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targaryen-dynasty · 4 months

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YOU‘RE THE ONLY THING I PRAY FOR. (1/3)

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT — MINORS DNI; NON/DUB-CON, canon typical incest/targcest (uncle & niece), blasphemy, taking of virginity, female reader

WORDS: 4.6 K

NOTES: Part 1 is here! At the anon that has requested it: thank you so much for this. I hope it lives up to your expectations.

Daylight has first appeared when you break your fast, completely dressed and ready to start the day by paying a visit to the Grand Sept. It’s one of the rare days the queen does not accompany you for your morning prayer as her queenly duties have called for her even before the first light. But you bask in the rare solitude her absence grants, looking forward to the time you get to spend all by yourself.

A carriage waits for you as you walk down the steps of the Red Keep leading into the courtyard, the door already opened and a servant anticipating for you to get in.

“And where might you be going so quickly?” You know the voice that pierces through the silence of the morning, and are not surprised when you turn around to spot your uncle approaching. He’s clad in a white tunic and black breeches, looking as though he has just gotten out of bed.

Bobbing a small curtsy, the slight bow of your head does little to hide the surge of warmth that spreads to your cheeks, trying to suppress the nervous smile his presence always coaxes from you.

It could be mere happenstance that you two meet right when you’re about to leave the keep, but something deep inside of you tells you he’s more than familiar with your morning routine.

“I was just heading to the sept to pray, uncle,” you reply, your eyes locking with his as he creeps closer.

The smirk that grazes his features at your words sends a shiver down your spine because it doesn’t mean any good; it never means any good. “And what is it that you pray for exactly, sweet niece?” he asks in a playful tone, raising a brow. His head cocks to the side, and he sizes you up briefly. “Does a princess such as you pray for love? Pray for a husband?”

Despite the rush of embarrassment you feel when he makes his comments, you can’t deny the truth in them. “I pray for many things…” you trail off, pressing your lips into a thin line and contemplating if you should elaborate further. But the ultimate act of piety is to be honest, genuine, and you know it’ll surprise him more than a snappish remark. “I pray for the love of my family, as well as my own. Though I must admit that what I pray for most is to be married one day, and provide my husband with a healthy heir.”

He must have noticed the way your eyes trail up and down his tall frame throughout your little lecture, despite you having your neck craned to meet his gaze, because his brow doesn’t seem to lower at all, staying in its exact position as he’s seemingly impressed by your words and your honesty. However, there’s also a pregnant pause following them, and you brace yourself for whatever taunting or derogatory comment might follow.

“Might I join you?”

The question catches you off guard, and causes you to tilt your head sideways.

Pious isn’t a term you would use to describe your uncle. If he believed in anything, he’d merely worship the Gods of Old Valyria and would not follow the Faith of the Seven. Nevertheless, you’re thrilled he even considers accompanying you to the Grand Sept, because you’re certain he’s never seen it from inside.

“I would be honored by you joining me, uncle,” you say, smiling softly. “I would not have to pray alone.”

“It would please me greatly, niece.” His eyes run over your form, lingering a little longer on your middle, clearly taking in your curves and attire. The dress you wear is completely different to the ones your younger sister usually wears, and comes closer to the gowns the queen dons nowadays. It’s modest and covers you completely, basically from head to toe.

Mayhaps that’s where he sees the challenge.

You briefly nod your head, and take his hand as he offers to help you into the carriage, climbing the steps before sitting down on one of the upholstered seats. You make note of how warm and unexpectedly smooth his hand is when you let go of it, having expected it to be calloused and somewhat rough from all the riding on dragon back and training with the sword he does.

Daemon takes his seat next to you, and it’s evident you have all of his attention with him not tearing his eyes off of you once. What you don’t know is that he’s always found a liking in you. You’re sweet and innocent, demure even, and the complete opposite to Rhaenyra.

More oft than not you make your uncle feel as though you really do not deserve an unvirtuous man such as himself, just as your father has told him back when Daemon had asked him to grant him your hand in marriage. You’re a girl that has never taken a man’s touch before, innocent in both mind and body – a vision obviously tantalizing to many men of court.

He looks over you once more. You feel his gaze burning into your skin regardless of how badly you focus on what you see passing on the outside of the wheelhouse, and you can’t deny that you would love nothing more than to learn of what’s occupying his mind.

The ride to the sept isn’t too long, and shared in silence thick with tension. When the carriage comes to a stop and a servant opens the door, you rise from your seat and climb down the steps. Your hands are clasped in front of your body on the way into the Grand Sept, closely followed by the looming presence of your uncle.

And you immediately feel at peace when you walk through the heavy doors held open by several guards, breathing in the scent of incense and relishing in the quiet it brings. Though there is no reason for you to feel flustered with the company of your uncle, having grown up around him, your heart still feels as though it beats too fast, pounding against the confines of your ribcage.

The truth is, you have not prayed for any husband – you have prayed for him to become your husband. And every single one of your prayers resolved around the wish for him to join you some day. The Grand Sept is your home port, giving you a sense of safety and being the place you always return to. And what could be better than sharing this feeling with the person your heart and body long for?

You nod subtly toward the few septas and novices that cross your path on the way to the large stone altar in the center of the sept, attempting to not draw too much attention to you and the prince that trails closely behind.

Rolling one of the thin vestas between your index finger and thumb, you carefully set it alight with a candle that’s already lit before you proceed to light your own. The small piece of wood is extinguished with a soft blow of air, and you brush your fingers over the sheet of wax that covers the gray marble beneath, watching the sea of lights in front of you.

“Have you been in the sept before, uncle?” you ask, innocently. It might seem like a witless question, but is completely fair considering you have never really seen him pray before.

You are not oblivious to just how different you are from your own kin, for neither your father, uncle nor sister frequent the sept, let alone pray before they break their fast or eat their supper.

When they’d ask you, you’d say that the contrast between you and Daemon is the most blatant, closely followed by the differences you and Aemond have. Though your younger half-brother, more oft than not, resolves to praying, you know it’s just to please his devout mother.

If anything, you most resemble Alicent, despite not sharing the same blood with her. She has taken you under her wing as your mother died birthing your late brother, strengthening your very being with her own faith.

Daemon chuckles at your question, following after you to the stone altar. It’s an easy game for him to pretend to be pious, having resorted to colder measures many times before. “I will admit that I do not frequent the sept as much as you. It’s just…,” he trails off, looking around the room and taking in the architecture. “... not exactly to my liking. I much prefer the worship of the Old Gods of Valyria.”

Just like you have thought. It’s tempting to worship and follow the customs your very ancestors have set up and believed in, bringing you closer to what ties you to the family whose love you always pray for. But where were these Gods when you needed them most?

“But doesn’t everyone in King’s Landing worship the Seven? Do you not think them worthy of your devotion?” you ask, cocking a brow as you slowly sink to your knees. You still look up at him, but already fold your hands to prepare for the prayer.

Daemon watches you carefully, no, he blatantly stares at you, taking you in and watching you on your knees from his level of height. It’s exciting, to say the least. “Oh, I do not consider them unworthy, they have been worshipped in Westeros for centuries, but you can not expect me to deny my heritage, niece.”

It’s your heritage as well, and it includes the customs that would allow for you to wed the man you have always longed for. That is, if you were not betrothed already.

The marriage to Jason Lannister, like your father has requested, is the most fitting option, you know. It’s no match made out of love but rather a political arrangement, and doesn’t heed your own wishes.

He’s no more a man that deserves you than your uncle, though the prospect and thoughts of marrying Daemon do excite you more. Perhaps this excitement stems from the suppressed desire of wanting the opposite of your pious nature, something that would make you feel alive as much as riding Silverwing does.

But your uncle isn’t interested in taking you to wife. His late wife died a few moons ago, and if someone has always had his attention and favor, it’s your younger sister, Rhaenyra.

Flashing you a tight-lipped smile, he approaches one of the pews close to the altar and sits down. You focus on the candles in front of you and fix the flames of them to watch them dance, calming you down and bringing you back to the matter at hand; your morning prayer.

But under the intensity of his stare, you find it incredibly difficult to focus on your wishes and steady your thoughts, and you rely on the Seven for their guidance. The direction in which your thoughts stray is improper and silently proscribed by the people of the realm, and you haven’t spent all of these mornings in the sept to let it all go to waste with the foolish wish to follow your House's customs.

Lowering your head, you quietly speak your prayers and plead for the Seven to see you in good favor before them despite the sins that may come upon you in the future.

Your uncle, on the other hand, only now realizes that this is the best time he could wish for to get you alone, all by yourself with no one to interrupt. And as the wait for you to finish your prayers doesn’t stop to pass agonizingly slowly, he’s overtaken by his urges and begins to quietly approach you.

You’re in the midst of your prayer when you feel a sudden presence in your space. Opening your eyes, you spot him sinking down on his knees right next to you, his broad shoulder brushing yours in the process, pressing against your frame.

He’s so close to you that you feel the warmth emanating from him despite the layers of clothing. “You have been so faithful to the Seven,” he whispers with a rasp, keeping his eyes neatly trained on you. “It is only right that they finally grant you something in return…”

There are goosebumps prickling on your skin at his words, the sensation even raising the hairs on the back of your neck.

Despite growing up around him, you have never shared such close proximity with him before, at least not since you can remember. It feels so intimate, and the way in which he speaks makes it more than obvious that it’s plain profanity.

Daemon is clearly taking advantage of your piety, and twists your words and beliefs into something much more impure.

But it seems that your body renders what your mind doesn't. It knows what he is up to even before you can grasp it, and you suddenly notice the uncomfortable way your smallclothes cling to the apex of your legs, a cold moisture making the linen sticky.

You can’t speak, far too absorbed in his presence, and barely notice that he’s slowly inching towards you, until the tips of your noses brush against each other.

Daemon is not moving closer, basking you in a sense of feigned superiority that gives you the impression that you’re the one in control. If you’re about to kiss, it’s because you want to do so, at least he’s making you think that. But by the Seven, how badly you want to kiss him.

You’re the one to close the gap between you and press your lips firmly to his. You feel the warmth of them against yours, and are overtaken by a haze. You have never expected this to be the result of your joint visit to the Grand Sept, and you feel as though you're melting with a jolt of heat – until a cloud of panic washes over you.

Pulling back with a gasp, you topple over on your arse, grateful for the space it puts between the two of you. You bring your fingers to your lips, touching them as if you mean to prolong the feeling of his lips on yours.

“I-I do not wish to be a prude, but…” you try to deny his advances. You don’t know where to look, eyes frantically flickering to the ground, the ceiling, and even checking if anyone is around to see what has happened.

Daemon licks his lips with a sigh, and you see him contemplating his next moves, the silence making your heart pound in your ears. “You’re a pious woman,” he raps, or rather just states the obvious.

And then he slowly stalks closer again, only to bury a large hand in the hair at the back of your head, using the grip to bring you closer to him again. “Why have the Gods made me love a pious woman?”

You’re holding onto his shoulders, not sure if you want to draw him impossibly closer or push him away. Your wide eyes carefully study his features, before he leans in and starts to press kisses to the side of your face that leave you whimpering and mewling.

Daemon has his strong arms wrapped around your frame to pull you flush against his chest now, and you’re squirming and panting, trying to get away from him while his hands make quick work of pulling and tearing at the skirts of your dress already.

“Un-Uncle… not here, please,” you try to protest.

He brings a hand to your cheek, turning your face so it’s easier for him to capture your lips in a heated kiss again. It takes all the strength you can muster to pull away from him, not just physically, but mentally. The long suppressed part in you is at an all time high, aching for nothing else than him.

“We-We can’t,” you stammer, completely out of breath. “Not here.”

“I do not see why not, niece,” he all but growls. “Do you not want the Seven to witness how I worship you?”

The words make your face grow hot. The thought of the Seven watching over you is taboo and wrong, but it also makes it a lot more exciting. It has been an idea you have long desired, and to hear it spoken out loud from his own lips makes a thrill of excitement course through your veins.

“B-But I-I have never–” your voice is reduced to a whimper, the despair audible.

Daemon paws at your hips, and brings his face closer to press open mouthed kisses to the side of your neck. “I will worship you in a way they have never experienced, I can promise you that,” his husky voice is muffled by your skin, and all you can do is blush in return.

He backs you against the column of the altar behind you, trapping you so he can use both his hands to snake beneath your gown and tear at the linen undergarments you wear, reducing the barrier that stands between him and his most prized possession.

“Uncle, Daemon, please… the sept is not the right place for this.”

“I'll decide where I take you,” he growls once again. It’s the first time your name slips past his lips today, spoken in such a condescending manner that immediately makes you bow to his will. “And if I wanted to take your maidenhead right in front of your father, then so be it.”

You push at his chest, but at the same time melt against his sturdy frame when his lips claim yours. The fabric of his tunic is pinched so tightly between your fingers that your knuckles start to blanch from the force, acting as the means to an end to distract you from the shame you feel at giving into him so easily.

Daemon bows his head forwards to nuzzle his nose along your cheek, his breath hot as he speaks. “You’re such a dutiful woman, always praying for a husband and a life filled with children. Why not pray for me? Would that not be the most honorable of outcomes?”

You can’t think for yourself, swept up by his words, his charms and his possessiveness. He’s brought you to the edge, and you can’t find yourself able to resist.

“Uncle, I–”

“Be quiet,” he cuts you off.

So lost in his overwhelming presence, you hardly register him undoing the laces in the front of his breeches, only just lowering them enough for him to free his hard cock. Once that’s done, he lays you onto the cold floor, and positions himself between your legs, which brings you close enough to his cock to feel it prodding against your cunt.

You can’t breathe, not when you’re basically smothered by his weight, pinning you down to the ground and not allowing you to move. There’s no chance for you to meet his gaze, for he’s far too distracted to keep his eyes locked on one position only.

“You’re a dragon, sweet niece,” he grunts. “That cunt of a Lannister would not know how to handle it… let me take care of you.”

You release a shuddered breath when the tip of his cock meets the resistance of your tightness, forcing your body to go rigid. But despite that, Daemon is able to ease himself inside of you. It takes him a few seconds to fill you to the brim, taking his sweet time to allow you to adjust to each other.

And you sure do.

He pushes inside at an agonizingly slow pace, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein of his cock. When his hips are still, your tight walls slowly accommodate his impressive size. But even then Daemon already knows he can’t keep this up for long, for your cunt is squeezing him so tightly, he is sure he’ll spend himself too quickly for his own liking.

It takes you a moment, but as you feel him twitching, briefly brushing the sensitive spot inside of you, your stiff muscles seem to thaw. You arch your back against him, melting into the warmth that radiates off him.

A quiet whine leaves your lips that prompts him to meet your gaze. “That’s it,” Daemon coos softly, a slight strain in his husky voice. He brings a hand behind your head to support it and make it a bit more comfortable for you, lifting it off the hard ground.

Bowing his head forwards, he captures your lips in a gentle kiss. It is languid, tender even, but doesn’t lack any passion. There’s a burning inside of you, and you feel completely filled to the brim, yet it’s not as uncomfortable as the first few seconds have been.

Perhaps it’s the possibility of being caught by your own kin or other nobles, or being defiled by him so openly, but you can’t seem to get enough. No, you don’t even mind if anyone sees you, not when all you’ve prayed for finally comes true.

“I thought you were a pious maiden,” he rasps, immediately giving in to the pleasure and his urges, “not one that enjoys sin as much as this.”

Though your face is contorted in both pleasure and slight discomfort, you keep your eyes open and locked with his, carefully studying his face. “I–I think the Seven would want me to be happy… would they not?” you don’t state it, you ask, silently needing his reassurance and asking for guidance.

As he notices the hidden meaning behind your words, he flashes you a sly grin, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Oh, I believe as much.”

Daemon starts to thrust into you, coaxing one whiny moan after the other from your parted lips. The pace is slow, and you can tell by the way he has his jaw set that it takes a whole lot of restraint for him to keep it that way. You know he’s an experienced man, having heard lots of stories about him and his conquests, and you appreciate him practicing patience with you.

“Fuck, I-... you were made for me,” he groans against the side of your face, merely propped up on his forearms to not put too much weight on you. The feeling of his breath fanning over your skin, and the sounds he makes vibrating against it, ignite a fire in your veins you haven’t felt before.

“You were always meant to be mine, but your father is too dull to see it.” Light kisses trail over your jaw and the side of your neck, meaning he can’t see the color his words bring to your cheeks.

Entangling your fingers in his short, silver strands, you just rest your hand there to keep yourself grounded, until one particular thrust that seems a bit rougher than the others has you eventually tugging on the tresses not-so-gently. The action pulls his head back and exposes his throat to you, and it’s far too enticing to not to lean in and press your lips to the bump in the front of it. Daemon groans at that, and, in response to his cock twitching and throbbing inside of you, your walls clench around him.

You haven’t been touched by a man before, even rarely by yourself, and thus you’re not quite familiar with the pressure that builds inside of your body. It has the grip of your legs around his waist tightening and your toes curling, but other than that you’re not quite sure what to expect.

“Good girl, taking me so well,” he grunts, spurred on by the way your walls squeeze and choke his cock, clearly knowing you’re close to your peak. His praise goes straight to your head, and you whimper in return, stammering a ‘th-thank you, uncle.’

“Wet my cock, little niece, make a mess for me,” he all but commands, a dominant edge to his voice that has you shivering.

Far too lost in the pleasure his body grants you, you hardly notice him driving his hips into yours with more fervor and determination, an approving ‘mhhh’ and stutters of his name escaping your lips.

It probably is a vague guess, but Daemon’s mouth claims yours with newfound hunger as your peak washes over you in an ambush, effectively drinking down every wanton moan and whimper that has threatened to leave them.

Something akin to fire spreads through your veins which prompts your leg to tremble uncontrollably, locking around his waist. Your walls flutter and convulse all over him, and white, hot pleasure clouds your vision.

Only when the tremors slowly subside does your uncle tilt his head back. He watches you in awe, studying the drowsy expression on your face though the pistoning of his hips hasn’t stopped. And he won’t stop, not even when you’re no more than a quivering and whimpering mess beneath him, and you’re very close to turning into one.

He cups your chin, pinning your head to the ground as he increases the pace of his thrusts again, using your relaxed state to chase his own peak.

It feels overwhelming, a different kind of aching suddenly burning between your legs, and you try to squirm away, but his grip on you is as adamant as he’s relentless.

“I shall spill myself inside of you,” he grunts, “would you like that? Do you want my seed in your belly?”

All you can whimper are incoherent words, but are still aware enough to not be too loud. Daemon takes the benefit of the doubt and settles on a whiny yes, far too enticed by the thought of you going round with his child.

He can’t hold himself back any longer with the repercussions of your peak driving him to his own, practically bursting as he spills his seed. His hips falter as he topples over the edge, his twitching member spending itself deep inside of your quivering walls.

But there’s not really any time for you two to dwell in the bliss, not when Daemon gathers himself so quickly to get back on his feet. He fixes his attire, straightening his tunic and redoing the laces of his breeches before he helps you up.

You perturbedly look around, breathing heavily, and smooth out the skirts of your dress. Being unsteady on your feet, you shift your weight from one leg to the other and grimace at the wetness that spreads between your thighs at the lack of smallclothes to gather it. His seed seeps from your swollen cunt down your flushed skin and makes you overly aware of the claim he has asserted over you.

You’re too stunned to speak, your mouth opening and closing without any words leaving your lips. Knowing he was a rogue, you would have never thought of your uncle doing such things, even less of yourself.

“I-I–”

“We will keep this between us,” Daemon interrupts, figuring what’s plaguing your mind.

The act of sin between you two has been so improper, and you’re certain your father would force you to become a Silent Sister if the word of your act would spread around court. So, it’s slightly calming to know you can rely on your uncle to protect your reputation and care for your safety.

You nod and swallow thickly. “I-I hope so?”

The silence between you in the carriage on your way back to the Red Keep is thick with tension, and though Daemon helps you climb down the steps before he leaves to attend his princely duties, something does not sit right with you.

And only when you hear a knock on your chamber’s door around the Hour of the Owl do you figure that the feeling was right. Maester Mellos stands opposite of you, a goblet whose content is unknown in his hand. He hands it over, and you feel your blood run cold at his words.

“A tea, princess. From the king. It will rid you of any unwanted consequences.”

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thought--bubble · 4 months

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In Need Of an Heir Part 3

Aemond (Canon Era) X (Baratheon! Reader)

Warnings after the cut.

In Need Of an Heir Master list

Canon Era Aemond Master List

Full Master list

Banners By @arcielee

Warnings: Forced marriage, panic attack(took from personal experience for this) Nothing else really 🥰

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I did get that promotion, by the way! (I am now a staff accountant. Yay! 🥳) prepping for finals was the opposite of a good time....(strategic management and policy form was actually a form of torture and not a class🫠🫠) one more semester until graduation! 💚💚

The end of that dinner could not have come soon enough, when it finally did come you and Royce were the first two to head out of the room.

Once you enter the corridor, your brother lets out a chuckle "Unbelievable"

"What?!" You snap at him, your soft, gentle demeanor starting to peel back.

"You'll be a princess in a few days' time." He taps her arm thoughtfully.

"Oh yes, such wonderful news, my warm and inviting future spouse has me weak in the knees" you hiss

Royce looks at you and raises and eyebrow "ahhh there she is. I was waiting for you to be the little storm I know you are"

You roll your eyes. "This isn't funny, Royce! That man is void of all emotion"

Royce looks around. "Keep your voice down. These walls have ears"

You huff, you know he's right, but at this moment, you just want to scream at anyone who will listen that you do not want this.

You and Royce continue back to your chambers in silence. You are hardly feeling sad or anxious anymore. The only thing you feel now is rage.

When you enter your chambers, Royce follows behind you.

"I know he seems......cold," he says as soon as the door closes. You shoot him a pointed glare as he chuckles, "but" he puts his finger to his chin as if in deep thought, "he may perhaps be different when the two of you are alone. He is a prince, he was raised to show the world a certain version of himself. I'm sure there is a different version of him that he would show his wife"

You again roll your eyes. Royce could be right, but you don't want to hear this right now. You just want to escape this situation.

He sighs. "All I'm saying is don't just assume the whole affair will be miserable"

"I just don't understand how father could still allow this to happen in the first place! What of the disrespect shown to our house? He murdered a messenger in our skies, kin may I mind you. Then, he runs off and marries a low born servant while betrothed to me!"

"That was a rumor from what I understand. No marriage took place. She was but a paramour, " Royce says as he pours himself some wine.

"Oh yes that's much better. A man of honor clearly" you look away from Royce jaw tight.

Royce chuckles again and shakes his head. "Men can be weak to the allure of women do not take it as a personal affront."

You grit your teeth. " I am not taking it personally. I am taking it as a testament to his lack of moral fiber"

Royce sighs and gives you an annoyed look before running his hand down his face. " You needn't love the man. Just act as a faithful wife and a kind and just queen, and when the time comes, a loving mother." he sits down in the armchair before the hearth. "Just perform your duties and stay out of his way"

"You wouldn't understand, you will marry some noble woman who will answer to you, you are not the one who will be at the mercy of some Targaryen psychopath who burnt down half the realm in anger! Do not try and pretend to understand the situation in which I find myself and the very real dangers I now face!" You calm yourself and look at Royce with despair."Is there truly no way out of this?"

He looks at you with sympathy. "With this marriage, Baratheon blood will sit the iron throne. There is no way out of this, I'm afraid"

"Life as a broodmare..... lucky me"

"You will be queen of the seven kingdoms .."

"A broodmare dressed in jewels is still a broodmare." You sigh and look toward the bedchamber.

"I wish to retire." You feel exhausted and defeated

"Very well," he says as he stands. "Since you can not change your situation, I would suggest you find the good in it." With that statement, he leaves your chambers.

You roll your eyes as you hear the door close.

'The good in it,' you think to yourself,'how exactly do I find the good in a situation in which I have no power or control?"

The next few days went by in a whirlwind. The lack of time to prepare for the wedding had the dowager queen Alicent scrambling to have as much of what was expected of a royal wedding as possible. You were constantly being dragged to dress fittings, while Alicent stood approving or denying the fabrics and designs of the dress. You stood there like a mannequin. Not one choice was yours. Not the dress, not the jewelry, not the hair style and certainly not the groom.

A groom which you had seen none of. There was no courting or getting to know eachother you simply prepared for the wedding with the dowager queen, and he was off doing something else you knew nothing of. You would be married off to a man you have only ever greeted.

This had you in a state of mild disassociation. You simply existed in your day to day movements instead of living in them.

The day before the wedding started like all the others. Invited to tea first thing with the dowager queen. You made your way through the winding corridors, having memorized the path from your apartments to hers.

As you come upon her door, you tap lightly. One of Alicents serving girls answers the door and ushers you in.

"You come around the corner to see the dowager queen sitting in her usual stance teacup in hand. " she smiles up at you gently as she waits for you to take a seat.

"So I think we are as prepared as we are going to get. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, so..... I think today will be a good time for you to take some rest."

You squint your eyes at her in disbelief. "Hmm" is all you manage to say.

"Though" she starts, and you think to yourself, "Here it comes' "there is one thing I hoped to discuss with you. Since your mother is unable to get here in time, I wished to......... guide you. . .. through the requirements of your wedding night"

You inwardly cringe at the mention of your wedding night. You had been taught as a girl growing up about the coupling that will take place between a man and his wife. How important it is to consummate your marriage, and it is certainly not something you wish to discuss with Alicent.

"Oh " is all you can manage to say as you wring your hands in your lap.

"Aemond will guide you just listen to his instructions, and you will be fine. Don't be nervous or scared, " you can tell she is trying to bring you comfort, but it only serves to make you more uncomfortable.

"I understand this is a subject he is quite educated on already." You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth and close your eyes. "My apologies, your grace, that was most inappropriate"

She sighs and looks down at her lap as she picks her fingers. "It was....but I can understand your distaste for impropriety." she places her teacup down and makes direct eye contact with you. "I ask only that you do not judge him too harshly. A man at war is under an immense amount of stress and may make poor decisions. He is a good man, though, my son, and I have not one doubt it my mind that he will be a good husband."

You nod desperate for this conversation to end so you can take your leave.

She sighs again as she eyes you up and down. No doubt trying to dicern your thoughts. "Very well. You may go. Do take a walk through the gardens. They are most beautiful and are a wonderful place to clear one's thoughts"

You thank her for her hospitality before you curtsey and gently walk out of her apartments. The moment you enter the corridor, you place your hand over your chest, trying to calm your fast beating heart.

You are chastising yourself in your head for speaking so out of turn with the dowager queen. 'What was I thinking? What if she tells him? What if he takes great offense?'

"Ugghhh"

"Is everything alright, my lady?"

You close your eyes and freeze before slowly turning around and coming face to face with your future husband. You have been so busy fighting this arrangement that you had not taken the time to properly look at him, but here, in front of you like this, you can not help but gaze at him.

Tall and lithe. Long bonde hair top half pulled back . Sharp jawline and high cheekbones. His one purple eye boring into you.

"Oh... yes, my prince just.....ummm big day tomorrow"

"Hmmm," he clicks his tongue as he looks you up and down. "Are you due to visit my mother?"

"Oh no, just left her company, actually," you shift nervously from one foot to the other.

"Very well then, I will keep you no longer." he walks past you and gently knocks on the door to Alicent's apartments.

You perform a small curtsey and then continue to make your way down the corridor. Before rounding the corner, you look back at the man standing before his mother's door. His long slender frame stood perfectly poised with his slim waist and long arms tucked behind him.

You feel your cheeks warming up slightly as you look at him, a small smile coming to your face before you come to your senses, turning quickly and continuing toward the gardens.

You reach the gardens quickly and look for a place to sit. You decide to sit by some rose bushes and start to laugh, thinking to yourself,

'I'm marrying a Targaryen prince, a mass murdering kinslayer. Who I am just now noticing is most pleasing to my eyes.' You put your face into your hands.

"I've gone daft"

"You've always been daft." Your head shoots up to see Royce standing over you.

"May I not have a moment where a man doesn't just sprout from the ground unannounced!"

He looks at you quizzically but just shrugs it off. "I wanted to see you on this your last day of being unwed"

"That is most kind, brother, but at this moment, I would like to be alone with my thoughts"

"I will be leaving quickly after the wedding. I really would like to spend some time with you. I do not know when I shall see you again"

You feel a pang of sadness in your chest. Once Royce leaves, it will just be you and the Targaryens. You'll be a little storm surrounded by dragons.

You spend the entire afternoon with Royce. Instead of talking about your upcoming marriage, you choose to reminisce about your shared childhood at storms end. How you used to sneak out to watch Royce's sword training lessons or how you used to steal Cassandra's hairbrushes and hide them throughout the castle just so you could watch her and her serving girls as they looked for them frantically. The nights when there would be a particularly strong storm outside you and your siblings would sit together and watch strikes of lightning cross the sky and enjoy just being in eachothers presence without having to say a word. The memories fill you with joy as well as grief.

You never realized how important these moments were when you were in them. But now that they are just memories and you know you won't be making any more memories like this, a feeling of finality settles over you.

You have supper in your chambers, just Royce and you, and once he leaves and your chamber maid helps you out of your dress and into sleep clothes you get in bed and lay down staring at the canopy above you.

Everything changes tomorrow. You leave house Baratheon the only thing you have ever known, and join house Targaryen. Royce will leave, and it will not just be you and your new family. Your new husband

You fought with yourself all night, willing to sleep to come, and when it finally did, it felt like simply a blink of the eye before you were being woken up, 3 chamber maids bustling about your chamber.

"Good, Morn, my lady." Amber greets you delicately. "We have a bath prepared for you"

"What of breaking fast?" You groggily grumble, trying to blink the sleep from your eyes.

"After the bath, my lady.... lots to do today. " Amber stands beside the bed hands clasped in front of her as she waits for you to get out of bed.

"Yes, ok, you are right." You sit up and look around your chamber. There are 2 more chamber maids assisting amber with filling the tub. They have the tub filled and seem to just be waiting for you.

You slide your feet off the side of the bed, and they hit the cold floor. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, your stomach a mix of knots and nervous queasyness.

You stand up and head over to the tub. You put one finger in the water. It is warm and inviting but you hesitate. Completing this bath is one step closer to the Sept. Every single thing you do today is one step closer to that damned Sept.

Your legs begin to wobble a bit beneath you.

"My lady?" Amber asks while looking at you with a concerned gaze.

"Let's get this over with" you strip from your night clothes and sink into the warm water and the three maids surround you a maid on each side scrubbing your body while amber is washing your hair.

It's all so dehumanizing. Being scrubbed and polished. Like some kind of jewel or prize for your new husband. You stare blankly ahead as the maids do their duty lost in your thoughts.

When your bath is complete, you are dried off and changed into a very basic gown. No doubt so you can have your morning meal before the real poking and prodding begins.

You try to eat but end up mostly just pushing food around your plate. Once you finally admit defeat and accept the fact that you are not going to get much more down besides a lone strawberry and a few grapes the real preening is ready to begin.

First Amber combs and braids your hair. A beautiful design of twisted braids accented by little white flowers she placed along the crown of your head.

Before you even have time to marvel at the beauty of it, you are dragged off to be fitted into your wedding gown one final time.

As the soft fabric of the dress sails across your skin, it suddenly feels suffocating, stifling. You start to push at the fabric, trying to get it off.

"My lady?" Amber asks concerned

"I ... I can't wear this.... I can't do this!" You start pushing on the fabric more forcefully desperate to remove the garment.

"My lady we haven't much time left-" Amber is cut off by your screams

"You think I'm unaware of how little time is left?" You bark at her, shoving the fabric off of your arms, watching as the dress pools around your feet.

Your breathing is fast and your head is spinning.

"I'll get the dowager queen" one of the maids says frantically as she goes to leave the room.

"No!" Amber interrupts. "Get lord Royce"

The other maid nods and leaves the room

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have snapped at you that way," you say, clearly panicking. You look down at the gown.

"I.... I have to get dressed......" Your stomach lurches.

"Let's just take a quick break, my lady," Amber says, gently putting her hand out to you to help you step down from the pedestal you had been placed on.

You nod furiously. "Yes, a break. Yes, " your breathing begins to regulate as you step out of the dress and off the pedestal.

The first maid returns with Royce following closely behind. You look up at Royce eyes wide and burst into tears.

"Everyone out," he orders, and the maids all scurry from the room.

"Little storm," he says while walking over to you

"I can't, Royce. I can not do this"

He grabs you by the shoulders looking you directly in your eyes.

"You can do this, and you will. As is your duty to your house and the realm, storms don't bend they don't bow. They persevere"

You leap into Royce's arms "please Royce please don't make me do this"

"It is done, sister, you will be fine. You will be queen, and you will make the realm better for it"

He stays with you for a while gently rocking you while your breathing returns to normal.

"You're right. I can do this. He is but at man at the end of it all"

Royce just smiles at you. "Now I will send the chamber maids back in. Can't have you married in a chemise." He chuckles.

He takes your hand and helps you back up on the pedestal. You step into the dress as he leaves the room and quickly the maids return, and this time, the dress slips on. The corset tightened. The sleeves puffed. The skirts fluffed.

A beautiful sapphire necklace is placed on your chest, and the baratheon maidens cloak is placed upon your shoulders.

The maids leave the room as you stare at yourself in the long mirror.

Who is this woman? Certainly, isn't me. You run your fingers over the sapphire that sits on your chest. Such an odd choice. You would have thought of a ruby or even an emerald.

When the dowager queen enters to do a final check and approval of your appearance, you don't feel as scared or nervous as you did at the start of this day.

This is my duty, and I will complete my duty with dignity and poise.

You are then led through the corridors of the castle. A few maids accompany you. One holding your train the other your hand to keep you steady on your feet as you enter the courtyard.

There in the courtyard stands Royce in some of his finest clothes next to a carriage with the door open. The carriage that will bring you to the Sept. Your last carriage ride as an unwed maiden.

You take a deep breath and walk towards Royce head held high. As he takes your hand and helps you into the carriage. He then follows you in and closes the door behind you.

"You ready?" He asks

"Actually,... I think I am"

Part 4

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lady-ashfade · 1 year

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Blind Innocences

Dark!Yandere!Aemond targaryen x innocent!fem!reader.

Plot: This is a smal drabble of dark yandere aemond.

Notes: This is really short.

Warnings: Blood, death, yandere tendencies, dark themes. Bad writing.

You had always been blind to what happened around you and no matter what you always tried to see the light. Trusting the gods to do as they wished and maybe everything will turn out like it’s supposed to. Your mother was always a fond follower of the faith and you liked to do the same.

But you were different then the rest at court, you took more similarity to the princess with your odd ways and never seemed to catch on fast. Though everyone treated you kindly just as you did them, they looked down on you for being to naïve. Reading and taking walks is more your forte, like the gardens and the flowered there or taking dancing lessons.

Your family, more like your father, was a loyal servant to the king and he had a high place in court. Your house was a great one so, no one dared to say anything disrespectful other then whispers late at night.

“A pretty little thing.”

Aemond always watched you in his free time or maybe accompanying you on your walks and adventures. Someone so sweet and kind didn’t need to be in this world unprotected so he took it as his role. Ever since he laid is eye upon you everything in his mind spoke of you. He thought of you every second like it hurt his very soul to be away from you.

He swore and oath to himself to keep you safe and watch over you. He fell in love with you and his little crush turned into obsession. It was unhealthy the way he thought of you and anyone around you. Always willing to kill anyone who looked at you the wrong way because you belonged to only him.

But you wish you could have seen the signs giving to you.

A sob left your lips while your body was sitting on the floor. The feeling in your stomach was aching and moving around ready to empty everything out of itself. Blood. Blood was everywhere and you couldn’t stand the sight of it.

“My dear there is no need to cry.” His lips so close to your ear while he was right beside you. Aemond had killed a man in your name and decided to show you his devotion and why you’ll always be protected with him. You didn’t even know the man that was lifeless in front of you but you couldn’t help but cry.

Had aemond always been a monster? Everything you heard about him was true? He never seemed cold or terrifying with you but now…you saw it all. His soul was black and ruthless in the name of love.

“Aemond, I did not wish for anyone to die.” You almost couldn’t speak and he just smiled and wrapped his arms around you. As he touched you, you felt disgusting and dirty. You wanted to push him away and run out the door but you had no courage. Your mind came to a realization as his lips kissed behind you ear.

“That’s why you are so beautiful. There are things to be done in this world and you don’t have what it takes to survive. But now you have me and I plan to take care of my wife.”

He would never let you go.

#yandere house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #yandere house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #yandere aemond targaryen #yandere aemond targaryen x reader #Aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 7 months

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something for the knight!price x princess!reader that I had to write before I went to bed

How could he do this to you? Were you not important enough to be informed by him personally or did you have to be told by every servant you had come across that the knights were leaving today?

You stomped through the courtyard of the castle, unable to keep yourself as composed as you should've. You weren't sure why you were angry, this wasn't uncommon, in fact the knights were more than often gone from the kingdom than they were at the castle and yet you couldn't help but feel hurt.

It was because you would be stuck at the castle, having no one to escort you anywhere when the knights were gone, leaving you in a horrible state of boredom.

You had the right to know you were going to be left alone and that had to be the only reason why you were so angry.

"You were going to leave without saying anything to me." You snapped when you found him, Sir Price, captain of the knights of the royal family, getting his horse ready in the stables.

"I didn't think it mattered, your highness." Price glanced at you with his usual scowl, the one he always had on his face when he looked at you. "I thought you would've loved to see me leave."

"Of course I am happy but I have a right to be told when my bodyguard is leaving."

Price rolled his eyes and you scoffed. He continued to pack his things away on his horse without looking at you, which made you want to stomp your foot on the ground.

"What am I supposed to do while you're gone?" You wondered and he shrugged.

"What you do everyday, your highness," He looked back at you with a smug smile. "Nothing."

"Oh, funny."

You crossed your arms and watched as he finished packing everything away onto his horse.

A pit fell into your stomach as you watched him ready his horse. He was leaving and you should be happy about it. You should be happy that he was no longer breathing down your neck and watching your every move. You'd have little freedom, unable to go where you pleased but at least you wouldn't have to deal with his snarky comments or jokes.

Yet you wondered if maybe this would be the last time you'd ever get to see him. Maybe this would be the last time you'd ever hear his gruff voice or see his beautiful blue eyes.

You detested him and yet the thought of never seeing him again made your stomach turn.

"You will come back." You demanded and when he didn't say anything you balled your hands into fists. "Tell me you will come back."

Price looked at you with slight confusion. His eyes bounced around your face and you watched the way they softened, the crease in his brow disappearing while he gripped the reins tightly.

He stared at you in silence for a long moment and his breathing became heavier.

Your mouth felt dry under his intense gaze and you felt the need to look away from him as heat washed over you. It was too much and you clasped your hand in front of you as you swallowed hard.

"If you don't, I think I'll be stuck inside the castle forever." You told him weakly.

When you glanced back at him, he sucked in his lips and averted his gaze from you. You watched he rubbed his chin before he nodded.

"I'll come back to you."

Your breath hitched in your throat.

To you...

Oh.

You didn't have faith in your voice so you only nodded. You watched as he wrapped the reins around his hand and his face fell back into that scowl you had grown accustomed to.

"Now, if your highness allows it, I must be going." Price gave you a look and you rolled your eyes.

"Go." You dismissed him with a wave.

Price bowed his head and turned, waking away with his horse in tow. He didn't look back at you, even when you followed him from behind at a distance.

You watched him mount his horse and join the other knights who were waiting for him, unable to take your eyes off him as the pit in your stomach grew larger. You weren't sure how long he'd be gone for, but you hope it wouldn't be a year or longer.

You're not sure if you'd survive.

As the knights rode towards the front gates, Price turned back and saw you. He didn't wave or indicate that he saw you, though he knew you saw him look back when you raised a hand to wave.

Oh, how you hate one another.

A/N: short makes no sense but here

#captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #price x reader #price x you #captain john price #knight!price #princess!reader #knight au #princess au #au

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lilibethwrites · 2 years

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Growing Pains

Aemond Targaryen and Y/N ‘Velaryon’ grew up together. They played and stumbled and fell in the halls and empty chambers of Red Keep, retreated to study tomes under the God’s Tree in the courtyard, and took turns distracting the cooks as their pockets pulled at the seams with the stolen lemon cakes. As Y/N and Aemond’s mothers drifted apart, the young prince and princess grew closer—much closer than either of them thought was possible.

This is a slow-burn, multi-chapter fic that will be (heavily) canon divergent at times. Both Aemond and Y/N are 18+.

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 (Finale)

Warnings: None for this chapter

Word count: 2180

A.N: This was in the works for a while, but only as a vague idea. Aemond being a total diva and enamouring everyone pulled it out of the drafts and put it together at lightning speed.

“Mother, please. This is not necessary,” Y/N stood still in front of a polished mirror as her soft protest fell on deaf ears. Behind her, Rhaenyra Targaryen held a brush gilded with delicate, gold dragons, and the soft bristles glided through silky white hair.

Rhaenyra would never admit it to anyone but herself in the safe retreat of her mind that half the tears she had wept the night Y/N was born were because she was blessed with a head full of white hair like a true Targaryen and Velaryon. Rhaenyra was relieved. She was relieved that at least one of her children would be spared the cruel jabs and accusations wherever she went. True, their words couldn’t be called accusations if they had truth to them, and what set Y/N apart from her older brothers was not blood, for they shared the same father, but a bit of luck or perhaps an intervention from the old Gods or the new. But the specifics eluded Rhaenyra, and no one needed to know any further.

Y/N had servants doting her from the moment she took her first breath—and not only because they had to, but because she was, not unlike her mother, a delight to be around—and yet for the ten and eight years she’s been alive, her hair was gently brushed and braided by her mother. Despite the fact that Y/N loved nothing more than to run around and come back to her chambers come afternoon with scrapes and dirt across her face and her hair a dishevelled disaster, Rhaenyra carefully brushed and braided her hair unceasingly, morning after morning.

So, a dismissive—loving, but dismissive nevertheless—hum was all Y/N got out of Rhaenyra.

“Two or one? Perhaps one over, and one under?”

“Only one, please. Leave the rest as is, I’m to take Tessarion out of the pit soon.”

Rhaenyra, in curiosity, cocked her head to the side to catch Y/N’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror. Meanwhile, her deft fingers dove in and out of strands of white hair, creating a tight, single braid that would soon twirl into a simple bun with a few pins.

“Have I not told you? Apologies. She hasn’t flown in days, and the weather seems well. It would do her good to—”

“Flying alone, are you?”

“No,” Y/N’s voice came out weak. A stronger “no” soon followed. “Vhagar is coming, too.”

“You mean Aemond,” Rhaenyra’s shapely brows furrowed into a disapproving frown.

It didn’t take a Sister of the Faith or the Spymaster of the court to know that Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent weren’t what they once were. A collateral of their bitter falling out was her somewhat sudden disapproval of how much time Y/N had spent with Aemond. “That boy’s nothing but bad influence,” she’d complain over dinner. Daemon would hum in agreement, though the agreement, Y/N knew, did not come from his heart. Y/N always had her suspicion that Daemon and Aemond had mutual respect, and perhaps a slight hint of admiration for one another. Though both were too proud to ever be anything other than reverential to one another whenever they crossed paths. Even so, Daemon saw Y/N with Aemond several times, and reassured Rhaenyra that she only spent time with the servant girls, helping them fold heavy tapestries all day long.

Y/N however, felt differently. Despite her childish cruelty towards Aemond before he’d claimed Vhagar for himself, he was nothing but sweet and kind to her. She was in on cruel pranks played on him, parading around a much smaller Tessarion whilst asking him why did he not have a dragon, and could he perhaps be a bastard himself since his egg hadn’t hatched.

“You know, Tessarion was a goddess in old Valyria. Mother helped me choose a name for my dragon. From the tomes of our Maester. When will you get a dragon? You’re older than me. Besides, everyone else has one. Except for you,” Y/N once pressed Aemond as a child, instigated and encouraged by her brothers and Aemond’s.

“Perhaps never,” Aemond responded quietly, unbeknownst to both himself and Y/N that things would change quite soon.

And change they did. Aemond claimed the biggest dragon in the known realm. He changed, too. He hopped off from his first flight as a man: colder, calmer, more distant and cruel. Yet he always reserved a warmer, softer place in his frozen heart for Y/N.

Aemond never regarded himself handsome, and he was too smart to fool himself with Alicent’s excuses as to why young ladies around Red Keep avoided her. But not Y/N. Never Y/N. She beamed up whenever they sat across from each other at the breakfast tables and dinner feasts. Though their games changed, the time they spent together never lessened. She seemed almost *happy* to see him, but Aemond took great care to remind himself it was a kind, friendly gesture from a well-behaved lady. Though he couldn’t dare say it out loud unless he risked a playful slap to his broad shoulder with a feigned-stern warning that Y/N was not a lady.

“By the Gods! I’m NOT a lady. I’ll wear an armour, like you. Don’t laugh. You will see. I will never get married. I won’t fall in love. It’s absurd. Mother says she said the same thing once, but she ended up fighting in the same battlefield all women do,” Y/N stomped her feet to the pit just last week with Aemond following behind with a lopsided smile.

“And what battlefield is that, my not-a-lady?”

“The birthing bed, of course! It’s absurd. Truly. It’s a horror! I’m never falling in love.”

Aemond only hummed, nodding as Y/N trailed off, nearing the end of another one of her rants about the perils of ladyhood. Though that time, his face fell. There was a stinging ache inside him, as if Ser Criston finally got him in one of their training sessions. Why did it matter if Y/N disavowed love? So what if she was sworn off marriage? Didn’t he do the very same as he stared at the grotesque scar that ran across his face? Besides, if she were to fall in love, it would be with a handsome and flirty Lannister, or a ravishing Velaryon who would whisper promises in her ear that he’d sail her across the whole realm, showing her palaces and gardens from the comfort of her own ship. Y/N grew into an attractive lady, and while Aemond himself grew taller and muscular, he was not fortunate enough to grow another eye in place of the one he lost. Though the trade was far from fair, sometimes a certain thought snuck into his mind, especially when he was with Y/N: he would trade Vhagar back for his eye, and then, perhaps Y/N would see him differently. It was a silly thought, and he chased it off as soon as it came, but by the Gods it was persistent.

“Good morning,” Y/N squinted an eye to stare up at the man with his back to her. She needn’t see his face to know her dragon-riding partner. Not because almost all her waking thoughts were plagued, in one way or the other, with him—it was indecent and quite frankly went against what she’d promised herself—Gods, no! But, well, he was tall and stood a certain way and shifted his weight from one foot to the other a certain way and his hair blew in the tender morning breeze a certain way and that breeze carried a certain scent that Y/N could distinguish from a feast hall full of smells—only because they grew up together. Perhaps Maester was right and reading too many romances was indeed perilous for a fresh mind like hers.

“Morning? Is it not past noon?”

“No. Perhaps you have suffered a blow to your head.”

Aemond smiled first. He always let Y/N win their playful bickering.

A gentle tap on his arm signalled him to follow along, though with his long legs he could’ve easily caught up with no warnings. His arms were folded behind him. Perhaps it was a feeble attempt at ensuring that his hands didn’t defy his mind and reach for Y/N’s, or perhaps, they were just comfortable like that.

“Are you excited?” Y/N broke the silence, stepping closer to Aemond, who always had to arch his back or crane his neck to meet her height. It amused him how petite she was in comparison. It reminded him of the times he carried her behind his back, with her legs locked around his waist and her arms almost suffocating him with how tight she’d clutched his neck from behind.

“What for?”

“The wedding, of course. Gods, you behave as if Aemon is not your brother sometimes!”

“Can you blame me?”

“No…” Y/N trailed off. She found that she couldn’t blame him for much, but perhaps for coming into her mind and filling her ears each time a suitor introduced himself to her, or when the Maester bored her to death with another history lesson.

“Well, are you?”

“No. I suppose not. Frankly, I’m not certain why I even asked,” Y/N chuckled. She could be herself the most and speak with no reservations or designations when she was around Aemond. The idea that he would soon follow after Aegon and marry a woman infuriated her. They could no longer spend as much time together as they could now, and they couldn’t be as close as they were either. The grass-green dragon of jealousy got the better of her. Oh, how she wished he’d let his arms idle by his side as he usually did. She would take his arm and tell him if she absolutely had to marry someone, she’d choose him, and she wouldn’t hate the notion of giving him a baby or two who would look exactly half like him and half like her. And despite telling herself this exact tale almost every day, she never quite gathered enough confidence and courage to do such a thing.

So instead Y/N flew alongside Aemond as usual. He showed off and she admired whenever she thought he didn’t look. High up above the clouds, Y/N thought about never landing down again. She fantasized about taking off with Aemond. She had once read in a tome about how the old Valyrians got married, and the words turned into pictures in her mind as she watched Vhagar glide through a flock of birds. The blood was first drawn from a palm she thought about pressing against hers whenever sleep eluded her. Then, the sharp Dragonglass cut hers, and the flow of their blood united in a mysterious Valyrian magic. Then—then, Aemond pulled Y/N out of her sweet fantasy and back to the clouds they were flying above.

“It’s getting late. Your mother might worry.”

“Or perhaps you’ve had enough of my company? Would you rather be elsewhere?”

The smile faded from Y/N’s face as the silence went on. It was a “yes”, then? Aemond did want to be elsewhere, perhaps with someone else, and she would find out through a silly tease.

“No. But I would rather you were not in trouble on my account.”

The delayed, stoic answer didn’t do much to comfort Y/N. So, that’s what he would come up with as an excuse to cut our time short? Might as well admit that you would rather be anywhere but here, why won’t you, Aemond?

“Actually, yes. We should land. I forgot I have a suitor coming all the way from the Eyrie.” That was a lie, and an immature one at that, but Aemond didn’t need to know.

He looked back over his shoulder. The hiss laced with disappointment and fury was swallowed up by the wind raised by Vhagar’s wings.

Back at the Pit, Aemond was courteous as always, hopping off Vhagar first to hold his hand out to Y/N, helping her off her dragon. Though this time, his hand didn’t reach for her waist to aid her in her small jump, and the lack of his touch through his gloves and her heavy brocade riding coat burned her flesh from the inside out like scorching iron. His face was turned to the side, his hands idle with the saddle on Vhagar as Y/N idled, praying to all the Gods she knew to pry a word of assurance out of Aemond’s mouth. A sweet, warm confirmation that they are still—well, friends. Yet it never came. A quiet, almost distant “Be well, princess,” was all that she got and a sharp piece of Dragonglass cut her open from neck to the heart. Far more painful and deadlier than an open palm, and no matching cut to bind their lives together, either. Perhaps the idea of marrying the very next lord that asked for her hand and getting away from King’s Landing—a place that once held much hope and happiness but now nothing but anguish—once and for all wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #hotd

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queenquinzel715 · 7 months

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3.1 Halforc Rothwell

Wrd count 2,469

Princess (Y/n) P.O.V.

When I turned fourteen I knew things were going to change in the worst possible way. I saw the royal doctors leaving my mother's chambers, and her ladies in waiting looking down so upset. I had just turned sixteen when I got woken by my mother's closest lady in waiting telling me to come quickly. I sat with my mother for an hour when she finally let go. My father stood by the door silently crying to himself. They did actually love each other.

That night my life became hectic. I took over Queen duties for the kingdom. Which is no problem, however my father's advisors are like the devil in his ear. My father is so poor minded that the lies they tell him he believes them. I do feel bad for my father. He was just a guard when he and my mother, the princess, fell for each other. He does care for our people, he just doesn't understand how to communicate with them, so he leaves it to William. William is the head guard that is supposed to help my people when they need it, but he's just a tyrant.

Like today, William and Henry, the main advisor, are telling my father that the creatures that are coming to do trade are tricking my father. They are telling him that these creatures are raiding savages. I've heard enough from these two.

"Alright that's enough. What are your sources for all this?" I stop them just as they walk to the maps to map out an attack on the incoming ships. "My sources tell me the reason for any attacks was that the Tearings Kingdom enslaved them." I look at my father's indecisive face.

"I have insiders in the Silentdew Kingdom, Sire." Henry boosts with a mocking smile.

"I don't remember a ship leaving for that long of a voyage, so when was this?"

I'm completely ignored.

"These creatures are here simply for land. I myself have sent letters with their King, so I will not have these stories to be spread. If no problems are caused then no problems will occur. They should be docking in just three days, and we must greet them accordingly." My father takes over. He turns to me. "(Y/n) I need you to be there for their reassurance that we give faith into our new arrangements." I give my father a reassuring smile.

"I was hoping to meet them at dinner." I try to sound proper, not too obvious.

"I know, I know. I just need them to know even with your own… legacy, we are here united for good reasons." I laugh at his pausing for the right words.

What he had difficulty with is my true title. Queen General (full name). At fourteen my mother insisted my father train me in some sort of defense. What she didn't expect was for me to get completely infatuated with fighting, and well I became General after my eighteenth birthday. No one argued the title placement, because they knew I actually worked for it. Sadly I had to give that title to William last year when I turned twenty. My father told me it was time for me to settle down, so he's been finding suitors for me. Most of them did seem good on paper, so I don't fault my father on that point. It's just when they open their mouths nothing intelligent comes out just pompous showboating, or their egos get destroyed from my legacy. At least my father doesn't fight me when I tell him I won't marry them.

Besides, my biggest problem is dealing with an overly cocky William. He's been following me around assuming I'm turning the suitors away for him, because we've known each other since childhood. Granted as a child he was better to tolerate. Over the years I've learned just the type of man he's become, and the amount of female servants I've helped from his whole group. My mother taught me very early that I can't stop men like that, so that's why the only females that work in my castle are my own close ladies. I have made an example of what happens when I catch you in certain acts which helped the women in the town as well. Sadly mother was right. That's why I pray to her that I'm right with these creatures that come here, they docked yesterday. Tomorrow I will actually meet their leader, and have dinner.

This morning I'm woken up by my ladies to get ready for the creature's arrival. They should be here by midday, and by then I should have my nerves somewhat controlled. Which doesn't seem fruitful when the laces of my dress are being pulled back to cut my breathing off. I wasn't used to these formal dresses, and hair styling anymore. I mostly stayed in work dresses, and kept my hair braided to the side. I look like my mother with my hair like this, and she'd love this.

I walked down the main steps as the gates opened for three mountainous horses carrying orcs. I come to a stop in the only open place next to my father. Of course it's next to William. I keep myself looking at the gorgeous horses, but I'm stuck on the short haired one with a scruff-like beard. His yellow eyes scan the crowd, they seem to shine with curiosity as he sees something new.

"I like your hair this way, Princess." William takes me away from the orc. "I wanted to surprise you, but Friday I'm telling your father about us." I feel his hand move along my arm. "I can't let you keep this charade of the suitors." The entire feeling from him makes me nervous, causing me to move away immediately.

I hear him chuckling as I step to my father as he steps closer with the orcs following. Once I take a deep breath I realize I didn't hold my composure when my face relaxes. My father introduces me to Lord Rothwell and his guards. I look up at him in amazement as I outstretch my hand.

"Welcome Sir Rothwell." I offer him my hand.

"I'm very happy to be here, My Lady." His smile brings his tusk to a better view as he brings my hand to meet his lips, letting me feel just how smooth his tusks are.

Throughout the day, we are in the meeting hall going over the maps showing them their lands, and discussing laws. I was surprised when we have similar laws, granted they had more for the different creatures, which they gave us their law books.

Once dinner is served, it's like we have all known each other for years with the laughter coming from the dining hall. I sit left of my father as Rothwell sits across from me. I could listen to him talk about his people all night. He talks with such passion, the way his eyes light up when he speaks of certain people, well creatures.

"I'm glad we are on the same page about this settlement." I'm father raises his cup to cheer.

"Yes, I like how we are using the river as a boundary. It is very clever. That way no one can say they don't know where they are going." He cheers with my father.

"That was (y/n)'s idea. I swear if you spend a day with her you'd be amazed with what she comes up with." Father laughs as he shakes my shoulder making my food fall off my spoon.

"I'd love to spend a day with you." Rothwell looks me in the eyes as he says this, his voice makes my ankles lock together on their own.

"Sir Rothwell, do you hope this is a permanent settlement or just for the resources?" I generally want to know for my own knowledge and my kingdom's.

"Completely permanent, Princess." He smirks once responded.

My father grabs Rothwell's attention for some battle stories, but William decides now will be best to slide into the seat next to mine. I roll my eyes at his drunken smile.

"Father?" I try to properly get his attention.

"I was thinking about sunset for our ceremony." William begins. "The windows in the church shine perfectly at that time." He reaches for my piece of hair, but I move back.

I look back to my father to see him still talking, but Rothwell is eyeing William with hard eyes. William leans closer to continue his wedding talk, trying to touch me, making me grip my eating knife. He goes to reach for me again, and I snap. I push him back with my knife pointed at his lower rib. He drops his cup, leaving the wine to puddle the floor, and raises his hands. I slightly lean forward with my eyes locked on his terror filled ones.

"I've tolerated you all day, with your wedding bullshit talk, and you trying to touch me." He goes to speak, but me pushing the knife slightly further makes him stop. "If you so much as think of coming near me in the next couple of days. I swear the moment my eyes land on you I will cut your ribs out right there. Am I understood?" I sternly finish with a last push of the knife.

"Yes, Princess. I'm terribly sorry I won't bother you again." He rushes out his apologies as he nods quickly.

I raise my knife to the side for him to shakily run to the doors of the dining hall. Everyone is still silent as I turn back to my food. As I bite into my food I look up to Rothwell slightly biting his lower lip. I can feel my neck up to my face get hot as I look back down to my plate. Everyone starts to mumble about me as they get back to dinner.

"Daughter, must you embarrass the poor boy." Father laughs as he fills my cup with wine.

"Yes I must. Animals like him don't listen to normal talk, so I must get straight to the point." I take a big gulp of my wine as I stand. "Well goodnight father, enjoy your night." I kiss my father on the forehead. "Please don't get him completely gone. I'd like him to be somewhat functional." I laugh with Rothwell as the others raise their cups to me.

I walk to my chambers with an orc on my mind, and how my mother would be shocked that this is who I'm thinking about. Once in my chambers I change into my night dress getting comfortable as the night bonfire is lit in town Square. I lean against the balcony door crossing my arms at William's nonsense. I'm brought out of my thoughts as a crowd forms, and William steps through along with Rothwell. I could finally see that Rothwell is three feet taller than William, and is much bigger as well. The small group that came with Rothwell cheers for Rothwell as the fight starts. I watch as Rothwell practically throws William like a child around the circle. William slides along the ground making me laugh, and Rothwell raises his arms as he roars in celebration with his men. One of the creature men point up toward me, making him look up at me. I give him a sarcastic clap, but inside I want to scream for him. His roar was much louder as his men crowd him like he won something. William steps back to him in a drunken like sway, maybe it's a painful sway. Rothwell swats the air telling him he's done, but William says something that's obviously antagonizing. Rothwell actually throws him this time, but I feel that still wasn't his full strength. I watch William use his horse to stand. Rothwell walks away with his group of men as my men get back to work on the weapons. William however takes his sword from the sheath he keeps on his horse, and runs toward Rothwell with the sword high in the air. I grab a book that I left on the balcony, and throw it at Rothwell. It hits one of his men, making him turn to me. I just point at William. I quickly run down the stairs as the yelling echoes off the walls. They grow louder as I get to the Town Square. I signal to the cannon gunners to shoot a cannon. My men stop, and stand to attention. The creatures slowly stand to their feet. I step calmly through the sea of men to the ones that are still gripping onto each other. I take the sword of one of the closest men.

"Enough!" I use the sword to push William back.

Once he sees it's me he falls to his knees.

"Meeting hall, NOW!" My voice booms off the walls.

As I follow the two men into the hall my father is standing there with an angry expression. As I walk around them I throw the sword into a table. I look at the marks William somehow got on Rothwell with worry, but when I look at how William looks I couldn't hold my smirk.

"I don't mind when you men fight for show or for your own amusement. However I will not tolerate you having war IN THE MIDDLE OF MY KINGDOM!" My father yells out like he never has before. "Not only did you want to spar with an orc, you tried to strike an unarmed man in the back." My father speaks in shame at William. "Lets not begin to discuss what happened at dinner with my daughter." He turns to me. "Why was he threatened anyway?"

"Well throughout the day he has tried grabbing me, telling me that I am to marry him, and how the suitors I've declined were for his benefit." I tell my father honestly.

While I explain to my father Rothwell snaps his head to William like he actually wants to kill him.

"Guards!" Father suddenly yells, making me jump in surprise. "Lock William in the tunnels until I can deal with him in the morning." William is pleading as he is being pulled out once he's gone father sits with a deep sigh. "I should've done that years ago." He looks up at me as he rests his head on his fingertips looking between me and Rothwell. "Hmm well. Should we start the courting process?" He asks Rothwell with a no tolerance voice.

"Yes." Is all Rothwell says with a last look at me before storming out.

"Courting process?" I question my father.

He just dismisses me to bed, and tells me to enjoy the gifts.

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evermore-grimoire · 1 year

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The Evermore Grimoire: Princesses

Cinderella was born to wealthy, unnamed parents who treated their daughter with great love. The family resided in a French château, just beyond a small but powerful kingdom. Sometime during her childhood, Cinderella's mother tragically passed away, and as a result of believing his daughter needed a mother figure in her life, Cinderella's father remarried a woman named Lady Tremaine, who notably had two daughters of her own, both around Cinderella's age called Anastasia and Drizella. After the death of her father, Cinderella was under the control of Lady Tremaine, whose true colors finally surfaced, showing a cruel and cold-hearted woman. Her selfishness and vanity destroyed both the family fortune and left the once beautiful château in a state of disrepair. While pampering her own two daughters and spoiling them rotten, she raised Cinderella in abuse and virtual slavery. This was a result of being wickedly jealous of the young girl's natural beauty and charm, which she and her own daughters all lacked. Despite the cruelty of her jealous stepfamily, Cinderella remained kind, spirited, and internally beautiful. Her faith and everlasting optimism manifested itself into a Fairy Godmother, whose magic served as a catalyst for Cinderella's ascent from servant to princess.

artwork by Dims Draw

#DisneyEdit #DisneyFeverDaily #FantasyEdit #CinderellaEdit #Cinderella #Princesses #My Edit

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waataah · 4 months

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shadowheart my beloved<3

This one is gonna be short since it's a slight nsfw.

✧ shadowheart x goddess fem!reader ✧

｡･ﾟﾟ･ (slight nsfw, fem!reader, 18+ only, mdni, 3rd pov) ･ﾟﾟ･｡

content/cw: slight nsfw, nsfw, heavy-petting, light-petting, girlxgirl, kissing, breast play, praise, worship, and masterbation.

summary: Shadowheart betrays her goddess Shar and replaces her with someone much better. she worships the ground she walks on and will do anything to please her new goddess.

word count: ~about 1000

・❥・Gods Favorite Princess

“Thank you my lady for showing me the truths in this world I had been so blinded from” Shadowheart bowed and kneeled before her new goddess (the goddess of love) eager for her approval.

“Don’t bow to me. All my followers are seen as equals, I ask nothing but to treat others how you wish to be treated” [y/n] smiled kindly at her new follower.

[Y/n] had seen the struggles and turmoil this young elf had to go through to reach a faith worthy of her and her devotion.

“I want nothing in this temple aside from, bliss. This is a place of joy, gratitude, love, hope, and pleasure. Do indulge yourself without any worries”.

Shadowheart was shocked, Shar had never allowed her such freedom let alone even think for herself most of the time. She just had to admire a true goddess that stood before her.

She was strangely attracted to the person before her and [y/n] felt the same.

[Y/n] rose from her spot and went over to Shadowheart who was still knelt on the ground before her new god. The goddess placed her hand gingerly on the half-elf's face.

“You were just a blind little puppy looking for a place to call home, and luckily I saved you from a bad one” [y/n] winked.

Shadowheart felt her heart and mind start to race. [Y/n] looked over the elf's face examining her features and staring deeply into her eyes. They both stared at one another admiring their faithfulness to one another.

“I will be your most loyal servant, tell me what you want and consider it done” she spoke with desperation in her voice, she had put her faith in [y/n] a proper god.

“Well, my beauty I think I would love to have you” [y/n] gave a sly smile at the white-haired beauty and slowly released her chin.

[Y/n] backed away from her devotee and smiled, “but I will not ask for something so valuable, your purity is a great cost that I will allow you to decide for yourself who to give to”.

“All I truly need is your praise and devotion, I ask for nothing more”.

Shadowheart felt her heart rapidly beating and felt a rush of blood go up to her face. The goddess of love wanted her and she felt the same.

“Well my lady, I will give you as I said anything you want” she stood up from the ground ready to offer herself to her new goddess.

[Y/n] smirked and snapped her fingers, they were both now in a bed-room. It was covered with beautiful flowers, silvers, golds and the most lavish items. Only the best for the goddess of love to be offered.

[Y/n] sat on her silk-made bed and patted the bed beside her, “as your new goddess, I don’t wish to take your purity without getting to know you… but I do believe heavy-petting is just another sign of affection” she winked.

Shadowheart blushed at the offer and sat beside her goddess, nerves quickly began to come over her till they were interrupted by the soft lips of her new light.

The goddess placed her hand on Shadowheart's hip and the other on her cheek bringing her into a deep kiss. She trailed her hand from her hip up her torso reaching for the elf's breast. Shadowheart let out a soft moan, into the kiss causing a small vibration through their lips. [Y/n] moved her other hand over the other breast and messaged them tenderly. Shadowheart pulled away from the kiss and licked her lips at the new flavor of the woman before her.

“You are beautiful like a princess, but fierce like a brave warrior” [y/n] said gently against the elf’s hand as she kissed it.

The white-haired woman quickly retreated her hand and took her goddess hands off her breast, “Oh my lady, I can’t be the one to get all this wondrous treatment, may I?”.

[y/n] nodded in response, “Please do” permitting her to touch the sacred body of hers. Shadowheart grabbed the hands of her mistresses and placed gentle kisses up her hand and palm praising her body with her lips. [y/n] watched the other worship her body as she started to lean forward and place kisses on the goddess's exposed shoulder and neck. Shadowheart gently placed her hands on [y/n]’s thighs, she slowly lowered herself onto the bed to place small kisses on the goddess's thighs. The god's thighs trembled with excitement, she could feel her core wetten in excitement.

“My lovely princess Shadowheart, you do know how to make a goddess melt in your touch”.

“I know” she laughed softly as her hands gently pressed against the damp fabric between the god's legs.

[y/n] moaned from the slight touch and looked down at the elf between her legs. Shadowheart continued to leave sweet kisses as she moved her fingers against the fabric. The pleasant sound of the goddess echoed throughout the room, making Shadowheart's chest burst with pride.

Shadowhearts movements quickened making the goddess's moans become louder with each stroke.

The goddess felt the pressure between the fabric and her fingers and wished the fabric would disappear but would be content with this for now she was not a selfish god after all. She panted softly as she felt her high coming and her stomach began to coil. Shadowheart leaned up and kissed the other while her fingers kept at work. [y/n] moaned into the kiss and grabbed at the elfs hand as she felt her body shake with ecstasy. She whimpered into the kiss and felt her breath get heavy as Shadowhearts fingers slowed down at the gods whimpering.

The twos lips parted from one another and they gently leaned their foreheads against one another, “gods you are good at that…”.

“Just wait till we get to know one another my lady [y/n]~”.

“I will be sure to take you up on that offer, from now on you shall be my favorite princess”.

#bg3 #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheart #bg3smut #smut #xreader #bg3 x reader #fem reader #baldurs gate

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cvlutos · 1 year

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OUR FAIRYTALE ENDING

✡︎ May.09.2023 | 2.3K| Commissioned by @starstruckcaptain

✡︎ Yandere! Kalim A. | Fem!Reader

✡︎ Synopsis: It started with a simple fairy tale, the devolved into a obbesassion, the became an illness. One that has no true cure.

“A true love kiss that seals is binding. Ties to lovers together. No matter the odds.”

— Childhood Fairy Tale

The thick pages of the large hard-covered book are heavy in his small hands, placed heavily in his lap, as his wide garnet red eyes dart quickly across the old, yellowed pages, reading the old fading ink. He hears the gentle rustling of wind that dances through wooden wind chimes, creating gentle clattering as he focuses on the pages. Lips a gap in utter awe with the old fairy tale.

The young heir is tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the ancient library, sitting crisscross beneath a dust-covered wooden desk, using a long wax candle, placed upon a golden hand-held candlestick, using the gentle orange flame to light the small corner of where he sat and give him the ability to see. Still dressed in his silk pajamas and barefoot as he sits upon the plush velvet cushion, one that he dragged from his bedroom with the help of his faithful servant and closest friend, Jamil Viper, who has currently disappeared somewhere in the library, though Kalim, knows he’s always near.

He always is.

Yet that isn't what the young heir cares for, not at this moment. He wants to fall in love like the prince in his story does. Who is so kind and sweet, who gives to the poor, who sees the good in everyone. The prince in his tale showers his love in gold and jewels, and dances within sunlit days and cool moonlit nights away. Who holds them close and seals their love with a kiss. Yes, this is what he desires more than anything.

To get married to his own love. To his princess.

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

“Shall I have you for all my own! Yes, I shall slay dragons, fight demons, and save you for all you are! Because I love you! And what is stronger than love?"

— Childhood Fairy Tale

“Do you think soulmates exist?”

Kalim walks along the towered wall, arms outstretched as he balances, placing one foot in front of the other, with Jamil by his side, holding the young heir’s belongings as they walk around the large vibrant courtyard, wasting time before Kalim's next school lesson, which is history. One of Kalim's least favorite, since the tutor is quite rude.

The large grassy courtyard is filled with unique plants--ranging from distant flowers, that fill the air with a rich fragrant aroma, and lush green bushes that hid colorful berries, to elegant and giving fruit trees, that Kalim occasionally takes from, filling his stomach with fresh oranges and plums.

“I don't see why they don't exist.” Jamil’s answer is simple, honest—like he hadn't bothered to think about it more than a mere moment, allowing Kalim to indulge in his fantasies, while he focused on making sure Kalim didn't topple off the stone wall and hurt himself. Which he knows Kalim wouldn't care about, wanting to immediately visit the palace doctor, desiring to be spoiled and given a handful of sweet candy for listening so well. Obviously trying to avoid the stern history tutor. While Jamil knows the doctor will send him to be scolded by his parents for being so careless about the young successor's health.

Which is something Jamil would rather avoid.

Charcoal grey eyes occasionally glance over, watching the heir’s feet skip and balance on the wall, occasionally wobbling, which nearly gave the young retainer a heart attack.

“I wonder where my soulmate is! She just has to be thinking about me!”

Not paying attention to Jamil's clear nervousness and annoyance with constantly having to divide his attention, Kalim continues hopping and bounding along the old wall carelessly. White hair shifting in the mild breeze as the loose clothing he wore sways and is pulled by the wind. Earning a delighted laugh from the young successor follows the wind’s pull, carelessly falling off the wall in one fluid motion. Jamil’s face pales as he rushes to the other side, jumping over the fence, still carrying the heavy school bag. Watching Kalim lay on his back, unphased as he lands in plush grass. Staring up at the bright blue sky, arms spread out gaily.

“And when we met Jamil! I'll give her the sweetest kiss! Then we’ll get married!”

Jamil bites his tongue and merely nods in return, gently placing the bag on the ground, taking the moment to sit in the shade of the stone wall, listening to Kalim laugh away. Letting the young heir to the Asim Family have his daydreams. Cause eventually, he will be saddled with reality, a harsh reality.

Even Kalim Al-Asim is not untouchable to the world of arranged marriages.

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

“Even in your faults of delusion. I shall cherish you—clear your mind of horrors and love you eternally.”

— Childhood Fairy Tale

The pen scratches along the paper, held by a shaky hand that moves across the page, quickly and frantically. Barely aware of what he writes, but knowing he has to write down what he remembers of his dream. A dream so vivid that it seemed real—that it was real. His milky white hair was in complete disarray, with drool decorating the side of his lips, and sweat coating his skin. The cool desert air does little to cool him, as the windows remain open, giving a clear view of the bright full moon that barely illuminates his pages. He can barely see, barely make out the words he writes messily, still in a half-sleep daze, but he needs to remember.

It’s late in the night, and he's awake before either Jamil or any of the other numerous servants checked on him, eager to serve every whim and need. While only the two guards were stationed outside his door possibly awake, but quite unaware of the quiet rambles of the heir, who drew a messy portrait of the woman in his dream. He sits upon the plushness of his bed, with a leather-bound journal in his lap, filled with other dreams of this same woman and stories that were written poorly but stories he adores that speak of you and him.

You have filled his life unlike any other.

Kalim dreamed of a pretty woman with pretty eyes. A woman that loved him, that desired him, heart and soul. That threw herself into his arms and held him so desperately. Cupping his face and whispering over and over and over how much she loved him. How she'd wait forever and ever and ever for him. Those dreams would matter less once they met.

The brain is a cruel thing.

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

“If you do not love me, then I accept that your feelings are your own. But I cannot deny mine, my pure feelings of want! I will love you. Forever.”

— Childhood Fairy Tale

There’s slight worry in his ways, a slight obsession that fills Kalim, as he turns woman after woman away, only holding eyes for one and giving no other a chance. Holding out for the woman he loves and loves him in return.

Still, kindness is etched into his being, rejecting each in utter honesty, speaking of why he cannot love them. Each woman leaves with nothing but understanding, that leaves with the feeling of rejection... Dull.

Leaves each to hope and to find love in one who's as devoted as he, as Kalim speaks of nothing but his true love. As his presence alone emits such devotion and passion with great fervor that you would think that his love was real.

That all he speaks was truth. That this mysterious woman was real—and she is. To him.

Jamil is the only one aware of the truth, the only one aware that Kalim lives within his own lies—within his own delusions.

Yet he keeps such thoughts to himself.

Allowing the young heir to ramble on and on, to speak endlessly about his beautiful, enchanting lover, to show sketch after sketch and mourn that he could never recreate her beauty, but once he found her, he would know immediately. Jamil says nothing, merely sits, and watches Kalim flip through his journal, page after page filled with nothing but her, her, her.

A Her without a name.

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

Night Raven College does nothing to curve his growing obsession. To stomp out this flame that burns and festers within his chest.

"I had another dream."

Jamil tries to keep his placated look, only sharing a brief look behind him, watching garnet eyes look utterly lovesick. Remembering not of his outbursts that follow after he awakes from his dreams—dreams that have Kalim waking up screaming—sobbing his eyes out in pain as if he was being stabbed and ripped apart. Screams that frighten the other dormmates, as their housewarden wakes up covered in sweat, tossing off his blankets and pillows in mass hysteria. While others desperately call and usher Jamil into the room. Who forces the others out as he holds Kalim onto the large bed, forcing his body to go limp from exhaustion. Sobs turning into faint mumbles, silently wailing about how badly he needs them, how he could die from the simple pain of being far from them, and how fate keeps them apart.

"It hurts," he cries, it hurts that he can't be with his love. Eyes fluttering close. After so many years, it's so painful to dream. Nights that force Jamil to remain by his side, forced to console his "friend" who doesn't want kind words but merely wants her.

And in the mornings, it is no better.

With Jamil ushered his heir awake, gently shaking his shoulders, waiting for Kalim to open his eyes—to open his eyes to the waking world. Only for him to throw tantrums, sobbing and begging for Jamil to let him go back. To let him her. "Please, let me see her. Please", Kalim sobs, body limp as Jamil practically drags him from bed.

Kalim wants to spend his days in his fantasy only.

His retainer does well to avoid the topics of love and dreaming, doing well to keep Kalim, for the most occupied with anything else. Leaving no time for Kalim to think about her--you--for a moment.

Yet sometimes this obsession seeps through the cracks. Slipping past the several walls Jamil has built to keep him sane.

Kalim's voice is a whisper amongst the sea of people, walking side by side with Jamil, who carries his and the heir's bag with a tepid look, more focused on navigating through the many students and not be late to their next class. Wanting Kalim to do anything but speak about you.

Kalim doesn't notice his friend's disinterest, used to Jamil's silent air, and far too deep in his mind, far too in love with the idea he has built.

He continues talking.

“But this time it wasn't in the courtyard, but the school gardens.” There’s an optimistic tone in his voice, one that makes Jamil sick. He says nothing, as Kalim walks with a certain breeze in his step as he moves, unconcerned by the weird glances he got as the two glid through the crowd, a delighted smile upon his face. Jamil gives a short hum, letting Kalim know he was somewhat listening, which Kalim believed was highly important. Jamil had to listen, and he had to absolutely like his lover, and care for her as his retainer cares for him.

Which is something Jamil has heard numerous times, from long-time friends to distant guests he was sure that Kalim would never see again. And under any other circumstances, Jamil would give a blunt ‘Absolutely. A friend of yours is a dear friend of mine’, with a deep bow, while easily lying through his teeth with a faux sweet tone, something that Kalim would believe without any worry.

Yet this time, Kalim was serious.

Garnet eyes were unmoving, and lips pressed together, sitting more poised like a ruler--like a king that deserved respect. Kalim was not asking, nor making a random comment nor gesture of goodwill. He was demanding that Jamil swear it--swear upon his oath that he made to Kalim since the day he was born. To vow that he would care for his love.

Forcing Jamil to not see him as an overly innocent man who was hopelessly in love, but as the next heir of the Al-Asim Family who had found his future bride. He, whose word is absolute. And Jamil did, pressing his forehead to the cold marble ground, swearing upon his life to care for her. And after a moment, Kalim was satisfied, returning back to his carefree self a moment later.

“Jamil… She said she was here. Waiting for me to find her.”

Kalim stops, the halls clearing slowly. His gaze stares out into the school courtyard below, standing silently in the open stone halls, wind rustling through his hair as he gathers his thoughts before the large open windows. His hand clutches the ends of his shirt with nothing but a grin.

A chill runs along Jamil’s spine, staring at Kalim with unrevealing eyes, lips pressed together as he gives a firm nod. Inching to move as he watches garnet eyes fill with something unlike him while searching his retainer’s before frowning.

“You don't seem happy—”

“I am.” Jamil’s words are quick, watching the dark look unfamiliar look disappear quickly, his smile automatically returns. Unable to hide his happiness nor remain still, he practically lunges onto his closest friend with a tight hug, squeezing tightly.

“You’ll help me find her…” Kalim speaks, but he follows with a gentle sigh and a headshake, “I know you will.” It’s a command. One that isn't forceful, nor threatening, but an expectation.

Jamil is his servant after all.

“Of course, I will.”

#t.manor.horror.stories #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere kalim al asim #yandere kalim x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twst yandere #kalim al asim smut #kalim al asim #kalim x reader #kalim al asim x reader #tw noncon #t.manor.commissions

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ellebakers · 2 months

Text

☆ Fucking Targaryens.

Part two

• Daemon targaryen x (martell) reader.

Warning(s) : angst, mention of sex, language.

You have never been so humiliated in your entire life.

As you returned from the library, a muffled moan caught your attention, you searched for the source of the sound with your eyes, but you couldn't find it, you probably should have left, gone to your room to prepare for the meal in honor of Aegon, but curiosity being stronger than anything, you advancing silently towards the moaning which was becoming louder and louder, you found yourself in front of the half-open door of an old uninhabited room and what you saw made your blood run cold.

Your dear husband Daemon stood behind his niece Rhaenyra, holding her hips and violently thrusting into her on the edge of the bed.

“Daemon.” she moaned, eyes closed, face twisted with pleasure while your husband let out grunts.

You felt tears invade your eyes, threatening to fall, it was too much for you, you rushed away from them, attracting the attention of a guard who was passing by on his usual rounds...

"My lady is everything alright ?" He asked you but you were too upset, you ran to your room and fell on the bed crying.

How could he do this to you ? When he told you just this morning how much he loved you... how could he cheat on you ? And with his own niece !

Fucking Targaryens.

You stayed in your bed until your servants came to help you prepare for the festivities, you hesitated to go but there was no way you were going to let Daemon and Rhaenyra ruin your evening.

As your servant tightened your corset, a knock sounded, you knew who it was.

"Have you finished ?" You ask your servant nicely.

"Almost princess, all i have to do is tie your hair and-"

"No." You interrupted her.

She couldn't help but hide her surprise.

"You don't want me to braid them ?"

You shook your head. "My burden is to carry their names, I will not inflict their braids on myself either."

She was surprised but nodded with a small smirk "We leave them as they are then ?"

You nodded and at the same time the door opened, revealing Daemon.

Your face closed as you thanked your servant.

“I knocked, but you probably couldn’t have heard.” Daemon chuckled as he moved closer to you to wrap his arms around your waist.

You moved away from him and a wave of sadness appeared on his face. “I’ll let you get ready, husband.” you formally addressed with coldness

He watched you leave the room with confusion and sadness.

During the meal you didn't look at Daemon or say a word, but you threw dangerous glances at Rhaenyra.

After a moment Daemon had enough and he turned to you to whisper. "What's going on my love ? You are unusually quiet and cold."

You shook your head and scoffed.

Daemon was starting to lose his patience "Are you going to tell me what's going on ? I'm your husband and-"

“Indeed, you are my husband.” You interrupted him off. “Do you remember the promises we exchanged ?”

The prince seemed confused. “Obviously, but what does that have to do with it?”

"Well, it looks like you didn't keep your promise to stay faithful to me."

Daemon went blank "I.."

“Save your saliva.” You scoffed and raised your glass, standing up. “A final tribute to my husband.”

All eyes were on you. “My dear and tender husband.” Some people were smiling tenderly at your statement, you paused and smiled "The one who makes me laugh.. the one who... fucks his niece."

Everyone went silent, horrified looks were exchanged as Daemon tried to silence you.

"Isn't it right Rhaenyra ?" You asked sarcastically, not listening to Daemon.

You couldn't help but laugh "I was warned that the Targaryens had some funny customs... but I would never have imagined that fucking your niece was one of them."

Rhaenyra turned red with shame and tried to hide her face as everyone stared at her and Daemon.

You turned to the Viserys and smiled "My king, I believe that the alliances between KingsLanding and Dorn are over."

You then smashed your drink on the floor and threw your wedding ring with it.

Daemon stood up to try to talk to you but you walked away in front of everyone's stunned eyes, a weight off and a glorious smile on your face.

Fucking Targaryens.

#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targeryan #hotd x y/n

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sylver-drawer · 2 years

Text

Some Lovely Princess Faithful Servant art I haven’t posted (here) yet

#who made me a princess #wmmap #suddenly became a princess one day #sbapod #syl art #LPFS - Syl #I forgot how to tag my own fic tag #lovely princess faithful servant #wmmap fanfic art #also did I already post the one with Uriel before???#I can’t remember #oh well Uriel and Jen repost then LMAO #oh I think I posted the second one already #another repost too ig sob sob

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 3: Blood Moon]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @ipostwhatifeel @teenagecriminalmastermind @quartzs-posts @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @chainsawsangel @itsabby15 @serrhaewin @padfooteyes @arcielee @travelingmypassion @what-is-originality @burningcoffeetimetravel @blackdreamspeaks @anditsmywholeheart @aemcndtargaryen @jvpit3rs @sarcastic-halfling-princess @flowerpotmage @ladylannisterxo @thelittleswanao3 @elsolario @tinykryptonitewerewolf @girlwith-thepearlearring @minttea07 @trifoliumviridi @deltamoon666 @mariahossain

Let me know if you’d like to be added! 💜

“I wish you could join us,” Nico says, almost sulks, snow catching in her hair. She’s riding a gorgeous white mare that the Duke of Hightower purchased for her. He’s in no hurry to gift you a horse. King Viserys—epochs ago, on your wedding day, on the blood-orange July afternoon when you looked into Aegon’s glassy, shadow-ringed eyes and knew exactly what sorts of demons you’d be sharing your life with—once promised you an Andalucian for each child you gave your husband. He hasn’t mentioned it since. It’s slipped his mind, most likely; that’s what happens to the king’s notions that concern the Greens. They stumble around in his skull for a while, find a window, jump from the ledge and free-fall into oblivion.

You smile up at Nico with your feet planted firmly on the ground like fertile roots and a hand resting on your belly. Five months along, over halfway there, farther than you’ve ever been before. The season is winter, but you feel like spring. You feel like blossoms unfurling, like ivy scaling walls of frozen stone. “Next year, with any luck.”

“But what if I’m with child by then?”

“Then you’ll get to return the favor and gallantly wave me off as I gallop into the distance, a vision of Boudicca herself.”

“Didn’t that story end with mass murder and suicide?”

“Nico, not everything needs to be said out loud.”

She laughs, raucous and jarring. Horses’ ears go back; crows take flight from stripped trees. It’s Christmas, and that means it’s also boar hunting season. The feast tonight will require a boar’s head to be served—a tradition that dates back to ancient Norse pagans, to faiths of earth and thunder and sea—and the court has assembled to procure one, the men armed with spears, the women riding along to cheer them on, hounds braying and circling agitatedly, servants sprinting around with jugs of wine. “Alas,” Nico says. “I cannot help it. I am Italian.”

Then she reels her mare around and trots off to join the hunting party. Once not so long ago, you had no true friends here. Now you have at least one. Two, if you count Aemond…although you can’t decide if Aemond is a friend. Sometimes he feels like less, other times much more. He grows close and then is far away again, a tide that’s always a few hours from receding. You watch Nico depart with hardly any heartache. Your relative incapacitation will be finished soon enough, your position vindicated. The clock is ticking.

Daeron compliments you as he canters by on Tessarion, heavy hooves leaving impact craters in the snow: “Princess, that’s a lovely gown.” Lavender, purple, the color of royalty, a declaration of your own worth. That’s not something you can rely upon others giving you. You’re between worlds at the moment: neither fully Navarran nor English, not an outsider nor a future queen.

“Thank you, brother. Good luck!”

Daemon reins up beside you, peering down with glittering dark eyes. When anyone ventures too close to Caraxes—whether horse or human—he snaps at them like a wolf. Surely there is no beast better suited to its master. “I think you’d look better covered in red. Isn’t that the color of your people, Navarre?”

“Prince Daemon,” you purr, one hand still on your belly, your victory in progress. “Enjoy the hunt. I know you get restless when you haven’t murdered anything in a while.”

He should quip back, but he doesn’t. He just grins, his gaze locked on yours; and his grin stretches wider until it sends a bolt down your spine like cold lightning. You have the sudden, dreadful impression that there’s a joke you aren’t in on. “You have no idea.”

Caraxes squeals and jerks back his head as Vhagar shoves between you, massive withers and haunches making space where none existed before. Caraxes nips Vhagar’s shoulder, drawing blood; Vhagar snorts in reply, a low rumble like a storm. Caraxes retreats, ears flattened, but Daemon pitches you one last crooked smirk as he leaves, a threat, an oath.

“Perhaps we should serve Daemon’s head at dinner,” Aemond says.

“He certainly looks like a pig to me.”

“You aren’t too disappointed, I hope. To have to stay behind.”

You smile, petting Vhagar’s silky muzzle. She has a white blaze down the front of her face, white stockings like patches of snow on rich spring soil. “It’s temporary.” What was Aemond like on my wedding day? You try to remember. All you can conjure is a vision of him staring at the floor as you linked your trembling hands with Aegon’s and the priest spoke, as if the match was so ill-fated he could not bear to witness it. It took you a year to learn that he didn’t disapprove of you after all. Something else weighed on him that day, something else dragged down his eyes like an anchor moors a ship.

Aegon passes you both on Sunfyre. “I’ll bring you back something, wife!” he vows, swaying drunkenly in the saddle, his chaotic silver hair shagging in his eyes. Fortunately, Sunfyre seems aware of his rider’s limitations; his steps are lithe and cautious, almost timid. His coat is a river of gold beneath grey skies. When Aegon urges the horse to go faster, Sunfyre ignores him.

You turn back to Aemond and raise an eyebrow. “Make sure he doesn’t break his neck?”

“As always.” And then Aemond is gone too.

The king will not join the hunt. He is getting too old for it—although no one would say that aloud—and Queen Alicent, ever-sacrificial, is staying behind in the palace with him, overseeing preparations for the feast. The other royals vanish into the forest: Daeron and Nico, Aemond and Aegon, Daemon and Baela and Rhaena, Jace and Luke, trailed by the rest of the cast of characters, Blacks and Greens alike. Joanna Montford was replaced by Agnes Stafford, who was replaced by Sibylla Beaufort, who was replaced by Cecily Chaucer. There is no shortage of young women whose fathers are rabid to push them into the bed of the man they call the heir to the throne. A servant brings you a cup of apple cider, and you sip it as snowflakes melt into the fur of your coat.

“It’s not personal,” Rhaenyra says. You whirl to see her and Syrax; they have appeared like ghosts, both pale and ethereal, both fearsome without being malevolent. “Prince Daemon’s taunts, I mean. Any of our antagonism. Distrust that swells into hated.” Her hair is long, loose, strands of ivory in the wind. Her eyes—clear water, cool and stoic—flick down to your belly and then back up to your face. She’s a lot like Aemond, you think, seeing the extent of their resemblance for the first time.

“It feels very personal.”

“I could have liked you in a different life,” Rhaenyra counters, like parrying swords. “You have just enough ruthlessness in you. A river, but not a sea. You thirst for freedom. You wear chains called obligation. But when my father named me heir, he painted a target on my back. Even if I renounced my claim, there would always be men willing to take up arms for me. I would always be a threat to Alicent and her children. Just by breathing, just by having blood hot in my veins. Either I will be queen…or I will forever be at the mercy of the Greens. Would you trust your life to the Duke of Hightower, if you were standing between Aegon and the throne?”

“No,” you admit. You can barely bring yourself to trust the Duke now…and you’re on his side.

“And so we are destined to be mortal enemies.” Rhaenyra shrugs; no great loss, she means. “I only wanted you to know that it would have been just the same if you had been sent to England from Portugal, or Sicily, or Castile, or Bohemia, or Genoa, or Naples, or France, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s not about who you are. It’s about what you’ve married into.”

And then she takes off on Syrax, joining her uncle-husband and her eldest sons in the forest, dissolving into a gnarl of branches like tangled threads. You retreat back inside Westminster Palace to do what you do best: watching, wondering, waiting for the future to decide to arrive.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the hunting party returns hours later, Prince Aegon is empty-handed. He’s also soaked to the skin. Water drips from his face, begins to freeze in his hair. He shivers and gripes as servants throw blankets over his shoulders and usher him away towards his bedchamber to be warmed in a bath cloudy with herbs and steam and rose petals. Cecily Chaucer hurries after them, her lovely brows knitted together with girlish concern. Of all Aegon’s mistresses, you like Cecily the best. She’s insatiable; she keeps him so busy that he rarely totters into your bed to paw at you before being reminded that you have been temporarily exempted from your marital duties.

“He fell into a stream,” Nico informs you, in equal parts disapproving and amused. “Aemond and Daeron fished him out like a trout.”

Your eyes scan the group: shaking snow from their hats and their coats, congratulating each other on obstacles jumped and animals killed, Prince Daemon accepting applause from his fellow Blacks for being the attendee to slaughter the requisite boar. A good omen for their side, surely. Servants carry the gigantic, bloodied carcass off to be prepared by the cooks. But one face is missing from the crowd. “Where’s Aemond?”

“Oh,” Nico recalls as she yanks off her gloves by the fingers. “He has something for you.”

“For me?”

“In the courtyard,” she says. Daeron approaches to collect her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, his large blue eyes bright and adoring. He’s gentler than his brothers, more content, less complicated. And he’s proud of being a Targaryen. He’s growing out his white-blond hair; it’s already longer than Aegon’s. “I think you’ll find it…” Nico grins mischievously. “Perfectly bearable.”

You trudge out to the courtyard through the mounting snow, cold wind tearing at your hair and clawing pieces of it out from under your hat. Aemond is the only other person there…and he’s elbow-deep in a colossal black-furred monster. There is a pile of entrails on the snow beside him glistening like rubies, garnets, rosalines, wine. Servants ferry away bowls full of offal: a lung here, a rope of intestines there.

“What is that?”

Aemond stands and waves at it cavalierly, drops of blood flinging from his leather gloves. “A bear.”

“What am I supposed to do with a bear?”

“It’ll make a fine rug for your bedchamber. You can place it by the fireplace and lie on it on cold nights. Read your books, do your embroidery.”

“It was bold of you to assume you’d be able to find me a Christmas present on Christmas day. Not much room for error.”

“This isn’t your Christmas present.”

“Then what’s the occasion?”

“Congratulations.” He glances at your belly, rounded out like ripening fruit with his brother’s child. A stain of blood like fever rushes into his cheeks. He blushes very rarely, and only ever around you. No one else seems to know that he’s capable of it. “For being over halfway there. It must bring you great relief.”

“Yes, I suppose the Duke of Hightower won’t get to ship me back to Navarre now. In a crate, like an animal that couldn’t be tamed.”

“What a waste that would be.”

You shrug, stepping closer, though mindful not to squash any bear organs beneath your shoes. “I wouldn’t mind being sent home if there was anything for me to go back to.”

Aemond stares at you, alarmed. “You haven’t grown attached to anything here? In nearly a year and a half?”

“Well…there are a few things,” you say, smiling at him. Aemond smiles back. His long silvery hair is secured in a single thick braid, his gaze curious. You try not to imagine what is under his eyepatch; that strikes you as something he wouldn’t want you to think about.

“Vhagar,” Aemond teases.

You laugh. “Yes, mostly Vhagar.” You look up at the grey sky, thick with clouds like steel. “But I miss my family. I miss the heat, the mountains, castles and cathedrals the color of golden sand. I miss riding horses and sparring with my brothers. I miss being understood, being loved. In Navarre I was alive. But in England…ever since I arrived here…it’s like I’m locked up waiting for someone to let me out. But the prison is my own flesh.”

Aemond studies you. “It’s not for much longer,” he says at last, soft and solemn. “And I would change it if I could.”

“In any case, I really can’t go back, I think. It wouldn’t be like it was before. My siblings are marrying and spreading out across Europe. My parents are getting older. And if my husband discarded me for being incapable of producing children, no one else would ever want me. I’d never have my own household. I’d be doomed to be a spinster, forever dependent upon the charity of my parents or my siblings. Either that or in a nunnery. Although, truthfully, Navarre has some beautiful nunneries.”

“You’d make a terrible nun.”

“Because I’m too vicious or too lustful?”

“Vicious, without a doubt. Lustful…I don’t feel qualified to speak on.”

“Depends on who’s in front of me, I suppose.”

You contemplate each other across the gutted bear carcass, snowflakes filling up the space between you instead of words. Again, Aemond’s cheeks flood red. When he wrings his hands together, you notice that they’re shaking. His hair is sopping; beads of melted snow pool along the edge of his jaw, slither down his throat. He could catch his death out here.

You go to him, pull off a glove, and press your bare palm against his forehead and then his cheek: the scarred one, the ruined one. “You’re burning up, Aemond,” you say, worried. “Are you alright—?”

“Fine.” He shies away from your touch. But then, without thinking, he moves to tuck an escaped lock of hair back underneath your hat. As his thumb grazes your face, you feel the warm stripe of bear blood that he inadvertently marks you with. “Goddamn, I’m so sorry—”

“No, that’s perfect.” You smile up at him. “You know I secretly favor red.”

“Princess?” Nico calls from the doorway, and you cross the courtyard to meet her. “You’re still out here? You’re missing a riveting game of Tric-Trac—” She cuts off, her eyes going wide as they skate across your cheeks. “Sweet Jesus, how’d you get blood all over your face?”

You glimpse back at Aemond as you answer. “Carelessness.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re weaving ribbons the color of evergreens into Nico’s hair when he comes into your bedchamber, carrying a long thin box made of pink ivory wood.

“Oh, marvelous!” Nico trills, clapping her hands. “What’s inside?”

“Poems, I hope,” you say.

“I hate to disappoint you,” Aemond replies placidly. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face, the rest flowing freely. He’s wearing a dark, rich, jade-like color, just like Nico is, just like the Duke of Hightower and Alicent and Daeron will be. Someone has probably even stuffed Aegon into something green. You are the lone nonconformist in a deep purple like the skin of a plum. In truth, you can’t win. People will gossip no matter what you wear. Red makes them think of what Daemon calls you, of the wasted blood you’ve spilled. Green makes them speak of how you’ve yet to serve their faction properly. Black is out of the question. At least when they see you in purple, your name gets to live in the same sentence as the word royalty.

“Well?” Nico prompts eagerly. “Open it!”

You look at her, apologetic. So does Aemond.

“Oh,” she realizes, then sighs theatrically. “Alright. I understand. I’ll deport myself now. Ciao.”

Only when she’s closed the door behind her does Aemond open the box. The lining inside is crimson velvet. It cradles a sword. You gasp and lift the weapon out of the box by its hilt, then pull off the scabbard. It is lightweight, silvery, perfect. You can see your own reflection in the polished steel. There are shallow engravings down the length of the blade: mountain ranges, twisted oak trees, bridges and cathedrals, the flag of Navarre. You can only see them when you tilt the sword to catch the rage-orange glow from the fireplace.

“I had it custom made for you,” Aemond says, abruptly nervous. “So it wouldn’t be too heavy or too long. The hilt should fit your grasp precisely. I took one of your gloves for measurements.”

“A thief.” You marvel at the sword, twirling it a few times. The blade cuts through the air, soundless, seamless. “Aemond, this is…this is so far beyond what I deserve. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“It’s part pleasure, part necessity. You might actually need to protect yourself one day.”

“It’s a shame I’ll only be able to bully you with it under the surreptitious cover of darkness.”

“Just until Aegon is king. He wouldn’t care, I don’t think. He wouldn’t forbid you from training.” He gestures to the blade. “And the engravings are—”

“All things from home.” You beam at him. “From Navarre.”

“That’s what the common people call you, you know. The Princess from Navarre.”

You glide the sword back into its scabbard and return it to the box. “They must hate me. For failing to secure the succession.”

“I wouldn’t assume that.”

You take the pink ivory wood box from Aemond’s hands and place it in the chest at the foot of your bed, your preferred spot for squirreling away valuables. And then you lift out Aemond’s present: a vast tapestry that he helps you unfold to reveal the design of.

“It’s incredible!” he exclaims. “It must have taken you ages!”

“Well, all I’m allowed to do currently is needlework, so I’ve done a lot of needlework. I made one for Aegon too, although I’m not sure what his hobbies are besides drinking and fucking Cecily Chaucer. So his tapestry is mostly landscapes.” You point to various scenes on Aemond’s. “There’s King Arthur and Guinevere…and Sir Lancelot, arriving to ruin them. There’s Beowulf battling Grendel’s mother. There’s Robin Hood…there’s the Rollright Stones and Stonehenge…and in the middle is Saint George slaying a dragon. I made the dragon black, with little white whiskers if you look very closely. And I’ve named him Daemon.”

“They’re from the stories I told you,” Aemond says quietly, examining the tapestry. “On that afternoon back in July. When we took Vhagar out together for the first time.”

“It must have been memorable.” You smile. “And then the border is ivy and roses, mostly green, of course…except for one little red rose I added down here in the bottom corner. And that’s—”

“That’s you,” Aemond says. “Red like Navarre.”

“Yes.” Your voice is suddenly wistful, a little sad. “You’ve made me like the sound of that word again.”

“What? Navarre?”

You nod. “Hushed, gentle…” Reverent? Awed? Protected? Cherished? “Like a prayer. Like a poem.”

You help Aemond refold the tapestry, avoiding his eye. The only sounds are the crackling of the fireplace and the muffled echo of violins and lutes through the palace halls. Outside the window hovers a blood moon, a ruby in onyx, a drop of fury in an ocean of void. He takes his Christmas gift back to his own bedchamber, and then he returns to escort you to the feast.

“Oh, darling,” Alicent says when you sit down beside her at the high table. There are sprigs of holly in her hair, but her dark eyes are glazed and melancholy. They often are. Sir Criston Cole—a knight whose family are vassals of the Duke of Hightower—is her shadow, peering watchfully around the Great Hall. “Be sure to eat plenty of boar…and bread…very good for the baby. But no fish! And not too many vegetables. Here, let me get you some of your apple cider…” Alicent waves to a servant, and they promptly fetch you a full cup.

King Viserys gives you a distracted nod but no other acknowledgement. He is deep in conversation with Jace; Luke is gawping, mildly disturbed, at the severed boar’s head that adorns the table, cherries shoved into the sockets where its eyes were this morning. Rhaena offers you a kind, demure smile. Baela glares at you as she sips her wine. She’s the most war-worthy of any of the Black children; you imagine that Daemon will have a sword and armor waiting for her when the bloodbath begins. Surely she’d inflict more damage than either of Rhaenyra’s docile, dark-haired sons, like skittish lapdogs always looking around for someone to tell them where it’s alright to sit. Baela’s Arabian, Moondancer, is small but remarkably swift and agile. She’s the best jumper of any of the royal horses.

Far from the table, in the midst of dancing nobles, Daemon and Rhaenyra are enmeshed in whispers and caresses: he tilts up her chin, she grasps the small of his back. You feel a yearning, a hollowness beneath where your ribs circle your heart and lungs like a halo. Without thinking, you glance to Aemond. He’s been looking at you too; he pretends he wasn’t and begins sawing through a slab of boar meat with a serrated knife. Daeron is asking him about sparring techniques. The Duke of Hightower is parading Aegon around the hall to pay his respects to the nobility of Southern England, men who will kill and be killed for him one day before too long. Aegon is bleary-eyed and bungling, tripping over his own feet; the Duke is practically dragging him around from his scruff like a kitten.

“Sweetheart, will you dance with me?” Queen Alicent asks Nico, who immediately leaps up from her chair.

“Of course, Your Majesty! It would be my pleasure. It’s a shame that the king cannot join us. It must be difficult having a husband so much older than you are. Nearly your father’s age!”

Everyone at the table stops what they’re doing and gapes at her.

“Oh,” Nico begins haltingly, mortified. “Oh dear. I should not have said that. I cannot express the depths of my remorse.”

King Viserys booms out a laugh, and then Nico is smiling again. “Go on,” he tells her. “Enjoy the festivities. Keep the queen entertained when I cannot.”

As Nico and Queen Alicent descend to join the dance, you remain where you are, where you always are: on the outskirts, inside the glass bowl. But not for much longer, you think gratefully, running your palm over the swell of your belly. You eat as much as you can, but you don’t have much of an appetite. Your hips and ankles ache, your body forever adjusting to a never-before-known burden; there is torsion like a sailor’s knot in your lower spine. When the discomfort refuses to abate, you excuse yourself from the table and make slow, meandering laps around the fringes of the Great Hall, draining cup after cup of apple cider as servants bring them to you. The Duke of Hightower casts you a stern warning of a frown before he resumes wrangling Aegon. Aemond, still at the high table talking to Daeron, follows you with one intent blue eye.

“You can’t honestly believe he’d make a good king,” Daemon says, materializing out of the crowd like a bat at twilight. Enormous Scottish deerhounds—Christmas gifts from King Corlys and Queen Rhaenys beyond England’s northern border—trail after him, growling at you. Daemon flicks his strange, deep-set eyes towards Aegon. “He’s a drunk. He’s an embarrassment. He has no athletic prowess whatsoever. I’m sure you can confirm that from firsthand experience.”

“I can confirm that he hasn’t murdered his first wife yet, surely an attribute by anyone’s calculation.” You watch the Duke tow Aegon from one exchange to another, and for the first time, you wonder what sort of man Aegon would have been without the weight of the throne on his back.

“But of course, it wouldn’t actually be Aegon ruling if the Greens won. It would be Otto…and Alicent…and Aemond.”

Daemon puts great emphasis on this last name. You turn to him, startled.

“Oh, forgive me, have I said something that gets under your skin? Or…rather…into it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Daemon grins, baring his teeth like fangs. “Of course you don’t,” he says. “Tell me, would you happen to know who Otto is planning on marrying him to? I’ve heard rumblings.”

“Someone with parents who have ample soldiers and equipment with which to mutilate you, surely.”

“Helene of Austria.”

“Helene?” The breath evaporates from your lungs, vanishes like brief winter daylight. “The daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor?” It’s an immensely powerful match. It’s a match so ambitious it has rarely even been suggested. You summon triumph to your voice, an arrogant glint to your eyes. “This is very bad news for you.”

“And for you too, I think.”

He knows, you think, terror-stricken, aware you aren’t doing enough to hide it. That I desire my husband’s brother. That I want Aemond. That maybe I even love him. You try to fling some flippant retort at Daemon; you cannot find one, it’s like scratching your fingertips along the bottom of an empty box. Victorious, he swigs his wine and begins to saunter away, panting Scottish deerhounds on his heels. And then you call after him: “It didn’t get you far, did it?”

Daemon halts mid-step and slowly—very slowly—turns back to you. “What?”

“All that Targaryen blood. All that bone-white hair and ferocity, charisma and swordsmanship. King Viserys still chose to reject you as his heir. He still doesn’t trust you to advise him. He still denied you his daughter’s hand in marriage, and you were spineless enough to let him. You left her alone to suffer first. With a husband who couldn’t satisfy her, with a lover who could only give her bastards. And now you expect the world to forget who you’ve always been: reckless, savage, deeply selfish. All those things you stalk around here so proud of are worthless, because you’ll never have what you really want. You’ll never have the throne. And neither will Rhaenyra. You are the same as I am, Daemon. I am an asset and yet a curse to Aegon; you helped win the North for Rhaenyra, but the South will never yield to you. They will fight you with everything they have, every man and horse and blade. But there is one difference between us. When I bear Aegon a son, my curse will be lifted. You will never stop endangering Rhaenyra, her cause, her inheritance, her children, her life. And if she burns, it will be at least half because of you.”

You’ve never seen him truly angry before, you realize now; you’ve never seen him without the undeniable upper hand. His grip rests on the hilt of his sword. “I should—”

“Go on,” you dare him in a fierce whisper, your fingers closing around his wrist. “Slay Aegon’s wife and child in front of all the court. It’s the kindest thing you could do for the Greens. Make yourself more enemies, win us more friends. Everyone suspects that you are a beast already. Prove them right.”

Daemon rips his hand out of yours. “Happy Christmas, Navarre,” he hisses. “If fate is just, it will be your last.” And then he storms away from you, Rhaenyra meeting him at the other end of the hall and speaking with him there—conspiring? inquiring? scolding?—in urgent whispers.

Nico pushes through the throngs of dancing nobles to reach you. “Are you alright?” she asks, a palm laid on your shoulder.

“Fine.” Helene, you think, rubbing the aching curve of your back with one hand, sipping apple cider with the other. They’re both trembling. Beautiful, wealthy, coveted Helene.

“Are you sure? You don’t look good. What did that bleached weasel have to say…?”

But you can’t hear her, because the pain in your spine is now reaching like poison through veins to spread across your belly, to tighten, to clamp down, to gnash with steel teeth like needles, like knives. Your cup tumbles out of your gasp, spilling apple cider across the floor. You yelp in pure shock at how unexpectedly the pain comes. And then you begin to understand what it means. “No,” you plead in a whisper. You stagger backwards until you hit the wall. “No, no, no…”

“What?” Nico asks frantically. People are beginning to notice; heads spin in your direction. Tears are springing from your eyes. Blood is snaking down your legs, slick and hot on the velveteen inside of your thighs. Soon they’ll all be able to see it: your agony, your ruin. The Greens, the Blacks. The Duke of Hightower, Prince Daemon.

Nico doesn’t understand. You don’t know how to tell her. I’ve killed another child. I’ve failed again. You can feel Aegon crawling back into your bed. You can see letters from your mother—so proud at last, so full of praise—shredding themselves into dust. And then it flashes like cannon fire in your mind, not just the loss of an heir but the loss of a life: a name that will never be given, a voice that will never be heard, steps that will never leave imprints in sand or soil or snow.

I have to get out of here. How am I going to—?

An arm circles around your waist, strong, shielding, taking as much of your weight as it can. “Walk with me,” Aemond says. And then he half-carries you through the nearest door and down a passageway, Nico struggling to keep up, chatter exploding at the feast you left behind.

As soon as you cross the threshold into your bedchamber, as soon as you are out of sight of ill-intentioned observers, you collapse to the floor. Your palms and knees bruise against wood; a wail tears from your throat. “Not again,” you sob. “Aemond, I can’t do this again, I can’t—”

Nico says: “Are you sure it’s a…?”

Aemond is kneeling on the floor beside you. He’s helping you pull back the hem of your gown. You see it on his face before you see it on your own skin: there’s blood, a lot of blood, too much for it to be anything but lethal to the child. It’s all over his hands and his clothes; it’s all over the floorboards.

“Oh God,” Nico moans, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh…oh my God…”

“Get the physicians,” Aemond tells her. “Speak to no one else. Go now. Go!”

Nico rushes out of the room. You can’t stop sobbing. The pain is excruciating, not waves but one continuous, saw-toothed twisting, a feeling like being gutted, like you’re a slaughtered bear and someone has their fingers raking around inside your womb.

Aemond is trying to pull you to your feet. “Come on, I’ll help you get into bed—”

“Aemond, I can’t.”

“Yes you can—”

“I can’t!” you cry out, weeping helplessly. Then he stops trying to lift you and instead sinks down to join you on the floor. You clutch wildly at him—at his forearms and his shoulders and his long silvery hair—and he doesn’t flinch away. He draws you into him, his hands staining you with blood everywhere they land. You don’t care; you don’t want him to stop. You bury yourself in the warmth of his chest, his arms around you like the border of the moon, like a ring.

“Shh,” he soothes through your hair. “Shh, shh. I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t leave me. Please stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Aemond says, his voice hoarse. “Of course I’ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Scenes like fragments of a dream, things that later you aren’t sure were real:

The physicians and midwives delivering your dead child, Aemond tilting a cup of strong wine against your lips. Your ladies washing blood off you with dripping rags as Aemond stands with the physicians in the doorway. They think you’re asleep, but you’re not; you’re not awake either. You’re halfway here and halfway not. Parts of the room are foggy, others are as clear as glass, as still water. A physician is telling Aemond that the child was a boy, perfect in every way except the one that matters most. He doesn’t breathe and never will. Too early, too small, beautiful and doomed.

“Don’t tell her that,” Aemond is saying. “Don’t tell her anything unless she asks.”

Now it’s later—two minutes, two hours, it doesn’t matter—and he’s dragging someone into your bedchamber. They’re fighting him, they’re trying to cling to the doorframe so he can’t force them inside.

“Get in there,” Aemond growls.

Aegon replies: “I don’t know what to say to her, what the hell do I say—?”

Your husband is at your bedside, undoubtedly miserable but not in a way that makes you feel like he sees you. There is the scent of wine and sweat drenched with perfume, lemon and lavender. “I’m sorry,” you murmur like a faint wind.

“It was not your fault, wife.” Aegon’s eyes are bloodshot, his shoulders hanging low and limp. “It is a great tragedy, but it was not your fault.” And then he glances at Aemond to make sure he’s done the right thing.

Now your husband is gone, and Aemond is holding a cool cloth to your forehead. He speaks in little more than a whisper. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Just send me back to Navarre,” you say weakly. “I can’t do this. Talk to the Duke. He’ll get the marriage annulled. I know he will. He can find another wife for Aegon, another alliance. He’ll be glad to be rid of me.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

“I’m ruined. I’m worthless. Just send me home.”

“You are home,” Aemond insists.

You watch the firelight as it flickers over him, smooth skin, brutal scar. “What happens next?”

“You’ll try again.”

“There’s no point, Aemond.”

“Look at me,” he commands, cradling your face with his hands. “You’ll try again. And again, if you have to. But you will have children. I know you will.”

His voice is breaking. His eye is glistening, tortured. This is how the father should be. This is how Aegon should be. “Aemond, why are you so hurt by this?”

“Because you are suffering,” he says. “And because they’re pieces of you.”

You lose sight of him, float for a while, return again thinking of Aegon and the Duke of Hightower and Daemon and Rhaenyra. “No one here really knows me. No one loves me.”

Aemond is standing beside your bed. “Nico loves you.”

You gaze listlessly up at him and say nothing.

“Aegon loves you, I believe,” Aemond continues, but he won’t meet your eyes. “In his own way.”

Still, you look at him. Still, Aemond doesn’t look back.

Say it, you think, desperate, aching, tears biting in your eyes. Say that you love me too. Even if it’s just as a sister, an ally, a friend. Please, Aemond, just fucking say it.

He doesn’t say it. Maybe he leaves, maybe you are submerged in unconsciousness, maybe both. The memory dissolves around the edges until it is a pool of star-flecked obsidian like the night sky.

But this next part you know with certainty was real, because it is something you can touch, like a millennium-old relic from Egypt or Athens or Babylon. You wake in the morning to find three items on your nightstand: a cup of apple cider, a cup of strong bitter wine for the pain, and a single piece of parchment folded and tied with a red ribbon. You blink confoundedly at it for a while as muted winter sunlight seeps in through the windows, not being able to make sense of it. And then you open the parchment. Aemond has written at the top of the page in his hectic, uneven letters: Ivy. You read his words and all the anguish that went into them—smudges from his own fingerprints, wayward drips of black ink—like falling down the rungs of a ladder.

Scream into me, I’ll be the jar for your fury; I’m starving

for anything that tastes like you. I’ve been counting the lines

on your knuckles, the boards of the floor, wondering if you’ve

figured out that I’d wear fractures and bruises like amethysts

if it means you’d touch me. For seventeen months you’ve been

the ivy on my walls, vines like the needle-width legs of a spider

carving out my past, every last notch and shadow—splitting ribs,

scraping marrow—until there’s no part of me left that can remember

a time other than this, your voice and your wit and the scraps of you

I’ve stitched into me. Ask me what I burn for and I’ll whisper like

the dawn: you growing over my skin until I’m covered, tendrils

twisting down to the bone, everything I was before

ash and myth beneath your hands.

#aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you

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hyunimylove · 1 year

Text

ponytail ⋆ ࣪. hwang hyunjin.

just your boyfriend eating you out while you hold his long hair. warnings: pussy eating, squirting.

hyunjin was totally obsessed with you.

there wasn't person in the world that he love more than you; in his eyes you were a beautiful princess and he was your faithful knight. so what kind of servant would he be if he didn't make sure to give you the princess treatment you deserved?

he could spend the rest of his life on his knees before you, giving u pleasure until you couldn't take it anymore.

"hyuni..." you murmured, feeling how the heat that you felt in your abdomen rose through your whole body. "feels so good, love."

you felt him smile as he ate you, his tongue flicking in all the right places.

"you look so beautiful from down here baby. i would adore you that lasts forever."

tears pooled at the corners of your eyes, closing them tight when you felt his fingers curl in just the right place to make you sob with pleasure.

your hands went to his hair, holding it in a messy ponytail to pull him closer to you.

"rub yourself on me, princess. use me until you feel good." your body lifted off the mattress and you pushed into his face, up and down feeling your clit rubbing against his nose as he sucked on your hole.

"so good for me, love."

you kept rubbing into him when your legs began to shake in his hands. unable to hold the pleasure you returned to lay on the sheets.

hyunjin identified that your orgasm was close by how your warm walls squeezed his fingers, so he began to caress your insides more quickly while his tongue went to your clit, drawing circles with his tongue.

you couldn't do more than hold his hair, watching him eat you with as much devotion as if he were a man enjoying his last meal.

"cum for me, my princess. squirts on my face."

the knot in your stomach disappeared as he sucked on your ball of nerves and made you cum on his face, just the way he wanted.

with your legs still going into little spasms you propped yourself up on your elbows on the bed, watching him kiss your thighs.

his eyes met yours and he came out of his favorite place to kiss you even with all your juices running down his chin.

"we'll go again, okay?"

#skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #hyunjin smut #skz smut

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calqlate · 4 months

Text

LOVE, MAYBE | TWO

— LOVE, PERHAPS

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

PAIRING: crown prince! kageyama tobio x f! crown princess! reader

SUMMARY: after taking your younger sister's place in a political marriage involving the crown prince of the neighboring kingdom of karasuno, you resigned yourself to a loveless marriage. little did you know, the prince has loved you for a while now and plans to win you over.

GENRE(S): arranged marriage au + royal au + fluff + one-sided pining (which later becomes mutual)

WC: 3128

TAGLIST: @deeomi

A/N: i forgot i had already written this and i just needed to edit it LMAO (clown emoji). n e ways, enjoy!

"your ladyship, his highness the crown prince is here to see you."

you were still keeping your gaze focused on the words on the thick management textbook in front of you. as you wrote down some notes on the margin of the textbook, you replied, "he may enter."

the large double doors swung open and in walked the prince, in all his glory, except... he had arrived with a huge bouquet of flowers clasped in his gloved hands. this was very out-of-character for the stoic prince, and this shocked the maids and butlers, who had (definitely) not expected to see the bloodthirsty prince with flowers in his hands. all the servants held back their breath as prince tobio walked right up to you, brows furrowed and eyes fixated on his fiancée who had not yet looked up to see him. he stopped short in front of your desk and you placed your pen down carefully before looking up at him. upon spying the grand bouquet in his hands, you raised your eyebrows, "what—"

"these are for you, my lady," he choked out, thrusting the bouquet into your face, "i thought these flowers suit you very well."

all eyes were on you as you awkwardly accepted the flowers, pretty much using your arms to wrap themselves around the lower half where the stems were. you eyed the pink arrangement of roses, asters, and lilies before looking up at the prince, "thank you, your highness. i appreciate your gift."

"do you..." his cheeks turned pink as his voice dropped drastically in volume and he averted his gaze to the side, "do you like them?"

"well..." you paused, watching his facial expressions carefully, "do you want me to be honest?"

he nodded, still avoiding your gaze.

"i appreciate the thought behind this, but..." you paused, then decided to take a leap of faith and be truthful (as he had said), "actually, i don't really like flowers."

an awkward and tense silence soon followed after the words left your mouth. prince tobio was pretty much frozen in sheer shock, she doesn't like flowers?! then again, never did he once thought of considering the possibility that you did not have a liking for flowers.

"i... i see," he coughed. feeling the embarrassment creep in, he said, "i have some matters to attend to, so i'll leave first. enjoy the rest of your day."

with that, he turned and exited your study, leaving you with a bunch of flowers in your hands and deathly silent servants.

"call the two hostlers in," prince tobio said with a sigh once he was safely in his own study, massaging his temples with furrowed brows. is courting girls supposed to be this difficult?

a few minutes later, hinata brought the hostlers in, who were both starry-eyed and were definitely expecting good news out of the advice that they had given to the prince.

"so, was her ladyship completely starstruck? lovestruck, even?" tanaka asked, grinning from ear to ear as he looked at the prince with hopeful eyes.

"did it go as planned, your highness?" nishinoya asked, his smile mirroring that of tanaka's.

the day that hinata had led prince tobio to tanaka and nishinoya, the two hostlers had given the prince some advice on the day itself.

"your highness, do you know what ladies really like?" tanaka said with a sly grin.

prince tobio shook his head, completely clueless. that itself was a given, since the prince had never gotten into a relationship before as he had dedicated his life to protecting the kingdom and learning how to be a good king to his subjects. to the prince, there was no space in his tightly packed schedule for romance.

"flowers," nishinoya piped up, "especially roses."

"why roses, specifically?" prince tobio asked, cocking his head to the side. was there a particular reason why roses were so popular among the ladies?

tanaka and nishinoya would have made a snide comment on how the prince was pretty much doomed to a life of being chronically single if his parents had not intervened to find a bride for him, but refrained from doing so lest they wanted their heads to roll off the guillotine. after all, he was the crown prince, and he was therefore the second-most powerful after the king himself. lopping off anyone else's head would be easy enough for him as long as he willed it to happen.

"that's because roses are a symbol of love in the language of flowers, your highness," tanaka explained, "if you give her ladyship roses, i'm certain that she will be able to see your feelings and accept them quickly!"

"no," prince tobio replied sharply, glaring at the two hostlers so harshly that shivers went up their spines, "she doesn't even like flowers."

tanaka's and nishinoya's eyes widened. this was the first time that they have ever heard of a lady not liking flowers at all. they glanced over at each other with an incredulous look on their faces, is her ladyship some sort of weird recluse?!

"is something the matter?" prince tobio asked, eyeing the two's non-verbal communication in front of him.

"n-no! nothing's wrong at all, your highness!" nishinoya said and shook his head vigorously.

"we're just surprised at how... unique her ladyship is!" tanaka said, faking a laugh, "there's no one quite as extraordinary as she is! am i right, nishinoya?"

he elbowed his friend, to which the latter laughed along with tanaka.

"well, what else do ladies like?" prince tobio asked, a frustrated crease appearing between his brows as he closed his eyes to think of something to remedy that day's situation as well.

"quality time!" nishinoya piped up, and prince tobio flung his eyes open to look at the shorter hostler, "if you spend more time around her ladyship, i'm sure she'll come to notice your affections a lot more!"

"spend time with her..." prince tobio muttered under his breath, then asked, "you mean, i have to set up a date with her or something?"

"not necessarily, your highness," tanaka said, "you can review documents together. you know, you just have to be by her side." he grinned, then continued, "it doesn't matter what you're doing. your presence is all that matters."

initially, you paid no mind when prince tobio said that he would be reviewing his documents while seated in your study. however, after a couple of minutes, you got rather concerned and, honestly, a little disturbed when you could feel the intensity of his gaze on your face. whenever you turned to look at him, he would immediately look back at his paperwork, pretending he had not been staring at you before. after what seemed like the twentieth time of doing so, you sighed and placed your pen down on your desk and looked at the prince, "your highness, please, just tell me what you want instead of staring at me like that."

he turned pink as he turned his head to the side, not wanting to make any sort of eye contact at all, "t-there's nothing in particular. i was simply... resting my eyes."

"your highness, looking at the greenery is a better solution to resting your eyes than staring at my face," you said, pushing your chair back as you stood up, "that being said, do you want to go on a walk with me?"

he whirled his head around and met your gaze with wide, confused eyes. he had never expected you to ask him to go on a walk together, but he was by no means disappointed, nor was he going to complain. instead, the corners of his lips curled upwards just very slightly as he, too, stood up, abandoning his paperwork, "sure. it's about time for me to take a break from reviewing these documents, anyway."

and so that was how the both of you exited the crown prince's palace to take a leisurely walk in the gardens. the air was fresh and the weather was rather cool, and it was all in all a perfect day to go on a walk. the both of you were not linking arms whatsoever and were maintaining a respectable distance between each other. an awkward silence hung in the air as you strolled about with the crown prince, looking anywhere else but each other: prince tobio was doing such so that he would not meet your gaze, and you were doing such because you thought that staring at him for a beat too long would be considered rude and improper.

"um, your highness, about that day," you were the first to break the ice, "i can explain."

"it's alright, it was my fault," prince tobio said, "i should've asked you about your preferences beforehand. i didn't know that you didn't like flowers."

"it's not that i don't like them," you said, "i simply think that they're kind of a waste. i mean, they die after a while, so i'd have to throw them out anyway and it'd be pointless." you then realised how your words could have been misinterpreted as you disregarding the prince's good intentions, so you added hastily, "i mean, i like things that last long. i don't like throwing my gifts away."

"oh, i see," prince tobio said, furrowing his brows together, so she likes things that can be kept and maintained.

"thank you for the flowers, though," you said. he turned to face you, only to see a small smile on your face as you said, "i liked them. really."

he felt his own cheeks begin to burn and he turned his head away before you could catch a glimpse of his red cheeks. he coughed, "i-i can get more for you if you'd like — ah, wait, you don't like flowers."

you laughed, "you learn fast, don't you, your highness?"

"s-shut up, dumbass," he muttered before trudging ahead of you, dying to bury his crimson face somewhere before anyone could catch sight of it and make fun of him for it. rumours of the prince turning red at a mere compliment would overwrite his image of having a cold exterior, which would not be good for him in court.

you watched as he walked on ahead and you picked up your pace to catch up, amusement seeping into your being. this side of the prince was a stark contrast to what you had heard about him.

perhaps he was not so bad of a person after all.

"so, how did it go, your highness?" the two hostlers looked at the prince with bated breath, hoping with all of their hearts that something positive happened this time, or it would really be off with their heads.

"she smiled at me," prince tobio said with an excited look in his eyes, but then frowned shortly afterwards after recalling your subsequent teasing, "oh, but she seemed to be making fun of me."

"t-that's okay, your highness! it's a positive step forward!" nishinoya said and held up two thumbs-up, smiling, "her ladyship is warming up to you!"

"really?" prince tobio looked at the two hostlers with wide, hopeful eyes that resembled those of an anticipating puppy waiting for praise.

"yes!" tanaka said, "so don't fret, your highness! you're doing really well!"

prince tobio's eyes were sparkling again, and tanaka and nishinoya looked at each other. They did not have the heart to not tell him that it could possibly be a negative sign as well, because lady qq might have actually been making fun of him.

"anyway! your highness, there's this last method you should try," tanaka said with a wink, "it'll be sure to catch her ladyship's heart—" — he snapped his fingers — "in an instant! just like that!"

"what is it?" prince tobio was more than intrigued to hear what tanaka had to offer.

"well," tanaka said, a proud grin on his face, "it's..."

"your ladyship, his highness the crown prince requests you to go to the greenhouse for tea with him."

you rubbed your temples. you were fatigued from the lessons from the past few weeks: you had been receiving supplemental crash courses on the additional aspects of ruling that you had not learnt while you were receiving classes as the heir to your father's duchy. a kingdom was far larger than a dukedom, so of course there were more things that rulers of kingdoms were subjected to know compared to those of dukedoms. you had barely been able to keep up, but miraculously, you were still functioning and capable of sitting in your study to absorb more material. maybe it was the studies that your parents had subjected you to that allowed your brain to absorb a little more information.

"alright, i'll go over to him now," you said, standing up.

you sucked in a breath and headed straight to the greenhouse with some maids accompanying you. truth to be told, you would love nothing more than to catch a couple of z's in your bedroom than be drinking tea with the prince. sure, he was your fiancé-to-be, but you prioritised your rest above all. you could not believe you still had the energy to smile and sit there with the prince despite all of your body’s cells screaming at you to get some sleep.

"you're here," prince tobio said as soon as you approached the table.

"thank you for preparing the tea," you said as you curtseyed before sitting down.

"the maids said that you like milk tea, so i've prepared that for today's tea session," he said, "and i heard that you like sweet foods, so i've prepared more sweet snacks."

you noted the milk tea in your cup, as well as the assortment of cakes and scones on the table before you turned to him, "thank you, your highness. i appreciate it."

slowly, you picked up your teacup and took a sip out of it, letting the sweet taste of the drink bloom across your tongue. you could hear the prince talking, but you could not bring your focus onto any of his words at all. it was as though you were stuck in some sort of container made of thick glass and you could barely hear what the people on the other end were saying. you closed your eyes for a second before opening them again, just before you felt something trickling down your nose. you lifted a hand up towards your face to wipe your nose and pulled away before looking down at your fingers, only to see red liquid smudging your fingertips. you looked back up at the prince and made eye contact before you felt all of your remaining strength leave your body and your eyes roll back into your skull.

your vision was coming back, little by little.

it was a little hazy at first when you first cracked your eyes open. however, the more you cranked them open by sheer force and determination, the fog started to clear up as clarity crept back into your eyesight.

"my lady!"

you felt someone grab your hand firmly and warmly, and you slowly turned your head to the side to see who it was. it was prince tobio, who was seated by your bedside with both of his hands clasped around your hand. concern was evident in his blue eyes as he locked eyes with you. you immediately tried to sit up, and he assisted you in doing so, until you were seated up properly with a pillow safely supporting your back.

"how are you feeling?" he asked, his brows creased together in concern.

"i feel fine," you muttered, your voice raspy. honestly, you felt as though you were in a confused daze, as though you had been asleep for an extensive period of time. you asked, "how long was i asleep for?"

"two days," he replied, then his frown deepening as he said, "you've been over-working yourself, haven't you?"

"i..." you were at a loss for words. you, too, were not sure how much or far you had pushed yourself because every single day had passed in one indistinct blur.

"you did," he answered in your stead, "and that's how your body finally crashed."

you stayed mute as he breathed out a sigh from his nose as he squeezed your hand gently, "studying is good, but don't push yourself too hard."

you looked at him with a confused look on your face, why would you care? i'm just someone you're forced to marry, anyway.

as if he could read your thoughts, he answered, "i worry because i'm your husband." he paused, then corrected himself, "well, husband-to-be, but that's not the point."

he cast his gaze down at your hands as he picked both of them up and held them gently, as if they were fragile glass pieces that could shatter with one wrong move, "please take care of yourself."

he looked back up at you to observe your facial expressions: your face was completely neutral and seemingly guarded as you met his gaze. disappointment filled his lungs as he said, "i'll leave you to rest."

gingerly, he let go of her hands (that he had placed on her lap) before getting up from the chair and leaving your room, not before taking some extra precautions with your maids and butler. as the door swung shut behind him, he sighed, looks like that didn't work, either.

"what is it?" prince tobio was more than intrigued to hear what tanaka had to offer, leaning forward and hanging onto his every word as if he were preaching the holy word.

"well," tanaka said, a proud grin on his face, "it's... to be a gentleman towards her! nothing else beats a guy who treats her well."

"what on earth, ryuu!" nishinoya smacked tanaka's bicep, "what if her ladyship likes guys that degrade her and stuff? you know, the mean types!"

"i don't think she does," tanaka retorted with a frown, "what kind of crazy psycho—" — then, upon remembering that he was talking about the future crown princess here, he quickly stopped himself mid-sentence and changed his words — "i mean, person would reject flowers?" he added, "my guess is that she's not the innocent sort that would love a bad boy to sweep her off her feet." he grinned, "wanna bet, noya?"

i suppose it's another fail today, then, prince tobio sighed as he walked down the hallway.

however, if he had chosen to turn around and take a sneak peek into the room, he would have seen the telltale blush rising on your cheeks.

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