholeheartedly believed; for a time, we were a trio of lonely souls akin and knitted together until the princess inevitably became pregnant with the twins. And then, there was the subtle change of our dynamic with the seasons passed, an initial wariness that settled in the edges of his features that only softened whenever I took his hand and pulled him forward. 

Perhaps he believed that I would abandon him for his sister’s company, which would be expected of her lady-in-waiting. But I did not. 

Instead I indulged the prince and his company, and we became inseparable; whether we visited with his sister, playing with the little prince and princess, while Helaena budding with a third, or going to the courtyards to train under Ser Criston’s watchful eye and my aunt’s apparent disdain. It was then that the evenings became our own and spent in the library of the Keep; it was here that Aemond dared remove his eyepatch, the sapphire stone that showed brilliant from his scarred socket. 

The first time, I stepped closer so his nervous exhale fanned my cheeks; I could see the plumes of pinks to his features, my fingers ghosting his jawline as I attempted his ancient tongue. “Gevie.” 

Beautiful. 

Prince Aemond was respectful, always, but he was also fearless with me, allowing the same sense of freedom in return, to speak my mind as I always had. But I faltered with what I truly wished to say: that the years crafted him beautiful as any Targaryen prince, with sharp edges chiseled from marble stone, his lips that curled with a perpetual smirk as he voiced his peculiar insight which always led to a good natured battlement between us, leaving me flushed. 

And then the day came that he took my hand, that his palm now enveloped my own. 

It was the familiar touch now paired with a feeling, a fluttering in the pit of my stomach that I could not place, though writing these words allows a clearer perspective with the retrospect: that I was falling in love with him. 

My aunt grew more insufferable with the passing days, though I expected as much with the letters I exchanged with Cregan. I knew his every action in Winterfell, what he was learning, of his sweetheart Lady Arra Norrey, my new nephew, but mostly of how our uncle continued to tighten his hold. My brother was a wolf, restless, and spoke that his hour was coming; and meanwhile, I continued to play my role, a simpleminded girl from the North. 

My aunt tsked. “He will never see you as more than a plaything,” as if this was a cruel fate. In truth I was still so unaware of what was growing within the confines of my heart, but I knew that I only wished to remind at his side, devoted, present, always. 

So when Aemond asked that I finally become acquainted with Vhagar, I went. I remembered how my hand fit within his as he pulled me to follow his steps, moving through the ingresses that weaved with the castle walls. We broke out to follow the coastline, a crisp salt air and the clouds covering the sun, heavy with the threat of rain, but Aemond promised we would rise above them. 

I followed his long steps until we came to where Vhagar waited for her rider, diligent, alert. 

Dragons are magnificent creatures, and I swear them sentient with the bond I saw between Aemond and the she-dragon. Fear trickled my spine, but Aemond held onto my hand and I tightened in response to the massive eyes that focused on us, her pupils constricting in query. Aemond held up his other hand, the honey spill of his soothing voice of his old tongue to coax her and allow me to climb aback. 

I then felt the gaze of Aemond and refused to allow my fear to root me, moving to take the bottom rung of the rope ladder; he was pleased, a hum, the slight curl of his lips, and followed behind me with his promise that he would not let me fall. At the top, he pushed past to settle into the saddle, then reached to pull me behind and I settled against his backside. 

“Just hold onto me,” he murmured, bringing my arms around his slender waist. 

This moment I was adamantly aware that he was no longer that sullen child that sneered within his gilded cage, but against my hold that Aemond was solid, lithe, and so warm with a woodsy musk mixed with smoke against his skin. 

Pressed against, I was able to feel his low baritone command Vhagar, followed by her jolted steps forward, the beating of her wings to take flight. To feel this power beneath you is indescribable; I could not help my scream, my laughter from the exhilaration that that spate my veins; I dared not close my eyes, tears streaming, and I peered to marvel at how small the capital seemed beneath, how large the shadow we cast overhead. 

It was a newfound euphoria, and I felt my cheeks burn from the crisp air above the gray clouds, but I also knew it was from my close proximity to Aemond. I held onto him as we soared out over Blackwater Bay, and sighed from the touch of his gloved hand, from the heat that permeated through the leather when he placed it over my own. 

And I knew then that I never wished to let him go. 

He eventually brought Vhagar back to land onto the grassy knolls outside the city; the afternoon was growing late but there was still enough light to return. Aemond warned that my legs would be shaky and again he moved first, again with the promise he would not let me fall. 

I still trembled when he set me on the ground, his large palms kept their hold on my waist and my hands rested on his broad shoulders. My eyes were wide admiring the beauty of his mussed, silver braid, his cheeks lined with his dimples with his pursed grin. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Enjoy myself?” I was incredulous, I was a mess; windswept and blooming red, a grinning fool with tear-streaked cheeks, “Aemond, you showed me the heavens.” And a boldness pressed me onto my toes, my lips against his. 

It was my first kiss; it was a heartbeat’s length, it was everything, and when I pulled back, I fell solid to the earth, my soles grounded back on that gassy knoll. I looked up into his bicolored gaze, the lavender of one eye and the gleam of sapphire for the other that stared back. 

Aemond was unreadable in that moment, and I felt my blood surge from my heart and pour into my face; the quiet that settled between us the same length of the years I had spent in King’s Landing, a choking regret that burned in my throat with the thought that I had ruined everything built between us. 

Then he kissed me back. 

And I felt alive once more with the touch of his arm that curled around my waist, how his other hand followed the curve of my spine, tangling into my hair and holding me to capture my mouth. His lips were warm and soft and his tongue clever in a way that drew the very breath from my lungs. I melted against him, my fingertips soft to follow the sharp contours of his jaw, trailing his neck and grasping his collar to bring him even closer.

We only parted for air; the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his riding leathers, the crimson on his cheeks with his quiet confession, something he held close to his heart.

“For how long?” I breathed

And he thought for a moment. “Always.” 

To take his hand now was finding a piece that I did not know was missing from me; our fingers interlaced in a way that felt akin as if I held my own hand, though I knew it was him from the warmth of his skin, from the fire in his blood. By now the tendrils of dusk began to curl over the city, its amber hues bold against the blues and purples of the coming nightfall, but we continued our leisure pace back, Aemond and I. 

We were greeted by the gold cloaks at the gates and they escorted us back, and though he did not let go, I saw that it was no longer Aemond who held my hand but the second son of King Viserys, a Targaryen prince. He was stoic, but this time I could tell the other emotions that flittered beneath, his uncertainty of what awaited, but above that was his determination. 

We finally came to the barbican of the Keep where we were greeted by his queen mother, my aunt, and several White Cloaks. 

Relief washed over the queen while my aunt raged, lifting her skirts to meet us in the courtyard, her nails biting with her grip on my arm and pulling me back; the rushed spill of her words, “I cannot believe this unseemly behavior of a lady, unchaperoned with a prince! We are leaving this moment–”

I tried to twist away but she held on still, a madwoman. Aemond moved after, quick, and his anger burning from him and his long legs moved to block her path. “She will not be leaving.”

The finality of his words, the barrier his form created halted her at once and I felt my heart between my teeth. “My prince,” she stammered in response. “We must leave this very moment! We have imposed on your hospitality far too long as it is, and when my lord husband hears of her behaviors–” 

But she was unaware that Cregan and I wrote, dutifully; he shared his life within the walls of Winterfell, as well as his growing concern with the regency our uncle imposed still. She also did not know the newest letter I had received, how my brother was now the proper Warden of the North and our uncle imprisoned; my aunt paled with my words and it was commanded for her to be taken away. She did not leave quietly, her wails echoed and I watched impassively, knowing her every action was a self-serving and a selfish ploy for power for herself, her husband, for those wretched cousin kin in the North. 

And I knew I would not miss any of them. 

Ever the diplomat, the queen stepped forward with her congratulations for my brother, her condolences for the betrayal within our family, her practiced concern for my well being and its shift to confusion that knitted between her brows when she saw how I smiled at her son. She offered my escort back to Winterfell, but I was quick to decline as I knew I could not leave Aemond. 

I saw the understanding began to roll over, and she then asked her son if he loved me. Aemond responded, “I believe I always have, mother,” and I knew I loved him in return. 

It was decided that the ceremony would be held in the Royal Sept, and chaperoned until, though Aemond stole a moment to gift me this very necklace. I could feel the power of Old Valyria thrum from the metal, adoring how it was woven around the sapphire stone; he told me it was a piece kept from the same stone fitted for his eye.  

I lifted my hair and turned my back towards him, my skin prickling from his touch to clasp the necklace around my throat. 

He hummed. “Gevie.” 

Only a week later, and the service seemed surreal. I felt his warmth that held to the robe he brought around my shoulders, the touch of my palm on top of his large hand kept me grounded while the Septon wrapped the ribbon around; shy glances shared, me to Aemond and seeing his gaze on the sapphire stone beneath my collarbone. The muted words called for a kiss and I burned when Aemond captured my mouth with his own. 

The celebration after was an intimate meal with the king, who was a man withering away beneath a gilded mark, the queen, his siblings, and the Lord Hand, who seemed pleased with the idea of solidifying a truce with the North. 

But I could not think of politics this night, not with the subtle touches from Aemond, a warmth that curled in my lower abdomen when he inevitably took my hand, his low voice that tickled against my ear. “Come with me, my sweet wife,” as we walked towards his quarters.

Her granddam stopped abruptly, flushed. “Well, you understand what is implied.”

“Understand what?” Lyanna quirked her brow. 

It was a pregnant pause that allowed her eyes steel onto her granddaughter, and Lyanna returned her gaze with a cheeky, taunting grin. 

“It would serve you well to not agitate your elders.” 

“What a bore I would be if I was just another docile woman of nobility?” Lyanna countered, gleefully. “Granddam, Robert has bastards and I am no fool, I do not believe his immaculate conception claims…” 

“Yes, you are very bright,” she huffed. “Now hush up and let me read.” 

Our marital bliss that followed left me in a haze; Aemond was not one for public displays of affection and how I craved his subtle touches, his lingering hand that would have me blushing furiously in response. He would only hum, his perpetual smirk that played on his lips with my every visceral response to him. 

I wrote to Cregan and informed him of our union; he was quick to respond with his congratulations, as well as his newfound concerns, asking if it was true that the crowned princess had sired bastards with the intention to make them her heirs without ownership of her actions. 

“Our father was honorable until his last breath,” he wrote, “I would not besmirch his memory or our house, our legacy, for an oath made for bastard-born heirs to the Iron Throne.”

This was a topic I had already discussed in length with Aemond, even before we had even kissed. I was aware of his scar and its cause, and I knew of the old blood and the features lacking when it came to his nephews, something made apparent for the claimant hearings of Dirftmark, as well as the cruel response of Prince Daemon when a lord spoke out loud what the court was thinking. 

I answered my brother truthfully, knowing full well that this would sway the North behind Prince Aegon II.

And then King Viserys met his inevitable demise; the small council moved quick to announce that his final words were that he wished his firstborn son to take the crown. Aegon panicked, but my husband and Ser Criston fetched him, washed him, fed him, but also comforted him. 

It would be Ser Criston who coaxed him to the coronation, to be the one to place the crown of steel and rubies on top of his silver head, announcing: “King Viserys is dead, long live King Aegon!”

My husband would be sent to Storm’s End to negotiate a betrothal for his brother, Daeron, to one of the Four Storms. It resulted in tragedy, or vengeance on who spoke the narrative. The room stilled with Aemond’s words, the unspoken terror in the queen’s large, brown eyes, the shock that lined the severe features of the Lord Hand, but it was his brother, King Aegon wearing the Conqueror’s Crown who spoke that Aemond had shown the true blood of a dragon. 

But in the quiet quarters we shared, Aemond lamented the loss of life, the war it started, a guilt that weighed heavily, and once more I saw the sorrowful prince when I first came to King’s Landing. 

“There will be repercussions for my actions,” he rasped, unable to meet with my eyes. “I have ruined my namesake, and I have cursed our family…” 

“War seemed inevitable,” I began slowly, my hands careful to hold his jaw, to bring his gaze to my own. “And with it comes rash decisions, with impossible choices to be made…I trust it was not intentional, but even if it was, cursed or not, I am still yours, husband.” A soft kiss to seal my words. “Always.” 

War and its bloodshed was rampant in Westeros, and my brother wrote they would travel South when winter ended to help King Aegon with his rightful claim. I feared for the delay, for what would follow Storm’s End, and how it seemingly unleashed the Rogue Prince. 

Hired men with the monikers Blood and Cheese came in the night, and I knew them to be sent for me, as one repeated, “An eye for an eye, a son for son,” but followed with his slow realization, “she is not a son,” before his sword was drawn and struck Prince Jaehaerys. 

The screams of Helaena resounded against the cobblestone; Aemond found us covered in blood, his rage and his grief conflicting on his angular features. The king cried for vengeance for his firstborn son, to search for these men and place their heads on spikes; the kingdom was repulsed by the murder of the princeling, a martyr made with his blood spilled. 

Aegon’s bloodlust made for rash decisions and the battle of Rook’s Rest; though one dragon and its rider slain, its cost was the king crippled in a way that he was not fit to rule. So Aemond stepped forward to take the title Prince Regent and the Protector of the Realm, a natural role that was suited for the second son. 

The Rogue Prince struck against the Riverlands, torching until ash remained. In response, the now Prince Regent and Ser Criston left to claim Harrenhal. 

I was told to wait, to remain at the side of our grieving queen, my sister by all accounts; I watched over sweet Helaena, coaxing her to eat, washing her, sitting alongside her in the haunting silence of the quarters that somehow still echoed her screams from that fateful night. We were often left alone, as the maesters and the dowager queen never left King Aegon’s side, and I remained with her until I received the latest letter from Aemond. 

Harrenhal had been dispelled of every Strong traitor to the crown, and he spoke of a witch he wished me to meet, that I was to leave King’s Landing and be by his side, as the gods ordained. 

A quick kiss to the silver head of Helaena and I left the castle, careful to retrace our steps that led to the coast and I continued until I was back on the grassy knolls from what felt like a lifetime ago. I waited the skies until I felt the rumbled call of Vhagar in the distance, gleeful when she finally landed and watched my prince descend to envelope me in his arms, his whispered adoration, “My love, my sweet wife.” 

We returned to Harrenhal to meet with the witch he spared, a hushed reverence when he told me of her abilities. “She sees much and more.” 

I could see she was hardened by life, but her expression was kind when she greeted us; her eyes roamed around, watchful, looking through to my bones and only then did I understand what my husband meant. 

At supper, we sat around the table, along with Ser Criston, and her eyes watched the flicker of candlelight, the flames licking her irises, before she spoke: “Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Aemond finished chewing before he asked her. “And I am which?”

Alys’ eyes were black, her painted lips curled and framed around her pearl teeth. “To be the greatness, you must end the madness,” was all that she offered, and then, “the Rogue Prince is coming.” 

Ser Criston looked uneasy, but it was a silent understanding in regards to her statement, something that pressed heavily on us both. King Aegon could only have a true chance to rule the realm if his sister lost the power she had with her husband, the Rogue Prince; it was known that he was unruly, untamed, but loyal to a fault, and willing to see it through to its brutal end. 

That night, we fell back into an intimate embrace, cherishing the feeling of skin to skin–

Her granddam was crimson. “Oh, my, I believe I should skip this as well–”

She watched her granddam a moment, the intrusive thought to take the letters for her own readthrough, but it was muted by a growing sadness that began to settle in the edges of her sharp features. Lyanna knew well the history of the Dance of the Dragons, something scrawled on scrolls and tomes, its tragedy saved in ink and tucked away.

And still, she had to know this truth.  

“Please,” and her voice was soft. “Please, continue.” 

And granddam did. 

It was the 22nd day of the 5th moon and we waited on the shores of Gods Eye, myself, Aemond, and the witch. Ser Criston rode North to meet with my brother, and we remained, waiting. 

It had been a vision for Alys, something sinister; it was no surprise when the wyrm screeched its arrival, circling above, wary of Vhagar, before finally landing. Prince Daemon had an arrogance with his dismount, with his walk towards us. 

There was a symmetry as they squared towards one another; the Rogue Prince was cloaked with the past and my Aemond embodied the future, the true hope for House Targaryen. My husband faced him, unflinching, his brow furrowed with his ever present determination, while Daemon rolled his eyes over the each of us, sucking his teeth. 

Aemond broke the silence. “You were a fool to come alone.”

“Were I not alone, you would not have come,” Daemon was amused. 

But it did not deter my dragon. “Yet you are, and here I am,” he sighed. “You have lived too long, nuncle.”

“On that much we agree.”

The prince retreated to his wyrm and Aemond looked to me, his eye pleading, the glassy lavender that bore through my skin, and the gleam of sapphire for the other. He then dipped forward to kiss me and the tears pearling in the corners of my eyes spilled onto my cheeks at the taste of him, the touch of him; I knew I could never imagine anyone else. Those words stilled on my tongue, how I wanted him to beg to stay with me, but I also knew that he must. 

“Do not say it,” my voice broke, hushed against our kiss swollen lips. “Just come back to me.” 

His two fingers pressed against the sapphire pendant I wore, before leaning forward to press his lips to my hairline, and then he climbed aback Vhagar, his lithe body quick to mount. I remained on the sand with the witch at my side, and we watched these winged beasts rise above us. 

Dragons are truly magnificent, but they are also equally deadly. I trusted Vhagar was loyal to Aemond, but also knew it matched by the bond shared between Prince Daemon and his wyrm. It was said that Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, and I believed this as I watched them on dragonback, circling above the massive lake. Their roars vibrated through to our bones, the snapping of the jaws like cracks of lighting and their flames that singed the threads of my gown from my place on the shore. 

My eyes did not leave, and I asked Alys. “Will he live?” 

She was quiet for a moment. “The memory of him will live on,” and I felt her hand reach and touch my stomach. 

And all I could do was hold onto my pendant with prayers to the old golds, to the new gods for mercy for my husband, whose child I carried. 

They did not listen.

It was a clash of scale and bone, something that reverberated to Harrenhal and rattled the castle walls that still stood. The wyrm’s screams were cut short as the massive maw of Vhagar clamped onto its neck, and its talons flailed and cut deep into the old dragon’s underside. Blood rained onto the lake and I watched, struck with mortification at the dull glint of Valyrian armor, the flash raise of Dark Sister, and I knew it was over. 

I remained on the shore as the waves created from the fall of dead dragons crashed against the sand, a blood foam that flooded and wet my skirts. I remained still as the sun tucked beneath the horizon, until I heard the call of the witch. 

“My lady, the wolves have arrived.” 

This would be the shift of power needed for King Aegon II; the Rogue Prince was dead and his men fell to the sword under the command of my brother and Ser Criston. Cregan was shocked to see me and I was stoic still, dumbstruck with my grief that did not feel real; we returned to King’s Landing with the Northern army, quick to dethrone Rhaenyra and place her in the cells with the company of all the lords who supported her. 

King Aegon was scarred cruelly with a gimp to his steps, but he made his way to the Iron Throne, his crown of rubies and steel, and greeted his mother and the queen. This joyous moment died as I was tasked to share the news of the death of Aemond, of my husband and father of my unborn child; we cried our heartbreak, but I had no tears left. 

This pivotal moment would be known as the Hour of the Wolf by our history. It will speak of the heroism of Prince Aemond and what he sacrificed to kill the Rogue Prince, of how my brother descended onto the capital with a vengeance and helped return the throne to its rightful heir. The casualties of war included the bastard princes, as well as both sons of the king. 

When King Aegon learned that Prince Daeron the Daring met his fatal end, he decided mercy on the remaining Targaryen princelings, Aegon III and Viserys II, with his solemn vow to raise them as his own, as his heirs to the Iron Throne. 

Cregan served as Lord Hand through my pregnancy, for the birth of my darling Lysara with a patch of silver that showed against her dark curls and her eyes the same as her father’s, lavender. My brother had also been widowed but met the Lady Alysanna Blackwood, a woman I admired fiercely, and Lysara was smitten with, and was thrilled when I learned I could call her sister. 

It was then Cregan asked to be relieved so he could return to the North, to his son, and I asked to go with him. My time in King’s Landing was over, with every stone haunted with presence of Aemond; I already swore I would never marry again, would not dare have another set of hands touch and taint the memory of his hands against my body, his touch forever etched onto my skin and seeded into the marrow of my bones. 

Aemond would return to me at night, a silver dream, my body thrumming with the warmth of his touch, his gentle kiss, the low murmur of his voice, but it always ended the same: my realization when my hands pressed to his chest and felt no heartbeat.

That I would never feel it again.

The pain of losing him has not dimmed nor diminished with time, but I do not mind it as it serves as my reminder that he was real, and that the love we shared was real. 

As the witch predicted, Aemond also still lived within Lysara who was solemn, brilliant, and as determined and stubborn as he had been. I made sure to do an annual trip to King’s Landing, allowing her to meet her granddam, her royal family, and so that my daughter could learn that her blood not only held that of the Andals, the first men, but also of the fire that licks within her veins. 

Which is also why I write this, along with the gift of the necklace. It holds legacy, but also the reminder of the words Queen Helaena spoke to me when we were girls, something said a lifetime ago and before I could comprehend the weight of them. 

There is something in the blood of House Stark that calls out to these dragons, perhaps an ancient power of the old gods or a kindred spirit, the disparate bond of ice and fire, a clash that is brilliant, violent, and tragic, always. 

As she once said: a song of ice and fire, it is a tragedy, again and again…

It ended with a finality that rested against her chest. This was a tragic history of the crown, something already written with facts and dates, but this was a personal storying stemming from the blood of Stark woman, and only now did Lyanna begin to understand how the stories remained so vivid, so detailed despite its years of retelling. 

But also…

“What does this mean for me?” Her voice was soft, an almost childlike naivety to her tone. “I am already engaged to Robert Baratheon.”

Her granddam watched her, a tight lipped smile in response as her mind returned to the feast of last night, to the looks shyly exchanged between her granddaughter and the crowned prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, as he played his harp for her. It left her unsettled with a hunch, an inkling about this interaction. 

Instead she agreed. “You are right,” and she sighed. “Let me help you get dressed for the tourney.” 

The new Harranhal swelled with the life for the festivities, with the kingdoms’ best sent in response of Lord Whent’s invites; the new cobblestone seemed bright against the darkened foundation that still held, its ghosts trapped still and trampled underfoot by the crowds as the seats filled, the echoing chattered excitement that vibrated. 

It dimmed with a hushed reverence to see Prince Rhaegar Targaryen entering the field on his steed; his lavender eyes scanned the masses, an intent to spot one soul in particular, and she unknowingly called to him with her sweet smile, by the glint of the sapphire that rested against her chest. 

There's not one thing that I would change.

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1 @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9 @namelesslosers

arcie's masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #tragic romance #inspired by hozier #ours never knew peace #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #rhaegar x lyanna

[peterparkersnose]

Dragon Rider

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!reader

word count: 5k

warnings: helluva flirting, so many sexual references that its not even funny, bantering, nothing too bad, angst perhaps or just tense moments that made me melt while editing this

a/n Perhaps Aemond is a bit more outgoing in this fic then usual, apologies if I didn’t capture his potentially flirty side correctly. I started watching GOT in October and ended it in March (took a hiatus from Jan-March tho) and I watched HOTD in like a week after that :)

dragon? yeah dragon these balls

I am in no way claiming I am an expert in this, the world george rr martin created is so complex I truly think he is the only one who understands it all.

summary Y/N takes a ride on Aemonds dragon...

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read time: 18 mins 24 seconds

Reading in the presence of the gods was one thing Y/N enjoyed doing on occasion. She would pick her favorite book and seemingly sit there for hours at the Godswood, appreciating the sounds of nature along with the calm winds that often blessed King's Landing.

Today she was reading a book about the arts. Not many words, but beautiful images filled the pages and seemed to enchant her. She was so involved in the book that she didn't notice Aemond as he entered the courtyard. He took a moment to appreciate her beauty as she read. The complete innocence of the sight made his heart warm.

Her outfit was simpler than usual; a light dress with no undergarments besides the essentials. It was nothing near the clothes she usually wore. Thick winter dresses were her usual attire in the North. It felt strange being in such a light dress. Even with the dresses she usually wore around the Red Keep, this dress was nothing as she had ever worn out of her bed chambers. It was a scorching day in King's Landing and she couldn’t bare the thought of going through a day with a corset on.

She heard footsteps as he entered her line of sight. Her heart rate increased. She didn't even have to look up to recognize his figure.

"Reading again, are we? What is it this time... hopeless romance novels? Or historical texts that could actually do you some good to read." He asks cockily. She didn't look up from her book, but a slight smile spread on her face. She could see his figure towering over her in her peripheral vision.

"I suppose," she replied, trying not to let her emotions spill out onto her face.

He took another moment to take in her beauty before he spoke. "W-How are you?" he stutters, his hands fidgeting together as he tries to crack his knuckles. It was a strange change of topic. He didn’t expect her voice to sound so sweet, he didn’t expect her to hide her grin. It caught him off guard almost. He couldn’t care less about the book she was reading anymore. It wasn't often that Aemond Targaryen was nervous... and it was very rare that he let his guard down. Especially in front of her.

"I am doing just fine, Aemond. I see that you stuttered there—do I make you nervous?" she asked him playfully, wishing he would sit beside her against the large tree trunk.

"Perhaps," Aemond said, with a light smile on his face. He chuckled a bit at her remarks as he leaned against the trunk. A playful look came over him as he began to look somewhat flustered. "You never answered my question,"

"What question?" she asked, closing her book and looking up at the mysterious man.

"What are you reading?"

She turned her book so the cover was facing her and read off a false title.

"It's a tutorial novel, in fact. Called 'How to get men to let you read in peace'." she chuckled. Aemond bent down and sat next to her. "I suppose the tricks you've read about haven't worked for you yet?" he smirks.

"I suppose not."

Aemond let out a small sort of sigh. "You do look quite beautiful today."

She looked at him from the side of her eye as she set down her book in front of her. "Your too kind sometimes, my Prince. I miss when you would tease me."

His brows raised. "Tease you?" he asked inquisitively.

"Is that what you'd like?"

The pit in her stomach lit up like a fire. The tone this man used was unreal. He knew how to rile her up and read her sensitivity, even if she tried her best to hide it.

"I'd certainly enjoy it. I've been told I can be quite a brat," she teased, looking at his sharp facial features instead of keeping eye contact. She turned so her body was now facing his.

"Is that so?" Aemond said with a laugh. "Well, you are very much definitely that."

She was taken aback a bit that he replied to her tease with such ease, agreeing with her bratty ways. "You tease." she muttered, taking her bare foot and pushing it against his crossed leg. It was his 'punishment' for agreeing with her statement of being a brat.

Aemond flinched as her bare foot touched his leg. She just knew how much he absolutely hated feet.

"...Ow..." he said sarcastically, his hand rubbing his pant leg where her foot had just touched.

"Have I hurt the strong Prince Aemond? Is he going to send his dragon after me?" she says dramatically, placing a hand on her chest.

"I'm not afraid to bring him out... I'll do what I have to do." Aemond charmingly remarked. "I'll let your insult to the royal Prince pass for now."

"How big is that thing anyways...?" she asked playfully. His eyebrows rose at the question. “Your dragon?”

His voice became hushed. "Very big," he assured her. "Do you want to see?"

"Your dragon?" she asked quickly again, following his question up with hers.

"Yes, my dragon. I would be delighted to show you my dragon," he said, bowing his head and grinning. "Perhaps up close?"

It was becoming very obvious that this conversation was not about Vhagar.

"I thought Targaryen dragons didn't have a fondness for others of houses? I'm sure your dragon would absolutely destroy a Stark like I."

"Destroy you...?" he asked with a brow raised, his voice mixed with a toxic amount of curiosity and mischief. Passion burned in his eye, daring her to resist him.

"It would devour you. In one... single... bite." he whispered, his voice dripping with seductive passion. As each pause came off his lips, it shook her core, leaving her wanting more.

"Oh really? I'd like to see it try. I can be... convincing." you played back, squinting your eyes. His gaze upon you felt hotter than the air in King's Landing that day,

"Convincing?" he repeated her words. He stared down at her with a look that only came once in a lifetime. He had a tantalizing grin on his face.

"Are you just going to repeat my words, or are we going to go see your dragon? Where do you keep that thing anyways? Perhaps in your chamber… do you cuddle it every night before bed?" she asked, brushing off her dress as she began to stand. She steadies herself against the tree. He looked up at her. He had never seen this view before; he usually towered over her. Her hands rested on her hips as she awaited his response.

He let out a laugh. "Is that what you think I do?"

She shrugged, offering him a hand to help him rise from the ground. He accepted her touch, smiling when she struggled to help lift his weight from the ground. "No."

"I want to see it," she begged. "Please, Aemond?"

Her begging unleashed a violence in him that he hadn't felt in a long time. So pretty she sounded, her voice begging to see his prized possession. 

"Follow me then," he said in a hushed tone, a hint of mischievousness still lingering.

"Where are we going? Will I need shoes?" she anxiously asked, following Aemond out of the courtyard. He chuckled to himself at her question and answered, "You won't need shoes. Just follow me," he said, his eye widening a bit in response to her questioning.

Her stomach began to clench in fear as the large facility came into sight. She thought perhaps they would go to his chambers... oh, how she was wrong. They had finally reached the dragon pit. As they entered, she noticed how far up the circular ceilings rose and how dark the pit became after each step down the stairs. She sensed Aemond's presence next to her and wrapped her arm around his bicep.

Aemond let her hold on to his arm, and he gave her a reassuring smile. His eyes looked down at the dim light that showed over her face. They had to see the woman he loved so much holding on to him for comfort. "There's nothing to be scared of," he tried to assure her. Aemond's comforting words just made her hold on tighter to his arm.

"Why is it so dark?" she asked him. The facility was silent as much as it was dark. "I can barely see you anymore."

"Don't worry," he assured her, handing her the lantern he had been carrying. "This should help."

He shook off her grip but took her hand immediately after. "We're close to his lair," he announced.

"Am I in any particular danger being down here? Not being of Targaryen blood and such... I've heard they can smell who is a Targaryen and who isn't." she asked quietly, her voice tinged with a mix of caution and intrigue. The dim light danced upon her face, revealing a flicker of concern in her eyes. Aemond let out a laugh that bounced off the walls with what seemed like a never-ending echo. "No, they cannot smell your bloodline," he reassured her, squeezing her hand a bit. Her absurd question was one he found much humour in. "You are completely safe with me."

His presence seemed to calm her a bit, but her anxiety rose as they made their way toward Vhagar's pit. Aemond motioned for her to set down the lantern and stay quiet with a finger to his lips. He raised his hand to her, signalling for her to stay in her place.

Aemond yelled confidently in High Valyrian, something beyond Y/N's sense of knowledge from the North. The dark abyss became alive as if the words were the spell to unleash the devil.

Vhagar's eyes shot open as they heard his rider approach. The large dragon raised its head from the entrance of the pit and aired out its wings from where they were folded against its body. Vhagar let out the loudest roar Y/N had ever heard. It was enough to make her hair flow behind her face as the dragon's hot breath reached her skin. The floor shook with a danger that scared Y/N to her core.

Her eyes widened as she beckoned backwards. She lost her balance after trying to take in this magnificent creature and tripped on the lantern. Luckily, it stay lit.

"Are you alright?" Aemond asked, rushing to her side. The dragon watched the pair. The movement of his head let another rush of air escape. Aemond seemed panicked, worried this had been a bad idea. Perhaps she wasn't ready for this.

"I... I-"

She was genuinely speechless, looking at this mysterious dark creature that lurked before her. The dragon was quite large; sure, she expected the dragon to be large. But not quite this significant size. This was bigger than any ship, perhaps any castle she had ever seen in her life. He seemed as if he could pick the Red Keep up with his claws and fly away. However, that might have been an exaggeration, but it seemed real to her in this moment.

Aemond shook his head and recognized her fear. "She's... big." Aemond breathed out, reaching out his hand for her as she did for him in the courtyard earlier that day. "Bigger than any dragon I've ever seen, that's for sure." he followed up his statement. She took his hand, and he pulled her up with ease.

Without warning, Vhagar lets out a breath of fire directed toward the ceiling of the pit. The fire edged the structure with a beautiful haze. It wasn't anywhere near close enough to reach the two of them. It seemed as if Vhagar was showing off, playing as Aemond's perfect wingman. Almost literally.

Vhagar's flames disappeared as he watched them reflect in Y/N's eyes. Vhagar turned and began to approach the two of them. Its overgrown claws clipped at the stone floor with the dragon's booming steps toward them. Y/N held on to Aemond, almost as a shield. "I-Is it going to hurt us?"

Aemond chuckled. "Hurt us? She seems to like you. I think Vhagar wants you to approach her."

Y/N looked at him with a truly shocked look. "Me?" she asked, tilting her head. She looked back at the dragon. Vhagar lowered its head about twenty feet away. Y/N was curious to know if the creature was about to roll on its back like a lazy dog or charge at the two of them.

"Yes, you." Aemond said with a softer tone, trying to encourage her. He placed a hand on her lower back to comfort her.

"Why me?" she asked him, looking between his gaze and the dragons.

"Why not you?" he asked, wrapping his hand from her lower back to around her waist. His fingers give her a comforting touch as they lay on her waist.

The dragon began to inch its way closer to the pair. Its golden eyes blinked, seemingly changing color in front of her eyes. As each claw hit the ground, it shook, giving her an uneasy feeling and a reason to return to above ground.

"Go on... stand up straight, do as I say, and stay still. Do not have any rash movements. Do you hear me?" Aemond instructed her, letting her go from his grasp with a tiny push. It was physical, and yet also an emotional push at the same time. "Trust me."

She walked slowly towards the dragon until she could feel the dragon's calm breaths hit her skin. She wished she could turn around and run, but then she surely would have ended up as Vhagar's afternoon snack.

"Now," Aemond said calmly but urgently. She listened to the Dragon Prince, not daring to disobey his orders. "Place your hand out."

"What?" she called back, not questioning his orders but shocked at them. "Do as I say, Lady Stark. She won't eat you." he ordered her, chuckling at his cruel comment. Her whole arm shook as she held her palm to the dragon as a peace offering.

"Eat me?" she whispered, looking behind her and finding him standing there with a stupid grin. "Keep your gaze on the dragon now," he advised, his tongue sharp. "It won't harm you at all. Not with me here,"

Vhagar stood Y/N down. She couldn't help but feel like this could be the last moment of her life. As the dragon moved closer, it had a surprisingly soft touch as it touched its ginormous snout to her hand.

"Just relax..." Aemond said from behind her. Watching the woman he loved interacting with his dragon was enough to send him mad. Vhagar was the most important thing in his life, but perhaps now she sat right next to the dragon on his list of importance. Aemond slowly began approaching her side. He touched her arm, making her jump slightly. "You can stroke her," Aemond suggested. She looked over to Aemond with fear in her eyes. "Are you sure?" she whispered. He shook his head up and down slowly, with a confidence that drove her wild. "You realize, if I die, Cregan will declare war. Correct?"

Aemond smirked. "You won't die. The dragon won't allow that," he said with a grin, his eyes locked on her.

"Are you still afraid, Y/N? Vhagar seems to like you. She wants you to come closer." Aemond said, placing his own hand on his scary dragon as it seemed docile. "She wants me? For what?" Y/N asked, her hand moving slowly over the rough skin of Vhagar, following Aemond's actions. The thick black skin covering the grand dragon felt weird and gritty under her hands as the hot air from its huge mouth blew into her face again. A deep purr-like rhythm escaped from the dragon's throat.

"Just for the both of you to get to know each other. It's not often a dragon takes so kindly to a stranger." Aemond added.

She let out a long-held sigh of relief, which she seemingly had been holding a breath she didn't even realize she was holding. She smiled as the dragon let out another low, guttural purr.

Aemond looked endearingly at his woman, proud of the progress she had made. He had a smug look on his face with a sense of absolute faith towards her. She got along with his dragon. Any other girl in the realm would have left terrified by now- but she was different. She cared enough to see his dangerous interests and perhaps risk her life for his satisfaction. She truly cared. It warmed his heart, even though he would never let this be known to any other living soul.

"She likes you," he says with a teasing tone, placing his hand around her waist again. "I can tell," she replied, mimicking his tone.

She leaves his side and brushes her hand along the rest of the dragon's large face as it rested on the ground of the pit.

"What are you doing?" Aemond asks. He wasn't mad that she was testing her limits with Vhagar, just simply annoyed she left his embrace. "Just stroking it a bit," she teased, looking over the scales' rough details.

Aemond let out a small chuckle, his eyes darting to the floor as he followed her. He kicked his foot on the ground, making a few stray rocks bounce. "Stroke it some more... you seem to like to stroke it, don't you?"

Her head turned back to look at him. She had a passion in her eyes that drove Aemond wild.

"I can tell she likes you a lot. So much... that if you were to stop, there would be some consequences indeed."

He could feel his pants growing tighter. All the teasing she had done that day was enough to last him for a lifetime of private moments in his personal chambers.

"I have to stop sometime, you know. I cant pet a dragon for the rest of eternity," she says with a realistic tone, not teasingly at all. Aemond wouldn't lie; her practical mindset disappointed his fantasies. His encouragement was helped back up as she asked him a follow-up question. Perhaps she could sense his disappointment.

"How do you even ride this thing, anyway?"

Aemond walked over to the side of the dragon. She could just see him behind the wing. "This," he yelled to her confidently and held up a rope. "It's connected to the harness."

"Tell me, have you ever ridden a horse before?" Aemond asked with a curious tone, raising an eyebrow now as he kept his eyes locked on her, and he let the saddle strap back down onto Vhagar. "Many times, yes." she answered him as he made his way back to her side.

"Mounting a dragon is a very similar, yet different experience."

She turned to him, cocking her head. "Y-you want me to mount Vhagar?"

"Perhaps we could take her on a small ride? I know how badly you want to ride a dragon, dear." he sweetly suggested, brushing his hand against her cheek.

She looked dauntingly into his eyes. All the banter had boiled up to this point. She wanted to kiss him terribly. The yearning look she gave him begged for his lips on hers.

"You think I have what it takes to ride a dragon?"

"I know you have what it takes to ride a dragon, love."

He took her hand and slowly walked with her to the saddle strap.

"Aemond," she says, standing a few feet behind him. He expected her to follow his lead. He turns back, loosening his footing on the dragon. "I'm no Targaryen... I'm not a dragon rider. It's not in my blood,"

He slowly reached the ground with his feet and begins to walk towards her. Aemond outstretched his hand, cupping her cheek and looking down into her eyes. "Are you suggesting that it takes more than just a little courage to ride a dragon? You know I won't let anything happen to you. As long as you are with me."

She closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying this intimate moment with Aemond.

"It takes a whole bloodline that I do not acquire,"

A slight smirk rose to his face as he looked down at her. Her silly question made his stomach churn, knowing that he wanted to make her a Targaryen more than anything in the world.

"Nonsense," he whispers. "I have seen children half your age ride dragons before-"

"-But those are Targaryen children, Aemond." she cut off his sentence. He would be pissed at the usual person for doing so, but she gained the pass for disrespecting the Prince.

She placed a hand on his chest. "I am a Stark. I have no Targaryen in me,"

Aemond had to try to hide the grin he yearned to display on his face. He winced a bit, trying to keep his thoughts pure. Evidently, they were not.

Not yet. Oh, my love, not yet.

"I'd say that you're wrong," he concluded, placing his hand upon the hand she had placed on his chest. "There is plenty of Targaryen in you."

He playfully interlocked his fingers with hers.

"I am purebred Stark, unfortunately." she sighed, not a disappointed sigh but what seemed to be a sarcastic one.

"Unfortunately?" Aemond asked her as they began to walk slowly, hand in hand, near the beast.

"Shall we leave Vhagar to rest?" she asked, changing the subject. He could sense her tense demeanor as they got closer and closer to the dragon.

"Rest? Vhagar looks like she's ready for an adventure!" he says playfully, grabbing her other hand and dragging her towards the saddle rope.

She rolls her eyes and follows his grasp. Without asking or with a warning, he picks her up by her waist and mounts her up on the dragon's back. She let out a small yelp, not prepared for his intimate touch.

Vhagar began to squirm as she waited for Aemond's instructions. "Get on, will you?" he yelled playfully to her, nudging her leg in the right direction. "I'm right behind you."

She grabbed the rigid girdle and hoisted herself up onto the leather saddle. Vhagar began to stir. He stood up and took a step before Aemond could successfully hoist himself up on the saddle. Y/N yelled his name out and outstretched her hand. He grabbed her hand and yelled something in High Valyrian to the dragon.

"Hold on, my love." he said to her. Y/N wrapped her arms around his torso as he held on to the harness and began shouting more at the dragon.

The dragon began walking out of the pit. Vhagar let out a large screech, one that was louder than the last roar she had heard from the dragon previously. If she wasn't holding on to Aemond for dear life, she would have fallen off from the absolute jump scare it was.

As Vhagar let out another loud roar, the ceiling began to open. The hot skies had turned gray and overcast. She couldn't be holding onto Aemond any tighter than she was. As the dragon took flight, a rush of wind swept through Y/N's hair, tousling it playfully. The ground below grew smaller, the dragon pit almost becoming a speck of dust in her vision.

Her chin rested upon Aemond's shoulder as she anxiously held on to him. The refreshing scent of oncoming rain calmed her. The dragon could sense her newfound ease on her back and took its first swoop through the air. As Vhagar did this, Y/N let out a terrified scream, but the fearful tone soon turned joyous. Y/N's eyes widened as she watched King's Landing disappear beneath the clouds.

Her cheerful cries satisfied Aemond. She had finally gotten to experience the flight of a dragon. The times he had tried to explain this feeling to her in the past were no match for the real thing. Aemond's heart swelled with a deep sense of pride, a feeling always there, but it seemed to expand with her holding on to his waist.

With every beat of the dragon's wings and each breath of wind brushing against their faces, Aemond wished he could see her facial expression. He imagined the feeling of freedom in her, the same feeling he had many years ago when he first tamed Vhagar.

Her laughter was music to his ears.

The dragon ride represented more than just a thrilling adventure. It was a glimpse into the potential future they could build together, filled with shared experiences, trust, and an unspoken understanding. She was willing to take on the risky Targaryen lifestyle, even if it meant riding him or the dragon. Her ambition was the right one to match his. He had trusted her with something he had never trusted anyone else to do, not even his own brother. How she honored his house and their traditions were enough to make him fall off the dragon and mush into a pile of bliss.

Vhagar screeched and let out a breath of fire. Y/N's stomach dropped as the dragon dived straight into the ball of fire and hid her head in Aemond's shoulder. He laughed gregariously at her fear, grabbing her hand around his waist and interlocking their fingers. The heat didn't burn the two, but a rush of hot air pummeled around the two of them. The exhilarating feeling of adventure filled her, and she begged for more.

With each beat of the dragon's wings, Y/N's fears dissolved being replaced by a profound sense of freedom. She laughed and cried out with ultimate joy alongside Aemond. Her sweet words to him were carried away by the wind and unheard by his ears. Aemond didn't need words to know the exact feeling she was attempting to express to him. The world became a blur of colors and sensations, an exhilarating rush that filled their senses.

Rain began to fall. It drew down heavily on them since they were so high in altitude. Aemond spoke to his dragon once more in High Valyrian. Vhagar seemed to calm her sharp swoops and cries out and find his way back to the hill upon which the Dragon Pit sat.

Y/N was speechless as Vhagar landed. It was a bumpy landing due to the ground. It was now muddy.

Three men dressed in robes came out screaming in High Valyrian at the dragon. Aemond balanced himself on Vhagar's back as he reached out a hand for hers. She took it and swiftly slid down the dragon's back as Aemond pushed her ahead of himself.

She stumbled on the ground and fell to her bottom. Her dress was dirtied due to the dragon's soot and the fresh mud. It didn't matter anyways. Her dress and hair were already soaking wet. She watched as Aemond gracefully slid his way down the dragon. His Princely traits are shown brightly. He smirked at her as the wind blew his long, wet hair behind his shoulders. Vhagar complimented his aura as the dragon let out a long roar behind him. She was almost lost in his enigma.

As if he walked in slow motion toward her, he reached out his hand to help her up.

"Not bad for your first time," he stated, pulling her up and straight into his embrace.

Vhagar screeched from the back as the robed men guided her back into the Dragon Pit.

She steadied herself in his embrace, grabbing both of his arms. Her dress clung to her as it was soaked. Y/N pulled at it; she hated feeling it against her skin.

Her eyes met his gaze as he smiled, almost cruelly at her. He didn't care anymore; Aemond let his gaze fall down to her chest and below, taking her beautiful sight in.

"A beautiful girl who just rode on a beautiful dragon. My beautiful girl, my beautiful dragon." he said, pulling her closer. Their bodies were practically touching. Thunder cracked behind them. She smiled, touching her forehead to his.

"We should get back before the storm gets bad,"

He hated her realistic talking. Oh, how he loathed her responsibility just as he admired it. He had to stop these words... he had to shut her up.

"Shush," he whispers in his raspy, needy voice.

The rain created a symphony around them, the soft droplets pelting them softly as they stood together on Dragon Pit's hill. Aemond closed the distance between himself and Y/N with a soft and determined gaze.

She tasted of rain mixed with sweat and adrenaline. Something that made Aemond just crave her more and more with each second passing. His hands made their way around her, embracing her with a firm grasp around her waist. The rain seemed to shield them from the rest of the world as they stayed embraced like nobody was watching. There was no care in the world at that moment, just the two of them standing sopping wet in the storm.

As they finally parted, she struggled to catch her breath. Her lips still tingled with the remnants of their kiss. Her heart raced, looking back at the face of the man who had just given her the most sense of freedom she had ever felt, along with the most sense of fear. With a shaky exhale, she felt all of her anxieties and doubts go away about her relationship with Aemond. At that moment, she knew he was the one for her; the only one in the world fit for her. He could meet her adventurous needs, as he also aspired to the same ones as her.

"My dragon rider," Aemond declared softly, still close enough to feel her breath on his. The nickname sent chills down her spine. Aemond was proud to claim her as his with this new name. It was one he knew he would be calling her for the years to come. Aemond would never forget this special day. He would yearn to relive it for years.

"My Prince," she declared, smiling and looking up again to meet his eager gaze.

With that, Aemond and Y/N walked back to the Red Keep without a care in the world. They were sopping wet, but they were in love. They didn't care what the guards would think or his mother's spies she had placed strategically around the castle.

Vhagar was not the last dragon she would ever ride. As a Stark, she knew she could never own her own dragon. The man who gently held her hand and looked down at her with an undescribable lustful look would have to do.

-

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[flower-cage]

The Wolf And The Dragon | Chapter Seven

by @flower-cage

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: The war between the Greens and the Blacks has begun and the youngest of the Stark heirs is sent on a secret mission to King's Landing. In its course, she will learn to accept the power that was never meant to be hers and the love she never thought she deserved.

Ao3 | Main Masterlist | TWATD Masterlist | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | NEW Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 coming soon

Chapter Seven: The Wolf and The Dragon II

Chapter summary: The several days that make up your recovery are bright and fanciful like this in his company, despite the looming promise of battle.

Words: 6,192.

Warnings: 18+ only; explicit sexual content, mentions of blood.

A/N: This is such a filler chapter - all fluff and longing and smut, barely any plot. Smut has entered the chat. Minors, do not interact.

Tall, warped, and grey is the world that enshrouds you. It flashes past your eyes as you pierce through it unwaveringly. Towards where your legs take you, you are unsure, for an innate calling takes the lead and you trust it fully, you trust it blindly. Thick and hot as it drips down your flushed flesh, flying off and fouling the air with the taste of iron is… your blood? Pain is there too within your bones and desperate agony thrums and stings in your gut.

When it all stops, you know not where you stand, only that it grants you relief so great you surrender yourself to your exhaustion. The world that was once frantic turns void and silent.

When you wake up next, it is to the warmth of the sun licking against your cheek. It melts away your heavy drowsiness slowly and, gently, you stir your limbs to wakefulness, relishing in the silken linens and in the satiation of a full night of rest.

The low murmur of the comings and goings of the palace and the city below have long become a constant comfort, and this room, whose purpose you initially suspected was that of a glorified cage, has become a home in this land of treacherous politics.

Even if your wishes were to rise and soak in such sunlight, however, or watch the capital buzz or the sea lap its shores from your lavish balcony, a twinge in your chest reminds you there is little movement you can undertake without splitting it anew. The sting of it steals your breath so immediately, it awakens you to the ache that also persists head to toe. Alas, solemnly you lie still and impatient despite the medicine-induced lethargy that slows you, tolerating the dull throb until a maid finally disturbs your empty contemplations.

“Oh!” she gasps in delight. “Good morning, my Lady!” 

She is quick to open your curtains further and bring forth a dress and jewels, now accustomed to the commanding presence of your wolf, and prance about rummaging through the many items Queen Alicent has donned you. You take the scene quietly, yet reluctant to join in the busyness of the royal palace.

“Now then,” she claps her hands together once, eyes running across your chamber disorderly, likely cataloguing her duties of the day, “I’ll request your breakfast and summon Prince Aemond,” she announces as she curtsies and turns to exit, not quite meeting your eyes as she dashes through her own actions, her disposition much too chirpy for your still dazed mind.

“The Prince?” you break your silence, finally, when her words settle in. “What for?”

“He demanded to be informed when you rose, my Lady,” she smiles like she knows more than she should.

Heat rises to your cheeks, then, and your heart skips a beat only to kick off at full force when you are flooded with the memory of the night previous, of your unpremeditated, timid admissions.

“Wait!” you yelp as she turns to speed off once again. “Assist me in looking presentable, then.”

Your hairdo and the discrete jewelry the lively maid prepares in no time, but it is a true effort to help you into a tight bodice and a hefty, courtly gown in your state of fragility. Thus, when Aemond strides into your chambers, you are still gasping for air and in pain, sitting on the chaise in your modest living room.

“Rough start?” he quirks an eyebrow as he approaches.

There is a beat to his step and a levity to his brow you don’t think you have previously witnessed. It is but a faint trace of joy and tranquility on his typically stern countenance, one a stranger would take it for granted. You are far from strangers, however, and you cannot resist when your own expression softens at his easy disposition.

“My body is still awfully weak,” you grimace, a palm pressing below your bust, grounding you in your laborious breaths.

“It needs time to recover, is all,” he murmurs when he reaches you, towering over you.

Your heart gets caught in your throat when he bends to your height, holding your gaze, terrified to think he will claim your lips in front of the servants who set the table. In a startling motion, however, he takes your waist in his strong hands and brings you to your feet. Hardly a gesture proper between an unwed pair, his touch elicits shame to burn your face and desire to tickle where his fingers had gripped.

He allows you a moment to recover from the abrupt movement, hands steady at your quivering waist and oblivious that you take it to recover from the effect he has on you instead. His dark velvet vest glares back as you regain your grip on reason, keeping at bay the impulse to simply take him.

You have accepted your undeniable, burning passions, had a glimpse of his carnal pleasures, and admitted he has unequivocally conquered your regard. Whatever lies beyond is muzzled, indiscernible, and scares and excites you in the same breath.

His firm grip on your elbow pulls you toward breakfast as much as it pulls you from your uncomfortable wonderings.

It is another difficult, glacially slow feat to eat on your own, but you insist your body needs the practice and Aemond sits with you patiently, briefing you on the latest developments of the council and picking on your fruit. You note, without deliberation, his taste for the sour: green apples, green grapes, the slices of lemon on the lemon cakes. 

It is immensely strange to have him there in your chambers, simply keeping you company, under no pretense of duty whatsoever and of his own volition. It is immensely contrasting to the image of the Dragon Prince you know he works so hard to sustain, and it invades your chest with a tickling warmth you never knew could be attributed to him.

“Any news of my father?” you ask him when his short reports lull to a halt. He hums through a pout, a quick frown, peeling an apple. His long fingers, roughened by the sword, cut the fruit gracefully and meticulously - delicate yet sinister.

“The last we heard of the Northern army was several days ago when they were set to cross The Trident,” he tells you, unaware his every movement grasps your full attention. “The last raven has gone unanswered.”

The Trident - in between The Eyrie and Riverrun, one a sworn enemy, the other an inconstant party.

“A messenger was sent to find what has happened-”

The clattering of your silverware against fine porcelain interrupts his foreboding tellings. A shuddering breath escapes you and you stare at the delicate tabletop in search of reassurances for which you are scared to ask aloud.

Punching through your gut, stealing your composure, your icy fear flies through your veins, freezing your blood and hopes alike.

“I promise you,” he states firmly, promptly, taking your hand in unexpected sympathy and recapturing your attention. He is so warm the cold never truly reaches your fingertips. “If something has indeed passed, I will fly to them on Vhagar at a moment’s notice”

His eye is gentle yet fierce, tempting you with trust and affection.

“A letter arrived from my lord uncle in Old Town just two nights ago,” he tells you, clearing his throat and sitting back, releasing your hand and taking with him all warmth. “Though his fleet will join us, and some of his men, he is to ride to Highgarden.”

“Highgarden?” you repeat, the strategist in you instantly, thoroughly engaged. “But the way from Old Town is far too treacherous for an army,” you argue, “they could easily be stranded-”

“Not for a dragon,” he cuts you short, smirking like he had wanted for this reaction. For a moment you think he intends to forsake your plans and fly to the Reach on his own. Affronted, feeling strangely betrayed, you ready yourself to passionately oppose him. 

Then it dawns on you-

“The Blue Queen,” you conclude in awed breath.

“My brother Daeron will keep the Tyrell and their bannermen from advancing on King's Landing,” he explains, taking his cup between his smirking lips, holding your gaze and most unquestionably taking pleasure in your befuddlement.

“Do not tease me…” you mutter under your breath, huffing as you recollect yourself. “Seems most unlike this court to commit to such clever schemes,” you stir the honeyed wine in your hand, avoiding his mocking gaze, “rather than to plunge into battle.”

He hums in return and you hear, too, the smile that paints his amusement.

“We have recently learned a thing or two,” he tells you.

“Is that so?” you raise your eyebrows, meeting his eye and hiding yourself behind your own chalice.

A sweet sparkle ignites in his eye, likely meeting its twin in yours, but he is quick to turn his face and bite into his cheeks not to unveil it entirely. And you… you try not to get lost in the sharpening of his most beautiful features, in the tantalizing column of his neck that he exposes to you or the masculine lines that make his profile.

Easily you fall back into comfortable silence, picking on the remnants of your meal and enjoying each other’s, for once, easy presence. He goes to excuse himself for a council meeting from which you had been excused when your cups are nearly empty, but you insist on accompanying him.

It is a laborious task to help you to the council chamber. Your body can scarcely hold itself upward, your chest can barely bear the movement of your breaths, with each movement threatening to bleed it anew. Even so, Aemond takes up the task with patience, stopping every few steps to guide you to steady your breaths before you can even wince in warning. With an arm curled around your back and a firm grasp on your elbow, he becomes your steadfast support.

The gown that grazes the tiles and catches the sunlight does not cover your collarbones, so that your still-healing gash, too sore to cover in close-fitting dresses, is on full display. It catches the eyes of the nobility on your way through the Keep, but, perhaps for the first time, you do not feel cruelly scrutinized. 

The indistinguishable chatter that bubbles from the council can be heard many feet away, though its door remains dutifully shut. When it is pushed open for your entrance, the room becomes silent for no more than a heartbeat before it erupts again in renewed, vigorous cheers. It startles you - the claps, the hails, the cries of your name.

You look at Aemond in search of answers, finding nothing but admiration in the gleam of his eye, in the smile on his lips. The effect is so alluring, dizzying, that you force yourself to turn quickly back to the members of the council, before the craving for his full attention - his touch, his lips - traps you in immodesty.

“Hail Captain Stark!”

“Great to see you standing, Captain!”

Polite nods and smiles are all you manage in your startled state. Soon, the uproar dwindles with a stern word from the Hand of the King, allowing for the session to take place as usual. Only this time your word is not once taken for granted and Aemond does not join his mother’s side.

He comes to you often, now. Every time the thought of him is accompanied with longing, he shows up at your door, at the library, at the gardens, wherever it is you are.

Every day he comes to you, sometimes in the morrow, sometimes at tea, each time a different excuse on his lips, a different activity on his mind. It is not difficult to see right through them, but you don’t dare teasing him so he is not discouraged from pursuing you, for you crave his company just as eagerly.

“Allow me to accompany you to the shores of the river,” was his first cover, “the maester says fresh air and light walking will help you regain your strength.”

You hummed in delight, gladly abandoning the embroidery you had taken up at the encouragement of Queen Helaena to take instead his arm.

Every night you sit in a small clearing you have claimed in the woods just outside the city walls, watching and instructing him as his fists fly, his eye veiled, against a bag of dirt that swings from a tall tree. You chuckle every time it hits him powerfully in the back of the head because he allows you the trust to do so.

The several days that make up your recovery are bright and fanciful like this in his company, despite the impending promise of battle. He is silent and intense and rigid as has likely always been his nature, but he no longer assaults and insults you.

In these days of your recovery, he is generous with his amiability and his tenderness which were once rare and quickly followed by hatred. And for the most part, you enjoy the comforting quietness you have found in one another, not knowing how long this deception of peace will last.

Before you know it, his friendship becomes a grounding force in this land you still don’t belong in, in the face of duties still greater than what you were ever meant to shoulder. It brings you relief and room to breathe, but it also dulls the ardent fire that would once burst into impassioned moments of affection or aggression. Now he grants you himself so freely, all your urges turn into potent longing, ever-pounding in your ribcage and stretching on and on as it is scantily fed by lingering touches, soft smiles, gentle gestures. 

The longer you spend in his presence, the more you truly see him - the mere man he lets slip from the cracks in the shell they call Prince Aemond One-Eye, the Kinslayer - and you yearn for him ever just as ardently. Yet the lack of angry, adrenaline-filled rushes turns rational the mind that granted you the courage to deliver yourself so effortlessly to your base desires. The same effect has overtaken him, you imagine, for he, too, has not taken that dangerous leap again.

He takes you flying when your wound is but a long line of red, taut skin stretching from shoulder to shoulder.

“Vhagar needs the exercise,” he explains as he pulls on his leather riding gloves, “and you need the sunlight.”

You get sunlight from your balcony. 

Even so, you join him, and he takes you to an island perhaps an hour from King’s Landing, forgotten in the Blackwater Bay. It is but a couple of grassy hills and dried acacias, deserted of wildlife but abundant in sunlight and cool, salted winds.

Just before you land, he veers Vhagar so that her wings graze the ocean, spraying you with saltwater, and freely relishes in your surprised yelps. It is in a dream-like, high-spirited state that you dismount his dragon to stand on a hilltop and enjoy the whimsical beauty that stretches on before you.

Across the vast expanse of deep blue, you see the Crownlands for the first time in a long while like the history books and fantasy stories always described it - sun-soaked and plentiful. You close your eyes and pretend you are a simple lady who enjoys the luxuries of the capital and the attention of a Prince who courts you. You enjoy the tall grass as it grazes your ankles and the breeze that flutters your silken skirts.

What if your interests had been simpler from the start? Would you have been content with a caring husband and a simple life like your sisters? Would the duty of motherhood suffice your ambitions?

Dull, your mind corrects you immediately. It is not your nature and has never been, but you delight in the glimpses of a different life you get in these escapades you enjoy at his side.

But they don’t last long, not at the brink of war.

Though council meetings are shorter and scarcer as the weeks pass, though your days are mostly filled with quiet joy, letters from all across the Kingdoms become more frequent. Though they mostly bring good news, they also make each day heavier and darker, luring war to break out.

Our fleet has joined the Hightower’s at the Arbor, whose succor we have finally secured. We shall sail with care and wait for Prince Aemond east of the Sea of Dorne, though I fear only a fool could hope for secrecy now, writes Jason Lannister.

We have made a small siege around Highgarden, but the Blue Queen suffices in terrifying the Roses back into their walls, writes Gwayne Hightower.

Corlys Velaryon’s fleet has now fully impeded trade into the Crownlands, confirms Borros Baratheon.

Some of the men from the Stormlands have made their way into the city four nights past, the men from Harrenhal six, and Lord Borros awaits with his fleet at the ready to join the advance coming from the west, awaiting you.

And yet no word from the Northern Army.

“There is no cause for alarm, yet,” Aemond often reassures you, “this wait is not unprecedented.”

But there is much uncertainty. This quietness before the storm does not sit well with you. No dragon has been sighted flying off Dragonstone, but you cannot help but wonder if this is all part of a ruse. After all, you had been spotted that night on Dragonstone and, for every bit of undisciplined, Daemon Targaryen is also known to be exceedingly sharp and tenacious. What if he had preemptively relocated the beasts?

These doubts and more haunt your dreams the closer you are to setting off for battle and, on the eve of the first strike, they grow so great they threaten to rip you apart at the seams.

You sit with them and allow them to consume you, under the eyes of the Weirwood Tree of the Red Keep, under the light of the new moon. For long you had engaged in silent devotion, searching for peace, protection, counsel, but it does little to soothe your disquieted mind.

No word from the enemy, no word from your father, and no word from the Riverlands. Their silence deafens you.

Resting upon a log, face to face with the image of the Old Gods, you close your eyes and revel in the warm breeze you seldom get in the North. It ruffles fallen leaves and twigs, seeps through the light fabric of your nightdress, and promises an unattainable liberty. In another shot at distraction, you listen closely to its path - northward - but the sound of crunching leaves a few steps behind you promptly awakens a feeling of foreboding.

Your hand tightens around the dagger on your waist. Something creaks a step closer. Without preamble, you jump and twist, your blade finding perfect lodging against his jawline, not for the first time.

He smirks, head tilted backward, hands in the air.

“I’m beginning to believe you take joy from having me under your blade.”

“Damn you, Aemond,” you hiss, stowing away your knife and releasing a shuddering breath that, predictably, does nothing to relieve you of your torments.

His very sight aggravates your affliction, when you take note of his rare dishevelling. Similar to you, only a cloak hides the cotton chemise he should be wearing exclusively in the privacy of his apartments, and his loose hair parts in the middle to frame his amused countenance. Both reflect the brilliance of the moon to don him an ethereal glow, and his casualty tempts you to believe he has invited you into his intimacy. 

“How predictable is the troubled wolf who trails the woods in the shadows,” he mocks.

You award him a hard gaze, not partaking in his light jesting when your shoulders clench in distress.

“How despicable is the dragon who slithers in silence after her,” you bite, regretting it immediately when his smile drops and his eye softens.

He has learned your moods and attitudes as much as you have his.

“What is it that ails you?” he asks so softly you wonder when his instinct has become to extend his care in place of retaliation.

And his softness, akin to how his mother had once received you, waters your eyes in a heartbeat. You bite your cheeks, looking away so that your tears are not encouraged to fall.

“This tranquility does not sit well with me,” you whisper.

“You question yourself,” he concludes with a tone of realization, watching your lips tremble, your hands clenching closed.

“Something is amiss,” you beg, predicting his denial. Indeed, he shakes his head and takes a harsh breath as if preparing to fight you tooth and nail. “But it is, Aemond!” you insist before he gets his chance, recapturing his attention and astounding yourself with how swiftly you lose composure.

“This silence is most unnatural,” you tell him gravely. “We have had an army on the move for months, Highgarden is under siege, Daemon saw us!”

He stares at you, jaw tight, gaze hard, and unmoving.

“And they are- what?” you lick your lips, staring back with equal vehemence, but if he is shaken by your reasoning, he does not convey it. “Sitting and waiting?”

You had not known how terribly these thoughts had rotten within you, garnering a great fear furtively until this single stab allowed it to burst and eat away at you.

“We knew from the beginning they would be ready to meet us in battle,” he counters with a placidity you would never have expected just two moons ago. “We have prepared for it accordingly.”

“There has been no word from my father, Aemond,” your voice breaks, your eyes truly tearing despite your efforts, lips trembling with the toil of keeping composure. “Chances are at least one dragon has survived-”

“No,” he takes you by the elbows as you hiccup through tears, through dismay. “We would have seen-”

“And they will descend upon you and Vhagar first,” you lament, wet, glimmery eyes meeting his worried look, “and it will be my fault,” you finish in a whisper.

Your desolation takes effect on him finally, and he takes your damp face in his hands to force your attention, to force you to trust him. He brings you so close, so quickly, your hands land on his chest for balance. His fine chemise is so delicate you feel every hard line of muscle underneath and his warmth seeps in slowly through your fingertips, flaring your feelings yet further.

“That will not happen,” he emphasizes, enunciating each word carefully and surely, so that they may weigh and impress on you. His hands brush your hair from your wet cheeks, his calloused fingers wipe your tears, then descend to your chin, tilting it so that he may secure your attention.

It takes your breath away, that passionate spark of his. His diligent care - perhaps his passion - alights a warmth that fills your chest to the brim and you feel seen, wanted, cherished. And you want more of it, you want all of it.

“You will not lose me,” he whispers, almost an afterthought that betrayed him when he allowed himself the gentleness. “I will not lose you.”

Your lips part in surprise. You did not expect him to interpret your words in this way, but the tightening in your chest only confirms his bold suppositions.

“How can you be so sure?” you whisper back, afraid of breaking the delicate exchange. “How can you trust that when so much is uncertain?”

He hums, smirk pulling on his lips and trapping you deeper in your desires.

“You are certain. Nothing else needs to be.”

Driven wild by his affectionate words, your heart beats harshly in your chest, ailing your breaths and ringing in your ears. Your fingers tingle against his solid chest where they rest and refrain from bringing him closer. His gaze is firm and allows no challenge as you look at him in amazement.

“You think chance alone brought you to King’s Landing at the exact moment we needed you?” he asks though he evidently wishes for no answer.

“My father-”

“What sense does it make for the Gods to place us in each other’s path-,” your knees buckle when he grazes the lowest dip on your bottom lip, “- and achieve what we have so far, against all odds, only to fail at the very end?”

At a loss for words, you revisit the chain of truly unlikely events that have led you to this very moment. It is not that you accept his reasoning, but rather that you are overtaken by a desperate desire to acquiesce to him, to be in harmony with him now that he so eagerly seems to seek that himself.

“The Gods play cruel games, too,” you try meekly, but in the back of your mind you hear his mother's words:

The Gods have only destined us to achieve that which we are capable of achieving, and that is an encouraging thought.

Just as they did then, they compel you to give in and simply… believe.

“The stubborn Stark and her almighty direwolf,” he starts, smirking when he senses your resignation, fingers gliding softly against the side of your face, gaze admiring the skin they trail, “and the bad-tempered, one-eyed Prince, rider of the largest dragon in the world…” 

One of his hands leaves your face as the other cups the side of your neck, eliciting sparkling goosebumps to travel down your spine.

“Heirs to little more than what they have made of themselves,” his fingers travel down your arm to wrap around yours, “they seldom seem the types to end consigned to oblivion.”

You soften despite yourself, huffing good-naturedly. 

“You read too much,” you whisper.

He places your knuckles on his smiling lips, stealing your breath entirely.

“Trust your capabilities,” he insists against your skin, prompting a sob you didn’t know you still held, “as I trust your role in the great scheme of history will be equally as grand as you.”

“Aemond,” you choke around his name. 

It has become easy to regard him and see past his dragon features, past his titles, his prowess and his sins, to see a mere man. It makes you adore and yearn for all of him, in all his ordinary manners and his human insecurities and all the facets he hides from everyone else’s eyes.

“Often I have read about the heirs of the dragon,” you start, swallowing the heaviness that fights to leave you, turning your hand to hold his face in your palm, “of their bloodlust, their beasts… their pride.”

Your fingers trail up the scar that splits his brow, ever so lightly delineating its cut.

“Little did I know they could be so kind,” his one eye hardens when the tip of your thumb hooks underneath his eyepatch.

His instinct is to flinch, but you give him your best reassuring, pleading look, and when his eye softens again you know he, too, wants to give himself to you entirely, undividedly. 

“And so warm,” you take off the binding leather, “so beautiful,” you gasp.

A hand curls on your hair, fingers weaving through your loose strands to hold the back of your head.

“There is nothing cold about the daughter of the great, white North either.”

He pulls you in gently, but you reach for him all the same, and this time you meet his kiss with the same eagerness.

When your tongues embrace, his heat melts you to the core. He is not forceful, but his hunger is evident, for he kisses and takes you as though his sole purpose is to drive you delirious with pleasure. He is urgent as if he has long thirsted to have you on his tongue again, yet slow and deliberate so that he may truly savor you. It is sensual in its pace, passionate in its depth, and makes you crave for more until your head spins with your sensations.

You pull on his silver strands in response to his squeeze on your waist, and you break apart in a gasp which alleviates your haziness enough for a single trickle of rationality to defy your actions.

“We shouldn’t-”

“Then why does it feel so good?” he grunts and licks into your mouth too quickly. “Why does it feel like the best thing I’ll ever do?”

He sucks your bottom lip gently and you shudder at the sparks of pleasure that descend through you.

“Tell me you don’t want this, then,” he murmurs against your slickened lips, eye glued to them like he wishes for nothing but to devour them. 

“Tell me this doesn’t feel right,” his nose brushes against yours teasingly and your mouth waters. “Tell me-” his thumb leaves a trail of goosebumps as it caresses the hollow of your throat, “-it doesn’t feel as though every path you’ve ever taken has led you here to me.”

He rests his parted lips so lightly against your own, you are nearly convinced you have conjured the feeling yourself in your crazed yearning.

“Go on and tell me you don’t want me.”

They say that none can tell lies before the Weirwood trees of the Old Gods. And you find that you really, truly, cannot.

“I-I do,” you breathe. “Aemond, I want you.”

His every move is calculated, as though he has thought this through meticulously, has always known how he would like to touch and pleasure you. He leaves you dizzy when his mouth leaves yours at last, your lips hanging open in search of his tongue again, but through them escapes a gasp when his hot lips suck on your neck instead.

Gently he pulls on the hair at the base of your neck, exposing more skin to his wandering tongue. His kisses clouded your mind, warmed your body, drove you to hunger… But this positively electrifies your skin, pulling pleasure from every inch of your body, from your fingers to your toes, from your chest to your tingling spine.

You feel his hunger on his tongue as it tastes you persistently. His utter devotion you feel on the fingertips he presses against your waist and his desperation you hear on the breaths he takes against your skin.

Just as sure and seamless as his every touch, he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly and bending his knees to lift and deposit you on the cold grass beneath him. He recaptures your lips when he settles between your legs, but when he grinds his hard member against your core, you part in a broken moan.

It is most unnatural, you think, how your body reacts promptly and desperately to his every stimulus. It doesn’t make sense, you think, that you find yourself so soon at the very end of your wits.

Your hands paw at his soft shirt in renewed desperation, finding his hot flesh beneath it. His own hands deftly work to lift your skirts and venerate your bare thighs. And then the world slows down to a halt, if only because you need it to finally, truly feel him.

You close your eyes at the feel of his warm, naked back, your very soul re-energizing at the bare touch. A large hand travels to your shoulder blades, underneath your gown, sparking goosebumps in their path along your spine as your flesh desperately tries to cling onto its heat. His own skin does the same as your lips stroke reverently against his collarbones, up his neck. You take in his lovely scent and he takes your lips again, kissing you at the pace that the Earth spins, grounding you in the present, in his heartbeats, in his caresses, in his warmth.

Your wandering fingers cannot help but stroke though his lush strands, nor can they stop searching for the taut softness of his back as it ripples beneath them. You tease yourself by gliding your thighs along his own and settle around his waist, getting both lost and trapped in the tantalizing caresses and the promising heat of your close embrace. 

It is with a gasp that the spell of leisurely touches shatters, when he lowers his hips and presses his hardness against your exposed sex. It all too suddenly makes room for an intensity and a want that had laid dormant in your gut.

His hands journey further south and you moan into him when he squeezes and pulls on the back of your thighs, parting the lips that progressively slicken between your legs. It makes you ache for him, makes you moan and grip his hair a bit harder.

“Aemond,” you whine against his ruddy lips, when he moves you against him, building a pulsing pleasure deep within your cunt that strikingly resembles a desperate calling.

“I have wanted you,” he murmurs into you, blue eye made dark with lust, “direly,” he rolls his hips again, “fiercely.”

“Then have me,” you whisper, begging him as you shiver in desire. 

He holds your gaze with unwavering determination while you feel him reach between you. It is as if he yearns to watch every muscle on your face twitch and slacken in pleasure under his lustful ministrations. He gets his wishes when he lodges his leaking tip between your slick lips with a hiss, and you gasp when his thumb presses against the pearl of pleasure between your thighs. He gives you no time to decipher what he will do next, stroking you in earnest and grunting as your cunt flutters and squeezes around his most sensitive tip.

The pleasure builds far too quickly - you have craved him for far too long. You feel the heat and elation travel through your flesh in all directions before you truly peak. When you do feel it, it is immediately insufficient to satiate you, and your cunt contracts hungrily against his tip, begging for more while you deliver yourself to pleasure with deep gasps.

He answers your sinful cravings before you have to utter it, before you even stop quivering around nothing, sliding in easily, deeply, stuffing you to the brim. 

You yelp around a gasp when he does so, immediately delirious in your arousal, immediately and incredibly close to another peak. You never stood a chance - he has impregnated your senses with himself, driving you to s concupiscent frenzy; his masculine scent of sandalwood is intoxicating now it is spiced with the sinful scent of your sex, his warm, soft lips lick and suck until your thoughts dissolve to smoke, his thunderous grunts shudder you to your core when he sheathes himself inside you.

His gaze has never been more penetrating, regardless of how passionate it had always been. With his sparkling sapphire eye, lips red and abused by your urgent tongue, and fine silver hair clinging to his glistened skin, he finally conquers the parts of you that had thus far remained untouched by his alluring spell.

“Aemond,” you whimper, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, breathtaking desire and realization battling inside you.

When he finally moves, he does it studiously, coercing you to feel his every inch. There is so much of him, he drags and teases all the spots that make your knees part further for him. When he pushes back in, your eyes roll back and a moan breaks apart the sloppy snare of your tongues. 

“Nothing will take you from me,” he admits in a rough whisper, amidst a hiss and a gasp. “Not a thing will part us.”

His weight grounds you to him, protects you from all that isn’t bound to the space between your heated flesh. His freed hair shades you from the exposing light of the moon. He takes your hands from their eager exploration of his back to lace your fingers in his, restraining them against the ground.

He entertains these luscious, languid movements for the short time it takes for your slick to soak his cock, until your knees come up to wrap high and wanton around his torso. Then, with a grunt, he awards you with thrusts so powerful they punch your breaths out of your lungs, so precise they wet your eyes anew with tears of pleasure.

“Aemond,” is the only thing you can say.

“There?” he asks softly, nearly patronizingly, and redoubles his efforts.

You burn from the inside, from the mouth-watering sensations he evokes unforgivingly in your deepest, most pleasurable spot. You sweat through your clothes and your hair clings to your sticky skin. When one of his hands uncurls from your hold and gently wipes your weak tears, takes your jaw, and pulls you into a searing kiss, you think you might burst aflame, but you welcome it like you have been waiting for him to thaw you your entire life.

“I won’t be going anywhere,” he whispers against your mouth, incredibly gentle despite the rough thrusts that still deliver you closer and closer to insanity, “not without you.”

And then all your pleasure snaps like this: with your eyes locked to his, with your lips grazing his, and his words weighing heavily on your chest.

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[birdiewriteslit]

“summer of difference”

chapter two: new romantics

jacaerys velaryon, aemond targaryen, aegon targaryen x fem!stark!reader

summary: you remember a certain incident from last year, and you meet a certain group of siblings.

warnings: 18+, nsfw content, smut, kind of p in v?, making out, aegon😒, loss of virginity

BRUH TUMBLR DELETED A BUNCH OF THE SHIT I WROTE AND I HAD TO WRITE IT ALL AGAIN so that’s why this is late sorry y’all but trust you will be fed this chapter

LAST SUMMER, THE GARAGE

“Are you sure about this, Jace?” you asked timidly, which is ironic, because minutes before you were confidently climbing into the backseat of Daemon’s convertible.

“Positive.” Jace was on top of you, breathing heavily as he tore away from the newly bruised spot on your neck. “Are you?” he asked, hovering over you.

“Yeah, I am,” you confirmed, grabbing his shirt to pull him back onto your lips.

He kissed you fervently, hooking your legs around his waist as he gripped your hips. “Take it off,” he whispered against your lips, tugging on the fabric of your shirt.

“I’m not wearing a bra,” you said.

He shrugged. “Less work for me then.” Your heartbeat quickened, but you complied, revealing your breasts to him. He stared for a moment before hastily taking his shirt off, and going back to attacking your neck with his mouth.

You’d never seen him like this before. You’d been toying with him all summer, sure, but you weren’t expecting him to take your virginity in his stepdad’s convertible.

You covered your mouth to stifle the moan that escaped you. Jace took one hand off of your waist to take yours away from your mouth. “I want to hear you,” he said, connecting his lips to yours again, preventing you from protesting.

If his whole family and yours weren’t just beyond the door to the garage, the last thing you’d be worried about was your vocal ability.

But the thought of getting caught was sort of thrilling. Anyone could walk through the door and see you like this, your hands on Jace’s face, his tugging on the belt loops of your jean shorts, both of you half naked. They would know you belonged to him.

Your hips involuntarily bucked up to his, and he groaned into your mouth as he started grinding on you. “Jace…”

“I know, baby, I know,” he rasped. pausing to slide his shorts and briefs down, you taking the time to unzip your shorts and do the same.

He aligned himself with your entrance, bringing one hand up to cup your face, his forehead on yours. His eyes asked if you wanted it, and you nodded. “I need you, Jace,” you said softly.

He kissed you quickly and slowly inserted himself inside you. You moaned loudly at the exact same time the door to the garage opened.

Your head whipped around to see possibly your worst nightmare. It wasn’t Cregan, it wasn’t Luke, it wasn’t even Sara. It was Daemon, standing in the doorway with his keys in hand.

His lips were pursed tightly together and sunglasses covered his eyes, which made this experience all the more terrifying because you couldn’t see his eyes. The excitement of others finding you quickly vanished as you realized that was the worst thing that could’ve happened.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he said after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

Jace said nothing as he hurried to cover up your chest with his shirt that had previously been discarded to the floor of the car. He pulled his bottoms back up, and you did the same, pushing his body away from yours.

“Daemon, I-“ Jace started.

Daemon grimaced and held up one hand. “Don’t, just don’t. In my own house. You do this in my own house? In my car? My one sacred item? And you choose to do this the moment I decide to go on a peaceful, relaxing drive?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, taking his sunglasses off and tucking them into his shirt.

Rhaenyra could be seen behind him, peeking over his shoulder to see what the commotion was about, and gasping when she saw your guilty faces and lack of clothing.

“Y/n, put that damn shirt on. Both of you, inside now,” Daemon demanded. “Your mother will deal with you, boy,” he said, pointing at Jace.

You shamefully put Jace’s shirt on, and exited the car. Jace followed you past his angry stepfather and into the house, still half naked and feeling very embarrassed.

As if it could get any worse, there was Baela, Luke, and Sara sitting on the barstools, all holding in their laughs. Luke lost his mind laughing when he saw Daemon through the door attacking the car’s backseat in Clorox wipes. Sara and Baela had the decency to keep it in.

“On the couch, both of you,” Rhaenyra said, her face perfectly still.

When you sat down, you studied Jace’s face. He wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were wide as he stared at the floor. This was the worst.

You looked behind you to see Baela silently laughing, Luke slapping the countertop, and Sara violently tapping away at her phone.

Rhaenyra entered the room about five minutes later with your parents behind her. Wonderful.

Your dad was busy trying to look menacing to Jace while your mother muttered several prayers under her breath.

“Would you like to explain what you were doing in Daemon’s car?” Rhaenyra asked calmly, her arms crossed over her chest.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, glancing around at your audience. “Well, we were in the garage, and then, Jace, I mean, I had an idea,” you started, attempting to save him. “And now I see that it was maybe not a good idea.”

“Were you at least being safe? Using protection?” Rhaenyra asked exasperatedly.

“Not exactly,” you admitted.

“She’s on the pill, she’s fine,” you dad said. Holy hell, this was fucking mortifying.

“She’s not fine! You know better than anyone that it doesn’t work,” your mother exclaimed.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you interjected, ultimately hoping to change the subject.

“Don’t worry about it. What you should be worried about is teenage pregnancy!” she shouted.

“Gilliane, it’s really fine, okay? I didn’t,” Jace hesitated. “Cum.” He winced as he said the word.

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to speak, but someone beat her to it. “You fucked my sister, Jace? Sara better be lying because I will seriously hurt you,” Cregan yelled from over the railing.

“Violence is as much a sin as premarital sex!” you mom warned. “And, please, Cregan, watch your mouth.”

“So it’s true?” he said, sounding betrayed.

Jace stared at him, silent. Cregan retreated back into his room muttering, “Dude, bro code.”

This was probably the most embarrassing moment of your life. You did your best to ignore the scent of Jace that came off of his shirt as his mother firmly educated you on sex and protection.

His face was beet red as you got lectured, and yours was burning so bad it might as well have been on fire. When you looked over your shoulder once more to see Baela whispering to Rhaena, who had just entered the kitchen, you knew you were subject to a lifetime of teasing, and you dropped your head into your hands.

THIS SUMMER, THE KITCHEN

You thought back to the night before as you waited for your bagel to toast. You and Jace on the raft, peacefully ignorant to the events from your last week at the house last summer.

You were out there for a long time. You weren’t sure how long, but time passed easily when you were with him. After a while, you two swam back to the house in a comfortable silence.

He walked you to your bedroom, and there was a moment, just one moment, where you thought he would kiss you.

You stood at the door, and he was in front of you, his face so close to yours that you could feel his breath. It could’ve been a trick of the darkness, but you could’ve sworn his eyes flicked down to your lips and back up again.

But he didn’t kiss you. He tore his gaze away from yours and bid you goodnight, leaving what could’ve been up to your imagination, which was very active.

As you laid awake in bed that night, you thought in depth about how his curls would feel in your fingers, what it would be like to trace the lines of his tanned and toned chest, his full lips on yours the whole time.

The toaster oven dinged, and brought you out of your daydream. You spread cream cheese over your bagel, and sat across from Rhaenyra at the breakfast table.

“Any plans for today?” she inquired.

You shrugged. “Not really. I was just gonna get some boat time in.”

“Would you mind taking Joffrey to the town beach today? He likes you the most,” she said.

To be frank, you did mind, but it was really the least you could do after contaminating Daemon’s car the last time she saw you. And who could say no to Rhaenyra?

“Sure,” you smiled. “I don’t mind at all.”

-

You laid out on your towel, keeping an eye on Joffrey playing in the sand by the water, and soaking up the sun.

It seemed like a perfect day. There were no clouds in the sky, and there was a nice breeze that made the heat bearable.

You were feeling quite relaxed until you noticed the lifeguard hop down from his chair and walk over to you. He stopped at the end of your towel, and you lowered your sunglasses in annoyance.

“Can I help you?”

He stood tall over you, his platinum hair was styled in a way that gave you the impression that he played hockey in the winter. His bright red swim trunks said “GUARD” on the front, and a whistle of the same color hung around his neck.

“Yeah, on account of my lifeguarding license/certification thingie, I have the right to stop any dangerous activity. You pose a fire risk because you’re so damn hot,” he said, looking fairly pleased with himself.

You gave him a blank look. “Has that line ever worked on anyone?”

“You tell me. You’re the only one I’ve used it on.” He grinned.

“Then I would say no,” you said, laying back down on your towel and pushing your sunglasses back up your nose.

You closed your eyes, figuring he would just go away, but then he spoke again. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n,” you replied, not bothering to look at him.

“I’m Aegon,” he said.

“She didn’t ask,” said a new voice. You opened your eyes momentarily to see a girl standing between you and Aegon. She was wearing a yellow bikini and had wavy hair the same color as his. “Sorry about my brother,” she said, turning to you.

You shrugged. “It’s whatever.”

The girl told Aegon to go do his job, to which he sullenly walked back to his station at the chair. “I’m Helaena, by the way. Do you live here or are you visiting? I’ve never seen you before.”

“I spend the summer here with my brother’s friend’s family. I’m here babysitting that one today,” you explained, pointing to Joffrey splashing around in the lake.

She nodded, hesitating before speaking. “Do you want to come to the bonfire tonight to make up for Aegon being weird? It’s here at nine.”

Helaena was surprisingly forward despite having just met her, but you did need a distraction from Jace, who occupied your thoughts 24/7. Besides, you didn’t know anybody in King’s Landing except for his family. Surely there was no harm in making new friends.

“Yeah, I’d love to. I’ll see you tonight.”

-

How do you sneak out of a house that isn’t your own? This was the question you were asking yourself as you brainstormed ways to leave unnoticed. It was currently 8:45, and, to your luck, everyone was in for the night.

Sara was passed out on her cot, thankfully. That gave you the opportunity to change out of pajamas with no questions asked. The little kids were asleep by now. Luke, Jace, and Cregan were in their separate rooms. Your parents were definitely sleeping at this point, along with Rhaenyra. There was only one reason why you couldn’t exit through the front door.

Daemon might as well have been your enemy at this point. Every night he sat in the living room on his special chair reading some book about war, minding his business. Yet, somehow, this presented itself as a personal attack against you.

So, there you were, climbing out the bedroom window, trying your best to make no noise. Now you were on the roof, slowly making your way to the support post by the front door. You carefully slid down it, cursing quietly when you felt a splinter enter your leg.

The beach was a mile walk from the house, and when you got there you spotted Helaena immediately in a camping chair by the fire.

She wore an outfit similar to yours, a pretty summer dress and Birkenstocks. You called her name and watched her eyes light up when she saw you.

She paused her conversation with the boy in the chair next to hers, and stood up to meet you on the sand, linking her arm through yours and bringing you over to her seat.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said. “Let me get you a chair.”

You thanked her as she left, and brought your gaze to the boy. He smiled politely at you. His hair was cut short and it was as blonde as Helaena’s. When he turned to the side, you saw how milky his left eye was, how a scar ran from his eyebrow to his cheek.

Your breath hitched. He was stunning. He was so beautiful that you forgot about Jace for a minute.

Helaena came back with your chair, interrupting your wistful staring contest, and placed it in between the two others before excusing herself to meet a friend.

Sitting down next to him, you made intense eye contact with the boy again.

His sharp features made him look hard to approach, but incredibly attractive at the same time.

He broke the silence first. “I’m Aemond. Hel told me who you are,” he introduced himself. “Do you want a drink?”

You nodded. He leaned over the arm of his chair to grab two beers from the mini cooler next to him. He opened them both, handed one to you, and took a sip out of his own. “I hear you’ve met my brother,” he said, motioning to Aegon, who was currently losing a wrestling match a few feet away.

“I have. He’s a character,” you admitted.

“You don’t know the half of it. Helaena also told me you’re from Winterfell,” he said.

“That’s right,” you confirmed.

He leaned forward, his hands holding the beer between his knees. “Are all the girls in Winterfell as pretty as you?” he asked confidently.

You managed to stop yourself from swallowing beer down the wrong pipe, and pretended like you were as confident as he was, when in reality you were freaking out on the inside.

“I don’t know. Maybe you should come north and find out,” you flirted.

He smirked at you. His good eye was glowing a dark blue in the light from the fire. You wanted to ask him what happened to the other one. You needed to know more about him. His handsomeness captivated you but told you nothing.

“I’d like that,” Aemond said. “Why don’t you show me your place here first?”

It was very tempting to say yes, but the possibility of repeating last year’s incident was very unappealing. “That’s not a good idea. I sort of snuck out to be here.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re the rebellious type?”

“Does that surprise you?”

Now he was grinning. “Not at all. I actually think I’m more attracted to you now.”

You laughed. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, and I think I’m gonna prove it to you,” he said.

Your heart started beat faster as his face neared yours. “I think you should.”

He said nothing before kissing you. The kiss was hot and fierce, but his lips were soft. Your drinks were forgotten in the cup holders of the chairs. His hand was on the back of your neck, making you kiss him harder.

Your hands found the sides of his face as he glided his tongue across your lips, slipping it into your mouth. The kiss became sloppy, your tongue dancing with his as you made out.

This was moving faster, but you liked it. So far, you were liking this super hot mysterious stranger.

He pulled away once, his hot breath on your face as he exhaled slowly. “Let’s go to my car,” he said lowly.

You nodded breathlessly. He took your hand and led you into the parking lot where his Bronco was. He helped you into the backseat and climbed on top of you, closing the door swiftly behind him.

What was with you and hookups in nice cars?

Aemond resumed your make out session, his lips searing hot. His nimble fingers wandered beneath your dress. You arched your back so he could reach up and unhook your bra, which he did in record time. It was obvious that he had done it before. It made you jealous of the other girls he had fucked like this in his car, but it also turned you on knowing that he was more experienced than you.

You moaned into his mouth as he played with your breast, running his thumb over your hardened nipple. You felt to corner of his mouth quirk up, and you knew he was proud of how horny he made you.

His mouth moved onto your neck, sucking on and placing open mouthed kisses to the skin. You moaned again at the feeling.

Your hand went up into his platinum hair, and for a split second you thought about the hair your fingers were tangled in a year before. Dismissing the thought, you brought your hand down to his shorts, blindly fiddling with the hem.

He pulled his lips from your neck, panting. You instantly missed the feeling of them, the warmth they offered you.

He retracted his hand from under your dress, and you almost sighed in disappointment, hating the loss of contact.

The dynamic shifted painfully. Something flashed in his eyes that made you realize you wouldn’t be getting laid tonight.

“Sorry,” he said, eyes flitting away from yours. “I got carried away.”

“It’s okay,” you insisted, clinging onto hope.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said. He climbed out of the backseat and got into the driver’s seat. He didn’t even give you a chance to switch to riding shotgun, so you sat in the backseat fixing your bra feeling dejected and a little embarrassed.

You weren’t sure why he stopped, he seemed pretty conflicted about something when he pulled away from you. You tried to ignore it, but you still felt attracted to him despite the situation. You focused on watching the lake pass by the windows instead of thinking about it.

“It’s up on the left,” you said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Just drop me off here.”

He pulled over, letting you get out. He didn’t say goodbye. Whatever, asshole. Don’t fuck me and don’t say good night.

You shamefully walked up the driveway. When you reached the house, you realized that the post you slid down was a one way trip. “Shit,” you muttered, defeatedly taking out your phone.

—

You: are you still awake

J: Yeah why

You: i need you to open the front door

J: ?? Tf are you doing outside

You: i’ll tell you if you let me in

—

Jace read your text and moments later you saw him on the other side of the glass door, unlocking it to let you in. You stepped inside, and he shut the door quietly behind you. He stood in front of it, waiting for an explanation.

“So I snuck out,” you said.

“I can see that.” He laughed, eyeing your smudged lipstick and messy hair, before changing his demeanor suddenly. “You smell like a campfire,” he said seriously.

“Yeah, I know. I was at a bonfire,” you explained.

“Why?” he asked, sounding suspicious.

You shrugged. “I was invited. But you know what was weird, the girl who invited me has the same hair color as your mom. Her brothers did too. Is that a King’s Landing thing or something? Nobody looks like that in Winterfell,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

If anything, it was dampened. Jace narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you were with them.”

You furrowed your brows. “You know them or something?”

“Yeah, I do. I know you should stay away from them,” he said sternly.

“Why?”

“Just trust me. Promise me this is the only time you’ll hang out with them,” he pleaded.

He was acting really weird about this, and you didn’t like that he wouldn’t explain himself. “Fine,” you said.

“Good.” He went upstairs, not waiting for you to follow him.

Aemond’s sudden rejection embarrassed you, but there was something about him that made you want to know more.

Helaena was sweet and didn’t seem like somebody who was worth the warning Jace gave you.

And Aegon was… well, he was Aegon.

I’ll see for myself what they’re like, you thought.

——

taglist:

@sabrinasstar @inkareds

#birdiewriteslit #birdiewritesfics #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #stark!reader #summer of difference #summer of difference fic #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fic #jace velaryon x reader #jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x stark!reader #jacaerys velaryon #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x stark!reader #modern au #summer au #cregan stark #female reader

[bookofbonbon]

War of Hearts❣️

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader.

Description: Family. Honour. Duty. Sacrifice. Four meaningless words to most children but, words taken seriously by Aemond Targaryen. Four words that the wild Stark girl with wolf's blood running through her veins held in the same esteem that he did. Four words from which an unlikely friendship was born between dragon and wolf. Four words which birthed a secret love affair.

We all do our duty when there’s no cost to it. Honour comes easy then. Yet sooner or later in every person's life there comes a day when it is not easy. A day when we must choose. Never in your lifetime's did either of you think that you would actually live to see war, to fight in a war, to lead armies in a war. Never in each other's lifetime did either of you think that you would be leading armies against one another; your paramour's, your love's, your life.

What is duty compared to the love of a woman? Aemond's wild Stark girl who held his heart in her hands.

There has never lived a Stark who broke an oath. You wondered if maybe you would be the first.

-

Apart of: Send me a title and I'll come up with a description to match it.

[closed]

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2023. All rights reserved.

#changed the words around to fit the narrative better #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #inbox 💌 #anonymous #request

[happilyhertale]

Small update 🖤

I received a rather stupid message today… But somehow this has spurred me on even more to write another Aemond story, which was requested some time ago! (Maybe last weekend's events are to blame…) So get ready, there will be an Aemond story today, tomorrow at the latest 💕

#personal stuff #Prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x fem!oc

[ireneispunk]

how they hold you x HoTD men

i saw these photosets and could NOT refuse! so here are the HoTD men and how (i imagine) they would hold you included: aemond, daemon, jacaerys, aegon, criston cole, harwin strong

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

+bonus

#jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #hotd smut #jacaerys smut #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #jacaerys targaryen #prince jacaerys #hotd fanfic #game of thrones #game of thrones smut #asoif #asoif/got #fanfic #smut #fluff smut #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys fanfiction #hotd fluff #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #ser harwin x reader #harwin strong #ser criston cole #cregan stark

[asumofwords]

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."

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[dragons-and-handcuffs]

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.

#cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan fanfiction #cregan stark x reader #Cregan Stark x Targaryen!reader #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #hotd #game of thrones #house of the dragon #game of thrones imagines #hotd headcanon #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd imagines #hotd one shot #house of the dragon imagine

[arcielee]

There's not one thing that I would change.

Summary:Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 1109 Warnings: First POV, AFAB, lost of virginity, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v. Author’s Note: This is what was implied, the smutty interlude that granddam could not read out loud to Lyanna. Part of the story Ours never knew peace. but technically could be read as a stand alone if you are wanting smut without the angst. The title for this comes from Hozier's song Francesca. This was not beta read, please feel free to DM me my mistakes 💜 MDNI banner by @cafekitsune

My nerves were frayed already from the expected duty of a wife and I was grateful when Aemond flatly refused the bedding ceremony. But behind our closed doors, despite how I craved his touch, trepidation replaced the blood in my veins and I felt almost shy under his steady gaze, how the black swallowed the color of his eye. 

His hand reached for me, and I allowed him to pull me into his warm embrace. His kiss was gentle and his hands moved to cup my jaw, his mouth trailing my features softly; I could feel his lips press against the soft divot beneath my ear and the warmth of his low voice, “I do not wish to hurt you,” his solemn vow.

It was something I learned of and heard of, about the discomfort maidens could feel on their wedding night, but his words removed my hesitation with the ripple of gooseflesh on my skin as he swore, “I promise to be careful with you.” 

And I looked up at him for a moment; my heart swelled with the love felt, spilling as I pulled him close, my mouth desperate to taste him, to touch him again. My hands still trembled, moving to touch the hardness of his chest beneath his doublet while his roamed my curves, his hands steady still with the intricate lacings of my gown; each layer was peeled away with care until we were both bare.  

Only then did he break away, a pause to allow his eye to look from my face, to my toes, and meet with my gaze again. “Gevie,” he breathed.

Beautiful.

Aemond took me to the bed and I laid back against the fresh linen; his flurry of kisses trailed my skin now shown, the touch of his lips leaving plumes of red in its wake, with a spark that thrummed beneath and began to coil in my core. He moved lower, pressing an intimate kiss between my thighs, and I almost swallowed my tongue in response. 

I could feel his grin against my cunt. “Trust me,” he murmured with his velvet tone, his breath warm against the wetness that now pooled between, “I promised you I would be careful, I must do this to prepare you… just let me know…” 

As his mouth laved against the bundle of nerves above, the euphoria reminiscent of flying on dragonback returned, the same feeling that I was truly alive and vibrating with the building pressure that was flushing my skin. 

“Let go for me,” he breathed, coaxing against my folds.

And I shattered into a thousand pieces that spilled across and came together again, rebuilding the woman I now became with this intimate act, but without the bones of my frame. My mouth was dry, tears spilling from the corners of my eyes, and there was another jolt of electricity with another soft, intimate kiss from him. 

“Good girl,” he praised. “Now again, but I will add my fingers…”  

I felt stretched, but it was not uncomfortable. “Another one, sweet wife,” and Aemond continued while I mewled pitifully to his touch, to the tandem set as his digits curled within, its lewd noises sparking something anew. He pulled the pleasure from me with an intensity that rippled over, touching to the ends of my very being and fluttering towards the center once again. 

I was breathless, my heart bruising against my ribs, and I reached for Aemond, bringing him to the cradle of my hips; I felt the warmth of his skin against my own and his length was heavy, heady against the inside of my thigh. I kissed to taste myself, seeing how it glistened so enticingly on his lips and chin, and he responded with a rhythm, his mouth against my own, his length careful to press and rub against my silken folds, the slow rut of his hips to press against my swollen bundle of nerves. 

“Please, Aemond,” I panted against his mouth. “I am ready, I must have you.” 

And his demeanor changed, a dark lust that swallowed him whole though his actions were intentional, still heedful as he lined himself with my entrance; his thrusts were gentle to fill me, aware of my every reaction and sigh. 

It was a stretch beyond his digits, but not at all uncomfortable, just unfamiliar; it was a fullness as he sheathed entirely that had me moaning in response. Aemond paused for a moment so that I may adjust to his length and his girth; I felt him trembling and I reached to pull him until he was resting on his elbows, caging me to the bed with a silver curtain of his silk hair as his head dipped to capture my mouth for another sweet kiss.

I gasped against his lips from the slow rolls of his hips against my own, my legs lifting to knot around his slender waist and pull him closer; his head moved to the curve of my neck, his lips pressed to muffle his moan, kisses and teeth  with his each thrust. I could feel my muscles tightening in response from this different kind of pleasure, something deeper that pulled at me, beckoning towards an edge… 

Another low groan from Aemond reverberated throughout and my body responded, the flutter of my walls around his member; stars danced before my eyes, my nails bit into his ivory skin, with bold crescent moons left behind. 

“Once more for me, sweet wife,” he panted against my skin, shifting his weight to reach between us, his touch now familiar, and I fell apart beneath him while his cock pulsated within. 

It was the intimate tangle of bare limbs, our breaths an exchange before Aemond moved and took his warmth with him. It was a soft whine at the emptiness and he leaned back, a quick kiss to my hairline. “Allow me,” and he was quick to grab a clean cloth from the basin, his touch gentle to wipe away the pearly spend between my thighs. 

I hummed in response, the blood rushing to where his hand was touching. 

“Are you all right?”

He asked with such genuineness that I could have laughed, but instead, I pushed myself to my elbows to kiss him again. “I am more than all right,” I promised, “I am only insatiable for my husband.” 

Aemond was beautiful, a silver dream embodied, but I saw how he darkened with my words, with his own insatiable lust returned. He moved between my thighs once again, a low hum, “my beautiful wife,” and I knew that I would never grow tired of his devotion to me.

Ours never knew peace.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #ours never knew peace #the smutty interlude

[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE HIGHEST TOWER (1/2)

Summary: As a Princess of the Realm the chance to escape political marriage and abscond with your Promised was beyond anything you could wish for. When the time is right, your dragon will lead you to them and your mother will support your union. In return, you must do all you can to protect her claim, even if you must do so from within the very heart of the Greens.

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

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader (eventual), Aemond Targaryen x Reader (mentioned)

Word Count: 4296

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, just general character awfulness, some espionage, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd.

Masterlist

You had lived the better part of eight and ten years in the Red Keep. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen handed off to the Queen like some paltry trinket. The King’s first and final word on the matter of his granddaughter. Thrust carelessly into Alicent’s care at the fresh age of ten, a peace offering and a trade for Lucerys’ life. You scarcely remembered life beyond the borders of the castle. Only that one moment your brother's life had been under threat and the next yours was all but forfeit.

Your mother had clasped the back of your neck, pulled you toward her and begged her father for mercy. You who had not even been in the room when Aemond had lost his eye, lost to your own midnight flight atop dragon back. And then the curtain of Rhaneyra’s hair parted, and from over her shoulder Daemon met your eyes. For a single poignant moment, he stared and then a smirk broke across his face as if he knew.

Knew that you were not the innocent that your mother would have the King believe you to be. Knew that your midnight rendezvous with your dragon at the exact moment of Vhagar’s claiming was not mere coincidence. Your intentions had been innocent at first. A trip to the kitchen for a cup of milk which you would warm on the stove – a feat the late Sir Harwin Strong had taught you. Past your brothers’ room, your mother’s room, the servants' quarters and a balcony overlooking the beach. And then you had seen him. Aemond scaling your cousin’s dragon. And that just wouldn’t do.

Targaryens – true Targaryens who did not cower under the cover of darkness – needed their dragons if they had any hope of finding their Promised. Your cousin, Baela who always shared her sweets and let you borrow her wooden sword, deserved the chance to meet her Promised in the wake of her mother’s death. The man or woman that Vhagar would lead her to when the Old Gods saw fit. In the game of thrones when Targearyens already found so few chances for happiness, how could Aemond strip his cousin of her chance at true love? True, as an eldest daughter Baela’s future husband was most certainly decided – likely one of your brothers. But you were certain that Jacaerys or Lucerys would be understanding and gracious when the time came for Baela to claim her Promised, as she would be when the time came for her Lord-Husband. Such was the way of things. At least for the lucky.

Imagining your dragon, Laesuvion, claimed by another and leaving you with no guide to your Gods-given Promised made you feel ill. And so, you set out on bare, hurried feet to find and mount Laesuvion. You were a Targaryen born of the blood of dragons, of true Valyrian features. Vhagar was your cousin’s dragon by right and it was your duty to protect that claim. She was a formidable, indomitable beast but shackled with a new rider on his first flight. If you had one chance to disrupt the yet fragile bond being formed by dragon and rider, it was to dislodge the green boy and send him toppling toward the sea.

Laesuvion had hatched for you in your cradle. He was much younger and smaller than Vhagar but all the faster. It would be no trouble to fell your traitorous cousin. The difficulty became disguising the shock of white scales along the elongated arch of Laesuvion’s neck whilst searching for Vhagar’s camouflaged breadth.

“Aderī Laesuvion. Dokimarvose.” (Quickly Laesuvion. Focus.) You urged him.

Despite your efforts, you only caught sight of them twice. Once among the clouds, though you were sure Aemond got a greater view of you than you did him. And again, as Vhagar was returning to land Driftmark. Your hunt had been unsuccessful. But you had been sure no one would suspect you of such vengeful intent toward your uncle. Except perhaps Daemon.

“It is a fair price, Rhaenyra,” Daemon’s smirk was cunning, “They will not harm her.”

The betrayal on your mother's face heated your blood. How dare he tell her what to do? Your mother, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the iron throne. This man who was no one, husband of no one, Prince of nowhere, heir of nothing. Who was he to command your mother? And now, to step toward you and attempt to pry you away from her. So close you could almost-

Almost hear the two of them whispering. To each other. To you.

“Think.” Daemon hissed, “They will demand her for Aemond sooner or later.”

“She is my only daughter.”

“She will still be your daughter in the Red Keep.” He kept up the pretence of fighting your mother, despite her arms having gone lax around you. “Not a bastard. Not a bargaining chip. Your daughter. At the heart of the greens.”

“She is a child.”

“A Targaryen child.”

“She is my child.”

“Then let her prove it.”

“Mother,” You warbled. “I don’t want to go.”

“Tala.” Daemon shifted, and his eyes met yours again as if you should know this word. You did not. “You will go. Make your mother proud. Learn at court. Find those who support her claim and those who will side with the Hightowers. You are weak and a girl, they will not suspect you. When the time comes you will be our most valuable weapon.”

“But I want to go home, Kepa.” (Father or paternal uncle)

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Rhaenyra held your face and brushed away your tears. “You will.”

“’Nyra.” Daemon warned.

“But not today.” She kissed each of your cheeks. “Today you must be strong for me. You must be strong for your brothers. You must do as Daemon says, we must keep them happy.”

And then your mother pulled you toward her firmly, pressed her lips to your ear and whispered a promise. A reward should you embark on this mission. Beyond sweets and silk dresses and extra time on Laesuvion. Beyond anything you had ever been promised or ever dreamed of asking for. Do this for your mother and she would exempt you from the chains of political marriage that would shackle each of your brothers. There was no guarantee you would be lucky like your brothers, married to one who would understand. But do this and you could have your Promised under the eyes of the Seven, the Old Gods, and the traditions of old Valyria itself. Even at 10, you knew that for a Princess and a second-born, there was no greater boon.

So, you did what you had to do for your one shot to truly be with your Promised. You squared your shoulders, kissed your mother's cheek, and stumbled toward Queen Alicent. She gripped you by the shoulder, tucked you into the folds of her skirt, and stared cruelly down her nose at your mother.

“Now I will have no more fighting.” Said the King and having satisfied his wife for the first time in their long marriage, he ambled off to bed.

As the crowd dispersed, Sir Criston Cole flanked the Queen and as a unit, the three of you marched from the room. Your mother, scarcely held together in Daemon’s embrace, gave one last warbling cry as you passed the threshold and disappeared, not to be seen again for nine long years.

You were kept that night in the Queen’s own quarters to thwart rescue or escape. Behind a bolted door and no less than three kings’ guards. And yet, that morning, upon waking with puffy eyes from silent tears and aching limbs from the harsh sitting room sofa, you found something that had not been there before.

A gift from Daemond, most assuredly, tucked under the pillow you had slept on. The handle was perhaps an inch too long for your small age, but the blade was curved and wicked sharp and would require little finesse to cause harm. Inlaid in the pommel was a single ruby, the size of your thumb and wonderfully smooth. Carved into the cross-guard flowing Valyrian script read valar morghūlis. (All men must die.)

You would call the dagger gaomilaksir, duty. You would carry it as a reminder of the promises you and your mother had made one another. One day, as Daemon had said, you would become her greatest weapon.

There had been few bright spots in your life as the Queen’s ward. So, few in fact, that you could count them on one hand.

One.

You could not fly. Such a thing would only encourage escape back to Dragonstone and your mother. But you could visit Laesuvion and watch him sweep through the clouds. He had grown much in your teenage years. Still lithe in build and elegant in frame, but more angular like an arrow strung tight. He did not take to Kings Landing, not in all your years trapped there. So used to the comfort of Dragonstone and your family’s own dragons, he often abandoned the Dragonpit entirely. Kept tethered to the Keep by your presence alone.

“Where is Laesuvion?” You were just shy of ten and two when you approached the Dragonkeeper Acolyte.

“Hunting, my lady.” He knocked his quarterstaff against the ground. “He flew north not three hours ago.”

“Do you not offer him food?”

The keeper lowered his head, “He refuses it, my lady.”

“Offer him better.”

“We give him our very best, lady. He is a magnificent but stubborn creature.”

“He is a dragon, not a creature.” You conjured up a playful grin. “And I am a princess, not a lady.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” The Acolyte blustered, “Shall I inform you upon his return?”

“That won’t be necessary,” You strode to his side and plunked yourself down to lean against the stone entrance. “I shall wait for his return here.”

And so, you did. Silently, for the better part of twenty minutes as the Acolyte threw furtive glances your way.

Until finally, “Truly, my lady. Your Highness. He could be hours still.”

Wonderful. You thought and cast a dazzling grin up at him. “Perhaps you ought to keep me better company then.”

And so, you began your mission. You charm the Dragonkeepers – Acolyte and Elder, all seventy-seven of them – who knew the princes and their dragons, their strengths and weaknesses. You befriend the maids, the scullery, the wet nurses, and the servants they bunk with. Piece by piece, inch by inch, you win back your mother's share of Kings Landing.

Two.

Strange though she was, your Aunt Heleana always welcomed you into her chambers. In your shared youth, she always had a critter clutched between her hands as if it were the most precious thing she owned. You are four and ten, a year younger than your aunt when she is forced to split her time between her menagerie of insects and the chubby masses of her twin babes.

“The young prince has lungs,” You smiled at Heleana as the wet nurse rocked a wailing Jaehaerys. “He will make glorious speeches when he is grown.”

“Only one.” She examined the creature in her hands. Today she favoured a centipede, passing Jaehaera onto you.

You had long since learned to ignore her ramblings, “The sweet Princess must be the wordsmith, then.”

“The fourth in an age.” Heleana startled as if only just noticing your presence. “Apologies, Hāedar. You wished to speak?” (Younger female sibling or cousin)

“No apologies necessary, Mandia.” (Older female sibling or cousin). The Valyrian word tasted foul. You had your own siblings on Dragonstone, those whom you had been stolen from and those whom you had yet to meet. But Heleana liked it when you pretended that you were not a prisoner, that you were her mother’s daughter and not her forcibly attained ward. And so you swallowed it with a smile, “Might we talk privately?”

Heleana startled again as she turned to the wet nurse. “Take the children to the nursery, Bria.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Bria gave an awkward curtsy, shuffled the still-wailing Jaehaerys to one side and received Jaehaera from your arms. Heleana turned to you expectantly as the trio disappeared through a side door.

“It is a sensitive matter I am afraid,” You eyed the centipede as it escaped her hands and crawled across her skirts. “I do not wish to cause offence.”

Heleana’s eyes pinched at the corners, “It is not such a terrible burden – to be a wife. Mostly he ignores you.”

“You misunderstand me,” You hurried. “I only wished to speak of your grandfather.”

“Not my brother?”

“Do you wish to speak of your husband?”

“No,” Heleana gave you a quizzical look. “I speak of Aemond, who will be your husband.”

“Aemond?” Your uncle who’s selfishness had trapped you here. One of Alicent’s precious children married to her living doll. The thought would have been hysterical were it not so frightening. Surely not.

“It is the natural progression of things. I was given to Aegon and now you to Aemond.” Heleana’s attention returned to the centipede. “One pairing to strengthen our house, another to mend its bonds. So says grandfather.”

“Oh Mandia. I am entrusted to your mother. There need be no marriage to bring me into the fold. We are family.” 

“Yes. So says mother.” Heleana stared. Not so blind as she seemed. “But grandfather always gets what he wants.”

And so, you are four years into your mission, having sat patiently by the Queen's side. Having listened and learned and noted those your mother can count on. Four years in and the time to begin quietly making moves had arrived with a head start from your oblivious Aunt.

But then you see the centipede crawl from her hands again and writhe across her skirt. And you think maybe Heleana’s warnings have more to do with where the critter is trying to lead her than it has to do with you.

Three.

It took you longer than you would like to admit to worm your way into Otto Hightower’s confidences – if there were such a thing.

You had quickly learned in your first year at the Keep that Alicent feared her father, distrustful of his greed and power lust. Not much unlike yourself, she had been sent into the greedy hands of a different house in pursuit of the Iron Throne. Were Otto not so blinded by his ambitions you might have begun to worry that Daemon’s strategy might ring familiar. But Lord Hightower’s strength was also his greatest weakness. So careful in his scheming, gently coaxing his will unto others, moving his pawns about the board, sacrificing all but himself, he could not see his tactics turned against him. Beyond your connection to Rhaenyra, you barely registered as a piece in the game.

Daemon had been right. Weak and a girl and not a threat. Not yet.

So, you worked tirelessly to endear yourself to Alicent. Just as you learned from her, you began to teach in turn. When you are in the room Otto Hightower dares not spin his lies about succession. When you appear around corners in search of your Queen-mother talk of hastening the king's condition ceases. When you are near, Alicent is safe. She begins to wear you like the expensive accessory you are, a decorative shield.

Hours trailing your Queen-mother to and from meetings of the small council, waiting patiently at her side as she sat in place of the King. Serving wine to fat and foolish lords.

And then finally, on the eve of your ten and fifth nameday, the Queen brings you along to the Hand's Tower.

“Father.” She greets.

“Alicent,” Otto brings you to his office, where a tea set for two lays steaming. “I see you have brought your shadow.”

The Queen barely glances your way as you serve her tea and then her father’s, before retreating to stand at her shoulder. She glares across her father’s desk, “This does concern her.”

“She is approaching her fifteenth year, two since her first blood. Time has well arrived for her to marry,” He stares directly at you then, “Have you any fondness for your uncle, Princess?”

“My lord, the Princes and I are often kept busy by our duties.” Your friends among the servants have divulged their schedules. You stay firmly away from drunken Aegon and selfish Aemond, remaining civil only with young Daeron.

“You must see reason.” Alicent implores her father. “They hold no affection for one another. Aegon and Heleana have already wed in the name of strengthening our family. To marry her would serve only to anger Rhaenyra.”

“And to bind her eldest daughter to us.” Interesting that he would say so openly in front of you. Perhaps you have been more effective in playing a Green than you had thought. “Aemond will be a good husband to her.”

“I have no doubt,” Alicent says and as silence stretches you suspect she is losing conviction; you have not saved her this time.

You clear your throat delicately, “If I may?”

“Of course, sweet pet.” Alicent reaches out to fuss with your hair. She likes it long and keeps its length to your hip despite how cumbersome it can be. Short hair is unbecoming, she claims.

You look to Otto in false deference, “My lord?”

“Very well.”

“I think,” You begin carefully. “Aemond and I may be of better use to you.”

“And how might that be?” He is condescending but you have his attention.

“When the time comes that grandsire passes on, I suspect the lords of the realm will need cause to back a claim to the Iron Throne. My Septa says that peace such as we have seen under his rule may bring unrest. I do not doubt that Aemond will make a fine and just husband. All I mean is that mayhaps it would be wise to keep us unwed until we may serve a greater purpose.”

No mention of your mother nor their ill-begotten plan for Aegon. Hightower's methods played against him.

“And when the time comes you will do this?” He demands.

“It is my duty to my house.”

He tilts his head as a predatory bird might. “You must swear it, to myself and to your Queen, upon your young brothers.”

To pause would mislay your ruse. To hesitate would be to sign your life away to Aemond Targaryen.

“I swear it, upon the lives of my brothers.”

He considered you for a moment, and then his daughter.

“You have done well with her, Alicent.” Your Queen-mother sighs as Otto Hightower stands. “Enjoy your tea, I have matters to attend to elsewhere. Perhaps you will be of more use than we originally suspected, Princess.”

Your first true victory. You will not be shackled to the Keep; you will be kept safe until your mother comes for you. Until such a time that you and Laesuvion can seek out your Promised.

Four.

The Queen held a strange fondness for you. Platinum-haired and purple-eyed, the spitting image of the Realm’s delight and perhaps the only trueborn among your siblings. She took pains to brush and braid your hair, dress you in green and flout you at court. Her perfect tamed Targaryen. Who would eat from her hand, take tea by her side, sit prim and silent as her Queen-mother decorated her. You were her walking-talking glimmering triumph over Rhaenyra.

At ten, Alicent’s obsession stole you from your mother. At ten and four, it protected you from a hasty marriage. And now, at ten and eight, it was your path to freedom.

“Mother?”

Oh, how Alicent loved it when you called her that. One more thing ripped from Rhaenyra’s thieving hands. Alicent pushed into your room with a tired facsimile of a smile and took the seat across from you by the roaring hearth.  

“My sweet pet.” She was dressed head to toe in full regalia. “I am so sorry to have missed you today.”

You tucked a piece of scrap paper into the book you had been reading, buying yourself time to school your features into innocent confusion. “As am I. My door has been locked. I am sorry I could not come to you.”

“A precaution – one that I fought.” Alicent reached for your hair, running her fingers through its length. “But we cannot trust you to betray your mother. Regardless of the years you have spent in our care.”

“I do not understand, mother.” But you do.

“Your grandsire is dead.”

You close your eyes, “Aegon is king.”

“Yes.”

“You did not wish for this.”

“I wish Viserys were still a living corpse. That he would outlive us all so that none could claim his cursed throne. Not Aegon. Not Rhaenyra. Not my father.”

“That is not a solution.”

She tugs at your hair harshly, “Foolish pet, there is none.”

You blink harshly. Your eyes scarcely holding back tears. For the first time since you left your mother's embrace, you are truly scared. No longer are you the meek girl who walks in the Queen’s shadow. Given liberties and protection in a twisted echo of her love for Rhaenyra. You are a living embodiment of what House Targaryen will be to House Hightower. A pretty little puppet kept from your dragon, cloistered away like some trophy, scrambling for a scrap of power to delude yourself that you have some control.

“What is to become of our house?” You whisper.

“Your mother and Prince Daemon remain on Dragonstone. No blood has yet been shed.” Alicent brushed your hair softly behind one ear. “We have sent Aemond to Storm’s End to do as you once suggested. To offer himself to one of the Baratheon girls, that Lord Borros might see reason and acknowledge Aegon as rightful King.”

Good, there were those beyond the Keep who remained steadfast and loyal. It was time to return to your mother, then. To tell her all you had learned these last eight years. To name her allies and set Daemon loose upon her foes. Now was the time.

“What of my brothers?”

Alicent leant back, “Scouts have spotted Vermax flying north likely as an envoy to rally support among the lords.”

“How could they have mobilized so quickly? Was Aegon not crowned mere hours ago?”

“He was, indeed.” Alicent’s gazed into the fire. “The Lady Rhaenys was not so welcoming of solitude as you have been.”

“She has gone to Dragonstone?”

“She has.”

“And no one has come for me?”

“They have not.”

For a moment you each stared listlessly into the hearth. When Alicent shifts back to face you, she has a letter clutched in her hand. It is crisp and of fine quality but most strikingly, stamped with the King’s seal.

“I am under no delusions,” Alicent says softly, mournfully. “You can no more contest your mother's claim than I can Aegon’s. We are matching pieces in this game, I think.”

Your fear swells, “Mother.”

“Please, my sweet girl.” She smooths the hair atop your head. “You must do me one last favour as my ward.”

“I don’t understand.”

She presses the letter into your hands. “Jacaerys will fly first to the Vale, to treat with House Arryn and then to Winterfell. You will take this and beat him there. You will do as you swore to do those years ago.”

“I ca–”

“Listen!” She jerked you by your shoulders. “You must listen. You will wed Lord Stark. He is as fine a match as any. The north is loyal to Rhaenyra and will remain steadfast, you will be well treated. You must go, with this missive from the King, his final wish to send you north to snow and safety. In return for your hand, they will take no part in the fighting, they will protect you as their own, until such a time that the victor is crowned. Do you understand me, pet?”

“The King never cared for me.” You said foolishly.

“And yet, with his dying breath, he spoke of you and of Aegon. That you would carry his legacy, that you would see out his dream to the North. That Prince Aegon was Promised to this kingdom. You must believe me. You must do this for your grandsire.”

“I do believe you mother.” She was deluded. “I will do what must be done.”

Alicent has offered you one gilded cage for another. You will not be fool enough to fall into this one. You will find Laesuvion and be gone in the dead of night. You tuck the King’s missive into your book and smile at the Queen.

“Shall we call for tea, mother? You have much to tell me. I hear I have missed a coronation.”

Five.

You shape your fifth and final joy as the Queen Alicent’s Ward whilst escaping her clutches. You take three sharp detours on your path to the Dragonpit. First, to the chamber of the small council where you snatch the King's ball of quartz, you will make a gift of this to your mother. Then to the creche where the Keeper’s turned a blind eye as you pilfered three precious Dragon eggs. Finally, you find yourself ascending the steps of the Lord Hand’s Tower. To take the Dowager Queen from the Greens would be the greatest gift to your mother and her cause. But Alicent, despite her many faults, had been as kind to you as one might be toward a favourite pet. And so you do as a pet would – you do not bite the hand that fed you. Instead, you do both your Queen-mother and the woman that birthed you, a favour. You find Otto Hightower asleep in his study and you pass onto him your final gift from Daemon Targaryen.

You leave gaomilaksir in the heart of Hightower as you flee north, your duty complete.

(Part 2 : The Winter Keep)

#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

[flower-cage]

The Wolf and The Dragon | Chapter Six

by @flower-cage

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: The war between the Greens and the Blacks has begun and the youngest of the Stark heirs is sent on a secret mission to King's Landing. In its course, she will learn to accept the power that was never meant to be hers and the love she never thought she deserved.

Ao3 | Main Masterlist | TWATD Masterlist | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | NEW Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 coming soon

Chapter Six: The Wolf and The Dragon I

Chapter summary: When you show no signs of recovery, Aemond is forced to face his own heart.

Words: 4,039.

Warnings: 18+ only; gore, mentions of blood, cursing, near-death experiences.

A/N: uhhmmm this one is really different and I'm not sure about it but I can't wait to post it any longer!!! Will definitely go back and edit it later though lol.

Although this chapter does not contain smut, later chapter will. Minors do not interact.

For the most part, he recalled the blood — your blood. It had been everywhere: on the boat where you had fainted, on his hands that had bandaged you, on his chest which had supported you, and on his hair, his cheek, his nose. The pungent odor of iron was stronger than that of the salt of the sea and insistent, ruthless. Though it had been everywhere, it had never stopped pouring out of your rapidly cooling flesh for as long as you had been within his eyesight.

And the sight had been the most terrifying he had the displeasure of witnessing - that of your limp body fastened haphazardly to your loyal wolf as it emptied itself of life. More breaths it had stolen than even Vhagar when she had threatened to set him ablaze and more hopeless yet than the first look at his bloodied, deformed reflection over a decade in the past.

He was well accustomed to the sparkling sensation that bloomed in his chest, stretching along his arms, into his gut - an evil inherent to second sons, his mother would often say, a burden of the dutiful, of those who relentlessly pursue perfection to find only disappointment. Except, this time, it settled in his gut like a dreadful, innate truth rather than on his shoulders like a reminder of damnation, triggering not frustration but fear.

The decision to send you off had been like an omnipotent calling in his state of shock. He had weighed neither alternatives nor risks as he strapped you to Shadow in a hurry. Criston had been yelling from the shore still, the wooden vessel dragging behind him.

“What are you doing?!” he had screamed, his voice scratching through the silent night. “She’ll never make it!”

It had been too late, then, for the mighty direwolf dashed off with a speed abnormal for any woodland animal, taking you far into the darkness. Their matching, piercing blue eyes had locked in what he could only hope had been understanding - of the urgency, the gravity - and she had darted away.

The image – the blood - stayed with him on the ride back on that first night and lingered still through the second stretch of the journey home. Criston had followed him as he pursued the crimson trail as far as it veered into the woods, into roads wild and unbreachable.

The moment they finally dismount their horses at the Red Keep, that persistent smell and the urgent ringing in his ears become stronger as if his flesh knows you are close by, as if it had developed a sense that is attuned to you only. His cloak goes flying when his feet hit the ground and the cold grasp of the Stranger tightens around his heart when he spots a large, wet stain of red by his feet. It nearly topples him over.

Knights and lords cry for him, asking where he has been and blessing the Gods for his safe return, but  he pays them little regard as he sprints through the corridors of the castle on his way to Maegor’s Holdfast, on his way to you. Each step that shortens the distance between you is yet quicker than the one previous and, once again, though his mind is indeed determined to find you, his body reacts faster yet than its commands, urging him on by an instinct he knew not.

He finds his strength in his clenched fists and in his misplaced anger as his tired eye blurs his vision. Though his dried lips evince his thirst as his choppy breath does his weariness, naught falters his severe pace, naught but the red-soaked towels servants carry out your quarters.

His powerful steps disturb his mother’s pensive state when he turns into the passageway that houses both your apartments - until that bloody sight stills him body and soul. She rises from the chair by your door where she sniffles into a handkerchief, gasping his name, wide, red-rimmed eyes spilling fresh tears. But the Grand Maester pops out of your room and recaptures her attention, shaking his head in shame, in defeat. The gesture rekindles the dread in his stoned, black heart, and like an explosion at the end of a trail of oil, he bursts renewed into an urgent stride.

He does not make it past his mother, for she envelops him in a firm embrace, holding his face between her palms to inspect his health, her eyes running across his face disorderly.

“What happened?” she chokes out rushedly, swallowing her despair. “Why were you separated?”

“I am not hurt,” he says instead of answering, to soothe her nerves and save himself from explanations. 

He does not mean to dismiss her, knowing she had likely worried herself into near insanity when you arrived half-dead and alone, but he is the one who now nears derangement with the anxiety that burns and boils inside him like fresh, angry lava. 

“How is she?” he asks without preamble, without the façade of coldness and propriety he commonly wears so well.

His mother clamps her teeth shut, then, and exchanges nervous looks with the maester in place of soothing him as he had her. He nearly topples to the ground again.

“How is she?” he presses on, gripping her elbows sternly to hold himself upward, to hold himself together.

“My Prince,” the maester starts, treading lightly, meekly, avoiding his penetrating gaze, “we have, at this time, exhausted our expertise.”

He pushes off his mother’s hold then, takes the maester by the collar and pulls him close, hoping that if the grime and gore that clings to his skin do not disgust him into talking, fear of his fury will.

“I asked-” he growls between gritted teeth. He hears his mother chastise him in horror but it does not deter him in the slightest. “How is she?”

“W-w-weak, your Grace,” the maester shivers in his grasp. “Barely breathing,” he adds quietly. “We have tried all-”

As if invaded by the realization that he can reassure himself of your state, he strides into your bedroom in a heartbeat. Shadow lies at the end of your large bed, fur hardened and matted by your dried blood. She perks up as he barges in but allows him to come near you, heavy head dropping back down onto the cushions as if its very weight were unbearable.

You look far too small where you lie swallowed by too many blankets, making him stop in his wild track. He approaches you timidly now, fearful of what he shall witness should he come any closer. Each step reveals another truth he wishes to unsee. 

The covers are pulled to your chest, and your shoulders are wrapped in gauze stained a dark red, nearly brown. There is blood on your pillows and your bedding. Much like it clings to his hair and face, it does yours too. The once-white cloth of hand towels is marred in your blood, thrown in haste over a tea table. A bowl rests on it too, water so red it hides the bottom of the recipient entirely. He becomes nauseated so quickly he has to look away from all the carnage, but the sickness does not leave him – it is not the gory sight but your hopeless fragility that turns his stomach upside down.

He has come to know the color of your lips well enough to notice they bear an unfamiliar, frightening hue of purple. He cannot hear your quiet breathing, and neither can he see the rise and fall of your bandaged chest, or simply discern a single trace of life in your still form. Lifeless is how you look.

His legs fail him finally, and his body falls down onto your mattress as his fingers brush lightly against your wrist, afraid of what they might not find. It lacks the warmth he has grown accustomed to. If not for the faintest heartbeat, he would have taken you for dead. Lifeless is how you feel.

“We have stopped her bleeding and nourished her body with lamb’s blood,” the maester explains from where he stands just past the threshold. “All that can be done now is wait, and hope she will find the strength to heal her way back to us.”

“Her bandages look putrid,” he accuses though he dares not turn away from you, no matter how direly the sight aggrieves him. 

“I am afraid the wound has begun to infect, my Prince. A wound this large requires diligent care-”

“Are you telling me,” he spits, his breath threatening to burst his lungs apart, his heart forcing its way through his ribcage, “she’s just been sitting here with an infection, worsening-”

“Aemond, the maesters were only able to treat her once before her wolf attacked them,” his mother interferes, her tone denouncing her vexation. “The only reason she is not laying outside on the dirt in the manner in which she arrived is because her wolf passed out shortly after their arrival.”

“And she hasn’t allowed any of us near since she awoke,” she finishes.

He glances at the direwolf behind him. She blinks slowly as she fights off sleep. What had prompted her to allow him close? Was it his scent on you, or yours on him? Or had she noticed the recent shift in your intimacy?

The thought warms him from the inside, provoking racy memories to resurface, but he is quick to shake them off and stop them from clouding his mind.

“I will do it, then,” he announces. “Bring me what it is I need and I shall do it.”

As he rises, in part to be taken seriously, in part to disturb his inopportune musings, he notices the perturbed look on his mother’s face, without a doubt a result of his allusion to improper intimacy. He shoots her a hard look to deflate her dismay. Some things, such as your safety, were more important than decorum.

“I-I beg that you bathe first, your Grace,” the maester urges.

He finds himself by your side again at nightfall. Anxious had he been to rid you of your infected bandages, he had done as the maester instructed and returned to his own chambers for a proper wash. Twice he had to order a fresh fill of water, so murky and red it had become with the blood that melted down his skin, through his silver strands.

Though he had not the heart to deny his poor mother’s worried, wet eyes when she herself came to fetch him for supper, he had quickly returned to you afterward. In the moments you were parted, his legs wished for nothing other than to jump up and take him back. His knee bounced underneath the table with the effort of restraint. His mind raced through the evening in the hopes it would accelerate the course of the meal in consequence, but the only effect it had was aggravating his own impatience.

Under the guise of changing your plasters once more, he had left promptly after dessert, though he suspected his mother’s keen eyes saw clearly past his excuses. Now he has naught to guise his presence here, by your side. Nothing justifies it when he puts more logs into your dying fire, nothing justifies him taking a seat by your bed, within arm’s reach, and nothing justifies his eye’s unwillingness to part with your image.

He had been careful to wipe the dried blood off your skin where it lingered in sight still, but it did not take away the semblance of death like he had hoped it would. And your lips remain shut and lifeless when they had once been both eager to insult him and pliant to his taste. He thinks he would delight in either response, as long as you were to wake again.

Lifeless, yes, is how he sees you in this moment, and yet sublimely serene. He had only seldom seen your brow without the crease of a frown, so often in response to his actions. You are a hard woman, led much like him by duty and loyalty to your own in a world that opposes your very nature. Although you had been remarkably brave to soften in the face of your wrongdoings, extending your sorrow even in the face of his unjust antagonism, your tenderness now resembles surrender. It does not ignite in him that same bright, undeniable pull either.

He is unable to discern what it is that courses through his veins in its stead, only that it is bitter. And bitterly his mind’s eye takes him to the moments when he delivered spite, only to paint distantly how he could have instead prolonged the joy he has learned is your company. Alas, the reality is that he wasted your interactions with his envy, and he might not now be granted a second chance.

He cannot stop his fingers when they reach for yours, for an urge to feel you, know for certain that you are living and that your heart pumps blood still in your flesh, simmers inside him. He has no shame in bringing them to his lips, either, only to let them rest there when not even your own eyes are there to witness his vulnerability. 

It grants him momentary relief, even if he still longs for you to rise at his touch. But your skin does not smell of iron as he had expected, nor does it smell like you, and the general lack of responsiveness disheartens him so that he lets your hand rest on your mattress in defeat.

He is startled from his place of misery when the doors to your chambers open as if expecting his worst nightmares to materialize, as if expecting the very faceless face of the Stranger to stalk forward and retrieve you from him. Instead, it is his mother’s soft, tired semblance that greets him. He only realizes he has reached for his dagger when his shoulders drop and his grip on it slackens.

She walks in hesitantly, glancing at a sleeping Shadow before resuming her pace.

“You, too, should be resting,” she murmurs as if the raising of her voice could disturb you, as if you had been merely asleep all along, rather than holding on to a feeble thread of life.

Her casualty comes from a place of relief for her son’s well-being, he knows, but inside he boils already so much with his tightly concealed musings and sensations that he cannot reasonably extend her such empathy. He fixes his eye back on your gloomy face and hopes the action is enough of a statement that leaves no room for insistence.

She ignores his petulance, coming around him to stroke the back of her hand against your forehead. Her fingers brush a stray strand of hair away from your face and his own twitch in their envy. Then he presses his lips together to soothe the itch when he watches her murmur a short blessing against your brow.

“So beautiful, don’t you think?” she whispers, his heart clenches. “So strong.”

Had he been a lesser man he might not have recognized the sweet inquiry for what it was - a test. A test of his dignity, a test of his duty to his family, to House Baratheon, to the kingdom. But he is not a lesser man, and he knows his mother, no matter how quick-witted, well enough to know the right answer is to forego his opinion, no matter how heartily he wishes to divulge what has quickly become devotion.

“She saved my life,” it escapes him, unsure if he meant for it to reach his mother’s ears and noting that his adoration is distinguishable, unavoidable.

“Will you not tell me what happened?” she sighs, coming to stand next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and carding her fingers through his long, tamed hair like she had done since he was but a scared boy. They hold still the same soothing effect on the scared man he has grown into.

“I was a fool,” he murmurs. “Daemon found us, and I was a fool to answer his taunts,” he hesitates, “and engage him in combat.”

Though her caresses falter and her hand squeezes his shoulder a bit tighter at the mention of the Rogue Prince, she neither chastises nor patronizes him, for which he is grateful.

“I’d be the one abed if not for her,” he concludes, “perhaps far worse.”

They sit in silence in the face of his somber acknowledgment, watching you sleep, until she at last coaxes him with gentle words and motherly wisdom to take rest in his own chambers. He leaves when a trustworthy guard is poised inside your room, and Shadow is once again alert in his absence.

The next couple of days, he sits alone and with his thoughts. You remain unconscious and eerily quiet, and he takes upon tending to your fire, tending to your wounds, attentive to your breathing and your pulse. He sits by your side, watches the days pass through your large windows, and reads and writes. He leaves for council meetings in the mornings and retires to his bedroom in the late evenings. 

His mother joins him in the afternoons, sometimes with Helaena, always with Ser Criston, and though she joins in quiet activities - reading, sowing, praying - she does also all the things he wishes he had the liberty to do: brushing your hair, kissing your forehead, muttering words of tenderness. She blesses you with holy passages when she leaves, and Criston’s get well soon, Captain’s never fails to warm his spirits.

On the third evening, Grand Maester Orwyle is who joins him. Though Shadow allows him in, finally, she snarls still when he threatens to approach the bed. What he says turns him ice–cold again:

“If she does not rise on the morrow-” he hesitates, cutting himself short at the murderous looks he gets from him and your wolf. “She needs nourishment, and soon,” he finishes solemnly before retreating in the wake of his desolation.

Shadow rises, clearly distressed. He cannot tell whether she understands his words or if she senses his desperate grief, but he too is perturbed to the point of pushing off his seat. In dire need of the cold night air to clear away his worries, he opens the doors to your balcony, your wolf following in her eagerness to greet the night.

He breathes in the crisp, dewy air, eye closed and head low as he supports his weight against the metal handle. His forehead rests on the cool glass but it too fails to distract him from his anguish. His flesh thrums now he has his back to you, afraid you shall again befall victim to lethal damage. However, when he awards himself another glance he is not appeased in the slightest, for his fears weigh renewed in his chest, stealing his breaths, stalling his heartbeats. Had he felt more comfortable in the skin that prickled and burned in your presence, perhaps he would not be standing here, mourning every kiss and tender touch and gentle word he never gave you.

It is Shadow who startles him out of his torments with her deafening howling at the bright full moon.

“Damned dog,” he hisses, quick to step back inside and shut the doors.

“Direwolf,” says a faint, feeble voice behind him.

He turns on his heels, thinking he has finally gone mad with longing when he finds you yet asleep. Then you squeeze your shut eyes harder and a precarious breath escapes him. He steps warily towards you, half thinking still that he is in a dream and, if so, wishes not to disrupt it.

But you move your head sideways unhurriedly, tentatively awakening your body which surely still aches in the aftermath of the violence it endured. His heart is light and bright to see you alive, undoubtedly alive, attempting to break free from his chest for entirely new motives.

“You fool,” is what escapes him instead, though his voice trembles, not bites, and the insult strains as it gets caught in his throat. Once a habit, now his body rejects it when his mind tries to place you in that spiteful sentiment you haven’t belonged to in quite some time.

Your eyes fall open finally, blinking rapidly and fighting against the light, no matter how dim. He rushes to your side when you propel yourself forward only to be driven right back by your pain, wincing as you go. He propels a second pillow behind your head, silent as he struggles to hold the second insult that so easily gets trapped behind his teeth. Your eyes are closed again, and the frown on your brow evinces your discomfort.

“Are you alright?” you beat him to the question.

“I am,” he bites and wishes he had the bravery to express such care. “Since you’ve used your body as a shield against Dark Sister like a damned fool.”

He curses himself inwardly, taking advantage that you cannot see him raise a disappointed palm to his forehead, tired himself of his constant antagonism, but you smile despite his discourtesy and he can breathe again.

“Are you thanking me, my Prince?”

He breathes out a strained laugh - one which likely sounds more like a scoff - at your misplaced, mocking formality. You are safe and healthy enough to satirize him still. He does not stop his fingers when they brush against your hairline. He has long tired of inhibiting them.

“You need water,” he murmurs when your lovely eyes meet his.

He helps you sit up and lean against the headboard. Carefully, he cups the back of your head, his other hand bringing a chalice to your chapped lips. He wills himself not to break from your gaze as much as he stills himself not to shiver. The effort of restraining his care is just as great as embracing it, for it awakens a thrill and a pull that thrums in his heated flesh too strongly for him to veil behind cold eyes.

He leaves your side when his heart fills to the brim with a bursting light, threatening to expand beyond what he is capable of enduring. He tells the guard outside your door to fetch the masters and your maids, then lingers for another moment so that he may catch his breath and his reason.

Thankfully, when he approaches you again, Shadow scratches at the glass of your balcony and he does not have to meet your eyes and risk baring himself anymore. In a pathetic moment of weakness, he bypasses your bed to let her in, then takes a seat by your side and fixes his gaze on your direwolf as she moves restlessly about you.

“You know-” he starts, if only because the need to conceal his vulnerability chokes him. “She brought you here, strapped to her back.”

You don’t answer him, and he finds himself talking still against his own better judgment. 

“I had no need to tell her what to do,” he continues, fingers fiddling with one another aimlessly. “Had not a clue whether she would understand me if I did. She simply knew to bring you here.” 

He meets your gaze, finally, unnerved by your silence and finding you ready as ever to retaliate his next statement.

“She saved you.”

“I think you saved me,” you insist immediately, will never stop trying to break his stubborn façades.

“You saved me first.”

He steadies his gaze, hoping it is cold and unforgiving as usual, yet he positively feels his softness, his devotion slipping through every crack in his mask of cruelty and propriety that so stubbornly refuses to remain resolute. Too easily, what was once hardened for self-preservation now reveals vulnerability, at this moment when you each quietly admit to your reciprocal appreciation. You stare at one another and he is certain your stunned eyes match his, startled by your shared, timid divulgence.

He knows not what to make of the revelation other than sit with it, with you. Although, before he can understand it, an entourage of maids and maesters walks in to fuss about you. You are helped off the bed so quickly, he only narrowly manages to turn around for your privacy and rush to the door.

He stands there in the dark hallway, gripping its handle and feeling all of those cracks bleed profusely. He feels, he cares, he burns - and he cannot hide nor deny it.

Taglist in comments.

#hotd fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #the wolf and the dragon

[birdiewriteslit]

“summer of difference”

chapter one: miss americana and the heartbreak prince

various house of the dragon boys x fem!stark!reader

me writing? since when?? ik it’s been a while but i’ve been thinking about writing a series for house of the dragon! it’s summer, and i’m rewatching the summer i turned pretty, so this is kind of inspired by it? but also not, yk? i’m happy to be writing things again, hope y’all enjoy!

p.s. the boys i’ll be writing about include jacaerys, aegon, and aemond (and this is modern au obvi)

warnings: suggestive/sexual themes

This would be your fourth summer with your brother’s best friend’s family in King’s Landing. Summers here were always so different than the summers back home in Winterfell. Not only was the temperature much warmer, but things were actually interesting in this lakeside town.

You sat sandwiched between your siblings in the backseat of your mother’s Toyota. Cregan reached behind your head to smack Sara’s headphones off.

“Hey!” she shouted, watching the device fall into her lap.

“Quit it, Cregan,” your father warned, not taking his eyes off of the road.

The long drive south was the only thing you hated about this trip. Being the middle child meant you were always stuck in the middle seat. At hour four, you were unbelievably relieved when the road to Rhaenyra’s house finally came into view late afternoon.

A smile appeared on your face as you pulled into the driveway. It was times like these when you were grateful that your brother had rich friends.

The house was huge. It was white with light blue accents and three garage spaces. One of these hosted Daemon’s red convertible, which you had some interesting memories with Jacaerys in.

Speaking of Jace, he ran out the front door as soon as Cregan exited the car, you sliding out after him.

You couldn’t really focus on whatever complicated bro hug they were doing because Jace looked so different.

His hair was long and curlier, and his features were sharper. His smile was bright and perfect as he patted your brother on the back. He had certainly matured since last summer.

As he parted from Cregan, his eyes shifted to you, his smile never faltering. “Wow, Y/n,” he said as he took you into his arms.

You breathed him in. He smelled of salt air and the beach scented candle his mother was always burning. His damp hair brushed against your cheeks as his arms tightened around your waist.

“Gone swimming with out us?” Once you pulled away from him, you gestured to his bathing suit trunks, which had left a few wet splotches on your shorts.

“Yeah, Daemon’s with the boys by the dock,” he explained, then looked over your shoulder at your sister taking her things out of the trunk. “Luke’s inside, waiting for you.” He smirked, glancing at Cregan. You turned to Sara, copying his expression while she rolled her eyes, grabbing her duffel bag.

“You three are so immature,” she said, shoving past Cregan to enter the house.

“I don’t like being looped in with you guys,” you said.

“You’re lucky to be,” Cregan said. “Now help me with all this shit.” He gestured toward the open trunk.

“Watch your mouth, Cregan. We’re guests here,” your mother scolded.

“It’s all good, Gilliane. I’ve heard worse from my stepdad,” Jace said.

“I bet,” your dad muttered.

“I’ll meet you guys inside, alright?” Jace pointed at you and Cregan.

“Yeah, I’ll see you in there,” you said, smiling stupidly.

Cregan nudged your arm. “‘I’ll see you in there,’” he mimicked your words in a high pitched voice. Your face burned as you told him to shut up.

You walked into the house with your bags and brought them upstairs to the blue room. You always shared the room with Baela. The walls and the carpet were different shades of light blue, and the skylight above the bed always made it seem brighter.

You stopped in your tracks when you saw Sara fishing through her bag on the ground. “What are you doing in here?”

“Nyra told me we’re sharing this year. Apparently Baela and Rhaena are with their mother for the month,” Sara said nonchalantly.

“What?” This was news to you. Daemon’s stepdaughters were always here for the summer. Baela was your best friend away from home. Your stomach dropped when you realized what this meant. You’d be forced to hang out with the boys all summer, or worse, your little sister.

“I can’t share a room with you,” you said. Sara scoffed and pulled her bathing suit from her bag, going into the bathroom to change. You pulled out your phone and texted Baela immediately.

—

You: how could you do this to me?? why didn’t you tell me you weren’t coming this summer :(

my bae🤍: i’m sorryyyy!! it’s only a few weeks though. my mom thought it was unfair that dad gets us all summer. tbh it is unfair like he doesn’t even hang out with us.

You: mannn you cant leave me with creg and jace

my bae🤍: i don’t think you have a problem being alone with jace lol

You: don’t even start! creg has already reminded me today. it doesn’t help that jace has gotten sooo much hotter since last year.

my bae🤍: please refrain from talking about my brother like that. and btw NOBODY has forgotten about it.

You: thanks for that. i ran upstairs so i wouldn’t have to face nyra and daemon again. i’m literally gonna die from embarrassment.

my bae🤍: don’t worry, nobody brings it up in front of dad and her. rhaena, luke, and i just make fun of him when they aren’t looking. you should see how red his face gets. seriously, it’s hilarious.

You: ughhh i was hoping this would just go away

my bae🤍: nah you’re never living this down

You: he hugged me and i swear to god i heard a taylor swift song playing in the background

my bae🤍: i bet it was lover lol

You: more like miss americana and the heartbreak prince

my bae🤍: y’all are so lover shut up. PLEASE update me tonight if anything interesting happens. i am fucking devastated that i cant watch you guys reunite.

You: you’ll get over it

—

You rolled your eyes at her last text and set your phone on the bed, beginning to unpack your items. A knock on the doorframe made you turn around. Rhaenyra stood there, a soft smile on her face. “You didn’t even say hello to me.”

“Sorry, Nyra. I wanted to see Baela as soon as possible,” you lied.

“Ah, well, you’ll see her in July.” She sat on the bed in front of you and placed a strand of hair behind your ear. “How have you been, sweet girl?”

You grinned at the nickname, almost sighing from relief that she wasn’t even thinking about the incident from the last time you were here. “Really good. I’m happy to be back here, though.”

“I love having you here. You’re my favorite girl. I hope you know that. Don’t tell your sister.” She winked.

“I won’t,” you promised.

“You know, I always hoped you would be my future daughter-in-law,” she said cheekily. Your eyes widened as heat crept up your neck. “Only teasing, my dear,” she said, standing up from the bed. “Get your suit on, Jace wants you to come tubing.”

“Okay,” you squeaked, turning to fumble around in your bag.

-

This is a little tight, you thought as you exited the basement and walked on the stone path to the dock.

You initially bought the bikini because it was your favorite color, but now you felt a little self conscious about the amount it revealed. You grabbed a life jacket from the bench on the dock and hopped onto the boat.

“Put that on, Y/n. We’re going first,” Jace said, wearing the same smile from earlier, and eyeing you up in a very unsubtle way.

Butterflies surged in your stomach. You would be alone with Jace for the first time in nearly a year. But does it really count if you were being dragged behind a pontoon boat with water spraying into your faces and both of your families watching you? You wouldn’t say so.

Nevertheless, you were still nervous when you felt his eyes on you.

Cregan, Sara, Luke, and Joffrey were already on the boat, all thoroughly intrigued by their favorite reality show, aka you and Jace.

Daemon untied the boat from its posts and gently pushed it away from the dock, jumping on with your father following suit.

“Rickon, you spot while I drive,” Daemon said, and your father nodded. Their dad fits were impeccable on this afternoon. Matching sports sunglasses with cargo shorts and shirts that sponsored separate breweries was definitely the move.

“You aren’t driving, Rickon?” Jace said, sounding worried.

“Nope. My shoulder hurts from, uh, weightlifting.”

You snorted at his fake excuse. You knew he just didn’t want to do it, based on all of his complaining during the year. He claimed it stressed his muscles too much.

“It’s my boat, kid. I won’t whip you if you can’t handle it,” Daemon taunted.

“I can handle it,” Jace said firmly. “Come on, Y/n.”

Rickon pushed the pancake tube off of the boat and held the rope tightly as you and Jace climbed on. As he slowly let go of the rope, letting you drift out into the lake, you said, “Why the fuck would you tell him we can handle it? He’s going to fling us like 50 feet into the air.”

Jace grinned evilly at you. “I said I can handle it. Not my fault if you can’t.”

You looked at him incredulously. “Have you forgotten what happened last time he drove the boat? I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

“He was drunk that time.” Jace shrugged.

“He’s worse sober!” You gripped the handles tighter as the boat began to move. “Seven hells,” you muttered.

The boat quickly sped up, and soon you and Jace were bouncing across the lake. The motor combined with the rush of water was loud in your ears, the spray cold and nearly blinding.

Daemon swung the boat around and the tube flung out to the right, you screamed while Jace laughed hysterically.

“Jace, oh my God, what is that?” you yelled, looking at an upcoming wave.

“I think that’s your downfall,” Jace shouted.

“That’s not fucking funny!” The tube bounced up over the wave, flinging you and Jace off and into the water.

The water came up over your head before the life jacket brought you back to the surface. You breathed in deeply and pushed the wet hair away from your face.

You looked to your left and saw Jace about ten feet away grinning and shaking his wet hair. The boat was turning around to come fetch you both.

You quickly swam over to him and grabbed onto his shoulders, dunking him from behind. He was coughing when he came back up. “You bitch!” he said as you laughed.

“That’s what you get,” you fired back. He raised his hands and splashed water in your face. You spit out what got into your mouth and splashed him back.

“Get on the boat, lovebirds!” Sara called, laying on the sundeck as the boat approached.

“Shut up, Sara,” you said, casting your eyes down to your legs treading water. “And speak for yourself.” You glanced at Luke, who knelt on the seat behind her. She stuck her tongue out as you climbed the ladder onto the deck.

You made your way to the front of the boat, taking off the life jacket and wrapping yourself in a towel. “Cold?” Daemon asked.

You glared back at him. “Clearly.” He smirked and called out to Sara and Luke, making sure they were ready for the hell he was about to put them through.

Jace sat next to you after grabbing his own towel and two sodas from the cooler. He handed one to you before draping his arm across the back of your seat. Cregan and Joff sat on the opposite side of the boat, the younger one absentmindedly playing with the buckles on his life jacket.

“Why didn’t you go with me, man? Now I have to go on the slow ride,” Cregan complained, gesturing to Joff.

Jace shrugged. “Baela isn’t here, and I couldn’t leave my favorite girl hanging,” he said, squeezing your shoulder.

Cregan rolled his eyes and pretended to retch when Jace wasn’t looking. You motioned for him to stop as Jace looked back at him when the boat started moving.

You slipped out of Jace’s grasp and went to sit at the back of the boat to watch your sister and his brother get tortured by Daemon. It didn’t take long for Sara to go flying through the air, screaming Luke’s name as she went. He whipped his head around to watch her splash in the water, accidentally taking his hand off the handle and landing a few feet in front of her.

Your father reeled the tube in as Daemon turned the boat around to fetch them. Creg and Joff went next, their ride relatively uneventful. The perpetual frown on your brother’s face made you feel better about him teasing you the whole day.

Daemon slowed down and rode back to the dock with them trailing behind. Your father reeled them in while Jace and Luke hopped off the boat to tie it to the posts.

“How was that?” Jace asked, grinning at you as you walked up to the house with him.

“Exhilarating,” you said, giving him an annoyed look.

“My girl, always so adventurous.” He said it sarcastically, but your heart always skipped a beat when he called you his girl. You smiled nervously as he opened the door for you.

You shivered as the air conditioning hit your bare skin. “Why is it always so cold down here?”

Jace shrugged. “Daemon is a diva. He always has it on.”

You laughed. “He needs the best of the best.”

“No less,” he agreed, following you up the stairs.

When you entered the kitchen moments later, your mother immediately scolded you for dripping water on the floor.

“Oh, she’s fine. My boys do it constantly. Look at Jace doing it right now,” Rhaenyra countered, continuing to stir the contents of the pot in front of her.

“I walk in the room and I’m a victim,” Jace said, sitting on one of the barstools.

“Don’t sit on my stools in that wet bathing suit. You two, go shower and clean up for dinner,” Rhaenyra commanded.

“Yes, mom.” Jace stood from the stool and followed you down the hallway.

You left him at the bottom of the stairs as you hurried up the steps to gather your things for your shower. Sara wasn’t there yet, probably still outside with your brother and the boys.

You headed to the bathroom and felt instant warmth when you stepped into the shower. You washed your hair and body, and once you were done, you were so happy the smell of lake water was gone from you.

After getting changed, you left your wet bathing suit on the bathtub to dry, and exited the bathroom. Sara was laying on her cot in her semi-wet swimsuit when you got there, watching TikToks on her phone.

“Finally,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the door. “You were in there for like thirty minutes.”

“Time escapes me,” you said, plopping down on your bed and pulling out your phone to do the same thing she was doing.

There was a text from Jace in your notifications.

-

J: Night swim tonight??

You: i just showered i don’t want to get back in the lake

J: Where’s your sense of adventure from earlier?

You: long gone

J: Pleaseeeee

You: fine but only because you asked nicely

-

The real reason you agreed was because you were hoping he would talk to you about what happened the year before. So far, he had made no move to bring it up, but maybe all it took was being alone with him.

You sighed into your pillow and opened TikTok to distract you from this situation. After a good thirty minutes that felt like five, you were being called downstairs to eat by your brother.

“Smells good,” you said, entering the kitchen and grabbing a plate.

“Thank you, darling,” Rhaenyra said, patting your back as she moved past you into the dining room.

“Man, I’ve been waiting all year for this.” Cregan proceeded to fill his entire plate with spaghetti and meatballs, drowning it in parmesan cheese.

“Save some for the rest of us,” you muttered, grabbing a piece of garlic bread.

You took your plate into the dining room and sat down next to Luke. Jace and Cregan sat across from you two, with Daemon and Rhaenyra at the ends of the table. Sara sat down on Luke’s other side, your parents on Rhaenyra’s end of the table. Joff, Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya all sat at the foldable kids table. You stared wistfully at the empty seats at the adults table that were usually reserved for Baela and Rhaena.

“So,” Luke said to you, hardly disrupting the conversations of the other people at the table. “I hear you got your license. Are you and Jace planning on taking another spin in Daemon’s car, if you know what I mean?”

You nearly choked on the piece of spaghetti dangling from your mouth. Of course, you knew what he meant. The sly fucker just had to bring it up at the family dinner. Luckily for you, Jace was occupied with eating like a starved man on the other side of the table. Daemon was one empty chair away from hearing Luke’s remark. You thought he wasn’t listening, but it was hard to tell when he was eavesdropping.

“You better shut your mouth right now before someone hears you,” you said quietly, holding your fork at him threateningly.

“Does it matter if they do? Everyone heard you last year. It might’ve been embarrassing for you but it was downright traumatic for me,” Luke said.

Jace had successfully cleared his plate at this point, it was impressive, really. He had his attention turned towards you now.

“What was traumatic?” he asked.

“No, Jace. Do not even ask,” you warned.

“I think I’d like to know,” Daemon chimed in, smirk on his face, not even bothering to look up from his food.

You gave him a horrified look that contradicted his unbothered one. Luke shifted uncomfortably, no longer having fun. He cleared his throat. “I’d rather not talk about it at the dinner table.” Liar.

“That’s what I thought,” Daemon said coolly, twirling his spaghetti in a rather unsettling way.

“No, seriously, what?” Jace pushed, utterly clueless.

“Drop it, Jace,” you warned again, an embarrassed heat rising up your neck.

Seeing the look on your face, realization dawned upon him. “Oh,” was all he said as he cast his eyes to his plate, the leftover marinara sauce the same color as his cheeks.

Luke snickered to himself, and you kicked him under the table. “Jesus, Y/n, what was that for?” he hissed. You only glared in return.

Soon enough, everyone finished dinner, and you dragged your feet to your bedroom, collapsing on the bed. You were stuffed and tired, but you promised Jace a swim tonight. All you could do was hope that it wouldn’t be awkward.

You went on your phone to pass the time until nine, which was the usual time you met up with him for your night swims. Sara was passed out in her bed when you swiftly left the room to change.

When you got down to the dock, Jace was already in the water. He slicked his wet hair back with his hand as grinned at the sight of you. “The water’s warm, get in.”

“Look what I’m doing,” you said, going down the stone steps and slowly entering the water.

“Come on,” he said, nodding his head to the raft about twenty feet from the boat. He started swimming towards it with you in tow, trying to ignore how tired you felt from the long day.

He climbed the ladder and laid down on the raft. “I thought we were going to swim,” you said, laying beside him.

He was quiet for a moment, staring up at the stars, leaving the crickets and other night animals to fill the silence. He turned his head and met your eyes. “I don’t really care what we do. I just wanted to hang out with you. I missed you, you know,” he confessed.

“I missed you too, Jace. We have all summer to hang out together.” And hopefully sooner or later, you would sort out your unspoken history.

“Even when Baela comes back?” he asked tentatively.

“Even then. I’ll always make time for you.”

He smiled and looked back up at the sky. “Let’s just stay out here for a while.”

You nodded and looked away from him, gazing at the stars instead. You expected to come out here and have an awkward conversation about the incident from last summer, not pick up where you left off. Why wasn’t he bringing it up? You knew he hadn’t forgotten, but why wouldn’t he talk to you about it? He was always so open, so forward with you.

As you laid together on the raft, he looped your fingers through his, and you were all but transported to the year before.

#birdiewriteslit #birdiewritesfics #house of the dragon #hotd #jace velaryon #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #modern au #summer au #cregan stark #jacaerys velaryon x stark!reader #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #aegon targaryen x stark!reader #stark!reader #female reader #summer of difference #summer of difference fic

[elorday]

— ✪ 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

#✭: valerie's monthly recommendations #aemond targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #charles leclerc x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #adrian chase x reader #bruce wayne x reader #john wick x reader #marquis vincent de gramont x reader #ethan landry x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #pearls divider is from and by @inklore #tasm!peter parker x reader #miles morales x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #pravitr prabhakar x reader #valerie's recs —

[blakeswritingimagines]

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