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troublesomesnitch · 21 days

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The Novice

Aemond x Septa!Reader

The one-eyed prince makes a late night confession.

Contents: Book!Aemond. Pure filth, extremely dubious consent/non-con. Confessional dirty talk, coercion, power imbalance.

Words: 4200

Mostly book!Aemond, but with some show elements added to make him a real piece of shit.

CW: sexual assault!

Proof read, but I am not good at proof reading.

Twice a week, the grand sept receives fine visitors.

It is always something you look forward to, something special and exciting; hearing guards in the streets outside, and the swift feet of errand boys running to inform your superiors.

The queen will be arriving shortly.

There is not much preparation that needs to be done, because you never tarry in your duties - there are always fresh matches laid out, candles ready to be lit, not a spec of dust on the altars. But for the queen, you go above and beyond. You fetch cushions for her dainty knees, you light incense in every corner, and you usher out any crowds that are not worthy of her presence.

You greatly admire the queen. She is all that a lady should be, the very image of womanhood. Gracious, pious, beautifully but modestly dressed, and always kind and courteous to you. She says thank you, and blessed day, sweet Sister, and she asks about your training, your health and wellbeing, what charitable causes you wish to devote yourself to.

The older septas say that the queen seems to have taken a liking to you, and that perhaps if you are lucky, she will request for you to join her household once you have taken your vows. To be a helper and companion to her daughter, and to teach the little prince and princess - her grandchildren, which is a strange thought, because the queen is so young and so beautiful to already be a grandmother.

She is certainly much younger than her husband. The king is old and frail and rarely leaves his castle now, but even in his youth, he never came to the sept. At least that is what you are told. Septon Alester says he is an unworthy husband, and an unworthy ruler, too. A heretic, like all the rest of his Valyrian kin, who flout divine law and believe themselves above the gods.

You would never dare to utter such a thing, but it seems at least partially true - in all the time you have served the sept, the king has never accompanied his queen to prayer. Not even once. She always comes alone, escorted by her guard and her maid. And sometimes by her son.

The one-eyed prince. The one who rides the largest beast in the world.

There are many rumours swirling about noble lords and ladies, but especially about him. In the taverns and winesinks people say he is of a sullen disposition, and that the loss of his eye at such a young age has left his face hideous and deformed - clearly they have never seen him, but you have, and you know it is nothing more than malicious slander.

The prince is as beautiful as his mother.

They look lovely when they kneel together by the altar, with their hands delicately folded and their heads respectfully bowed. Regal, godly. Like the Mother and the Warrior, you think. You often wonder about the contents of his prayers - what could a royal prince possibly wish for? Not as many things as a queen, it would seem, because he never kneels for as long, retreating after a minute or two to stand and wait for his mother. Watch over her; look at her with devotion and reverence. You cannot help but steal quick glances at him; at his graceful posture and his strong face, and you are always too slow to look away, so sometimes he catches you in it. Even when you stand on his blind side, he somehow knows to turn his head and meet your gaze. The little bow he gives you is courteous, but the taunting smile that follows is not, and you must always remind yourself that you have done nothing wrong.

It is not a sin to be curious.

—

When the evening bell tolls, and the city gates close, the High Septon calls to prayer. But one person must always stay behind to keep vigil until the morning, and the duty is shared between all servants of the Faith. Septons and septas, novices, even holy brothers and sisters, sometimes. Only the Most Devout are exempt from it, as well as those who are weakened by illness or old age.

You are neither, but you do not mind taking your turn. It is an easy task, as all of the city is asleep, and those who are not would much rather drink and carouse than come to a place of worship. Here, the night is quiet and calm, and you quite like these hours of solitude. Alone in the sept with only the statues, and maybe the gods, for company.

On this day though, you are startled from your thoughts when the heavy doors are swung open.

You have never before encountered guests at this hour, so your fearful imagination is quick to jump to conclusions - the man could be a thief, a common brute, a scoundrel hiding from a brawl, or - gods forbid - from the City Watch.

But when you peek out from your little corner, you are surprised to see that it is the prince. And that he is alone.

He is dressed differently tonight, in dull colours and coarser fabrics, far simpler than what he usually wears. Perhaps in an attempt to go unnoticed among the common people - but if that was indeed his intention, he has very much failed. Everything about him is unusual, from his hair to his eye to the shining silver clasp at his neck; the immaculate tailoring of each of his garments. Even the way he carries himself makes it abundantly clear that this is no grocer or stonemason.

You cast your eyes down as his steps echo through the sept, purposeful and determined. Clearly heading towards you, but you would hate to be presumptuous, so it is only when he is right in front of you that you rise from your seat to curtsy. Reverently, so deep that your knee almost touches the floor.

“Sister,” he nods. “I have sins I wish to confess - a troubled mind I wish to unburden.”

You curtsy once more, though not as low this time.

“I am not ordained to hear confessions, but I should be happy to fetch a septon - “

“No,” the prince says. “I will speak to no one but you.”

What he demands is a breach of the rules, and a cruel thing to ask of you, but there is not much to be done about it. You can hardly refuse a prince of the realm, and what if he tells his mother that you were unhelpful? After all, it is your sacred duty to comfort and guide the faithful. To lead them on the path to righteousness.

So you nod, draping your veil over your head as you both sit down on your little bench. Right beside one another, so close that your legs almost touch. A proper septa would say confess, and may the Father judge you justly, but that is not appropriate for you, so you merely look down at your folded hands and wait for the prince to speak.

“I am plagued by impure thoughts,” he begins.

The colour drains from your face in an instant. Oh, not this.

Anything else, you do believe you could handle. Envy, drunkenness, greed, gambling, even violent offences, perhaps. Anything but this. But you remain calm; force yourself to keep your composure as you speak.

“All young men have impure thoughts. It is perfectly natural.”

From the corner of your eye, it looks as though the prince smiles ever so slightly.

“Of course,” he nods. “But mine are by nature nefarious, because the lady I desire is a chaste and pious woman… a maiden, and justly proud of her innocence. She would be distraught if she knew the wickedness she inspires.”

You feel yourself blushing. Although you are sufficiently educated on the matter, speaking of such things makes you feel ashamed and uncomfortable. As it would most young women. Confession or not, nothing about this conversation is appropriate, and you want nothing more than to be done with it and return to quiet contemplation. You keep your eyes cast down, and you are as curt as you dare when you answer.

“Then you should not sully her, My Prince, even in your thoughts. You should pray to the Smith for strength, or to the Warrior if you prefer, and occupy yourself with noble pursuits. Prayer, studies, and so forth.”

“Oh, but I do,” the prince says gravely. “I devote my every hour to noble pursuits. And yet time and time again I sully her, and my own hand too in the process - yes, I must confess that I have sinned exceedingly, in both thought and deed. These urges of mine are so unbearable, I simply must relieve myself…” He pauses to look at you coolly, his brows drawn together in a disapproving frown. “You look quite pale, Septa, is my confession too scandalous for you? I should hope the Faith would not admit a novice so unfit for her position…”

“Of course not,” you quickly mutter, though in truth, you are mortified. This is far beyond your station and skill. Not only is the matter highly delicate, but you must also carefully choose your words so as to not offend a member of the royal family. And one with a - supposedly - unfortunate temper at that.

“It is not for me to command a prince,” you begin, “but it is my duty to remind you that the Faith condemns such practices - surely you know that by indulging your urges, you will only make them stronger.”

“I have tried to refrain from it,” the prince laments. “But even then, she haunts me… at night, I dream that I lie on top of her - that I spread her thighs and press her body to my own. And these dreams are so vivid, so terribly arousing, they often cause me to - forgive me, Sister - emit my seed.” He sighs deeply, and turns his face away, his shoulders tense; his handsome features full of torment. “A rather shameful predicament, for a grown man - is it not?”

Perhaps, you think, but a common one nonetheless, and not something he should be chastised for. You know perfectly well that there are some functions of a man’s body that are beyond his control, as do the gods who made it so. It is best not to dwell on it.

“My Prince,” you say instead, with what little confidence you can muster, “ - with your permission, I would offer you this advice: if you cannot restrain yourself, and if you care for this lady, then you should court and wed her.” You fiddle nervously with your dress, lowering your voice to barely more than a whisper. “It is a wholesome thing, for spouses to give their bodies to each other - for a man to make love to his wife…”

The prince hums, either in agreement or contemplation, you can’t tell. But you hope he will take your words to heart, and make this irresistible woman his wife. If the mere sight of her can stir such passion, then he would surely grow to love her deeply, and their union would be happy and prosperous. Blessed by the gods.

- Or maybe not.

“I am afraid that is not possible,” the prince says. Slowly, thoughtfully. “Because you see, my lady is a septa - a novice, as it were…”

His words trail off, and his hand reaches to caress your face, right by the edge of your veil, where a strand of hair has loosened from its pin.

You recoil at once, springing from your seat to look at him with shock and horror.

“This is highly improper - “

“I have thought of nothing but you,” he exclaims, impassioned, rising quickly to reach for you once more, “ - since the day I saw you, I have wanted no one else - ”

Again you manage to evade his embrace, but the prince is tall, and his legs are long and agile. Each one of his strides is worth two of yours, and when you back away he follows, stepping ever closer until you are backed up against a pillar.

Oh how you wish that it had only been a thief come to rob the sept. You could have easily escaped out the little hidden door by the dias; let them take whatever riches they could carry. There is only silver here, and the Faith has no shortage of that.

The prince is after something far more precious.

“Don’t touch me - ” you plead, feeling your pulse quicken, the hair rise on the back of your neck. He is too near, moving to loom over you, intimidating and imposing, and so tall that he must bend to brush his nose against your hair.

“It is a waste,” he murmurs. “That such beauty should only belong to the gods.”

You should flee. You should defend your virtue. Maids and ladies, harlots and tavern girls, all women know to protect themselves, to kick where a man is the weakest, to scratch, bite, shout, make a racket. There are guards patrolling the square outside, and septons sleeping nearby in their cells - if you were loud enough, someone would hear you and come to your aid.

But at what cost, when your assailant is a prince?

You dare not risk it, so you stand frozen in place, too frightened to push him away, too frightened to even look at him as he gropes your body, touching it in ways that it has never been, and should never be touched. One of his arms wraps around your waist, the other trails over your dress, feeling your shape underneath the fabric. Your stomach, your hips, your bottom, and especially your breasts.

He cups them with both hands, kneading and massaging them hard, pressing his fingers into your flesh.

“I would take you right here,” he breathes. “Against this very pillar, for all your gods to see - ”

The blasphemy, the shameless vulgarity - you gasp, and at the sound, the prince chuckles faintly.

“You said yourself it is a wholesome thing…”

“For husbands and wives -” you squeak, “please, you mustn’t hurt me!“

“Never,” he says, bringing your hand to rest on his chest, over his heart, as if to reassure you. “If you would only oblige me, I swear I will be gentle…”

You shake your head, but it does not dissuade him. He kisses your hair, your cheeks, the shell of your ear, touching his lips to every little sliver of exposed skin. Not just your face and neck, but your forearms too, your wrists, the insides of your elbows. Anywhere that lets him truly feel you. Feel the rapid beat of your pulse; the warmth and softness of a woman’s body.

And as he touches you, you feel him. His manhood, stiff against your hip when he presses himself against you, moaning softly at the feeling. It is a most intimate sound, and you are ashamed to realise that your body instinctively responds to it; to the closeness, the touch of a man. You feel warm in your chest, and wet between your legs - unnerving, and so at odds with the panic that still grips you, with the tears that prickle in your eyes.

“Please don’t - ” you whimper, just as his teeth graze your jaw, drawing a single, involuntary sigh from your lips. One that spurs him on to swiftly yank the veil off your head and discard it, fully exposing your hair and neck.

He pulls back to look at you, your neatly pinned tresses, your smooth throat and collarbones. Your beauty that he has long wished to admire.

“Like an angel,” he says softly, longingly, taking your face in his hands and stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “A little angel - the Maiden in the flesh - “

“That is a blasphemous thing to say,” you sniffle.

It only makes him laugh, and before you can say anything else, he tilts your face up so he can press his mouth to yours.

No one has ever kissed you before. Many boys have wanted to, but none were ever allowed the privilege. You always knew you did not want to be a wife. That you had a different calling.

It is a very strange sensation, this kiss. Hot, wet, and sticky. You do not return it, and yet the prince is undeterred, parting your lips softly but insistently, just enough to slip his tongue inside. It gives him pleasure, even when your mouth is slack and unresponsive - you can tell from his blissful sighs, and from the indecent way he moves his hips, rubbing the prominent bulge in his trousers against you. He is so entranced by your mouth and your body that you feel a treacherous sense of relief, thinking to yourself that if this is how he wants to gratify himself - by licking your tongue and humping against your hip - you will let him. No real harm has been done to your virtue, and the gods will understand you had no choice. Already you are silently saying your prayers, to the Warrior for courage, the Mother for compassion, the Father for leniency -

But you are cruelly interrupted when the prince draws back and begins to loosen the closure of his breeches.

“No - oh no, no - ,” you shriek, but as you try to wriggle from his grasp, his face hardens and his gentle touch becomes like a vice. Rough and unyielding, holding you in place.

“You must forgive me,” he rasps, his gaze dark with lust, his nostrils flaring, “ - for I can no longer deprive myself of what I so desire...”

He is so much stronger than you. With an impeccably polished boot he shoves your feet apart, his one hand pinning your arms behind your back, the other hiking up your skirts, determined, deaf to your frantic pleas.

“You don’t understand, I must remain chaste!”

“Don’t lie to me,” he hisses, “I know the workings of the Faith, you’ve taken no solemn vows yet - “

“No, I have, I have!” you cry. “I pledged myself to the Maiden when I was a girl!”

It is the truth, but the prince does not care. He silences you with another desperate kiss, crushing his face to yours, reaching to hook his hand under your knee and lift your leg. He has you trapped, pinned between his body and the stone column, and you can claw at him until your hands bleed, it makes no difference. Your dress is bunched up, your legs forcibly parted, your most intimate secrets laid bare to be violated. A great sin, made even greater by the circumstances, and yet the gods have abandoned you, left you here to suffer.

They must be occupied elsewhere, and the statues too stand motionless on their plinths, with their tranquil faces, staring blankly into the distance as though deliberately blind to your tragedy.

To the hand that worms its way underneath your smallclothes. The nails that dig into the back of your neck, holding your head in place. The mouth that swallows up your sobs until he is forced to break the kiss so he can reach between your bodies and finish unlacing his breeches.

You gasp for breath, looking up and straight at him, your eyes wet and pleading, your lip trembling.

“Don’t ruin me, please - I beg you, don’t take from me what can never be replaced - “

The prince’s hand hesitates on your thigh. His one eye flickers between your two, between the tears that flow uncontrollably down your cheeks; your little hands clenched into fists against his chest.

For a split second there’s a shadow of something softer on his face, a strange draw around his mouth, and then he curses and releases your leg. And you bolt, without thinking, ducking under his arm to sprint towards the door and safety.

You manage all of two steps before the prince catches you and pins you to the pillar once more.

“Not yet - ” he orders, slipping a hand down the front of his trousers to finally free his member from its confines. He cradles it at the base to proudly show it off before he begins to stroke himself, shamelessly and urgently, while you look on. At once frightened and sinfully curious.

You have never seen it before. The masculine organ. Only in drawings, of which some were intended to educate young women, and others were of a much lewder nature. The prince’s manhood does look much like those anatomical illustrations, only it is bigger in person than you had imagined. Hard and swollen with need. It fits perfectly in his fist, and the skin glides back to reveal the head, which is thick and meaty, and a dark purple red. It almost looks as though it should be painful for him, having it filled and engorged in such a way. Having it stretched to be so big. But of course you know that is not the case. And even if you didn’t, his gasp of pleasure would have made it very clear.

He reaches for your wrist, tugging it down between his legs, and you are quick to look away when he closes your fingers around it, with his own hand on top. Somehow, you reason that if you keep your eyes averted, it is not as sinful. Not as deserving of punishment.

But you can still feel it. In your palm, against your clammy skin. Warm, and pulsing as he squeezes your fingers tight around the shaft, moving them from the base to the tip and back down again, using your hand to pleasure himself. Slowly at first, but as his arousal grows he quickens the pace, moving your hand only over the tip of his member, massaging the bulbous head with quick movements. All the while groping at your chest.

And you let him do it. All of it, resigning yourself to be used at his will and pleasure. It is the best and safest course of action now, and all you can do is bear it. You keep your sobs inside, and your eyes cast down, staring mindlessly at the patterns in the stone floor until the prince’s hand seizes your jaw.

“Look at me,” he commands through gritted teeth, running his thumb over your mouth, pressing against your lips. “Open - suck, use your tongue - “

You do as he says, wanting so desperately to just be done with it - once he has finished he will surely let you go. The thought prompts you to suck on his fingers with increasing fervour, taking them deep into your mouth, running your tongue along the length of them, along his knuckles; making him gasp at the feeling.

“Fuck, like that - gods yes,” he moans, letting go of your hand to lean against the pillar for support, his eye falling closed, his hips making shallow, instinctive thrusts.

You continue with the same movements, up and down over his manhood, trying to mimic exactly what he did before, whilst still sucking on his fingers, too. Letting him feel your soft mouth and your warm lips; your little wet tongue caressing his skin. You haven’t a clue as to what you are supposed to be doing, and there is no grace or skill to your licks, but each swirl of your tongue makes the prince moan regardless. He would probably much rather feel this attention somewhere else, but clearly he has the wits to know that shoving his member into an unwilling mouth is not a wise idea. So he contents himself with this.

And thankfully, it does not take long before your efforts are rewarded.

When you choke back a mewl his hips jerk forward, and his hand flies down to close around yours again, guiding you to squeeze him harder and faster. His jaw goes slack, and his manhood stiffens even more, and even though you are inexperienced, you know what it means. You can feel it, feel his sac tighten, feel him twitch in your hand as semen travels up his shaft. He bends to lean his forehead against yours, and finally, finally, he spurts, moaning with pleasure as he empties himself onto your hand, his seed pulsing out in hot, wet squirts. Soiling not only your skin and your dress, but your conscience too; your virtue, honour and dignity.

And at last it is over.

The prince slumps forwards against you, hiding his face in your neck. His body trembles with the final waves of his rapture, and he brushes his fingers over your hair in a strangely intimate way, a tender way. As though you were lovers.

In a sense, now, you suppose you are.

Before he leaves you he quickly tidies his clothes, throwing his cloak around his shoulders and tucking his shirt into his trousers. And once he has made himself presentable, he retrieves your veil too. Brushing it off with a gloved hand and draping it over your head once more.

“Thank you, Sister,” he says sweetly, cradling your face to kiss your lips and then your forehead. “I feel much more at ease now.”

No sooner have the doors closed behind him before you fall to your knees by the Maiden’s altar to beg for her forgiveness.

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @helaelaemond, @targaryen-madness, @qyburnsghost.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut

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queers-gambit · 5 months

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The Battle Above the God’s Eye

part one: Sands of Time

prompt: decades after the Stepstones, it's his turn to be rescued.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.3k+

note: i'm not the happiest with this piece, so i'll most definitely (probably) write an alternative when the time comes and the show does the Battle. y'all know me by now, you know i love me a good ol' reader-insert and i didn't want to wait years to publish some kind of sequel so here we are.

warnings: reader isn't explicitly a Targaryen but we had to make this work and i'm burnt the fuck out. so fuck it, dragon rider reader. cursing, books spoilers, violence, imagination required, maybe Red Priestess reader, mention of more Little Birds (let author live), toxic family (duh), heavily encouraged imagination, depictions of death, angst, some hurt and comfort i think ? missing warnings 'cause wonky brain goin' wonky.

"There's rumor, Mistress, of a dragon the color of night," the hooded figure informed. "It nests in the Ruins of Ancient Valyria, seen by farmers and countryfolk; they say his wings beat like thunder. It's a colossal shadow they fear to engage, but after hearing your ransom, they reported it."

You hummed as you took a sip of scalding tea, finding comfort in the heat, musing, "I've been to the Ruins myself on two seperate excursions, I promise you, friend, there is no dragon that nests there."

"It's come from the East, a new beast in the sky."

"I require proof if I am to pay the ransom."

The man with a hood over his head reached for his rucksack and rummaged, a moment later, placing two items on the polished mahogany table between you both. One was unmistakably a dragon's tooth, and when you examined it, there was still clotted blood on the root - assuring it was a fresh pull. The second was a large black scale that weighed at least a dagger's worth.

You smirked, "This is promising. Where in the Ruins has it been seen? Who procured these artifacts?"

You discussed specifics with the man for an hour, offering him a hefty finder's fee after getting the name of the village the man had gathered his own information from. It was a messy journey from there; leaving the home you had made in the decades since the Stepstones to head for what was probably another dead end in Ancient Valyria. You were something akin to a magistrate, the people saw you as a figurehead, a leader; their person of authority who they were all too happy to follow.

Your village flourished, growing in size, number, popularity, and strength by the passing day. The people seemed happy, wealth flowing from exports and trade, and apparently, a few cartographers have begun the process of updating a few maps to add your village's name to history.

Much had changed in your time away from your Rogue Dragon Prince, but you knew that was all coming to an end soon. Your Lord of Light had shown you much in your flames, one of which was a repeating image of you, mounted atop a dragon all your own, soaring over the Narrow Sea with distinct purpose. You weren't a Targaryen, but your religious devotion seemingly gave you the ability to walk amongst beasts and their flames.

Exploring Ancient Valyria took over a year on foot.

You had plenty of encounters with the Stone Men, but all met their merciful demise - those left after that steered clear of you and your Valyrian Steel sword. Around the ruins of the ancient volcano that hadn't erupted since The Doom, you found a graveyard of goat, sheep, and cattle bones. There were bigger skeletons of aquatic creatures, something you found incredibly fascinating - what fully grown dragon went deep diving?

Soon, you found scat. For those who don't spend time in the wilderness or who are simply unfamiliar with the term, "scat" refers to waste produced by wild animals. Yeah, you're reading correctly, after you found the plethora of skeletons, you found dragon shit.

So, you knew you were closer than before. But the fucker still alluded you to the point you felt insane circling the Ruins.

You located about three different potential caverns, investigating them all with caution, but finding them all empty. Feeling exhausted from the months of searching, you claimed one of the caves as your own; hunting for a meal after gathering adequate fire wood. You listened to the untamed wilds of Valyria as you ate whatever you roasted, trying to distinguish familiar sounds of an approaching dragon.

Or perhaps even a distant one!

You'd take any sign!

It'd been weeks since you found the dragon droppings, no other signs appearing. You would search new areas for days, then return to your cave for rest; feeling disconnected from reality the longer you lingered in the ruined empire. You wondering what your village was doing, you were curious if the young woman, Ferona, had a baby boy or girl, if they had erected the new buildings you left blueprints for in an effort to create opportunist housing and houses of worship - as your people had requested.

How did the krill and shrimp season fair? What weddings happened this past spring? How was the irrigation system holding up?

Weeks drug by slowly. Weeks turned to longer months. Two years, you spent in that Gods forsaken ruin of a city - but couldn't find it in you to abandon your search.

Your Lord of Light had yet to send word, yet set your heart ablaze every time you "decided" to go home. You stared into the flames every night, desperate for any indication you were on the right path, but nothing was seen - nothing was said - nothing was shown to you. Until one night, during a torrential downpour and thunderous storm, you were shivering, drenched to your core, fighting the wind to let you keep your flames alive.

And there, in the dying, flickering warmth, you saw it. With wide, unblinking eyes, you stared into the flames harder; unsure how long you remained in the tranquil state before a particularly strong gust of wind nearly pushed you face-first into the embers. You gasped, looking around as the smoke nearly choked you as it filled the cave; stumbling out into the rain as you coughed and patted your chest. Stumbling slightly from malnourishment and delirium, you leaned on the outer shell of your "home", panting with relief before there came a screech so fearsome, you were then cowering into the wall with fear.

You dropped to your knees, huddled into the rock formation; the ground trembling as something enormous touched down. You gasped when through the haze of sideways rain, two nostrils flared and heaved thick plumes of smoke; reddened from the ignited flames deep within an invisible chest. You flattened against the wall, four taloned paws striking the ground and causing it to crack, quake, and tremble. With the fleeting clouds, you used the moon's light to distinguish the beast that loomed closer to you; over you; and then, in your face.

A long, blackened snout nearly pressed into your chest; fabric of your tunic caught in the razor sharp teeth. You had faced death, you had faced beasts, you had faced hacking axes and swinging swords. You had faced the wrath of the Queen Alysanne's court, the rumors of the common folk, and judgment from both man and God. But nothing was like this moment: a wild dragon staring you down, sniffing your chest and stomach, debating if it should just open it's mouth and eat you whole yet or not.

Thankfully, it chose an alternative route.

You're not fully sure how it happened, but you dedicated two years to finding this terrible beasty, and yet, it only took about 6 weeks to bond with the (obviously) young thing. Time with your Dragon Prince proved most useful, creating a bond so secure, you were beginning to wonder if someone deep in your bloodline had mated with a Targaryen. It was natural, the way you both became accustomed to one another; living together on a carbon-dated land long doomed.

The lessons from Daemon came flying back to you. You practiced your High Valyrian, laughing when you obviously got a word or two wrong because the dragon would snort at you. In the light, she was still the color of the night, but her scales were dusted the same gold as her eyes. She was impressive, she was huge in size but nowhere near Vhagar. In fact, you'd wager she had outgrew Caraxes - the only dragon you had true experience with.

Speaking of Caraxes, you were on the shores of Old Valyria, debating how you were going to convince your new companion to join you back "home" in the village, when suddenly, your beast gave a defensive growl.

Looking to the skyline, you spotted the distant dragon and frowned. This dragon wasn't the color of flames like Caraxes was, no, instead, it was a murky blob in the sky with two wings. You offered calming words to your dragon in her native language, not sensing danger, but your beast was unhappy leaving you in the open. Her tail curled around you to corral you back into her body as the muddy brown dragon landed with a thunderous shake a respectable distance away.

Your name was begged by the rider descending from who you recognized as a wild dragon by the name of Sheepstealer.

"Nettles? That you, love?" You asked in skepticism, managing out of your dragon's grasp. "What're you doing here? You all right?"

"I needed to find you," she panted. "I-I need you help - it's all - it's all gone wrong! Please!"

"What's wrong? The fuck's happened?"

"Do you know nothing, Auntie!? Do you know nothing of the war!?"

Your eyes rolled, "Watch that tone with me, girl. The Dance of Dragons is of no concern of mine, it had barely started when I came here."

"Well - it's your concern now," she insisted. "You took me under your wing - you helped raise me in a village you built from the ground, despite not ever needing to - "

"Your mother was a dear friend of mine," you cut her off sharply. "She was kind to me when I came back to Essos, let me stay with her and your father. When I set out on my own, she was always a friendly face, and when my settlement was established..."

"She came to you for help after getting pregnant with me," Nettles nodded. "You've told me this before."

"Then you should know better by now that I owed your mother more than my life, so, raising you was the least I could've done. A life for a life."

"And as such, you let me go into the world with stories filling my head of a handsome Dragon Prince that saved you from the Crabfeeder!" You scoffed at her words, ready to argue, but she rushed, "He's in trouble, Auntie."

You paused, finding no lie in the girl's eye. Slowly, you asked, "Come again?"

"I found him, Mistress," she nodded. "After I got back to Westeros, I found your Prince Daemon - the ones from the stories! He's... He's brutish and harsh, they call him Rogue, but he was kind to me when I told him I knew you. When he heard your name, Lady, he just - he insisted on keeping me close. He protected me, even against his wife - Princess Rhaenyra."

Your head cocked, "Hmm... He usually did have a taste for younger flesh. I'm not surprised he took to you - "

"No, no, no, Mistress, not like that," she insisted desperately. "He was kind, educational - similar to a mentor."

"I see."

"He needs your help."

"Prince Daemon does not need rescuing, he is no damsel."

"He searches for Prince Aemond," she informed, making you lift your chin slightly. Though lost in the wild of Valyria the past two years, you were still well versed in the affairs of King's Landing; staying updated, curtesy of your Lord, the Lord of Light: R'hllor. In your village, you were known to pay for any accurate information - eventually hiring your own spies to relay trustworthy information from around surrounding cities and villages. Nettles was one of your Little Birds.

You sighed, "And? What of it - Aemond killed Lucerys, did he not? Since he married his niece, her children are now his step-children, right? Daemon is within his rights to want some form of vengeance - it's war, Nettie, it's never fair to anybody.

"He will not survive this, you don't understand! It's horrible, Mistress, please, he-he-he's deranged. Mad with grief, lost to his wife's useless fucking war. It'll be the death of him, Auntie, please!" She paused, seeing you just stare back at her; so she begged again, "Please!"

You nodded, "What do you want me to do, Nettie? Hmm?"

"You've told me those stories! I remember them well! You always said he came back for you, saved you from The Crabfeeder," she reminded, making you stiffen. "Does he not deserve the same? Or at least a chance? Rhaenyra will not help, she'll kill him herself I fear, but you can - you can help!"

You nodded, "I will consult the flames - "

"I am telling you - "

"I have heard you, girl!" You snapped, glaring at your Little Bird. "But there are greater forces at work than what you know, I cannot just so willfully trust the word of a child before flying off across the Narrow Sea. Allow me my time with my Lord, I will have an answer for you." Turning from her, you gathered whatever materials you could; setting it up in a small teepee before stepping back.

In High Valyrian, you gave your command. From over your shoulder, your beasty opened her mouth and shot a single flame at the structure.

On your knees, you muttered repeatedly; chanting, summoning your Lord of Light to come to you now in a great hour of need. And He did. Through the flames, you saw what R'hllor wanted to show you: the two Princes engaged in a brutally epic fight that would claim them both in the end...

Unless you left right that moment, as your Lord commanded.

"Make yourself safe, Nettles, go back home," you told her in a rush, catching the pouch of Gold Dragons she tossed you when you sprung into action - and for the first time, mounted your dragon. Like your minds were connected, the Great Shadow took to the sky - leaving Nettles and Sheepstealer behind, and you'd never see either again.

You remained high in the sky, being a blob to the naked eye should any dare to stare at the sun.

You only paused to let the Great Shadow dive into the Narrow Sea for a meal; surfacing with creatures in her jaws as you swam an exhausting broad stroke. Was it terrifying to swim in the open water? Absolutely, but your dragon seemingly kept any threats at bay. When she was satisfied with her meal, the Great Shadow scooped you onto her back and relaunched into the air again to continue your flight for Westeros. You both dried in the air.

The trip was draining.

It was grueling on you both.

Yet when you saw the distant shore, you couldn't help the spike of relief in your heart and veins.

Once in Westeros, you were forced to ground yourselves in the open area of the Stormlands because you needed to know where to go since Nettles hadn't been sure where to send you specifically. Using the usual thunderstorm as cover, you had to separate from the Great Shadow; leaving her in the dark as you ventured to the closest village.

With the pouch of Gold Dragons Nettles gave you, you paid for information that you needed. You were told all the nitty gritty details about the Dance of the Dragons that you've missed, understanding what (Nettles and) the Lord of Light had been trying to tell you for years: the Black Queen would be Prince Daemon's death.

The time had come for you to return his favor from the Stepstones. If this worked the way you wanted it to, you wouldn't be his first, second, nor third wife, but his fourth and final. You knew what you had to do.

"What do you know of their whereabouts?" You asked the innkeeper who wiped down the bar you leaned on.

"The Princes?" She asked, tisking right after. "The One Eyed Prince has been burning the Riverlands for almost two weeks now. The Rogue Prince was in Maidenpool but he's called his nephew to meet him at, uh, oh... Oh, bullocks, what's that haunted castle? The one that was torched?"

"Harrenhal?"

She snapped her fingers at you, "That's the one!"

"Fuckin' Hell," you muttered, wiping your eyes. "What's your thinking, love? 'Bout this war?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Stupidest thing I've endured so far. How silly, the House of the Dragon does not know who rules it, or so says our liege lord. So we must all pay their price in Fire and Blood."

You nodded slowly, "Who do you think holds the better claim t'the Throne?"

"Depends on your views," she muttered, "but in truth, it doesn't matter to me - so long as this all comes to an end. But between us?" She leaned in, glancing around before muttering, "The Bitch Queen would burn us all. Can't say if King Aegon would be much better, but at least we'd know what we were dealing with."

"And if he was another Maegor?"

"Can't be worse than the Black Queen. Hear they call her Maegor with Tits."

You smirked, chuckling lightly, "Thank you, ma'am, for your words." You offered her a few Gold Dragons, repeating, "Harrenhal?"

"Harrenhal," she nodded, accepting the payment. "I do not know if the One Eyed Prince will answer the Rogue Prince's challenge, but that is where he lures Prince Aemond - Harrenhal. Now, how's about a nice bowl of stew? You look drenched, love, and a bit skinny - you been eatin'?"

"Your kindness is refreshing in this shit-for-a-kingdom."

You winked at her and tapped the bar in parting before turning for the door, and into the rain you ventured once more. You didn't notice the cold, your Lord kept you warm and moving; finding the Great Shadow, mounting, and shooting off into the unknown sky again.

It wasn't easy directing a dragon without a saddle nor any stabilizing reins, yet your beast was something of a decently smooth fly. You minimally directed her as you went, but in truth, her instincts directed you both more than anything. When the storm broke, you were soon flying over charred scores of land; homes smoldering and burning, the wind spreading the embers and never letting the fire fully die out.

"The fuck..." You muttered, sitting up straight as you flew through the carnage. "Seven Hells, he burnt it all, didn't he?" You whispered, needing to hold onto the spinal ridges of your dragon to keep balanced. "Gods be good," you gaped at the damage beneath you.

The sun moved into position, getting ready to set when you heard the horrible screams of feuding dragons. You couldn't see Harrenhal yet, but you heard the fight, and then, as the sun began to set, there came flashes of bright firelight that lit the sky to a new level.

It was nearly the shade of daylight with the way the flames danced against the setting sun. You were desperate to get closer, and after directing the Great Shadow over a set of charred rolling hills, you finally had Harrenhal in sight. "Go! Go, please! That's them - we need t'get there!" You begged through a small sob of panic, and if possible, your dragon flew all the faster.

You were so close, yet felt so far.

The air trembled when the pair of dragons, Vhagar and Caraxes, collided in the sky once more. They grappled and snarled and shrieked and blew flames and gnashed their teeth and slashed their talons. You paid no mind to the pregnant woman standing on the shoreline of the lake they fought over, and instead, focused on your task; feeling as if you were moving on pure instinct and adrenaline.

The Great Shadow dove low to the lake's surface as Caraxes and Vhagar came barreling to the ground. It all happened too fast. As the two dragons fell, you saw one man - in black armor - leap from his crimson beast with his Valyrian sword winking in the dying light. Just as his arm extended to pierce Dark Sister into Aemond's blind eye, the dragons were tussling enough to turn over and forced Daemon off their hide.

You gasped as you reacted - no fucking thought to your actions.

As the Great Shadow glided over the surface of the Gods Eye lake, you were leaping off her back to launch into the air; tackling the Rogue Prince hard enough to disrupt his impact on the water's surface. You hit the water all the same, but instead of it being like hitting fresh pavement, it was a softer landing due to the Great Shadow's expert and quick maneuvering.

Two dragons hit the water, three human bodies; sending a wave of water higher than the towers of Harrenhal's fortress. It was a shock to land in something so wet and cold, but your adrenaline was stronger than any feeling of freezing water. Your arms kept an iron-clad lock around Daemon's unconscious waist, surfacing as the lake rippled and churned from impact; turning a seeping red from the open wounds on the dragon sinking into the depths.

Prince Aemond never surfaced, and years from now, he'd be found still chained to Vhagar's saddle with Dark Sister still stabbed through his skull. His Red Witch standing on shore couldn't save him, it appearing that your Lord preferred the Rogue Prince to the One Eyed.

Keeping Daemon afloat was difficult, but to your shock, you were being gently propelled forward to the shore by a fatally injured Caraxes. You encouraged him best you could, trying not to choke on the water splashing around your frantic forms. When you were able, you started heaving and dragging Daemon up the lake's embankment; the crimson dragon crawling out of the lake behind you, slowly, heading towards Harrenhal. You wanted to offer the loyal beast aid or comfort, but you were much too preoccupied with his master that was dead weight in the water's surf.

You trembled as you swiftly hoisted his dragon winged helmet off to leave bobbing in the surf; unhooked his armor, shucking it off him and compressing his chest rapidly - just like a fisherman taught you to do.

"C'mon," you grunted. "C'mon, Daemon, breathe - fucking breathe, damnit! Please, come back to me - don't do this. I just found you again, c'mon, my Prince, breathe. Breathe, Daemon, don't give up - not now, not on us! Don't give up on us, c'mon, my Prince, breathe, w-we finally have our time." Sobs wracked your form. "Breathe, Daemon, please! Please! I'm back - I finally found you, please, my love, breathe!"

You shoved harder into his breast bone with increased ferocity until water came suddenly spewing from his lungs. You heard the Great Shadow land in the near distance, turning Daemon on his side to help him breathe better; choking the water out. You spoke in relief, "There, there you go, c'mon, love, breathe! Thank fucking Gods, you're all right, you're okay, get it out - you're okay, just breathe, my love."

Daemon choked your name in pure disbelief, holding one of your wrists in a vice grip that only briefly concerned you. He panted and relaxed into the embankment, loosening his grip as he turned over to look up at you in shock and wonder. "How is this possible?" He wheezed.

"It's a bit of a long story," you teased softly, caressing his cheek. "Bit of a boring tale, 'M afraid."

"How? How is - how can this be?"

"You needed me," you explained, "thought I'd return the favor since you saved me all those years ago, huh? You got me out of the sea, I got you out of the lake - we're even, yeah?"

He still panted, only staring at you as if he couldn't believe himself. "You've not aged a day," he whispered.

You smiled, petting his cheekbone with your thumb daintly. "You need rest, reprieve, aid," you whispered.

"No, no," he gulped, "not when I just got you back. T-Tell me 's done. Tell me we're done being apart."

"You have a wife still, Daemon. She won't let you go, she wouldn't let us be together."

"Tell me what your flames say."

"Now you trust my flames?"

"When they bring you back to me, yes - oh, fuck yes, I'll believe whatever those fucking flames say. Please, love, for us - consult your flames, tell me what they've said."

You frowned, petting a soaking wet lock of hair from his forehead. Quietly, you whispered, "My Lord showed me what was to pass if I did not come for you... This war, this Dance of Dragons, would claim your life, Daemon. Your wife, your niece... She'll be the end of you, my Prince. You will not survive if you go back to her. Neither of you will survive this... My Lord has shown me that Rhaenyra will meet her end in flames, but following her will cost you your life in water," you glanced at the lake. "Not a death befitting of a Targaryen Prince."

"And now?"

"Now, she will fight her own battles for the first time," you whispered, "and I will return home, and you will make a choice."

He smirked, "We've gone lifetimes apart, like you said before."

"We have."

"I would not go another day," he coughed, wincing in pain. "I do not think I can fight anymore anyways, love. Please... Please."

Daemon never begged. You swallowed harshly, asking him, "No? No more fighting?"

"No," he agreed. "'M so tired, my sweet. I-I can't do this forever," he half-slurred, making you perk up slightly in attention. "Retirement sounds all too appealing now. Rumor will spread that neither Aemond or I lived, it'll be the perfect escape."

You nodded in agreement, flinching when a new voice screeched, "YOU BITCH!"

The pregnant woman you saw on shore stormed towards you, making you chuckle dryly as you had already foreseen this Alys Rivers - pregnant concubine of the One Eyed Prince Aemond and fellow Follower of R'hllor. Alys was unique in the sense that her training was decent enough to ensnare Aemond (it seemed), but not so decent that the Lord yet favored her.

She wasn't more than ten feet from you when the Great Shadow opened her mouth and showered the Red Witch in holy flames; an end she surely did not see coming - not that R'hllor would've showed her. This all caught Daemon's attention, who flinched slightly when he had to turn and look; not expecting the flames nor the beast.

Then his eyes drifted over the land, breathing hitching, and he sat up with a painful groan. "Daemon," you worried, but instead of trying to get him down, you helped him up.

You knew what he saw.

When at Caraxes' side, you helped Daemon lower to his knees at his dragon's head. He whimpered and moaned, belly slashed open, wing torn apart; bleeding out into the cold soil he rested on. The Great Shadow moaned gently in sympathy, lowering herself around you three to let you grieve in peaceful, protective privacy and ease Caraxes to his next life.

The moon was fully in the sky when the crimson bloodwyrm took his final breath with the ebony giant's flames to warm you all. You weren't sure what could be done, but Daemon was pressing a tender kiss to his dragon's head before turning to face you - a lost, confused, vulnerable look coating his features. "Come on, love," you eased gently, helping him to his feet; knowing a few ribs were shattered and probably his clavicle, too.

"Where will we go now?"

"Well, I have somewhere safe for us t'live," you grunted in assurance, wobbling a little under his weight. "But we need rest for tonight. Any ideas?"

"I doubt anyone will venture to Harrenhal this night, should be safe..."

You agreed, and together, you and Daemon settled in the empty castle with the Great Shadow resting on the outskirts of the Keep. She was too big for the interior of the courtyard, so, she was left outside with Caraxes' corpse as you and Daemon settled in the room he had commandeered.

"How is this possible? How can you be here?" He asked, holding your hips as you worked between his spread legs. Daemon had minimal supplies at the ready; hopping up on a work bench to let you care for his injuries and wounds. He watched your every move with a softening look. "I thought I wouldn't ever see you again, that I'd be cursed to only remember you in my dreams. Rhaenyra said I say your name a lot at night, when I sleep."

"I'm really here, Daemon, ease yourself," you offered an assuring grin, tending to the head wounds he obtained from the fight.

"How?"

"Nettles."

"What?"

"Nettles," you repeated with a smirk. "She's one of my Little Birds, Daemon. It was not entirely coincidence she found you..."

"So she said," he frowned. "But how - "

"She told me you needed me," you smiled softly. "And when I consulted the flames, I was shown what could be. I made a decision, I just wanted you safe, no matter what that meant."

"I just want you. Fuck," he seethed, squeezing your hips, "'s been fucking decades since I've even touched you."

"You're delirious," you teased. "Sleep deprived, maybe concussed."

"Perhaps all at once, but I finally have all I've dreamt of. Please," he whispered, "do not deny us longer. I've endured lifetimes - "

"Daemon, being here and now, you know I can't walk away. But we've time t'talk it all out, I need you to let me help your wounds - so sit still."

He nodded, "One thing I do not understand, though - the dragon? How did you...?"

"Spent two years in Valyria, looking for her."

"Why were you there?"

"Searching for a dragon, of course," you smirked. "She's impressive, isn't she? And from her size, I wager she can easily support us both back across the Narrow Sea."

He grit his teeth when you cleaned his open cuts and wounds, wrapping whatever clean cloth you had around the larger wounds; easing him out of his tunic to have better access to the blackened ribs he sported. "Would you tell me?" Daemon whispered some time later.

"Of what?"

"Your life since the Stepstones?"

"Oh," you chuckled, "sweet love, you know it was dreadfully boring without you."

"Doesn't seem it, you being in Valyria two years? That's not heard of, what was it like? How'd you survive? Why go looking for a dragon?"

This lead to you both laying in bed, hands held together, resting, but not sleeping. You just spoke quietly, fingertips tracing idly over each other's faces; sharing in each others lives that the other missed, reminiscing together in fond memories.

When morning broke, you had to move swiftly. Caraxes was left where he laid and after a final parting to the loyal beast and commandeering his saddle, together, you and Daemon mounted the Great Shadow. She wasn't a fan of the restraints, but once you and Daemon were mounted, she did not fuss as it was evident you humans had an easier time with the leather contraption.

"I must confess," Daemon whispered in your ear, using you as an anchor and leaning into your back, "I fear I might feel something akin to guilt for fleeing home."

"That's natural," you assured, "you're leaving family behind, 's never easy."

"There was no winning this war," he admitted, sighing. "I lead so many to their death... Destroyed my family - "

"From what I have heard, this is not your doing," you argued sharply. "That night, when Aemond attacked Lucerys, what were you to do? Leave that kind of atrocity without consequence? No, that is not in the Targaryen's nature. You did not start this war, Daemon."

"But I knew..."

"You knew what?"

"I knew Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were Harwin Strong's, not Laenor Velaryon's. We thought if we married her sons to my daughters, nobody would care much else about lineage - but we were wrong."

"It's okay to be wrong," you promised, leaning your head back to let your forehead rest against his temple. "It's okay to make mistakes or have regret. Tell me, do you wish to return to your wife? I will take you now, no quest - "

"No. No, I do not wish to leave you. This is... This is Rhaenyra's war, I've done my part. I'm free and finally with whom I belong."

"Now it's time to heal," you told him.

"Time to rest," he agreed, squeezing your waist and placing a few kisses to your neck. "This is where I should've been all this time... After the Stepstones, I should've stayed with you, none of this would've come to pass. I regret leaving you everyday - "

"I told you, for us to get here, to this point, now, we had to separate. But look where we are," you smiled back at him, the Great Shadow soaring higher in the sky to keep Westeros at a distance, "we will not be apart again. 'S you and me, love... Until our end, which we will greet together."

Daemon's lips found yours at long last, whispering, "Together," against them before sweeping his tongue against yours.

The port was lovely this time of day, sun high in the sky to give light to the fishermen and vendors hard at work. Sailors made port, calms were being shucked, different Aristocats trying to barter and trade on their journeys abroad. You smiled at the people you passed, grateful to be home after a prolonged absence; arm looped tight with Daemon's as you both strolled the pier.

"It's hard to imagine you've done all this in a lifetime or less," he mused, a hand folded over yours, dressed in the best clothes you could find. "It's s marvel, my sweet," his compliment was sincere.

"Thank you," you whispered, hugging his arm as your skirts swished around your ankles, just tickling your bare feet. "This season's expected to be bountiful," you told him, pointing to the various teams bringing crustaceans, fish, and other sea life in different crates and traps. "I expect there won't be much of an off-season."

He glanced around, "And you don't collect taxes?"

"Why would I?" You scoffed. "We're more dynamic than that. Everyone works for their place, if you wanted to think of it that way. They are not expected to contribute, but the village seems happier that way. Being close knit, helping one another, sharing wealth. No one person has complained, so, I figure it's working so far. Even if it didn't work, I still wouldn't charge them taxes - it'd be like charging them to live. Always seemed silly t'me."

"Morning, Mistress!"

"Morning, Don," you beamed, leading Daemon towards the dock. "How are you, kind sir? Looks as if you've been working all day already."

"Aye, up before the sun," he nodded, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "Wanted t'thank yah, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, yeah, with that dragon? We're hauling in more ships," he chuckled, and just overhead, the Great Shadow glided over them all to head out to sea to fetch another round of ships. "Gets us out there quick, brings us back when done, 's like a wee bit of an assembly line, ain't it?"

You chuckled, "Sounds like it, friend. Uh, Don, have I introduced you to my husband?"

"Husband?" Don grinned, cocking his head, "No, Mistress, I wasn't aware you even had a suitor. Mariam don't tell me much gossip these days," he snickered, referring to his wife. "It's nice t'meet you," he told Daemon, "name's Don, just Don - no, it ain't short for nothin'."

Daemon smirked some, shaking the man's fishy hand boldly, "A pleasure, Don, Just Don."

"Oh, this one's got a bit uh humor, don't he?" Don laughed lightly. "What's your name, lad?"

"Daemon?" A voice answered for you all, and just above you, a little further on the pier, stood an aged Laenor Velaryon.

"Excuse us, Don," you spoke swiftly, confusion marring your features. He understood or sensed the slight tension, backing off to let you approach the "dead" knight.

"Oh, my - Y/N," Laenor breathed, another aged man at his side with what you assume to be his children. No question could be asked yet as your old friend launched himself into your arms, laughing merrily, giving you a tight squeeze with his still-toned arms. "Oh, the Gods are good for this!" He laughed, rocking you slightly, "Oh, how the Seven bless us."

"You're so dramatic," you laughed back, patting him happily until he pulled back. "But I must confess, I am so fucking confused - what is this? How are you here? I thought you died, Laenor, that's what ever spy reported."

"They should've," he nodded, glancing at Daemon, "but perhaps, the explanation will be better received after some wine?" He caressed your cheek in affection before looking at your husband, nodding, "It's good to see you again, my Prince. Or is it King Consort?"

"Neither, just Daemon," he corrected, your heart soaring a little at the idea that he would abandon his title so easily. Yet you knew, there was nothing to go back to for him.

"Well, how about I introduce my family?"

"Family?" You grinned, seeing him present the others.

"My husband," he gestured, giving his name. "And our kids," he introduced the other three.

"How?" You asked simply.

"We found a Red Priest who was willing to officiate the ceremony," Laenor explained, "and the kids were sired by different mothers, too."

"Whores," the husband smiled.

"Huh," you nodded in impression. "Well, perhaps wine is best to hear that tale, as well?"

"Perhaps," Laenor grinned. "Uh, but first, we should find accommodations - "

"Oh, come off it, you're staying with us," you waved. "Your belongings?"

"This is it," he half-shrugged, you eyeing the few rucksacks around their feet, neck, shoulders... "We heard of the prosperity here, thought it was worth the move."

"How right you are," Daemon answered. "Come, old friend." He picked up a few sacks for the kids and you looped your arm with Laenor's to lead the way. How good it was to have your friend back, your husband at your side, and a functioning, happy village with your placement amongst them most important... Everything you could've wished for, it seemed, came true.

And in your womb, a Dragon Seed was planted; soon to make its announcement known. Truly, a happier ending than you thought deserved - but R'hollr worked mysteriously, blessing those deemed worthy to spread his flames.

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#daemon #prince daemon #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen x f!reader #daemon targaryen x female!reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen angst #prince daemon targaryen x fem!reader #prince daemon targaryen x f!reader #prince daemon targaryen x female!reader #prince daemon targaryen imagine #prince daemon targaryen fanfiction #prince daemon targaryen angst

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oosleepyfaeoo · 2 months

Text

A Kiss Is All I Need

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader Chapter Three

Summary: 2 months ago, Alys, the love of his life, broke up with him. Their relationship of five years gone by a simple farewell note that she left on their, well now his, penthouse. 2 months crying and feeling like shit but that all stopped when he meet you on that dreadful clothing store.

Words: 2k A/n: Ok ngl i kinda hate this chapter T^T I've rewrite it so many times and i still don't like it but i think it's better than the other versions. Also the series will be bigger >.> I think i will add 2 or 3 more chapters.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Taglist: @zenka69@cryptid-l0ver@saelwen-shy-elf@aemondsdelight@shari-berri@kckt88@watercolorskyy @dae7tina@saturnssrings@dixie-elocin @arabis-world@tulips2715@reedmurdock@ladythornofrivia@tssf-imagines @eeeeeevesstuff@venmondiese@bellaisasleep@darylandbethfanforever9@snh96@liv-cole @a-beaverhausen

A huff fell from your lips as you walked up the stairs to your apartment. The moment you saw Aemond’s card, you ran into your office to reread his resume. Desperately to see if you maybe missed something but there was nothing that mentioned the famous Targaryen name.

The Targaryen family is one if not the only, most powerful House in all Westeros. They come from royalty, inherited with old money. You only knew the basics from this ancient family since you didn’t like to read or watch news or drama from celebrities. You think you only heard Aemond’s name once when the news of his relationship with an older woman came out.

Aemond seems a private person so that’s probably why you didn’t hear much about him.

Why would he give his business card if he didn’t want you to know who he was? It didn’t make any sense!

Because he knew I wouldn’t have hired him if I knew the truth before the interview.

You sigh, putting your keys on your door lock and opening it. You were greeted by the sound of your daughter squealing and laughing which made a smile grow on your face.

Putting your bag on a small table beside the front door, you walk into your small but cozy apartment, and you are met by the view of your daughter sitting on the sofa while Aemond sits in front of her on the floor. Letting the small girl play with his long hair.

A giggle fell from your lips as you stared at the ‘beautiful’ hairstyle that your daughter made. One ponytail on the right side of his head, which is held by a hot pink hair tie full of glitter, and two small braids falling on his shoulders.

Emily notices you by the door and jumps in excitement. “Mommy! Look! I tried to do a... val-valryian?” She tried her hardest to say the word but failed which made Aemond chuckle.

“Valyrian.” He corrects her.

“Yes! I tried to make a valyrian hairstyle... but I think it didn’t go well.” She pouts while looking at Aemond’s hair.

You walked to her and gently kissed her head. “It’s perfect, sweetheart.” You took a seat beside her on the sofa. “Did you have fun today?”

Emily nods and smiles. “Yes! We went to the park and ate ice cream there! And then Aem took me to a toy shop and bought me this plushie!” She grabs the green dragon plushie beside her and shows you. “Her name is Vhagar! Aem told me that he once had a BIG lizard named Vhagar so I decided to name it after her.”

“That’s a gorgeous name, Em. Did you thank Aemond for the plushie?” You raise your brow to your daughter as she hugs Vhagar.

The girl nods. “Of course, mommy!”

You smile and pat her head. “Good. Now go clean your toys so we can go eat dinner.”

Emily quickly stood up from the sofa and ran to her room, picking up toys and plushies from the floor on her way there.

Aemond also stood up, pulling down the side ponytail that Emily had done but left the two braids on which were hidden a little by the rest of his hair. He looks down at you and smirks.

“You have a lovely home, Y/n.”

A blush spreads on your cheeks. The way his voice sounds so husky and gentle. His little smirk and the way his eye trails down your form almost made your knees give up.

“Thank you.” You say while folding an orange blanket on the sofa, trying to distract yourself from the handsome man in front of you. “Look Aemond... We need to talk.” You sigh and take a seat on the sofa, Aemond following your lead.

“About?” He asks, frowning in confusion.

You took out his business card from your pocket. “About you being Aemond TARGARYEN! About you coming from a freaking famous and ancient family. And the fact that you left that part out of your resume.” You rest your head in your hands. “Why would you need this job, Aemond?... I doubt it’s because of money.”

He closed his eye and sighed. “I know I should have told you but to be fair, I thought you would notice... You know, the silver hair.” He says while pointing to his hair.

You look down at your hands and let out an embarrassed laugh. “You’re right. I should have noticed that obvious part but in fairness, I rarely watch news or drama.”

He hums in knowledge. “Look, this wasn’t my idea. It was Aegon.” He starts playing with his fingers as his nerves begin to spike up. “I’m in a really bad place right now and my brother thought that if he got me to babysit one of the sweetest kids in the world, it would make me feel better... And I think he was right.”

A smile appears on your lips as a soft smile forms on his thin lips when he talks about Emily. Sighing, you rub your hands together. “Will it be dangerous for Emily if you continue to babysit her?”

Aemond frowns at your words. “Dangerous?”

“Yes, dangerous... Paparazzies, media, etc.” You look into his eye, trying to see if there are any worries that he might be hiding. “I don’t want Emily or me to get unwanted attention.”

Aemond grabs your hand and rubs gently his thumb on your skin. “I swear you and Emily are safe. No media or paparazzi will find you.” He says with a serious face. “I’m a very private person and I have contacts that will keep your life private from the world... so don’t worry, Y/n.”

You nod and sigh in relief. “Okay... Alright, alright.”

The last thing you want right now is an army of paparazzi on your door or following you around and fake stupid stories about you and Emily on the news. You bet Nat would be thrilled and say that you should take this as an opportunity (or take advantage) to grow your business. But of course, you wouldn’t do that. You want your business to flourish on its own and by your work, not by 15 minutes of fame because of Aemond.

His hand squeezes yours gently. Your heart feels like it is going to burst from your chest at the tiny and sweet smile that Aemond gives you. The things you would sacrifice to taste his lips.

For fuck's sake, Y/n. Get a grip!

“All done, mommy!” Emily reappears in the living room, dressed in her pajamas.

You stood up and walked to the kitchen to cook dinner while Emily took a seat beside Aemond, wanting to show him her favorite cartoon show.

After a few minutes, Aemond stood up which made Emily pout. “Well, i think it’s time for me to go.” He leans down and places a kiss on the girl’s head. “See you tomorrow, little princess.”

Emily pouts and grabs his arm. “Please stay a little longer! Eat dinner with us. Mommy is a really good cooker!”

“I don’t want to bother. I-”

“Nonsense! Come, eat with us.” You interrupted him. “I hope you like pasta tho.” You the pot in the middle of the table as Emily went to grab her favorite juice.

Aemond took a seat at the table, humming in pleasure at the amazing smell of your cooking. “I love it.”

From that day, Aemond took the habit of eating dinner with you and Emily. Months go by and you three have got into a healthy routine. You would drive Emily to her school and go to work, and by lunchtime, Aemond would pick her up and take her to the park to play or to his sister’s apartment. Emily and Helaena’s kids become fast friends really quick and at least once a week, Emily goes to spend the night or day with them.

You and Aemond got also close. He would spend a few hours talking to you while drinking wine when Emily was in bed asleep. You two shared some stories from the past, him talking about how he spent the rest of his childhood isolated after the accident when he lost his eye. And you about how hard was to be a single mother at a young age, how Emily’s father just disappeared after her birth and never tried to know or pay child support.

Aemond was quite angry with your ex’s choice of actions, which was understandable, saying if he ever saw that bastard, he would show your ex the consequences of being an irresponsible bastard.

As days pass, you find yourself falling and falling for your daughter's babysitter. You can’t help but feel attracted to him. Aemond was everything a woman would want in a man. Handsome, charming, smart, and good with kids.

Your thoughts are always on him, and your dreams are plagued by his lips and hands. You know that you and he would never work, since both of you are from different worlds. Him being literally from royalty and you are just a simple common woman with a cute bakery.

////

“And then, me and Vhagar would fly away and explore the world!” Emily finishes her tale while showing Aemond her plushie dragon that was ‘flying’ in her hands.

Aemond just picked her up from school and took her to the park since it was a lovely day and she also begged him to go.

Aemond chuckles and gives her a sipping cup of apple juice. “And what about mommy and me? Would you leave us behind?” He faked a pout which made the girl’s eyes wide in surprise.

“Of course not! I would take you both with me!” She takes a sip of her juice and then grins at him. “We would fly to Dragonstone so you and Mommy could marry like the old Valyrian people did!”

Aemond almost chokes on his water. “W-What?” He coughs, trying to breathe normally.

Emily gives him a side-eye. “Oh please. I know you and Mommy like each other.” She takes another sip from her juice while Aemond just looks at her in shock. “You two are always sending weird looks to each other. And I heard Aegon saying that you are always eating mommy with your gaze... I don’t know what that means, but it must be good.”

“Emily!” Aemond was now red as a tomato. That’s it! That’s the last time he lets Aegon hang around with him while Emily is there.

The girl just shrugs. “Mommy likes you too, you know... I’ve never seen her so happy since you both met.” She gives her cup to Aemond and jumps down from the bench. “You should ask Mommy for a date!”

And with that, she runs off to the swings to play with the other kids in the park. Aemond just stood there with a cup of apple juice in his hand, his eye wide in shock at the small girl's words. She sounded so comfortable with the idea of him and you married.

Sighing, he puts the sipping cup on the bag and then looks back to where Emily was playing.

“Maybe the kid is right.”

#modern aemond #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond fluff #hotd aegon #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #masterlist #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fandom

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darlingofvalyria · 10 months

Text

❝Daemon doesn't know what to do with you.❞

[ Never piss off your wife. She might acquire a living, breathing punishment for you. Aka, Daemon made a mistake and you're his punishment ft. Rhaenyra stay winning. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 1,985 ] | Daemyra x Sugar Baby!Reader

contains— sugar mommy x sugar baby, open relationship/understandings, toxic relationship??? allusions of cheating, established realtionship - nsfw: oral, p & v sex, v & v sex, pet names mainly: darling, sweet girl, good girl, praise, male masturbation shshhs - you piss the shit outta daemon (as you should), slight angst? - sort of daemon-focused since it's in his pov, but rhae's the only one allowed to touch you lol - no targcest bc its the modern world and that would be weird.

a/n— i dont want to talk about it, okay. comment/reblog/like at will ❤️️

Daemon doesn't know what to do with you.

With your soft noises encouraged to heighten in pleasure whenever Rhaenyra had you over- and after initial test drive of the first few times, stretched in months to weeks to days - she had you over all the time, at random times of the day. Any time the boys or his girls weren't by (being taken care of in the park, Harwin or Laena's visitation rights, Rhaenys wanting to take them off for Corlys weekend fishing trips)- your mewls turned unbridled shouts of pleasure now filled the high-rise.

You permeate the space like a cigarette stain; you didn't even need to be godsdamned present anymore. It starts with your perfume- it's lighter than Rhaenyra's but heavier in sweetness. Vanille. A touch of it that he's foul to recognise. Lipstick stains on his wife's neck, her blouse, where he can imagine your lips drag and bite and suckle because the kids are too young to understand and it's not like he's not one to leave his own marks, but there's a thunderous boil that drums in his veins when he realises you're leaving your own on his wife.

You fill the nooks and crannies like a plague, and you don't even care about him.

Worse, you taunt him.

And it's not like he could say anything to Nyra.

After all, the two of them had an understanding after he got caught with a minor dalliance of his own. It was a one time thing, and he only got blown, but it was enough for a talking to. A mutual agreement that was really just him pacifying his wife.

He really should have focused on the crooks of how upset she had been, on the gleam in her eyes when he thought she had simmered down. That her fire, though not as brightly lit, was still very much burning.

"You can have any sweet thing that you want, husband, as long as you keep them away from the kids. As long as you keep it quiet and away from me. I do not want the details." Nyra's mouth had curled. He remembered. She took up the space behind him, wine-kissed as she was, her fingers dancing on his shoulders and kneading at the tough centre of the nape of his neck. His eyelids fluttered and he barely heard her next words.

"In return, you will not make a fuss when I take mine, hm?"

Daemon had laughed. He remembered that. A soft, more air than sound laugh.

He took her hand to his lips and smirked up at her. Shark-like. Baiting. Daring. "As you wish, wife. In return, you can tell me all about it."

There was a strong part of Daemon that didn't think she'd actually do it.

Rhaenyra had smiled that smile that reminded him of godswoods and Valyrian necklaces, passed down from generation after generation. A silent vow louder drew from blood.

There was a strong part of Daemon who thought his wife was jesting, making a bluff, a toss of a coin.

Until you arrived with a sweet smile and a tinkling little laugh.

Until he had found his wife with her face buried between your legs, your hands— freshly done nails and glimmering rings, new, he later found out from the bank transcripts — and your back arched, your mouth gaping in a silent scream as you come undone.

It took a minute for you to see him, so stuck in that pleasure that broke and free-fell through you several times because 'Nyra didn't want to let up, calling you her sweet girl, her darling girl, that's it, you can take more, can you? aren't you my good girl?

When your thick lashed-eyes finally met his darkened lilac gaze, lipstick still perfect red, still perfectly plump and moist, your mouth curls into a charming little smile and said, "Oh, hello there."

Rhaenyra looked up, and at the smirk on her face, your spend all around her ruined lipstick and chin— Daemon knew she wanted him to see. Wanted him to know. It's a bullet shot down his spine, straight to his cock. It's a cold thrill and grasped fingers around his throat with rings nestled to make indents.

It's a violent blend of jealousy and lust, and the cocktail emotion rages in him, swirls and punctures.

There is a bite between Rhaenyra and Daemon, a fiery edge that often saunters the edges, crosses a new line. But each time, after each rough push, they come back to one another; a tether of becoming, of pulling taunt. Once again united. They are assured in each other's positions; you can play with anyone but you always come back to me.

Rhaenyra has won this one. She had snapped, pulled, and arose victorious.

But they always come together. And often, enjoyed sharing.

What Daemon forgets sometimes is that he is a younger brother, and really, Rhaenyra was the eldest and the sole eye of her father. When righteous selfishness burns with a petty need to make her husband suffer, it heels hard.

"She is mine, husband," she whispers at the edge of his lips, riding him through a slick, sex-haze after you had left. Her thighs slap against his own, his hands harsh on the indents of her waist as she rode him with no abandon, uncaring for his pleasure this time, selfishness the game this time, but the renewed roughness brought him to the early days of their marriage. That unbridled want, a clash of teeth and skin and raw, burning lust.

There is a growl and a hiss, a moan and a gasp; blood has beaded through bitten flesh and bruises are blooming. This is fucking from the high of a third party dancing on their marriage.

And Rhaenyra's refusal of you to him made him throb.

She had seen him high-strung, plotted him to be harder than a box of rocks, already harshly yanking his tie in anticipation of having his wife and you with your fox gazes and sire song, but Rhaenyra had turned away from him, ignored him, and slapped your thigh before kissing your cheek.

"Come back next time, darling, my husband is home." It was said in a tease, a lighthearted joke between two people he was not a part of, but he knew his wife; recognised the bite. The smugness.

And by god, you were in on it as you thrilled a laugh and slid your gaze to his, undressing and fucking him with your eyes as you bit your lip. Your words are to Rhae, a hand on her cheek and a thumb rubbing at the corner of her lip, but your gaze is devouring him. He wasn't a green boy, but you seemed amused and feral for the hard-line of his manhood. As if you can picture what he would feel like buried deep inside your guts, and enjoyed it.

"Am I just going to be yours then, hm?" you asked amusedly, finally turning to her.

Nyra turned her gaze then, to him, and smirked. "You, I will not share. A fitting punishment, don't you think? Some jewels are meant for one alone."

And you had laughed, the gall of you, taking your bag (new one too,a matching one with his wife) and walking right past him. Your scent- his wife's fucking scent, the smell of her cunt on you and his dick throbbed - devoured him as you left him with a wink and a quiet, "too bad."

You had not even gone inside the elevator of their penthouse before a growl tore through his chest and he had met Rhaenyra's thundering footsteps with his own, their tongues and teeth clashing for dominance, ripping apart clothes, wanting to bury each other in the other's skin.

Now, she reaches her peak with a yell and a full body shudder, her cunt clenching and squeezing, demanding his release, and he jolts with her with a swear of his own, his cum flooding her in thick, sharp bursts.

Even then, as Rhae smiled sweetly, post-peak glow simpering her fire, sweetening her kisses against the side of his face, his neck, running a tongue over the worst of the bruises and bites— Daemon thought, surely, now that his wife had reached post-coital bliss and forgiven him, punishment had been had? That he was free to have you, to play with you?

But no. You were off limits. Hers and hers alone. A punishment that keeps on giving as the echoes of you exist in his life in patterns he was starting to fucking loath.

The scent in the bath- the echo of the warmth of someone having used it recently, someone who wasn't his wife, in the pillows of his living room, the barest smudge of makeup as if your face had been pushed against them. In the snacks and drinks that he, nor his wife, nor their children, particularly like, fill up the corners of his kitchen. The lipstick stains on his wife, the running mill in the bank statements (the new necklaces, new dresses, new fucking lingerie he hasn't seen), and when he had finally had enough, shoving through his own house to talk to his wife that the least she could do while she was fucking you was be allowed to be there, he hears it then—

Your shouts of pleasure falling into sighs into giggles, and when he slows to his marital bedroom, you are there— breathing heavily, alive, real— naked and slicked, a goddess divine, with Rhaenyra inside you in more ways than one, baring her teeth in a victorious grin before falling into a laugh at his face.

"Am I allowed to have him now, is that it?" you ask, seemingly innocent. One of the new necklaces in his statements on your neck and nothing else. Chest moving in shuddering breath having just orgasmed and yelling it.

"Your choice, sweet girl," Rhae purrs, leaning back over your form to run a finger from the valley of your breasts to your stomach to your clit that turns your shudders to an outright jolt, then a sigh, when she starts fingering you in front of him. The squelch is obscene, and Daemon is hard, and he is not a fucking boy but he is starting to hate you as much as he wants to fuck the lazy smirk on your face, pleasure so obviously building once again. Soft sighs, mewls, escaping full, raw lips.

"I kind of... want him to watch a little. Just- ah! Nyra there, please - sit still and pretty." You smirk, giving him a pouty air kiss. The urge to strangle you sings in his blood. Hold you down and fuck you until you're better pliant, sweeter, fucking cooing for him. Fuck the spoil Rhaenyra has ingrained in you away.

You turn to the silver-haired woman on top of you, now on her haunches, pressing a gentle kiss to your clit. She held his gaze as she pressed her tongue flat against before taking a glorious, heavy-gazed lick.

Daemon swallows.

"Is that- ahhh, okay? Nyra, hmm? Please?" You sigh ever so sweetly, kindly. Though you're ridiculously spoiled, you were a good girl, following so obediently. If his cock didn't feel like it was burning to be inside your mouth, he would have revelled in it.

You squirm, turning back to him to hold his gaze while his wife started to fuck you through her tongue and fingers.

Someone up there was taking a piss on him. He pulls out his cock, a grunt and a curse, because fuck it, fuck you in particular— as the two of you continued on while keeping eye contact with him.

He took one step closer and Rhaenyra hissed.

"Whatever you want, baby." Nyra smirks against your pussy as he tugged at himself, teeth bared. "You're his punishment after all."

#hotd smut #daemon targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #daemyra #daemyra smut #daemon x you #daemon x reader #rhaenyra x you #daemon x rhaenyra #rhaenyra x reader #daemon targaryen smut #rhaenyra targaryen smut #hotd modern au #hotd x reader #daemon fanfic #daemyra fanfic #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒

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elegantsplendour · 1 year

Text

Let the Games Begin

Summary 📚 : Gwayne Hightower’s first born daughter was known as the viper. A manipulative, untamed little thing who has an insatiable hunger.

Aemond One-Eye did not like her betrothal with the handsome and charming Lord of Highgarden, especially amidst the Dance of the Dragons.

Not one bit.

Pairing 💌: Aemond Targaryen x !Hightower reader

Contains / warnings😈: kidnap, fluff, some degrading, smut, public

Theme song: Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

And I don't want you to go I don't really wanna fight

'Cause nobody's gonna win, just thought you should know

And I'll never let you go 'cause I know this is a fight

That someday we're gonna win.

Masterlist

Taglist 🥰: @marvelescvpe @aemondx @buglyberry @heavenly1927 @theroyaldixon

Other friends ♥️: @lovelykhaleesiii @daemonskelitsos @vhagarswar

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated💌

When she opened her eyes, her entire body ached in soreness. Trying to lift her arms, a terrifying realization invaded her conscience, the exotically luxurious chamber decorated in Bravoosi silk definitely did not belong to Old Town, nor King’s Landing. Her breaths quickened as she closed her eyes once again, memories flooding back to her head.

Adorned in Hightower green, she had giggled foolishly, appreciating her fine figure in the mirror. Of course she was content. Which lady in all of Westeros wouldn’t be overjoyed to be betrothed to the handsome and charming Lord of Highgarden? Although the marriage was downright political, she had made sure Loras Tyrell had been utterly smitten by your stunning appearance and sinfully seductive nature.

Arching her back devilishly, she imagined ways to drive her betrothed into taking her in the most bestial ways. As moans and grins escaped her mouth, a large hand muffled her breath. It excited her as she had anticipated it had been her desperate husband-to-be who couldn’t wait until the wedding night, but as soon as she caught a glimpse of silver, she realized that she was fucked.

The next thing she knew, she were confined in this chamber.

The door cracked open.

Long silver hair, black leather suit.

Of course.

“You kidnapped me?!” She shrieked in rage, “In Bravoos? Are you out of your mind? You destroyed our alliance between House Tyrell!”

Aemond rolled his one eye and responded cooly, “Dear cousin, we both know you don’t give a shit about the alliance. You are just mad because you lost your chance of getting fucked by Loras Tyrell.”

A blood red flush crept on her face as she retorted, throwing an apple from the fruit plate on her bedside to the one-eyed prince, who dodged her attack with ease, “Aemond, you fucking cunt!” She whined, “I want my life back with Loras!”

Sevens save me. Why am I in love with such a childish and wanton woman?

Aemond approached, his hands gripped her wrists firmly in place as she continued to try to slap him, “Your marriage puts you into great danger. An Hightower-Tyrell alliance puts a target on your back from the Blacks.”

The insolent girl bit his hands while Aemond winced in pain, “As if it wasn’t my cunt of an uncle who pushed your wastrel brother on the throne! At least, I was going to get a good fuck before getting assassinated.”

“You’re right,” Aemond gritted his teeth as he reclaimed her wrists, pinning her on the bed this time with much more force, “All this bloodshed, betrayals, all for the insatiable greed of the few. I won’t take part in this anymore. I’ve fought for my family, hard, for a long time, but it’s time to think for myself. This isn’t my fight anymore,” he leaned closer, “And I refuse to let you be in pawn in this game. I freed you from a fight that wasn’t yours. You… You will be mine.”

Aemond’s lowered his guard as glimmers in her eyes and silence reigned in the room.

“Aemond, you’re hurting my wrists,” she whimpered softly, her innocent doe eyes blinking.

He sighed and released his grasp.

Slap.

A bright red mark imprinted on his ethereal Valyrian face.

“You fucking pervert, Aemond! I am your cousin! Your cousin,” she breathed in disgust and rage, “You will make me succumb to your Targaryen queer traditions over my dead body!”

Aemond covered his stinging cheek, humiliated and surprised, “Over your dead body? Hmm,” he captured her neck, his grip authoritative, commanding and frightening yet not causing true pain, “You are mine to touch, to possess, to own, to use,” his hot breath on her neck, “ I am the only man you will ever get to have. Your needy little cunt won’t last until the end of your days. When you beg me to take you, I will ruin you.”

He left the chamber.

Cries and sobs filled the chamber for weeks after that encounter. She cursed her insufferable cousin for forcibly taking her life away, to mock her desires and body in a such crude way. How dared he? She was the temptress, Gwayne Hightower’s precious little viper, the one who hypnotized preys in her web. How dared he talk of using her as if she was a plaything?

Aemond returned to her side countless times, trying to apologize and make amends, yet every time his attempts ended in his hand slapped away. He hated to see her cry, his little viper cracking in vulnerability.

All he wanted to do was tend to her in his arms, even risking poisonous bites from her fangs.

Days turned into weeks, the little viper was not broken. If she were ever going to be, it would be of boredom.

She observed everything around her to her imagination. Whenever Aemond and the maids were gone, she wrapped her body with the opulent crimson blanket and danced dramatically as if she were the goddess of beauty and seduction. Eventually, her attention drifted inevitably to her cousin captor. The way he avoided her gaze as she narrowed her eyes, his desperate yet reserved request for touching her hand, the way his silver lock cascaded down his sharply beautiful features as she slaps his hand away.

He amused her.

But amidst her boredom there was another dire situation.

Dissatisfaction.

Of course, she would rather torment herself in chastity than giving Aemond the satisfaction of offering herself.

But the viper always finds a solution.

One day, she blackmailed a maester that Aemond sent by threatening to accuse him of touching her into delivering a piece of literature.

Cautionary Tales of Unchaste Ladies Across the Seven Kingdoms Since Aegon’s Conquest.

Knelt on the stone ground, Lady Aryana gazed in fear at the two knights before her. One of them muscular and broad, another tall and slim. Yet amidst her fear, strange tingling sensation erupted in her stomach. The muscular knight bent down and whispered, “My lady, your lord husband fetched us to tend to your needs. He informed us that you prefer to be taken without mercy -”

“What in the Seven Hells is this?!”

The heat in her stomach dissipated the instant the book was snitched away from her hands.

“Give it back!” She protested, hands reaching desperately the forbidden text held high by her captor, “You sadistic prick!”

Aemond hummed, his eye glazing over the next lines of the scandalous story. He swallowed subtly and raised his brows toward the annoyed girl, “Sadistic? Should I take it as a compliment? Considering it comes from masochistic.”

“This is beyond inappropriate for a lady of your station,” Aemond scolded her.

Frozen for an instant, she gracefully settled on the bed and smirked, “A girl has needs. What? My prince?” She pouted, “Want to lend a hand?”

Aemond clenched his fists and seethed, “When you indulge in such sinful acts, you won’t be rewarded.”

She whined in feigned disappointment, pretending to settle in the quilt again.

Turning away to leave the chamber, Aemond’s heart skipped a beat as he felt a feather light kiss landing on his cheeks. Before he had the time to process the delightful peck, horror and rage took over as the delicate hands snitched away his eye patch, exposing his sapphire eye in all its beauty and vulnerability.

He growled in frustration and he chased after the giggling viper.

He gripped on her waist and restrained her on the bed steadfast.

She blinked at him playfully, “I am bored. It’s been a moon since I’ve been confined in this golden prison. I can’t find a better entertainment than tormenting my captor.”

As his boiling and intimidating presence radiated on her, she realized that she had pushed Aemond Targaryen onto his limits.

“Are you going to spank me?”

With a swift move, she was effortlessly flipped over and her white night gown pulled up, revealing her vulnerable flesh.

Aemond’s hand raised high. As it was about to land, he stopped.

The little viper was squirming and arching her back in need.

Aemond chuckled, “You say tormenting me is your form of entertainment, hmm?” He hovered her body and his lips brushing over her earlobe, “Consider that we have similar taste in entertainment, little viper. Your body is mine to pleasure, you should have known better than reading such obscenities.”

He brushed his fingers on her sensitive backside, inciting an arousing whimper from her lips, before leaving his captive in frustration.

She buried her head in the pillows for hours and shrieked in embarrassment and frustration after that encounter.

She was a viper, an untamed, wild and free creature, confined in a golden cage.

She hated the silver haired prick. Always looking so damn perfect. Always keeping his annoying ass proper facade when he literally betrayed his family, faked his death, broke an alliance, kidnapped her across the Narrow Sea to own her, claim her, break her.

How fucking dared he? What kind of decent man does that?

I will prove it that he is if not more, just as wicked as I am.

A few days later

“Release me, you stupid girl,” Aemond hissed, “you are strangling me to to death!”

She didn’t.

Aemond’s hands gripped on the arms tangled on his neck in annoyance, yet deep down, his body rejoiced the sensation of his viper ravelling his body.

“Not until you take me to the city! I am about to die of boredom, my dearest cousin,” she emphasized on the last two words, “My Prince,” she implored innocently, “Please please please!”

“Fine!” He finally declared, “But if you ever try to escape, you can forget about leaving his chamber ever again.”

“I promise I’ll behave!” She promised mischievously, her eyes twinkling with excitement, and galloped out of the oppressing chamber.

Aemond regarded her with a mix of amusement and suspicion. He was well aware of her manipulative nature and how she could use her charms to get what she wanted. Nevertheless, a small part of him couldn't resist her pleas, the way she looked up at him with those innocent eyes.

Wandering on the market of Bravoos for hours, Aemond’s hand never left the tilt of sword as he scrutinized the mass, assuring there were no Westerosi spies targeting him or his viper.

His unbearable cousin, on the other hand, had much less serious matters in her head. As they strolled through the vibrant streets, she maintained her facade of naivety, pretending to be oblivious to the effect her every move had on Aemond. She skipped along, her dress swaying with each step, seemingly unaware of the gazes of admiration and desire that followed her.

She would glance back at Aemond with wide, innocent eyes, feigning confusion. "Aemond, why are people staring at us? Do I have something on my face?"

Aemond clenched his jaw, well aware of her game. He fought to conceal his growing frustration as he responded through gritted teeth, "It's nothing. Just ignore them."

The Hightower viper rejoiced secretly at her captor’s terribly failure of hiding his annoyance.

As they passed by a fruit vendor, her eyes gleamed mischievously. She plucked a ripe, succulent peach from the display, bringing it to her lips and taking a slow, sensual bite. The sweet juice dripped down her chin as she looked at Aemond through half-lidded eye.

"Mmm, Aemond, this peach is absolutely delicious," she murmured, her voice dripping with seduction. "Would you like a taste?" She extended the fruit towards him, her fingers glistening with its juices.

Aemond's resolve was hanging by a thread as he stared at the tantalizing sight before him. He wanted to seize the peach, to taste its sweetness and devour it along with her tempting offer.

No.

He wanted to do so much more.

He wanted to claim her lips, bite her, squeeze her, take her ruthlessly, make her scream like a common whore under broad daylight while the peasants of Bravoos watch with shock.

Clenching his fists, Aemond feigned a polite smile, “I’m good, little cousin.”

She rolled her eyes as she licked her lips intentionally.

Smitten by the desirous moment, Aemond’s eye widened in horror. She was nowhere to be found.

He searched every tent of the market at no avail.

A mixture of rage, fear and vulnerability stormed in his mind.

Did he really let her little display fool him, leading to her escape?

Or worse…

Spies from his family got their hold on her.

“Have you glimpsed a maiden? Barely of age, in a white dress, hauntingly beautiful?” Aemond demanded menacingly a mid-aged trader of Pentosi silk. The woman froze in fear as she recognized the symbolic silver hair: a Targaryen.

Aemond’s worry blazed eye was covered by darkness. The shock electrified his body and his first instinct had been to cut off the hands on his eye. Yet an instant later, the worry was replaced by fury.

“Did you think I escaped, My Prince?”

Aemond turned around, rage written all over his face.

The sight before him exacerbated his storm of emotions.

Her white gown for a proper Westerosi lady gone, replaced by an exotic and tempting Dornish robe, revealing her fruitful bosom, slender shoulders and alluring curves.

“Isn’t this beautiful?” She grinned as she swirled recklessly, displaying her beguiling thighs.

With that, she bolted like a mice being chased by a ferocious cat. Did she intend to escape? Absolutely not. Her alluring laughter like a siren’s call to the dragon prince.

As she reached a glim alley, she slowed down her pace and turned to face Aemond, approaching her like a predator ready to devour its prey.

He cupped her delicious breasts, barely covered by the provocative silk, roughly, eliciting a soft whine her soft lips, “Wooh, my prince…”

Aemond grabbed the back of her delicate neck and breathed on her neck, “Are you really that eager to get fucked, hmm? Little cousin?”

She tilted her head with her glimmering eyes, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her tease almost childlike, yet her hands traced down his lean and muscular chest.

“Fuck,” he growled, his leather pants stretching at his growing bulge;

With a swift move, she wrapped her arms around him and muffled his shocked curses with her lips.

“You are annoyingly attractive, cousin,” she smirked.

Instead of responding or retorting, Aemond turned her around her pressed her on the wall in an almost brutal manner.

She smiled satisfactorily and taunted, “Perhaps I am eager to get… Hmm,” she mimicked him, “Perhaps you are just too eager to fuck me, Aemond.”

A animalistic growl followed by a low chuckle echoed from her behind, “You want me to take you in front of the gods, do you?”

She turned her head to face him, grinning, “You know me, cousin. I pray to myself, for myself. I am a goddess, and you are my willing servant.”

As her last words escaped her mouth, she shrieked at the pain and pleasure accompanied by the sudden intrusion.

She already got wet just by fucking teasing me. Such a - Aemond’s thought were cut off as the word “servant” entered into his ears.

He pushed into her luscious backside without any warning.

Soon, her gasps of pain tuned into screams of pleasure.

“How is that, little viper? Are you still a goddess now?” He demanded cruelly as he spanked her hard.

Little did he know in her ears, the sharp sound on his hand and her, the relentless pounding, her own moans and his occasional growls were a symphony driving her into Seven Heavens.

“Big cousin,” she emphasized on the word “big” and arched her back, “You are so good to me. Serve me harder.”

Aemond longed to ruin her, yet he knew she wanted to be ruined.

He increased his pace, his hands coming down on her again and again.

He whispered the most sinful and degrading things he could think off.

Everything exacerbated her excitement.

It both infuriated and satisfied him.

“Scream louder, my little viper, mine,” he warned, sensing her walls clenching, “Scream so loud that whole of Bravaoos can hear you,” he chuckled, “Or I deny your ecstasy.”

And scream his name she did.

Aemond’s peak followed soon after and spilled his seed in her.

Aemond panted in satisfaction and exhaustion as he smirked at the mess he created.

His heart tightened again as the beautiful mess closed the distance between them and melted in his embrace.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice unconsciously soft.

He didn’t want to be soft.

His beautiful mess shook her head and nestled in his chest.

“Let me take care of you,” he promised, lifting her off the ground and directed to their residence.

He placed her on the mattress carefully as if he was holding a delicate vase and placed a kiss on her forehead, “I wanted it to be special. I didn’t mean to take you so… recklessly, I am sorry.”

Aemond One-Eye had absolutely no fucking idea why he had said that.

The little viper grinned and pulled her captor onto the mattress and rolled on top of him, “Trust me, Aemond - My Captor - Big Cousin - Targaryen, you had me because I wanted you,” she murmured, “I wanted you to take me… recklessly.”

The prince failed to contain his chortle, “My viper, so untamed. Even when at the mercy of her captor.”

She leaned down and captured his thin lips, slighting biting, “I always choose what’s best for me, Aemond,” she locked her eyes with his and took off his eye patch, exposing his sapphire, “I choose to let myself to be loved.”

Aemond’s words were caught in his throat.

Did he love her?

Oh the fuck yes.

How did she know?

She always does.

“You think I am the best for you?” A twinge of the vulnerability cracked from the ruthless One-Eyed Prince.

“For now,” she answered, “But make no mistake,” she reminded him playfully, her hands travelling down to his most intimate parts, “I will drift away if you cease to be that way.”

Aemond watched her in fascination as she grinned, “This is why you love me, no? Selfish, untamed, unapologetic? So un-Hightower.”

In a dominant surge, he pinned her down again, his voice firm and unyielding, “You can drift away all you want, my viper,” he smiled deviously, “I will hunt you down to the end of the world.”

She winked in amusement, “I have no doubt, Aemond Targaryen,” she challenged, “But I also know you would do anything, absolutely anything to become the best for me again.”

“Hmm,” he travelled his hands between her thighs again, “Let the games begin, shall we?”

“We shall.”

Many hours later.

“You know, I’ve never imagined that I would lose my maidenhood bent over in a dark alley in Bravoos, let alone to you.”

“Oh please, the only person you lost your maidenhood to was your devious fingers.”

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vhagarlovebot · 2 years

Text

AEMOND TARGARYEN !

last update: december 10th, 2022. no longer being updated since i reached tumblr’s limit for links per post.

AEMOND TARGARYEN MASTERLIST #2

─── ★ ONE-SHOTS.

NOT GOOD ENOUGH (nsfw)

you haven't consummated your marriage and your husband is the only one with an answer.

UNLUCKY FAITH (angst)

did aemond targaryen ever love you?

FRUSTRATION (hurt/comfort)

aemond had a terrible day and puts all his frustration on you.

WON’T LET GO (hurt/comfort)

aemond is in pain and you want to help, but he doesn't want to scare you.

HEARTBEAT (fluff)

aemond sees you playing around with one of helaena’s children and doesn’t hesitate to join.

MY KING (nsfw)

you ride aemond on the iron throne.

INTO YOU (hurt/comfort)

aemond comes to visit his sister at collage and you’re surprised to find out that he’s actually there for you.

DOOMED LOVE (angst)

the love you feel for aemond is forbidden.

YOU NEVER REALLY SEE ME (hurt/comfort)

aemond is jealous because you are spending too much time with aegon.

JUST THE TWO OF US (fluff)

you end up sharing the bed with aemond.

DON’T TELL NOBODY (suggestive, angst)

you and aemond hate each other but he would do anything to protect you.

STAND BY YOU | PART 2

you've been betrothed since you were a child to prince aemond targaryen and this is the first time you're meeting him. however, you've always had his back.

I WON’T GIVE UP (hurt/comfort)

aemond has a lot of insecurities and this time they end up being stronger than his love for you.

WHAT WENT WRONG? (angst)

when you left king’s landing you and aemond promised to send each other letters but he didn’t keep his promise. now you are back ready to find some answers, but aemond is no the same one he used to be and you might not like what he has to say.

─── ★ BLURBS & DRABBLES.

PRINCE AEMOND:

getting flustered when you catch aemond’s gaze on you

braiding aemond's hair

aemond targaryen is shy around women

aemond feeling jealous

uncle!aemond who scares all your posible suitors

aemond targaryen’s love language is physical touch

aemond never really cared about his nameday

aemond who…

aemond talking to vhagar about you

aemond likes to hug you from behind

aemond’s thoughts on being a father

aemond would never hit a woman

calling aemond pretty

aemond being upset with you

“i don’t think i can be just friends with you”

aemond father-son relationship with ser criston cole

making out with aemond in dark hallways

aemond loves how shy you are around him

fake-dating with aemond

upholding the family’s honor

aemond targaryen’s love language is words of affirmation

aemond is good at controlling himself

hugging aemond

praising aemond and making him feel better

the first time aemond showed his affection for you

aemond likes to leave hickeys on you

aemond just wants to feel you

“maybe this is it, because i can’t do this anymore!”

mornings with aemond

aemond targaryen is tall

aemond takes care of you when you’re sick

aemond loves your lips

aemond who… pt2

aemond likes to have his cock buried deep inside you

“my heart was made to be broken anyway”

aemond targaryen is touch starved

aemond is there for you during a thunderstorm

make-up sex with aemond

aemond can’t remember the moment he fell in love

aemond loves going down on you

the aftermath of a fight with aemond

taking care of aemond after an exhausting day

aemond has a nightmare

aemond doesn’t share his problems with anyone but you

aemond doesn’t give a shit about tourneys

aemond will kill anyone who dares to put a hand on you

aemond likes when you tell him how big he is

the night aemond was taken away from you

getting insecure at seeing aemond with another woman

admiring and kissing aemond under the moonlight

aemond teaches you high valyrian

aemond is your best friend

calling aemond “daddy” in bed + spit play and subspace

aemond fucks you with his dagger

skinny dipping with aemond

aemond edges you and you squirt without his permission

the first time aemond yelled at you

aemond is tired and lets you do all the work

“you should be carrying my child”

aemond likes being the big spoon

aemond wakes you up

trying to bake with aemond

aemond’s been busy and he finally has time for you

aemond growing a beard

aemond is jealous

MODERN!AEMOND:

cooking with modern!aemond

modern!aemond is your neighbor

modern!aemond cares for only one person

modern!aemond likes to leave little notes for you

modern!aemond and you under the mistletoe

it’s hard for modern!aemond to be vulnerable

watching horror movies with modern!aemond

modern!aemond loves…

modern!aemond and the first time you stay with him

modern!aemond deeply in love with latina!reader

modern!aemond likes his sisters’ roommate

modern!aemond has a soft spot for you

helping modern!aemond get through hard days

modern!aemond would definitely stop smoking for you

modern!aemond falling in love with you

─── ★ MISCELLANEOUS.

aemond’s personality

how i think modern!aemond would look like

aemond and trust / friendship

aemond and alicent the night he lost his eye

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #prince aemond x reader #aemond x reader #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen scenarios #aemond targaryen fluff

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madame-fear · 2 years

Note

Hey babe, I've seen that you write beautifully, I love your stories with Jace and Luke. Could I ask you to write something for me? I asked for this a while ago, but I need more. Headcanons with fluff or nsfw, fanfic, whatever you wish. But I would love to be that aunty milf, lol. Thank you very much for considering it!

a/n : hellooo lovelie !! yes ofc 🥰 so i made headcanons about this bc i thought it'd be fit, and i separated the sfw and nsfw part. Hope you enoy this, luv !! <3 and may the Seven have mercy on my sinful soul 💪🥲

pairing : jacaerys velaryon x aunt!targaryen!reader genre : starts with some fluff, ends with slightly mature content.

WARNING // incest content, him having sexual thoughts about you (also trying to hint his needs to you), and longer than expected.

— SFW —

• Ever since the day he was born, it was always too obvious that he had a tendency to favour you.

• This ^ was mostly notorious by the time he was still a child. Always following you around like a lost puppy, going to you for comfort, hugging you/showing you affection, and trying to impress you when he trained with his younger brother.

• Everyone around you who noticed it just laughed it off, saying that the reason he was like that with you was because you were his favourite relative. When in fact, a small puppy crush was slowly growing on him for you.

• Of course, you were one of the many who thought that he simply had a favourite relative, and that was: his aunt, his mother's young sister... you.

• You bragged about it in a playful way, saying you felt flattered that the heir to the Throne and future King favoured you. Right after that, you always ruffled his hair and gave him a peck on top of his head... and his heart would flutter with more love than he already has for you.

• This was just a mere, innocent baby crush... at first, because no one knew his feelings will remain in there with him, for the rest of his life. And they would only mature and grow throughout the years, along with him.

• In his mid-adolescence years, the crush he had on his aunt when he was a young boy still remained there, and had never left. It was rather hard for him, though; knowing both of you would be eventually betrothed, and he absolutely despised the idea of you being with another man.

• Expect to catch him glancing you all the time. No matter where you are, he'll always be eyeing you. You passed this as him being overprotective, but in reality, he's daydreaming about you.

• In his mind, he feels guilty about crushing on his aunt, but at the same time, he couldn't care less.

• Whenever he sees another man making you laugh and blush, his jaw would literally clench. And of course, he has to show to the other said man that there was already someone with eyes only for you... and he'd do it by interrupting you in the middle of the laughter and conversation, and by asking for your hand so he can take you dancing.

• He's your beloved nephew! So why would you say no? And of course, you always end accepting his hand, and going with him. Which earns the other man the biggest shit eatin grin from Jace ever.

• Praises and talks good about you constantly – and whenever someone talks about something with him, he always ends up talking or mentioning you. Which surprisingly enough, that's not enough for his family or relatives to realise about his hard crushing on you.

• Much like in his younger child years, he would still be willing to impress you always. Mostly by showing you how well he can talk to you in High Valyrian (slightly fails sometimes) and also, he would still try to impress you with sword training.

• To know that you are there eyeing and cheering for him would boost his ego. That's his reward for being so perfect at training, and now yearns for your approval all the time.

• Will also brag a bit about his skills with you, but only because he LIVES for your praising. Literally has heart eyes for you, and won't doubt in proving you it even if you're still oblivious.

— NSFW —

• As I said earlier: despite his feelings for you still remaining there since his childhood, his way of thinking about you had grown and matured, just like he had.

• Jace would slowly begin seeing and noticing you in a "different way", as in: noticing the way your dresses tightened around your waist, would occasionally stare your chest, and he would find himself having inappropiate thoughts at night while he's trying to sleep.

• During and after those inappropiate thoughts about how sweet it would be to feel you from the inside, and how you'd moan loudly or him, he'd feel a bit guilty about it... but as I said earlier, he wouldn't care; all he wants, is you.

• I believe he would try to get touchy with you, or would literally do anything to spend more time with you (especially alone).

• For example: he would literally go to your chamber late at night with the excuse that 'he simply wanted to talk with you about something' (whatever stupid topic comes to his mind) and would offer himself to help you out if he sees you're struggling with taking of your jewellery, or dress.

• Jace likes helping you to take off your jewellery, but he prefers to help you undress, and hand you your nightgown. Obviously, you don't think much about it, because you simply think of it as a gentle nephew who helps his beloved auntie to change into her sleeping clothing.

• You couldn't deny, though, that you enjoyed his company more than you should.

• Whenever he goes and helps you out with something (like what I just mentioned, for example. ESPECIALLY what I just mentioned), he would always use those memories to create scenarios that eventually lead to something sexual.

• His audacious self would even try to hint his dirty needs to you. For example, when taking off your necklace/untying the laces of your dress, or even teaching you how to take hold of a sword, since he has to be right behind of you, he would literally hold you tightly against him so you can feel how hard he gets around you.

• You're not dumb. You can feel it poking against your body, but you won't say anything about it, and rather focus on whatever thing the two of you are doing.

• His hands would be a bit touchy with you, as well. He would love to have you sitting by his side during dinner, only so his hand can rest against your thigh or knee under the table.

• If you do the same thing of placing your hand on his thigh under the table... he would be overwhelmed with the reddest blushing ever, and would try to cross his legs as to hide his hard.

• Would also constantly ask you for advice regarding relationships, and especially, sexual relationships. Why? Just because he loves hearing you talk about the topic, and loves how gentle you are when talking about it.

• Honestly, the idea of him being so unexperienced at it and you knowing more about the topic turns him on more than it should. Even if he hates knowing that you already had a sexual experience of your own, he loves to hear you tell him what a lady likes and dislikes in bed... especially, what you like and don't like.

• Of course, sometimes, the guilt of the thought about crossing your boundaries overwhelms him, and would try to do his best to keep his soft gentleman nature, and would try not to make you feel uncomfortable with the way he acts (even though you really don't feel uncomfortable).

• But overall, even if he's insecure whether you feel the same way about him or not, deep down inside, he knows you do, or at least, that you don't mind the way he acts around you.

• And also, having caught you staring back at him sometimes, placing his hand on his thigh, and allowing him to tightly press himself against your body... he knows you know about his crush, and he can't help but have a glint of hope at the idea that you might crush back on him, but simply say nothing regarding it.

• Jace can't help but think, you'd make a fine Westerosi Queen once he's finally King.

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kckt88 · 6 months

Text

Take My Breath Away III

Summary:

The time has come for Vaeryna and Aemond to get married. A lie is uncovered and truths are told.

Warning(s): Swearing, Angst, Marriage, Consummation - P in V sex, Dubious Consent, Regret, Mentions of Death.

Word Count: 3487

GREENS WIN - SLOW BURN - ENEMIES TO LOVERS.

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Kings Landing was a buzz with activity. The guests were arriving, the preparations had been made and it was finally here. The day Vaeryna and Aemond would stand together in the sept and get married.

Vaeryna was so nervous that she decided to skip breakfast, as she wasn’t sure that she could actually stomach food.

After bathing, Vaeryna’s maids began to help her get ready. Her long silver hair was brushed and twisted into elegant braids, her mother’s Valyrian steel necklace was fastened around her neck, and she placed her father’s gold Targaryen sigil ring on her finger. They couldn’t be with her in person, but they would be with her in spirit.

Now the wedding dress had been an issue from day one, Alicent wanted her to wear some green atrocity and Vaeryna promptly refused and when her soon to be good mother wasn’t looking the dress accidentally landed in the fire.

Alicent of course wasn’t happy, but Vaeryna couldn’t give two shits, and promptly went to the King and asked for his permission to design her own wedding dress, which he readily granted.

In normal circumstances, Vaeryna might have been shocked by the King’s willingness to grant her request, but she quickly came to realise that he just relished in the opportunity to cause trouble.

Perhaps what surprised Vaeryna more, was Aemond. Since their confrontation in her chambers, he’d taken to point blank ignoring her whenever she was in his presence which suited her just fine. But he hadn’t told his mother or Aegon about her relationship with Jace.

He was obviously keeping that little bombshell to himself for a reason and Vaeryna had to be cautious.

But the wedding dress she’d designed was modest, might have displayed a little too much cleavage for Alicent’s taste but Vaeryna wanted the guests to see her mothers necklace and know that Rhaenyra was still amongst them.

Of course, Vaeryna honoured little Jaehaera and had white butterflies stitched into the train of her dress. Some of them, Jaehaera had even stitched herself.

It was hard to believe that sweet little girl was truly Aegon’s daughter, she was entirely Helaena and Vaeryna made a silent vow to her aunt that she would always look out for her little girl.

At the waist of her dress, Vaeryna had dragon scale pattern stitched into the fabric, she of course wanted the guests to know that she was a true dragon. She would not forsake her Targaryen heritage for the seven.

As soon as the gown had been buttoned and her maiden cloak tied. There was a soft knock at the door. It was the King.

“I’ve come to escort you to the sept and walk you down the aisle”.

Vaeryna nodded and took a deep breath as she took Aegon’s arm.

Admittedly the sept was decorated beautifully, but it was Alicent’s expression that really brought a smile to Vaeryna’s face. She looked positively scandalised at the wedding dress she’d chosen.

Aemond was stood beside the high septon. He was elegantly dressed, his black tunic decorated with silver dragons and his Targaryen cloak tied loosely around his shoulders. His long hair tied back in its usual half up, half down style.

The horns signalled the beginning of the ceremony and begrudgingly Vaeryna took Aegon’s arm again.

“You look beautiful, my brother is a lucky man” said Aegon.

“He’s certainly something” muttered Vaeryna.

“Thank you for escorting the bride Your Grace. If you would be so kind as to wait for the Princess to remove her maiden cloak” said the Septon.

Vaeryna undid the ties of her maiden cloak and handed it to Aegon who bowed respectfully to the Septon and resumed his seat next to Alicent.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection” said the Septon loudly.

Aemond removed the cloak bearing the colours of house Targaryen and draped it around Vaeryna’s shoulders.

Aemond then took Vaeryna’s hand and smiled as the Septon tied their hands together by a ribbon.

“In the sight of the seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity. Now you may look upon one another and say these vows together” exclaimed the Septon.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days” said Vaeryna.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days” declared Aemond loudly.

“The vows have been spoken and the rings exchanged. You may kiss your bride”.

Aemond leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Vaeryna’s lips.

The celebration after their wedding was in full swing.

King Aegon was sat at the head of the table, with a smiling Alicent and Jaehaera by his side.

Vaeryna sat next to Aemond near the head of the table, smiling as many Lords and ladies came up to wish them well and bestow gifts upon them, while also enjoying the food of their feast. Borros Baratheon who glared pointedly at Aemond, Tyland Lannister, and one that seemed to linger, Dalton Greyjoy.

The young lord was similar in age to both Vaeryna and Aemond.

"Many good wishes, Princess Vaeryna. A match many shall pray for a fruitful outcome. I must admit Princess, the tales of your great beauty have not been exaggerated. Your skin is as beautiful as the freshly fallen snows of Winterfell and your eyes are more pretty than anything I’ve ever seen".

Vaeryna shifted uncomfortably in her seat and Aemond scowled.

"Thank you," nodded Vaeryna politely.

A sudden loud roar spooked everyone as Cannibal flew over the Red Keep.

“Ahh yes, your Cannibal. I’ve heard he’s an impressive beast”.

“My Cannibal is not a beast” huffed Vaeryna.

“His ferocious nature is well known. How is it that you managed to claim such a creature?”

“I wouldn’t expect a Greyjoy to understand even the basic fundamentals of how a Targaryen claims a dragon” retorted Vaeryna.

“If you ever find yourself bored of Kings Landing, you can always visit the Iron Islands. I’m sure I can find something else for you to ride” replied Dalton smirking.

Aemond slammed his fist into the table as he rose sharply from his seat.

“You dare speak to my wife like that” snarled Aemond.

“Relax kinslayer. I was only jesting,” laughed Dalton.

SMACK!

Suddenly Dalton Greyjoy crumpled to the ground, clutching his bleeding nose.

“Never speak to me like that again” snarled Vaeryna.

“Y-You broke my nose” exclaimed Dalton.

“A broken nose will be the least of your worries if you do not remove yourself from my sight”.

“Vaeryna” gasped Aemond, his single amethyst eye wide in surprise.

“A kraken is no match for a dragon” exclaimed Vaeryna suddenly becoming aware of everyone staring at her.

“Quite right good sister. More wine I think” declared Aegon loudly as he handed Vaeryna a full goblet of wine and staggered away to get more.

“That was quite impressive” muttered Aemond.

“I am blood of the dragon, and I will not tolerate slanders” said Vaeryna.

“Hm” muttered Aemond.

“I wish to toast my brother Prince Aemond and my good siter Princess Vaeryna on their marriage. May it be long and fruitful” said Aegon loudly as he raised his cup.

“Thank you, Your Grace” said Vaeryna as she bowed respectfully.

“I think it’s time that we retired our chambers” muttered Aemond.

“-Yes brother. Time for the bedding” exclaimed Aegon eagerly.

“Don’t even think about it” snapped Aemond as he took hold of Vaeryna’s arm and marched her out of the Throne Room.

This was the moment that Vaeryna had been dreading. As Aemond had oddly enough refused a traditional bedding ceremony. They were able to walk to their shared chambers without a fuss.

After they had entered their shared chambers, Vaeryna stood in stoney silence as she stared at Aemond, her heart pounding in her chest.

There was no sense in prolonging the inevitable.

“Would you help me with the gown, husband?” asked Vaeryna as she turned from him and swept her hair away from her back to reveal a great number of fiddly buttons and laces.

“Of course,” replied Aemond as he reached forward and began undoing his wife’s wedding gown.

Soon she was stood in nothing but a thin shift and Aemond felt his heart quicken in his chest at the sight of her nipples through the sheer fabric.

This was the moment he’d been waiting for, he believed whole heartedly that Vaeryna belonged to him, she had returned to Kings Landing of her own volition and accepted the terms offered to her.

However, her brazen and openly defiant attitude was unbecoming of a lady, and the way she spoke to him, angered him greatly. She was rude, disrespectful, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

She had invaded his senses, driving him to the point of madness.

But then he discovered her involvement with Jacaerys, and he’d been consumed with anger and jealousy.

He was going to erase the memory of that bastard strong boy and make Vaeryna his.

Aemond began pulling off his own clothes as Vaeryna slowly sat on the bed.

He noticed that she trembled slightly as she pulled off her shift, revealing her naked body to him.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” asked Aemond as he discarded the last of his clothes.

Vaeryna shook her head slightly, avoiding her husband’s gaze.

Aemond placed his hand on Vaeryna’s shoulder and directed her to lay down.

He laid between his wife’s open legs, supporting his weight on his left arm as he reached down and took his hard cock in his hand and placed the tip of it against his wife’s entrance.

Vaeryna shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath as Aemond sheathed himself within her.

Aemond stopped as Vaeryna shrieked loudly in pain. He lifted his head and noticed that she had her eyes screwed shut.

He didn’t understand, she told him she’d bedded Jacaerys.

Aemond then pulled back slightly and looked down, his eye going wide at the blood staining his cock.

“-Y-You’re still a maid?”

Vaeryna didn’t answer she just turned her head to the side, avoiding his gaze.

“You lied to me. Why?” asked Aemond.

“You know why” replied Vaeryna, closing her eyes again as she felt Aemond’s cock twitching inside her.

“I-I can stop. If it’s too much” whispered Aemond.

“Just get on with it” muttered Vaeryna.

“Not if I’m hurting you”.

“Aemond stop being a girl and get on with it. You know as well as I do, that we must do this” snapped Vaeryna.

Aemond moved forward and grimaced at Vaeryna’s whimper of pain.

The tears rolled down Vaeryna’s cheeks as Aemond rutted against her.

All she could think of as Aemond continuously thrust his hard cock into her was Jace. Her first time should have been his, but Aemond had taken it and now she would never get it back.

Aemond gave a surprised moan as she involuntarily clenched around him.

Vaeryna dug her fingers into the sheets, not wanting to touch Aemond as the pace of his thrusts increased.

He buried his face into her neck and let out a long low groan as he spilled his seed inside her.

Eventually Aemond pulled his softened cock from her and sat on the edge of the bed.

Vaeryna rolled to her side and began to cry.

Aemond took his robe that was haphazardly thrown across the back of a chair and pulled it on.

He gazed at Vaeryna’s shaking form and suddenly he felt sick to his stomach, he wanted to erase the memory of Jacaerys, to make her his. But not like this.

He went to the privy and threw up. The wine he’d consumed earlier was now bitter and putrid on his tongue.

The gnawing feeling of disgust swirled in the pit of his stomach as he could still hear the sobs of his wife through the closed door.

He didn’t know how long he’d been in the privy, but when he returned to his chambers, Vaeryna had fallen asleep.

Aemond could see the blood stain on the sheets, and he was filled with bitter regret, he’d been so blinded by his rage and jealousy that he had taken what he wanted and never spared a thought for how she would feel.

If he had known she was still a maid, he would’ve been kinder, he would have prepared her and made sure she was comfortable.

He stood at the foot of the bed for what seemed like an age, simply staring at Vaeryna as she slept.

He once thought that he’d feel delighted at the sight of her tears, especially after she had mocked him for his involvement with Alys, but this wasn’t what he wanted.

As he pulled on a pair of loose breeches, he contemplated sleeping elsewhere but he knew if he did that, word would get back to his mother or the King, so he decided to stay.

After discarding his eyepatch on the nightstand Aemond slowly climbed into the bed and gazed at Vaeryna.

He could still see the faint tracks of dried tears on her face, and with a shaking hand he reached out and gently stroked her cheek.

“I’m sorry” whispered Aemond as he turned over and closed his eye.

The next morning Aemond awoke to the maids setting up breakfast in his chambers.

Aemond groaned as he pressed his face into his pillow, it was the worst night sleep he’d ever had.

“Apologise My Prince, I do not mean to disturb you, but your breakfast is ready”.

“Hm” muttered Aemond as he sat up, his palm pressed to the side of his face.

Once he’d slipped the eyepatch over his head, Aemond looked over his shoulder and frowned as the space Vaeryna had occupied last night was empty.

“Where is my wife?” asked Aemond as he rose from the bed.

“The Princess left early this morning, she’s with her dragon” replied the maid, her gaze lowered to the floor.

Rather than deal with the fall out from the previous night, Vaeryna had chosen to flee and seek solace with her Cannibal.

“Apologise My Prince but I must strip the bed, the sheets need to be presented” muttered the maid.

Of course, the blood and seed stained sheets would need to be displayed as proof that he’d done his duty and consummated the marriage.

Aemond nodded and sat at the table, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat.

He found himself thinking of Vaeryna and he hoped that she was ok, he briefly entertained the notion of mounting Vhagar and seeing if he could find her but he quicky dismissed that idea.

She had obviously fled the Red Keep because she wanted to be alone, and if that’s what she wanted then he would grant her that courtesy at least.

For the rest of the day Aemond tried to distract himself, he attended his usual training session with Ser Criston, but that did nothing to quell the feelings of disgust and uncertainty swirling within him.

He tried to visit the library and spend his usual hour reading, but he could not concentrate, the sound of Vaeryna’s pained whimpers had etched themselves into his mind.

He of course made sure to avoid Aegon at all costs, he couldn’t deal with the teasing japes his brother would no doubt levy against him.

The only place Aemond seemed to have any reprieve from his thoughts was the sept, he knelt at the alter and bowed his head, praying for forgiveness.

He remained on his knees until they began to ache, he figured it was his penance for the pain he’d inflicted upon his wife.

Eventually Aemond returned to his chambers, he’d skipped breakfast and lunch, and now he was starving.

He declined his mothers invite to dine with her and Aegon, claiming he preferred to dine alone with his wife.

Of course, his mother knew that Vaeryna had spent the day with Cannibal, but she didn’t comment further, and he was glad for it. He wasn’t sure he could deal with her lecturing him.

Aemond opened the door to his chambers and came to stop as he spotted Vaeryna sitting at the table.

“I think we need to talk” muttered Vaeryna.

“Yes. We do” replied Aemond as he took a seat across from his wife.

“I didn’t know what food you would like so I just asked the maids to bring everything”.

Despite his hunger, Aemond didn’t reach for any food. That gnawing feeling of uncertainty raising to the surface.

“You were married to Jacaerys?” asked Aemond.

“I was” replied Vaeryna.

“Yet you did not lay with him. Why?”

“We wanted to wait until the war was over, at the time he was still betrothed to Baela, and we couldn’t risk Corlys finding out. Mother needed her alliance with the Velaryon’s. We had this dreamy idea of having a proper ceremony later and then we could be together” said Vaeryna.

“You should have been honest with me”.

“You were angry because you thought I had bedded my brother and yet you seem angry that I didn’t. I thought you would have preferred that I was a maid” replied Vaeryna.

“Had I known I would not have been so careless. I hurt you and I bitterly regret it”.

“Wasn’t that what you wanted-to hurt me?” asked Vaeryna quietly.

“No, despite the fact that you infuriate me beyond all reason, I had no such desire to hurt you” said Aemond sadly.

“I-I’m sorry. I should have told you the truth” muttered Vaeryna.

Aemond simply nodded his head as he reached forward and began to fill his plate with food.

“You said you married Jace in the Vale”.

“Yes, I don’t think the ceremony could be classed as being official. As it was just us” said Vaeryna.

“D-Did you love him?” asked Aemond.

“Yes, I did. Very much” replied Vaeryna.

“Hm”

“Did you love Alys?” asked Vaeryna.

“I thought I did” said Aemond.

“I met her you know”.

“Y-You did?” exclaimed Aemond.

“I flew to Harrenhal just before my father abandoned it and I saw them together”.

“That must have been difficult” muttered Aemond.

“It was, but in truth my mother and father had began to drift apart after Luke’s death and what happened to Jaehaerys-“

“-She knew about it” said Aemond sharply.

“I’m not sure what you were told, but my mother didn’t know about Blood and Cheese until after Jaehaerys was killed, she was lost in her grief for Luke” replied Vaeryna.

Aemond reached for his cup of wine and took a large sip.

“She went to Shipbreaker Bay”.

“What?” asked Aemond.

“After she received word of Luke’s death, she took Syrax and spent hours searching for his body".

“Oh” whispered Aemond, lowering his gaze.

“When you killed him, not only did you commit the gravest of sins, but without Luke’s body, my mother was denied the solace of honouring the traditional customs of a Valyrian funeral”.

“-And that warrants the murder of my nephew?”

“No. It wasn’t the murder of Luke that facilitated your nephews murder, it was the blatant disrespect that Aegon showed by throwing a feast and celebrating what you did. Not to mention you broke the law by killing a messenger. Aegon has the nerve to call himself King, yet he does nothing to uphold the laws of the land. If he had half a brain, he should’ve had you imprisoned and immediately sent his apology to my mother. Yes, you killed my brother, but it was Aegon’s own incompetence that contributed to the death of his son” said Vaeryna.

Aemond sat there stunned to silence as he processed what Vaeryna had just said, and he was ashamed to admit that in part she was right. Throwing a feast to celebrate was not only disrespectful but it made it look like Aegon had authorized Luke’s death.

In all his guilt, anger and regret he never once considered other factors that could have contributed to what happened to his nephew, it was just easier to blame Daemon and Rhaenyra.

“She spoke to me. Alys-I mean” said Vaeryna.

“W-What did she say?” asked Aemond.

“Told me that my silver haired babe would be King one day. Of course, at the time I thought she was referring to a son that I would have with Jace, but now I realize that she was referring to my son with you”

“Do you think that means you are with child?”

“Too soon to tell, but I guess well find out in a few weeks if your seed has taken root or not” said Vaeryna softly.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x oc #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond x original female character #hotd fic #hotd smut #prince aemond #aemond #aemond smut #aemond one eye

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bucknastysbabe · 4 months

Text

Sleepover Challenge - C.Cole

Prompts

20: “take off your clothes” 77: “want help with that”

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Criston likes to make his insane Targ gf jealous, toxic couple, jealousy, self depreciation, couple’s spats as foreplay, world building, au Criston ditches to Essos with a diff Targ, pnv!sex, rough sex, degredation kink, erotic choking, talkin bout FEELINGS, fluffy toward the end

A/N: I used an OC (random timing I know) but she’s Aemond’s twin. To make a long mf story short: they ditched the war and went to Essos to start a mercenary company. If you enjoy two toxic insane people there’s more of them on my page xoxo

Taglist: @bambitas @valeskafics @fairysluna @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk @lovelykhaleesiii @starogeorgina @targaryenbarbie @sugarpoppss2

Thanks and shoutout to @targaryen-dynasty ❣️

The princess narrowed her eyes, calculating how many ways she could kill her other half. Skysinger flew overhead, blending in with the clouds. Valaerys knew they would have to take shit jobs to build a credible reputation. Currently their company ranks included Criston, a Qohorik bowman, a pair of exiled Northern hedge knights, and the once enslaved pit fighter from Astapor. Not a bad crew. Especially when one has a dragon.

This particular entourage was idiotic. She could’ve hoisted the Volantene quim onto the dragon and be done with it. There, the dainty little thing was dropped off in in Braavos. But no. Criston insisted on the gold they would get protecting the passage of Volantene Triarch’s daughter as she traveled to Braavos to meet a sea-lord’s son.

Valaerys Targaryen didn’t like the girl at all. She was vapid and moony eyed for her lover. Criston, the cunt, seemed to enjoy the attentions— smiling and regaling the girl’s questions in fine Valyrian. He picked up the language quite well, surprisingly. Bastard Valyrian dialects weren’t so stiff on pronunciations.

The travel was long and agitating, boring truly. Criston and Valaerys’ small company only slaughtered some weak bandits near old Rhoynar ruins. They traveled on the black Valyrian roads, all on horses. The way the triarch’s daughter clung to Criston and thanked him with big lavender eyes after they killed the bandits made the former princess see red. She needed to punch something. Quick.

Their protected charge was too pretty. Jealousy burned within the Targaryen’s chest as she stewed on it. The girl was all delicate features and soft curves, utterly gorgeous. Nothing like Valaerys lanky frame, long nose, and boring straight hair. Merlot colored eyes stared into the campfire, pouty lips downturned.

Criston sidled up to his princess, nosing playfully at her cheek with a kiss. She glared and pointedly ignored the knight. Morak— the pit fighter— began to grin at the pair of them. He continued to eat and chuckle. Criston murmured lowly “What’s gotten stuck into your craw?” He settled his warm hand high up on her thigh, sliding inwards teasingly.

Valaerys grumbled absently while chewing on rations, keeping her face forward, focusing on not shivering from Criston’s big hand on her thigh. So close to where she wanted his irritating smiley face. Instead she hissed right back at him. “Don’t you need to go watch over the doll in her fancy tent? Make sure she doesn’t have any nightmares?”

The knight’s thoughts went two different ways. His pride puffed with Val’s obvious jealousy, seeking to push her a bit farther, she was something else when angered. Criston’s other side grew annoyed at her bratty behavior. He was merely being chivalrous with the noble girl, practicing his conversational Valyrian more than anything.

The Essosi girl definitely wanted a piece of him, Criston was not that dumb, but he was dumb enough to enjoy stoking his true love’s fiery temper. He rolled dark eyes at Morak, turning back to invade his pretty girl’s space. She scooted farther away, brows furrowing.

“You’re really this upset? We’re doing a job, I’m merely providing good service so we gain notoriety. You could stand to be a bit kinder,” he said. Cole’s lips grazed her ear as he admonished the angry woman. She flushed and eyed him, whispering back angrily, “Good service is coddling and carrying the mewling kitten around? She’s pretty, I get it.”

The princess slapped his big hand away from her thigh, stomping off to go see what Skysinger was up to. Criston called once, “Valaerys! Get back here!” Val was too pissed off to deal with him. Unfortunately there were familiar footsteps catching up, the knight snatching her around the midsection, pulling up close.

He rumbled, “You’re being fucking dramatic, when have I ever strayed from you?”

Valaerys wanted to sink into his body, relax and kiss those soft lips of his, catch the warm gleam in dark eyes. But she was horribly set in her head, properly offended. Criston pinched at her hip, seeking an answer.

“You’ve been by her side the entire time, maybe I could ride with the girl for once? Put the two Barrowton idiots beside her horse. You like the new cunt? Younger and richer? More power?”

Criston’s own temper flared, quickly stepping back to point a finger at the prickly blonde as he raved, “Fine then. Ride with the girl! Maybe you’ll learn some manners after all this godsdamn time! She sure has them.”

“Oh fuck you Criston!”

“If I did would you stop being such a venomous bitch?” He retorted right back, smug at her reddened face under the moonlight. Valaerys scoffed, lips trembling before continuing her quest to visit her winged beast. The ex-hand was going to show her what she thought was occurring. He stood with clenched fists, turning on his foot to sit back at the fire.

He stopped one more time, debating on whether to try again. The brunette shook his head— no, the princess wouldn’t change her mind after this spat.

Loroi was quiet, like most Qohorik. He had a fox-like face and gleaming dark eyes. Criston sat back onto the ground, angrily slugging some fermented shite from the wineskin. Loroi asked in poor common tongue “You two are…heated this trip?” Morak laughed brashly, explaining in his bastard Valyrian, “You’ve never seen a lover’s spat bowman?”

Ser Garett snorted, “They just find ways to be mad so,” his friend Ser Kendal finished, “So to spice up the fuckin’.”

Then they all burst into laughter. Criston grimaced. His princess was indeed quite angry. Not the fun way the men were mentioning either. Maybe once she rode with the fellow Valyrian things would ease up. He really didn’t enjoy seeing the princess so angered she wasn’t ready to fuck, that’s how it always went with them.

Ser Cole sighed as the Triarch’s daughter fought with the horse’s saddle. Yesterday’s ride did not go as he preferred. Valaerys made an effort to speak to the fellow blonde. Which was quite the effort considering how she already perceived the girl— a threat. The Volantene noble seemed dismissive of the dragonrider, pointedly talking to him instead.

His Val didn’t speak a word afterward and for the rest of the night beside dropping acrid backhanded insults.

Ser Criston Cole was laying it on thick in the meantime, drawing on that easy charm he held when prancing around tourneys in King’s Landing. Cole practically cooed, “Need help with that my lady?” The spoilt child seemed to enjoy Westerosi customs. She nodded eagerly, blushing, lilac eyes shiny with awe. Leaning over and straightening out the straps with a quick snap, Cole’s hand grazedacross her soft arm in the process.

Valaerys immediately slowed her horse’s gait, lips downturned as she rode in stride with Loroi. He could feel the heat on the back of his head. Hell, she might call Skysinger down. The Volantene babbled as they neared Braavos, the giant statue appearing on the horizon.

Criston helped her down the horse, kissing her ringed hand, leading the blonde to the manse of the Sealord. He was on an ego trip, his contemptuous lover growing more agitated by the second. The ex-princess completed the transaction, gaining extra gold for ‘the knight’. Valaerys stormed out when the Triarch’s daughter laid her plush lips on Criston’s stubbled cheek.

The Targaryen was planning murder. The rest focused to find a nice inn and rest for a night or two before returning to home base in Qohor. They managed to find a nice one, a bustling bar covered in colorful streamers on the street level.

Val ordered for three rooms. Criston relaxed a bit— worried he may have gone too far to fuck with her.

They drank, Cole making multiple attempts to talk to his lover. Valaerys narrowed her dark eyes at him, a bit drunker than he expected, cheeks prettily flushed. She bit out sourly “Do you find yourself enamored with every bitch with blonde hair and purple eyes on the planet?” Gritting her sharp jaw she shoved at Criston, eyes calculating.

He couldn’t help but grin at her behavior. Sometimes Criston smiled when he was agitated, heated for a fight. He snatched the leggy blonde over and pressed his face close to hers, laughing, “You truly are envious! We left our old lives together, you’re smarter than that, girl.”

She bit his bottom lip, rasping, “Flirty asshole, smiling and playing Ser Cole, fuck you,” her hands gripped at his waist while kissing him roughly, “Get your ass to the room.” Criston took his ass up to the room, the princess close behind, lobbing insults.

As soon as the door closed and locked behind them, Valaerys shoved the knight into the wall, cursing. “Take your clothes off. Fucking prick. You think it’s so funny to play with me like that? Made me feel like a godsdamn ninny, moping over how pretty she was.”

Val stepped back to shuck off her boots. Criston felt a bit afraid for what was to come but his cock was harder than the Smith’s hammer. He loved his princess like this, still grinning as he divested his armor and clothes.

“Why the fuck are you smiling? You’re lucky!”

The former Kingsguard was used to a little manhandling from his lover but she was raw aggression, shoving him flat onto the bed and crawling atop, slapping his cheek and barking, “Shit-stirrer. You knew I was upset!” He’d be lying if he said he didn’t whimper a bit.

“I should just get myself off on your thigh and leave you dry,” she hissed.

Criston tried to grovel a bit, his hands batted away from those gorgeous thighs. He pled, “Val, come on, I was merely playing to piss you off. That child was a babbling idiot.” Her dark wine colored eyes softened a hair— face turning back to anger.

“Well you’ve succeeded in pissing me off, Cole. Slut. You’re a slut. No better than the whores flashing their tits on the Street of Silk for a little coin.”

She plastered her pale body against his tanned, wet cunt sliding over his poor cock. Criston choked on his breath, eyes flashing in excitement. He breathed, “It excites me when you get angry my love, I went too far. Quit, let’s fuck it out.”

She slapped him again, lips crashing against his own, pussy grinding against him as she rocked her hips. Criston groaned and Valaerys’ tongue slid right in, twisting with his own, the pair in a frenzy. The tip of his cock kept catching against her slick opening, begging, “C’mon— Valaerys, please, I- ah- apologize. You’re the love of my life!”

She whined softly, demanding afterward, “Keep talking, oh gods, keep fucking talking.”

Criston was going to lose his mind, his soaked cock half-enveloped in her warmth but not sunken in that tight cunt. He panted and writhed, fisting his hands in the sheets. The knight knew he sounded embarrassingly needy as he kept apologizing.

“Pretty baby, fucking shit, you’re so gorgeous. Those legs, pretty lips, how your cute little tits f-feel on me— that other slut wouldn’t stand ahhaaah- chance! Lemme touch you, need it.”

Valaerys cried out and grabbed his bigger hands to massage at her tits, rutting her pussy frantically across Criston’s swollen cock. She placed both hands on his shoulders for balance, cursing and trembling as she grew closer. He always knew her signs.

“M’gonna cum on your filthy cock, you attention whore,” she groaned throatily.

“Please, please, please,” Criston panted.

Tweaking at her nipples had the angered dragon fall apart babbling and clenching. His own release was closer than expected— but Criston wanted her cunt so bad. He begged, “Mm, Val, sweetling, my favorite girl, let me fuck you, I’ll do whatever you want, just!” He whined sharply, frustration clouding coherency.

The blonde smiled teasingly, blissed out and fuck drunk. She patted Criston’s cheek to jape “That’s right, remember whose pussy this is?” She moved upward, muscles flexing in her thighs. Taking ahold of the knight’s prick she continued, “Whose cock it’s only fit for. Don’t do it again or I ought to make you a eunuch.”

Criston’s eyes rolled up when she enveloped his aching cock— groaning pitiful and high. Valaerys rasped his name, hands locking around the tender skin of his throat. He saw the twisted look in her eyes, possessive and eager. The knight knew he was getting used. Thoroughly.

All the brunette did was hold onto her hips as he gasped and threw his head back, quiet sounds slipping out. Val’s strong thighs flexed as she rode him roughly, a moan pushed out on every wet slap of their skin— sweat and release.

“You like that Criston? You wanted me to be mad, fuck you into the bed?” She managed, blonde hair falling from a once meticulous braid. Criston whimpered when she tightened her hands, nodding a yes. Her sweet pussy pulled and massaged his cock, the quick movements bringing him closer and closer.

She leaned down to his gaping mouth, spitting into it with a pleased look. Criston swallowed, almost choking because of her hands. Val exclaimed, slapping his tanned flank with a praise, throwing her head back. He was twitching and trying his best to fuck back against swift movements, drinking in her exposed neck and pretty tits.

She tightened harder, gritting out, “You’re fucking mine, best heed that, Ser Cole.”

The knight’s mouth hung open as she placed pressure on the sides of tender throat, sending his head into a tizzy. His hips helplessly stuttered as he tensed, lips stretched around a silent cry, Criston came so hard his vision went blank. Floating in rapture before coming back still in the throes.

Valaerys let go and came right along as his pumps of hot seed coated her tight cunt. Criston sucked in a breath before exhaling out a sob, then a slurry of moans and whines— stimulated and assaulted by utter ecstasy. He wrapped his arms around her pale waist and yanked the Princess against him, riding out his orgasm, panting wetly against her pulsing neck.

She curled a hand in his dark hair, breathing rapid from her exertions. Criston’s cock gave a last pitiful jerk, the pair both whining. Silence enveloped the room besides breath and the occasional soft sound. The knight knew he needed to say something. Stagnancy filled the room as quickly as the pleasure settled down.

He rolled them to the side, cock sliding out in the process, Criston’s chest swelling at the ruined mess of his love’s cunt. Dark eyes met the familiar grape-like color. He cradled her face, stroking a sharp cheekbone. Her lashes fluttered, arm tightening around his torso.

“Valaerys,” he paused to swallow, “I apologize for upsetting you…behaving childishly. But do know you’re the only one who holds my heart, my soul, the one who holds me together. I should not have made you feel otherwise, my love.”

Val’s face twisted a little, emotions welling up. She was terrible with expressing them; always disliked tears from anyone. She murmured, “She was beautiful. You were being the gallant knight and I wondered— I wondered what it was like to be pretty for you.” She sniffed and rolled her eyes, “That was fucking stupid, I didn’t feel secure. I know I’m a bitch and look like my damn brother, no curves either. Then she comes along and reminds me of it.”

Criston frowned, finding himself chiding her like he did back in Westeros, “I don’t give a rats ass about that or the idiot child, I like you the way you are. You’re beautiful to me covered in ash and dirt, blood, still banging your fists on the training post and yelling at Aegon. In leggings and chain mail.”

She smiled a bit, getting clingier, how he knew Val was feeling loved. He hummed, kissing her soft lips gentle. The princess sniffled, “I love you. So much.”

Criston replied, “And I love you, stubborn wench. Forgot to include that trait of your twin, Targaryen. I’m yours.” Besides, she handled jealousy much better than he did. A dead body or two might be lain around Essos from staring too long, or that one making her laugh with a jape. Oh, such was the nature of their love.

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #Criston cole imagine #Ser criston cole imagine #criston cole smut #criston cole x oc #Criston Cole x Targ!Princess

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thesunfyre4446 · 4 months

Note

Marrying Daemon was the dumbest thing she could have done. It solved no problems just made the existing ones more glaring.

First, if Laenor had been alive the Driftmark succession would not have been brought into question (Yet, it eventually would have always) as after Corlys, it goes to Laenor. It would’ve freed up some years or decades and Luke could’ve idk- actually gone to the fucking island he was set to eventually rule over or learn to sail. Maybe endear himself to some more people because as much as certain viewers like to pretend otherwise, Corlys was the only Velaryon happy to spit in the eyes of his ancestors sit that boy on the Driftwood throne.

Two, Viserys would not have had to use his last breath and final braincell to go to the throne room to help Rhaenyra usurp the Velaryons. He probably would’ve lived a little while longer and maybe this time he would’ve died quietly without uttering nonsense about a prophecy the Targaryens should not have even been involved with in the first place.

Rhaenyra could’ve maybe got her shit together and stopped living in a lalaland where she thought she would just be handed things because she’s *checks notes*

-A Targaryen

-She has a Dragon

-Daddy said so

But we know she wouldn’t, the entitlement runs deep. She would’ve stayed on Dragonstone where she’s ruling over a castle of employees sworn to her and a small merchant/fisher’s village. Rhaenyra lived in bliss on that island for a decade with no responsibilities.

Three, when you raise the Strong boys alongside their brothers and especially alongside Rhaena- who is literally a Targaryens/Velaryon child who is what the strong boys are actually supposed to look like, it becomes so obvious that the boys are bastards of non Valyrian parentage.

The only one who won in this arraignment was the Child groomer. He got the woman he spent years grooming as a child and he got a heir and a spare. Let’s pretend in a fairytale world where the Greens don’t crown Aegon and they slink off to whatever corner of the world TB think they deserve to after Viserys dies. The history books would write about the series of freak accidents that took Rhaenyra’s first 3 sons until Little Aegon was the heir.

i honestly don't have anything to add anon. 100% agree with everything you've said.

rhaenyra is a horrible politician. her marriage to laenor kept the velaryon alliance and secured driftmark for her son. if laenor was alive, vaemond wouldn't have called for a petition, and rhaenyra wouldn't have to marry the strongs to the dragon twins. she could've arranged for marriages with other important houses like baratheon or lannister and win their support. also, by having legitimate sons with daemon she harmed jace, Joffrey and luke's legitimacy and position. especially jace.

your point about the strong boys parentage being even more obvious next to baela and rhaena is sooooo true. as if they didn't already stand out enough, raising them alongside the velaryons that they're usurping is ridiculous.

i really don't understand the people that are saying that rhaenyra is a good ruler because she managed dragonstone. dragonstone is a little island with a couple of villages surrounding it. you can't possibly compare it with ruling SEVEN KINGDOMS. (and even dragonstone turned against rhaenyra in the end, but i digress) rhaenyra thinking she's prepared to rule shows just how clueless she really is (she even says in ep 8 she doesn't know anything about ruling a kingdom lol)

i don't think that rhaenyra's decision to marry daemon was necessarily politic. i mean yeah he's a dragonrider and a soldier, but his loyalty was never an issue because he would never never never NEVER side with the greens (aka otto). the marriage def did more harm then good for rhaenyra, and the main benefactor was daemon.

#house of the dragon #hotd #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti daemyra #anti daemon targaryen #anti team black #asks

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itsgameofthronesimagines · 2 years

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Hello, could you write about Daemon x Fem!Reader? Could you base it on Two Birds by Regina Spektor? Daemon and the reader are friends and little by little they fall in love, but the reader has always been in delicate health and little by little he dies, but not before getting in a relationship with Daemon. I'm looking forward to reading something sad and sweet. Thanks 🥺

(Gif not mine)

Title: Two Birds

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,783

Warnings: Fluff, illness, angst, blood, death, murder. Edit: I forgot to mention Daemon's vulgar language. Whoops.

Summary: Daemon never believed his oldest friend, Y/n was sick. Until one day he’s forced to acknowledge its existence.

A/N: How dare you request one of my favorite songs. Get ready for some angst y'all because this song was the only thing I listened to while writing this 😈

(I do not consent for my works to be reposted/copied)

Two birds on a wire One tries to fly away And the other watches him close from that wire He says he wants to as well But he is a liar

“Ao gīmigon, ziry iksos dangerous naejot geron mērī mijegon iā escort.”

[You know, it’s dangerous for you to walk alone without an escort.]

Y/n looks up from her book, marking her spot in one hand while brushing the hair out of her face with the other. The gardens are emptier than before she had sat down to read, and now it was only her and the Targaryen prince standing over her. Daemon’s shadow towered Y/n, blocking the sunlight from warming her usual sickly skin. He had his long, silver hair pinned behind his ears and his arms folded behind him as he raised a curious eyebrow.

Sighing, the fair lady closes her book completely and stands, “You know I don’t speak Valyrian so why must you speak to me in a language I don’t understand?”

“In the hopes that you’ll learn it one day,” he grinned, unfolding his arms and offering one to her, “Let us begin. Uēpa raqiros.”

“Uēpa raqiros,” her accent is flat for the time being, but her pronunciation was good. Y/n loops her arm around Daemon’s and he leads the both of them down the path of the gardens, “I recognize ‘friend’ but not the other word.”

“‘Old friend.’“

“I’m not that old,” she scrunched her nose up.

“I never said you were my friend,” Daemon smirked but quickly reverted to laughter when the lady hit his shoulder with the broad side of her book. She huffs, unlocking their arms and walking ahead of the prince in a flurry of skirts.

“If you were only seeking my presence to mock me, you have succeeded and are free to leave me now,” Y/n scolds, despite not having much heat behind her words. She knew her friend well enough to know that he only ever teased her to get a rise.

“I actually came to see if you wanted to fly on Caraxes later this evening,” Daemon caught up to Y/n without ever quickening his pace, playfully bumping shoulders with her as they walked side by side, “It’s a beautiful day and you could use some fresh air and not this... pile of shit King’s Landing calls 'air.'”

She hums, closing her eyes to briefly take in the warmth of the sun. The maesters have said time and time again that she would be healthier if she were to spend her days outside, taking in the sun and the air as her medicine. But no matter how many times she insists, they don’t believe she ever listens. Y/n nearly spends her whole days outside, and yet the maesters doubt she ever steps foot outside the castle. Today was a day she felt a little faint, and so the idea of getting on the back of a dragon terrified her.

“I best not,” she sighs, a little downtrodden, “Maester says I shouldn’t be doing any ‘exciting’ movements today.”

Daemon scowls, “The maesters wouldn’t know how to pull a thorn out of a toe even if the pliers sat right beside them. No one can decide what’s best for you other than you, Y/n.”

Her footsteps stop and so Daemon is also forced to do so. He sighs, regretting the words the moment they left his lips. He turns back to his friend, but the lady only offers a sad attempt of a smile, “You may do as you please, my prince. But I cannot. All my life, men have decided what’s best for me and they shall do so for the rest of my life as well... no matter how short of a life it might be.”

“Don’t,” Daemon shakes his head, immediately sporting a wide smile and quickly grabbing Y/n’s arm to continue their walk, “It’ll be a long life. A good life. No more talk of... whatever thoughts plague you. Whoever told you such things is a cunt.”

Y/n snorts, amused, and decides to drop the subject for her friend’s sake. No matter what she says, she can’t force Daemon to picture her as a sickly girl. He’s never believed it and continues to believe that she’ll live longer than even his little niece. Once upon a time, Y/n thought Daemon refused to acknowledge her health because he lost his parents at such a young age, but now she wondered if he was just mad enough to actually believe she was a picture of health.

They take a short ride to the Dragonpit after Y/n promised to watch Daemon fly off. As he mounts Caraxes, Y/n stood close with a mischievous smile on her lips, “Where will you go this time? Perhaps to finally be with your lady wife?”

The instant disgust that twists into Daemon’s expression forces her into a fit of laughter that quickly leads to harsh coughing, but she grins despite gasping for air. She tilts her head back up to smile at Daemon and he relents once he caught onto the joke.

“The day I go to be with my lady wife is the day I am to bury her in the dirt,” Daemon spat, glancing up at the sky and then back down to his friend, “Umbagon syt nyke, uēpa raqiros.”

[Wait for me, old friend.]

Y/n nods, recognizing that small phrase as one he often said to her, and remembers the proper response he taught her, “Hae bōsa hae mazēza.”

[As long as it takes.]

He grins and then orders his dragon to fly. Caraxes takes off, leaving a gust of wind behind that nearly knocks Y/n off her feet when she had moved to be at a safe distance. She smiles to herself while watching the two fly away until they’re a speck in the sky, imagining what it must feel like up there. She wished she accepted his invitation, but a part of her knows how frail her heart can be. If she were to fly up to the sky, she may not ever come back down.

~~~~~~~~~

Two birds on a wire One says c'mon and the other says "I'm tired" The sky is overcast and I'm sorry One more or one less Nobody's worried

She finds herself in the Dragonpit again, waiting to see Daemon off once more, only this time, she worries that she might not see him for a while. Viserys has chosen Rhaenyra as his heir after the death of his wife, and now Daemon is exiled to Dragonstone or until he finally consummates his marriage to Lady Royce. If Daemon was angry, he didn’t show it, but Y/n knew her friend, and she knew that Daemon often showed his anger in violent actions and often never showed what his next move would be on his face. A storm is brewing behind those eyes, but no one is aware of it other than his oldest friend.

He approached her as he was just about ready to leave and Y/n tries to talk to keep the silence at bay, “It will be good for you. Dragonstone is your ancestral home and you’ll be better off governing a small keep over a large kingdom. This is something new and exciting. It should keep you occupied.”

“I don’t need to be entertained like a spoiled, bored child,” Daemon sneered, though it wasn’t nearly as hateful, the last of the sentence dying on his tongue when he remembered who he was talking to. He lowers his gaze, regrettably, “At least not whenever someone as competent as you is around. You can come with me, Y/n.”

“And anger my father?”

“He’s an arse--”

“--Who is my father.”

“He’s a drunken fool. You needn’t listen to a drunk who won’t remember your arguments come the morrow.”

Y/n laughs softly under her breath, shaking her head at the ground before glancing back up at Daemon. The Rogue Prince softens his gaze, stepping closer and leaning his head down further to her height, eyes near pleading, “Come with me. There’s fresh air in Dragonstone.”

Her eyebrows droop, pity in her eyes as her mouth opens and closes to try and form the best rejection. Instead, only a weak response is let out in the form of a whisper, “I’m tired, Daemon.”

His jaw visibly tightens but he doesn’t say another word. His gaze hardens but he doesn’t look disgusted or angry, just disappointed. It’s not as though he should be surprised by her answer. Nothing had changed since the last time he asked. He may be a dragon, but Y/n is a flightless bird. Daemon turns and without looking back, climbs up onto Caraxes’ saddle, only looking up at the sky ahead of them.

“Umbagon syt nyke, uēpa raqiros.”

Daemon nearly falls off his saddle when the words he usually speaks are thrown back at him. Surprised, he looks down at Y/n and merely nods his head, automatically responding without thought, “Hae bōsa hae mazēza.”

Y/n smiles, blinking back a tear as she instinctively backs up. When Daemon takes flight again, she doesn’t watch him leave. Instead, she walks out of the Dragonpit, with the heavy thought of never needing to go back there again.

~~~~~~~~~

Two birds of a feather Say that they're always gonna stay together But one's never going to let go of that wire He says that he will But he's just a liar

Years pass and Daemon only gets one brief interaction with Y/n when he comes back to the Capitol as King of the Stepstones, hair cut and framing a crown. Unfortunately, he’s exiled again that very same day, and he’s gone before Y/n was even aware of his departure.

Their next interaction, however, lasts longer. Ser Laenor and Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding ceremony rolls around and no one expected Daemon to show. But he did, and it didn’t take long for him to corner his old friend with two wine goblets in hand.

“Still not into dancing?” He grins while offering a cup to her.

Y/n is a little timid but doesn’t turn away the drink. She swirls the wine and watches the liquid dance before looking up and sporting an amused grin, “Nyke jorrāelagon ziry. Yn ziry iksos se maesters qilōni pendagon ziry tolī exhausting va ñuha rytsāri.”

[I love it. But it’s the maesters who believe it’s exhausting for my health.]

Daemon’s eyes widened a fraction before his own smile spreads in delight, “Impressive.”

“Rhaenyra’s always been the better teacher,” her smirk makes an appearance before disappearing behind the lip of her cup, eyes twinkling as she watches Daemon's expression while she took a sip. He rolls his eyes, and for a moment they’re young again and close friends who roam the gardens together. Y/n thumps his shoulder lightly, “Admit it. You never had the patience to teach me anything.”

“I never had the patience for you to finally listen to my teachings,” he gripes back.

The words sting, but Y/n doesn’t let it show, gulping down her wine and looking out onto the dancefloor, “I’m sorry to hear about Lady Royce. Terrible to die doing the thing you’re best skilled at.”

“Indeed. I shall mourn her as any widowed husband should.”

“How? With celebration?” Daemon looks back and catches the knowing twinkle in her eye as she scoffs, “You don’t need to fool anyone, my prince. Especially me.”

He lets his smile grow under her trust, watching the dancing crowd alongside her as she comments, “I suppose a place such as this is a good place to start looking for a new wife. Lady Westerling is the one in yellow over there, and of course, Laena Velaryon is hard to miss. Lyonel Strong has two daughters, I believe. They should be around.”

Daemon inspects the women in question as he asks his own, “And what about you?”

She glances back at him, “What about me?”

He looks back at her, “Have you no husband?”

Y/n paused any quips from leaving her lips, lowering her goblet and reminding herself to breathe. Slowly, she looked away, “I’m not fit for marriage, Daemon. Even my father says so.”

“Fuck that,” the Rogue Prince growled, leaning into her space so that she can hear him over the cheers and laughter, “You’re the most comely lady in this room. Any man with more brains than balls would want to marry the family friend of the crown. My brother looks at you and sees a younger sister, someone he’s known her whole life. Anyone who wants his good graces would marry you.”

Y/n huffs in amusement, “I would not make a good wife and I would not live long enough to be a good mother.”

“Y/n,” she nearly loses her footing when Daemon grabbed both of her arms and forced her to face him, glaring into her very soul with angry passion, “Shut up. Stop thinking about all those things the maesters told you for just one second and think about you. You’re miserable here. King’s Landing is no place for someone who can barely breathe. It’s full of shit and crowds and the summers are unbearable. You would not be sick if you were to come to Dragonstone. There’s wind and rain and grass... one day you’ll wake up and realize you haven’t felt ill in ages. I want you to come home with me. I need you to.”

“Daemon--”

“Avy jorrāelan, ñuha hontes.”

[I love you, my bird.]

Y/n’s eyes widen, her heart skipping a beat as her mind calculates the foreign words. Doubtful, she swallows to wet her dry throat, “... I don’t know what that means.”

Daemon straightens his back, towering over her again but didn’t let go of her arms, “Yes you do.”

Her shoulders slump, trying to come up with a proper excuse that wouldn’t break either of their hearts, “You have no idea what you’re asking.”

“I’m not asking, I’m proposing,” one of his hands moves down her arm, sending shivers down her back as his hand finds hers. He lifts her hand until it’s placed flat on his chest, adjusting it to sit over his heart, his free hand gently pinching her chin to keep their eyes locked together, “Marry me, Y/n. Imagine all that we once had returned in tenfold. No one could tell us what to do. We’ll be free. Kesan dōrī drējī sagon dāez ēva ao sōvegon lēda nyke.”

[I’ll never truly be free until you fly with me.]

Her heart leaps and for a moment, she thought it had lept from her throat and flown off. She couldn’t deny how much she had missed and longed for Daemon in the years they’d been apart, and she was glad that the feeling of loss was mutual. But a part of her brain reminded her that she was still a sickly girl and she was only going to get worse. Despite Daemon’s promise of fresh air in Dragonstone, there’s no guarantee she’ll live long enough to enjoy it as much as he does.

“I won’t be a good wife, Daemon. I cannot give you children.”

“Who cares? I don’t want children. I don’t need children. I need you,” he steps even closer to her, “Just you.”

Whatever answer she gave him is drowned out by the screams of terror and the sound of fists meeting flesh. In the chaos of Joffrey Lonmouth’s murder, everyone is too distracted to catch Daemon Targaryen slipping away with Lady Y/n. It wasn’t until morning did people notice the pair’s absence, and by then, the couple had found a septon to marry them, binding them as one before anyone could object.

~~~~~~~~~

Two birds on a wire One tries to fly away and the other Watches him close from that wire He says he wants to as well, but he is a liar

Dragonstone was everything Daemon said it would be and more. Y/n had only been there once before after Queen Aemma passed away but now as she lived there to watch the seasons pass, she could see why her husband spoke highly of his ancestral home. In celebration of their marriage, they flew to Dragonstone on the back of Caraxes. It was the first time Y/n ever flew on dragonback and yet again, Daemon was right. She had never felt freer.

Unfortunately, she began aggressively coughing once they reached their destination, and she was embarrassed to have ruined the mood. But Daemon wasn’t bothered. He confidently stated that soon enough the fresh air will cure her and she’ll never have to worry about it again.

And for a while, it did. She took it easy at first and slowly noticed the effects of Daemon’s ‘medicine’ positively affecting her. Y/n began to swim in the ocean, jumping from high cliffs and splashing into the sea. She ran through the fields of long grass aligning her small island of paradise, picking up flowers and smelling their sweet aroma. And best of all, she clung to her husband as they flew above the clouds, basking in the heat of Caraxes' fire when he roared and chirped. Y/n, for the first time, did things that she thought she would never be able to do in her lifetime. She was better and healthier than ever.

Until winter came.

Her sickness came back and in full force, worse than it’s ever been before. She became so dizzy that she could barely stand. Her coughing fits would get so terrible, she would cough up blood. She could barely eat or drink, until finally, she was forced to remain in her bed, day and night, and could only move about her room with the help of another.

The maesters in Dragonstone concur with the ones back in King’s Landing and in the Citadel. They have all seen this before in all sorts of illnesses. The patient would always get better before the sickness got worse. And most times, it was fatal.

Daemon cut off the hand of the maester who told him to prepare for the worst and say his goodbyes before it was too late. Instead of listening, Daemon acted as though nothing was wrong. He spent most of his days in his wife’s room as well, talking normally, speaking of certain subjects only she would know. He never once mentioned her sickness and blatantly ignored it at times... except when Y/n would start a coughing fit. Those were the times Daemon would acknowledge it. He always tended to her, either offering her a handkerchief or a cup of water or rubbing her back. If Y/n wasn’t so occupied with her illness, she would have seen a window of vulnerability on her husband’s face whenever she had to stop talking to cough until her eyes were wet with tears.

One morning, Y/n was too weak to even sit up in bed. She had spent the entire night coughing and wheezing, she couldn’t even sleep for an hour. She had lost all color in her face and her hair was damp with sweat, a small basin filled with her blood and stomach contents sat on the floor beside her bed. Daemon was awake with her the whole night, at her side, only occasionally drifting off before moving into action when Y/n’s coughs would start up again.

Her throat is raw and her voice is quiet, her tone nothing like her own. It was like rock scrapping against rock and nothing like her usual, angelic voice. She barely spoke, but when she did, it was always optimistic. It was almost as though she believed Daemon’s former confidence in her.

“I’ll be alright,” she would whisper, coughing into her handkerchief, “It’s as... you said. I’ll get better when spring comes... comes back. It’s my first winter here. I just need to get used to... it.”

Daemon carefully watches her in response, never saying a word. It was chilling to hear his wife repeat his words back to him as if they had switched personalities. He wasn’t sure if she only spoke in confidence to reassure him, or if she had become delusional in her illness and she truly believed she would heal.

“I want to go see Cara-- Caraxes tomorrow,” she told him, barely hanging onto Daemon’s hand as she lay in bed that fateful morning. She was staring up at the ceiling, although her eyes appeared glassy and far away, “We’ll go flying. We’ll fly across the Narrow Sea until we reach Essos--”

Her coughs start and her body convulses as she spits out scarlet red. Daemon quickly helps her lay on her side so she wouldn’t choke on her own blood, assisting in rubbing her back and pushing loose hairs out of her face. Y/n’s whole body shakes uncontrollably and nothing can be heard outside of her coughs.

Daemon feels sick, clenching his jaw while trying to focus on something to do other than the coughing. He can’t find the right words to say, for once, and he was fighting an internal war with words that won’t come out. Every instinct is telling him to run, fly, and try to get as far away from Dragonstone as soon as possible. His adult self wanted to protect his inner child from the horrors of death, wanting to shield himself from the pain he felt when he lost his parents or his cousin Aemma. Watching his family members die was horrific for Daemon, as a child, and as a man. He refused to ever let another loved one die in his lifetime, and perhaps that foolish part of him is what really killed Y/n in the end.

Y/n wheezed, despite Daemon’s inner thoughts. She was no longer strong enough to read his thoughts anyway, “I think Rhaenyra is... having a baby soon. Her first. We should... be there for her when the time comes.”

He can only nod, despite Y/n not looking at him. He can’t find it within himself to look at her either, instead watching as his thumb caressed her bare shoulder. Eventually, Y/n’s body relaxes to his touch, humming softly when the tickle in her throat dies down.

“What... what do you think Pentos is like?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes his time rearranging the pillow under her head, tears finally forming in his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~

Two birds on a wire One tries to fly away and the other...

Daemon never took his eyes off the funeral pyre.

Not when Caraxes engulfed it in flames, not when people came to offer their condolences, and not even when everyone had gone back to King’s Landing. He hasn’t spoken a word to anyone, not even to the servant girl who came into Y/n’s room that morning to find her dead and the prince at her side. The girl wasn’t at all surprised, just heartbroken. She didn’t seem to notice the iron grip Daemon had on the bloody pillow in his lap.

Daemon remembered his brother and his niece standing on either side of him, holding onto his hand or his shoulder, but if they ever said anything, he couldn’t remember. Eventually, they left, too, leaving the cold air to surround him in their absence. He had been left alone, watching the flames of his wife’s funeral pyre dance and rise into the sky. His eyes eventually follow the flames and note the dark clouds in the distance, slowly making their way over. In the corner of his eye, Daemon spots two small birds flying overhead, and for whatever reason, they made him smile.

“Umbagon syt nyke, ñuha jorrāelagon...”

[Wait for me, my love...]

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I’m sorry if the Valyrian is not correct. I had to use a translator. I gotta admit, writing Daemon is hard. I love him as a character, but I feel as though I didn’t represent his personality enough. It is my first time writing him, so maybe I just need to get used to it and rewatch House of the Dragon lol. Please interact and support! If you have a request, leave it in my inbox!

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagine #imagine #hotd #house of the dragon #fire and blood #dance of dragons #matt smith #matt smith imagine #matt smith x reader

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agent-barnes40 · 1 year

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An angst request please! Reader suddenly breaks their betrothal to Daemon, Viserys, Aegon, and Aemond, which breaks the guys' hearts. Only for the guys to later find out it's because Otto threatened them too (because he hates Daemon/he wants Viserys to marry Alicent/he thinks Reader isn't good enough for his grandkids)

This is my third time writing this. I forgot to save it, sorry Kama!

TW: Otto Hightower. Death due to Childbirth, threats. I'm sorry for us stealing your man, Aemma.

High Valyrian in italics followed by English is the word's English translation.

Daemon Targaryen

Daemon was on cloud nine and then suddenly you were gone, off to be betrothed to one Harwin 'Breakbones' Strong

He knew the two of you were good, so he broke tables and flipped them over when he found out.

He's upset and trying to determine why Harwin took you away from him. It wasn't until your betrothal gathering that did he finally find out why

"My prince! Thank you for coming! I didn't expect to see you here!" You called, rushing over to him, a tight smile on your face. You reached for his hand only for him to clasp his hands together. "I have that book you wanted, last time we talked, Prince Daemon."

Daemon nodded and gestured forward. "Lead away, pykagon perzys little shit."

You lead the way, putting your arms behind your back, mimicking Daemon even now, even when you two weren't seeing each other.

"The hand gave the access to get this. I don't know when I was barred to get books, but I got it." You told him, grabbing the wrapped book and handing it to the prince. "I can't wait to read it with you, Daemon."

That's when Daemon realized it wasn't your choice to leave him. It was that cunt Otto. It was him that gave you to Harwin. Daemon presses a hand to your shoulder before leaving, one hand tight on the mysterious book you gave him and the other on the pommel of Dark Sister.

He was going to get you back, damn his brother and his cunt of a wife.

King Viserys Targaryen

Viserys was still grieving the loss of the life he wanted with Aemma when he met you, a lovely person at court who mourned the late queen and prince with him.

He was waiting next to the council room doors when you rushed passed, a group of ladies surrounding you. "Y/n? May I have a word with you?"

You stopped and gestured to the ladies to continue walking. "Yes, my grace, what is it?" You looked up at him, a small smile on your face.

"What's been happening?" He asked, trying to not seem intrusive. Your eyes grew sad and looked away. "I am preparing for my marriage, to Jason Lannister, my king. The Hand arranged it with my parents and Ser Jason."

Viserys face fell. "That means you are leaving the keep."

"Yes, it is, my king. I am sorry." You said, feeling bold and squeezing his hand. "I will write every day, my king. I shall miss our friendship."

And then, you were gone.

Aegon Targaryen II

Aegon had kept a lover after he and Heleana married, you were welcome to interact with his children and his wife as you wanted until Rhaenyra and her bastards came to The Keep. Aegon kept an eye on you until Daemon and Rhaenyra had latched onto you since they had arrived. You were taken by them, hook, line, and sinker. You had fallen in love with the Heir and older Prince.

You were packing that night after the dinner and Aegon caught you. "Where are you going?" He asked and you looked up. "The Princess asked me to help care for her children. I took the job, I'll also be helping Prince Joffrey in Dragonstone." You responded, pushing the trunk closed before calling for a maid. Aegon put his hand on your shoulder. "And why are you leaving me?"

"Because I'll have a better life there! A life without hiding, Aegon!" You shouted and looked him in the eye. "I want to love and not hide, my prince."

And you were gone, and the next he heard of you, was when he sent his Grandsire to Dragonstone, to find a way to fix this "great" house and to get you back.

When Otto returned, he was greeted with no you but a letter given to Otto

"My Aegon, I must admit I left abruptly, but I have to confess something. I've been in love with her grace and the prince since I first saw them. I have married them in the way of your house. I am sorry." Was what he read and he tore the letter apart.

Aemond Targaryen

Aemond didn't want a Baratheon girl, he wanted you. And you were suddenly set to marry a lord from House Beesbury. It was to correct Ser Cole's accident and to tie the House back to the side of The Greens. Aemond knew of this and pushed on his mother's and grandsire's boundaries.

He wanted you, and only you. So he set to have you. You two were friends since your birth, and thus as children, you vowed to only have each other in your beds and hearts. Day in and Day out, Aemond sat in with the council and bargained certain things, until finally, he noticed his mother sigh. "It would be better to tie their house to ours than House Beesbury! We have been together since their birth and you want to deny us this?"

"You are betrothed to one of Boris' girls, you need to stop seeing them." Otto snapped and Aemond rose up, his hand on the table. "I have only agreed myself to one person in this world, and it is them. Now do you want your spare to be sitting here, waiting for the day war comes and he leaves his wife, to fight? or do you want another person on Rhaenyra's side just so he can marry the person he loves? Cause those are my terms. I shall be waiting." Aemond pulled a paper out of his pocket and let it drift onto the table before walking out of the small council room. It was said that Vhagar arrived at Dragonstone that night with The Prince Aemond and his lover, swearing fealty to the Black Queen.

#House Of The Dragon x reader #Daemon Targaryen x reader #King Viserys Targaryen x Reader #Aegon Targaryen II x reader #Aemond Targaryen x Reader

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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

Text

❝I have these two great friends called Birth and Control.❞

part 06 | it's called a love bug, lovebug

chapter summary:

[ Sunday dinners are actually made for confessions. As Alicent braves it with a wine and a blush, you brave it too. With a boy and a view. ]

[ 2,963 ] [ series masterlist ] |best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader & aemond targaryen x alys rivers,

contains— angst - hurt/minimal comfort(?) - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— alexa play it's all coming back to me now by celine dion. it might read a little stilted, i struggled a bit with this chapter as i wrote it in different times. ps. i didn't translate aemond's valyrian with intention. hope it still works? comment, reblog & like at will, mwa ♡

You had never heard of a more reverbrating sound than Helaena's smack to a poor, traumatised Daeron. "You toe licking, armpit looking, ugly garbage can!" Healeana shrieked, promptly dragging her youngest brother further away as you and Aemond scurried deeper into the safety of the darkness and shame, folded defensively onto one another, laughing your asses off.

"Oh my god," you exhale. "I am never going leaving this maze. I am going to live here, eating brambles and shit, and die here. Leave me now and prevail, Aemond. I will be fine. I'll haunt you in two to three business days."

Aemond chuckles from below you, unseen from your gaze, the mesmerised adoration he held as he can still feel his lips tingling from your desperation, still feel the curves of your body, the soft skin— he clears his throat, holding you steady by your hips before moving around until he's hovering over you as you adjusted your dress, eyes fluttering his with pressed lips trying not to laugh.

"I have a feeling dinner is ready."

"I also have a feeling your mother and grandfather knew exactly what we were doing minutes before and I fear I'd rather die here than face that."

He laughs, offering his hand and you take it regardless. "Then my mother would be glad. She didn't exactly feel the new bliss of couples between us."

You scoff. "Only because you treated me like you were cosplaying a Frost Giant." At his raised eyebrow and choked, surprised laugh, you blush. "Oh, get off with it. Your sister really likes the idea of Jotun!Loki and I am not one to kinkshame."

He strangles a laugh, peeling stray twigs from your hair. "I wouldn't dare assume. Let's go eat."

You tighten your hold on his hand, worry crescent on your forehead that Aemond straightens. "And talk?" As good as that felt, as perfect as puzzles sliding in together, you were past the age where burrowing it deep with the good parts and ignoring the pressing talks that need to be addressed.

And Aemond deserved better than that at least.

"Okay." He nods, swallowing. "Later, please."

"Okay." You try and reassure him with a smile and that seems to appease him, if a little.

Once Aegon had made five jokes concerning Daeron's loud rant— he was promptly shut up by his sister smacking him in the back of the head as soon as their mother was fretting in the kitchen and their grandfather's phone pinging for his attention, spoon on his mouth that might have been a medical nightmare — dinner went smoothly.

Daeron had successfully refused to look at your general direction, or his brother, or both since you sat together, churlish in giggles, in chatter and light arguments. Aemond kept taking the nicely marinated baby potatoes on his plate to yours once you finished up your own, and exchanged it with shuffling green beans to his plate because he loves them— it's nice.

It's more than nice. It's everything you could hope for when you think about dinner with your boyfriend's family. It's a softened thought that brews to yearning. You want this. You want be sat next to Aemond like this again, making jokes, piling food onto each other's plate, ribbing with his brother until he blushed then standing up against him when it got too far— seeing the smile he sends your way, endearing, loving, and for a moment, for this one realised moment built on lies and chuckle-fuckery ease, you let yourself indulge.

You joke about spoon feeding him dessert and blush as he envelops his soft lips over the spoon, Daeron and Aegon mimicking gags while Alicent is blushing, unable to stop a girlish giggle, a sound so surprised to her own person that she hiccups.

You are with him and you give yourself strength to break his heart.

Dinner finishes off with a lazy flick, Alicent and his father descending into business talks that usually included Aemond and though you tell him you can go hang out with Helaena— Daeron and Aegon deciding on playing The Last of Us in the game room because Aegon said he needed a good cry but also to shoot things — Aemond who had taken your hand sometime ago and has been brushing his thumb over your knuckles in a soothing gesture, implores you with a look.

You swallow and give a nod, trying for another smile that fails, noticing the moment Aemond sees it fail, his brow curling, lips pursing but doesn't say anything.

As he moves to lead, he pauses, turning back to you. "Where—?"

"Your room?"

Just as he nods, Alicent's soft and embarrassed, "Keep the door open, please," pulls you both to a blushing stop.

Otto— and Helaena rifling through ice cream in the kitchen — crow simultaneous, "Alicent," and "Mom!" as Alicent raises both her hands, the wine in her right sloshing. Though she is pink-cheeked, she maintains eye contact with her son while Aemond is struggling.

"I know you're old and smart enough, young man, and you are such a lovely girl," Alicent says to you, "and I would no doubt adore the grandchildren you will provide me—"

"Oh my gods," you stifle your giggles as Aemond makes a discordant sound in the back of his throat, like a cat hacking a saw. Otto is laughing into his wine while Helaena is making gagging noises in the background.

"— but I hope to have them when Aemond's at least graduated, so that he can provide well for you." Alicent nods, blinking. You can tell that the wine is catching up to her. "He's a good boy so I'm sure he'll do right by you. But I at least want you both to be married, of course, I would prefer if Aegon or Helaena got married first but—"

"— and that's my cue to stage left, folks," Helaena says, making a face as she grabs the entire tub of cookies and cream. "If anyone needs me, I'm in my room trying to find a husband so my baby brother can get married, gods forbid he carries on with bastards from his beautiful girlfriend— whomst, by the way, is my best friend, dunno how we're forgetting my credit in all of this."

Aemond shakes his head. "They're not sleeping here, mom, and providing you grandchildren is not in my agenda." He tugs your hand, smirking as he pulls you close only to whisper playfully, "Not tonight at least."

You shiver, laughing under your breath. "I dunno if you know this, but I have these two great friends called Birth and Control."

He breaks into a laugh and that, at least, eases the tension until you round up in his room, trying to give Helaena a meaningful look but you don't think she understands it with how she salutes you with her spoon, winking audaciously.

"Here." Aemond flicks the light on and his childhood bedroom brings a smile to your face. It's cerebral, the faint blue of his textured wallpaper, the perfectly lined books, even the framed achievements. But there's also the Oasis poster, the little figurines that you know is part of some Old Valyrian battle replica he collected when he was younger, even his old fencing gear and an exact photo of it alongside his club master, his grandfather, and family friend, Criston Cole.

"It's been a while since I've been here," you tease lightly. "It's kind of funny of your mom to think I'd be the first hot girl to christen your childhood bed."

He hums, turning away as he closes the door. When he turns back, he's rolled back his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks at you with sincerity.

"It wouldn't be much of a competition to beat. You were the first hot girl I'd ever got inside my room."

"Ahh. Right. Teasing you before your growth spurt was the highlight of my week."

Aemond let out an aggressive sigh as you laugh. "I was a senior in high school when I met you, riña, this is getting ridiculous. Borderline paedophilic since I had you moaning an hour ago."

You heave, slapping his arm. "Okay, stop, you made it weird now. Gross. Eugh."

"Promise you'll stop now?"

"Fine, I promise."

An awkwardness settles before Aemond nods at the double French doors. "Wanna talk on the patio? You've always liked my room's view than Lae's."

"Yeah," you grin. "'Cos you got the only view of the lake."

"You can barely see it with the trees. And this darkness." Reason out all he wants, but he opens the door for you, and the cool air is crisp and nice against your warm skin.

You hold out on the ledge, squinting your eyes so you can see peeks of luminous bounce of the calm lake between dark sways of forest. Once in a while, it glitters and glimmers, making itself known.

"It isn't fully true though."

"What is?" Aemond fixes his elbows, warmth pressed against yours as he stares at a fixed point of nowhere. But you can feel his tension, feel his questions he's trying to be patient to keep in. You're glad for it. Grateful. Because it gives you enough courage to confess.

"I hung out in your room because I liked hanging out with you," you admit. "Teasing you was the highlight of my day."

"Gee. Thanks."

"I was more surprised you kept letting me hang out with you when I did nothing but annoy you."

"Why do you think that is, ñuha riña?" he asks softly.

"Because you're sweet?"

The way he's looking at you... it makes you breatheless. Especially when he moves to turn fully toward you, taking you by your elbows, and you close your eyes when he leans in expecting his mouth on you, your heart dancing in the palm of his hand because it feels so, so easy to trust Aemond with it, instead he presses his lips underneath your eye, nuzzling against your nose. It shatters and remakes your heart, making you hold onto his shirt for some semblance of comfort.

"Because I've always liked you," he whispers against your skin as if it's his best kept secret. "Because I'm weak when it comes to you. Because you," he breathes against your mouth, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and giving it a tug, "make it easy to want you."

A weak laugh escapes your lips and his mouth follows the sound as if he wants to swallow it, but you press a palm to his chest. He growls.

"Easy there, tiger, that didn't sound much like a compliment."

He pulls back, holding your face. "Sorry, shit, I didn't mean— I'm not good at this. I meant... you're unattainable. Not just as Helaena's best friend but... you're cool, you're fucking gorgeous and incredibly hilarious."

"Ñuha jorrāelagon." He breathes care into the word. The word is lost on me and I force my brain to pocket it like a love letter so I can search it up. "I never thought I could be here, touching you like this." Without warning, he moulds his lips to yours in a harsh, deep kiss. It's quick but it leaves you breathless, his voice coming up ragged. "Kiss you like this. It feels like I'm in a dream and I'm struggling to let go of it. So a while ago... after..."

You nod, pressing your forehead against his, unable to look at him in the eye. You focus on touching him, your hands sliding down, making him shiver when you go underneath his shirt, skating his side until you warm your cool fingers with his spine.

"That's the thing, Aemy," you whisper. "In your head, by your words, I'm always a version to you."

He calls your name, leaning back and you're forced to see the confusion on his face.

"Helaena's best friend. Past that, an unattainable crush. Now a fake girlfriend. Someone you use to get Alys' attention, and who better than the unattainable crush? It's a pedestal, Aemy."

"It's not like that, that was a bad, convoluted—"

"But it's the truth, it's how I feel. And though that sucks, I understand." You take his hands as you step back and he's frowning harder, the lines deepen and his jaw is tight. "I knew what I was getting into, you know? But things change because I've changed."

"It's Cregan, isn't it?" he snarls, tugging his hands away.

"Oh, you jealous idiot, it's you! We've gone over this, you incredible dumbass!"

"Me? How the hell is this about—"

"— because I love you!" you shout. Then stop, inhale. Blink. Aemond copies it. It's almost hilarious. "Or I know I can be."

He works his jaw, turning away. "I don't understand."

"Okay, here it is." You inhale. "Just listen and breathe for a second, okay? Okay? Don't turn away from me." You pull him back by his chin, smiling faintly at the pout you form. "Say you understand."

He sighs, taking your hand. "Yes, I understand."

"I can't compete with someone you've loved for so long," you start softly, staring at your conjoined hands wondering if this is the last time you'll get to hold him like this. "Without you showing you can love me for more than that. I can't compete with your own ideal happy ending if I'm not part of it. I won't. I refuse." Your smile is wry, it's heartbreak and it's strings. You wish you had the energy to scream, to act like a brat and demand his heart, his promises in gold-ink and pink-veined hue. It's what your heart wants.

But you're of big age. You've seen love in its spaces, how it takes root in people, how it affects the world around you.

And you know you cannot love him if he does not make the effort to love you in the same way.

Your heart is in your throat but the words come out anyway. "Because I love you, Aemy. And I know I can fight for you. I can fight for what we have. I can wake up tomorrow and choose to love you with the same degree, if not fiercer, if I could. And I could do that again and again. That's how love works. You have to wake up tomorrow, see me, and choose to love me all over again."

You smile gently, sadly. "I can't allow myself to be loved in halves. I've done that before, I'm not doing it again. Not even for you."

You bring yourself on your tip toes— damn tall, beautiful rat bastard — and brush your lips on the corner of his. His eye closed. "I'm not going to pressure you for an answer. Alys was... Alys is a big part of what you know is love, and I respect that. I understand that it'll be hard, but I need to know if you're willing to let go of it for me. Because I can promise you I can love you. But I won't. Not without assurance that you can try for me."

"What are you asking me?" he asks softly, straightening. There's a hard line going into his body, like a dutiful student given an assignment.

"I'm asking you to think if you can see past the little statue you've made of me. See me breathing. Alive, just like this." You press a hand to his face and retrieve it back before he can hold it. He shots you a look of betrayal. "I'm going home with Hel. You know how to message me, okay? Bye, dōna zaldrīzes."sweet dragon.

His eye flick upward, shock and heartbreak and confusion moulds and twists into such a beautiful blue, mouth agape trying to find words he can't find— and you smile wryly, turning away and leaving.

You get to Helaena's door quick, knocking soon after.

"Hmph!"

"You're either getting choked by a robber or masturbating, and really Hel, I need you to make two grunts to tell me the former so I can bust down the door because I don't want to see you bust a—"

The door swings wide, Helaena's face in a comical irritation.

"That is so fucked up, I hope you know— hey, hey." Her irritation sweeps into a frown as you fail to contain your watery eyes. "What happened? What's wrong? What did Aemond do? Oh, that little twerp—"

"— it's not him, it's not him, chill, I just wanna go home, yeah? Get our cakes and go, please?"

Hel's frown deepens, eyes darting back to Aemond's door.

"Please, Helaena," you beg. "I'll tell you when we get home. I'll make us special drinks."

She takes your hand, determination wound tight with concern. "Sure thing, babe. Let's go."

When you make your hasty departure to her grandfather of all of them, Alicent already in bed and the other boys still in the gaming room, cakes in hand, you tow over Helaena's baby blue buggy— she leans over at you with a hand on the ignition, whispering as if she was afraid, "You— are you meeting Cregan tonight? After, I mean." Her eyes widen. "I'm not judging, I'd never—"

"No, no, I understand. You'd never judge me for that, I know. But no. Just you and me tonight."

She smiles softly. It's not like Aemond's but they don't look that apart that it still stings. "Love you."

"Love you too, lovebug."

Loving Helaena isn't hard.

Just as you know loving Aemond wouldn't be, despite it all. But it isn't you that has issues that needs handling, and you've put everything in his court now.

And yet you can't deny your hope.

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