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muwapsturniolo · 3 months

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hii so like do u think u could do a chris smut based on wet dreamz by j cole??

✯Wet Dreamz✯

Black!reader

Summary: Chris has wet dreamz on a girl in his math class and finally has the chance to fuck her.

Warning: NSFW CONTENT!!!! sexual fantasies, sex, that's about it tbh.

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Chris used to loathe going to school.

He hated having to wake up early, get dressed, and sit in classes all day where teachers were rude and shoved endless amounts of knowledge down their throats with homework included.

But a certain girl in his math class made it better.

She was a thick brown-skinned girl, with long curly hair and lips to die for. She always had nice clothes and her nails were constantly done.

He had a humungous crush on her, it was hard not to with the way she always laughed at his dumb jokes. She would laugh so hard that it got to the point where their teacher started to get mad, so they started to pass notes to avoid getting in trouble. He looked forward to seeing her, sitting next to her every day during 3rd period. He would rush into the classroom every day, making sure to get there before her so he could play it cool.

Besides the passing of notes, his favorite part of the class was watching her sit down. The way her thick brown thighs expanded when pushed against the chair, the way her hips bucked forward when moving the chair closer to the desk, and most of all, the way her lips curled when she smiled at him.

He started daydreaming, imagining her riding him, her hips moving constantly, how she would sink down onto him, her thighs expanding, how she would lick all over him, her thick lips glossed with his precum. He would become hard every day in class, making it hard for him to stand and move around the classroom.

As the school year went on, his attraction got deeper, his daydreams turning into wet dreams. Waking up every day to her name falling from his lips, dreaming that he's hitting it from the back when in reality, he was sleeping.

It's a new day in 3rd period and Chris was once again daydreaming about the girl next to him. The teacher was going on and on about some type of math formula, and he was doing his best to look like he was paying attention. He jumps feeling a hand on his thigh, looking down in shock. He sees Y/n pulling away, leaving a note on his lap.

He looks at her but she doesn't look back, going back to taking her notes. He looks back down at his lap and grabs the note, opening it up.

"Have you ever had sex before?"

Fuck.

His heart is racing. he's never had sex before, he hasn't even come close to it. This is his chance, he could have sex with the girl of his dreams, he just has to play his cards right.

He takes a deep breath and grabs his pen, trying hard to not look like he's about to pass out. He writes down his answer, saying

"Of course I have, I'm a pro at it." knowing damn well he was lying. He hasn't even come close to a female's genitalia since the day he and his brothers came out of one.

But she doesn't have to know that.

He slides the note back to her, hoping she won't be turned off by his faux achievements. He watches her face as she reads the note, not getting any idea of what she's thinking. She quickly writes back her response, sliding the note back to him.

"you a pro at it? well, I want you to show me. my momma gone for the weekend, so come over Saturday."

Chris can feel his body start to sweat as the phallus between his legs starts to awaken. He turns to her and sees her already looking at him, her eyes low as she bites her lip. He looks her up and down, his eyes taking in every inch of her body, imagining her naked and on her bed as he ruts into her.

"Christopher!" He jumps and looks at the teacher, eyes wide in hopes she doesn't call him up to the front of the class.

"Pay attention!" She hisses. He nods and faces the bored once again. When the teacher goes back to explaining the random formula, he writes back to her.

"sounds like a plan ma."

He was trying to look cool when in reality he was shitting bricks. He could feel the swarm of butterflies in his stomach as his mouth ran dry.

He knows he's a virgin, and now he has to act like he's not. Knowing he's never did this before.

He hopes she won't notice it's his first time. He hopes that his dick is big enough for her. He prays to every god out there that he won't embarrass himself by busting quick.

He decided to prepare himself by watching porn, taking mental notes on what the girls react to. He practiced putting condoms on as well, keeping his room door locked in case one of his family members barged in.

It's now Saturday, 7pm exactly. He's sitting on her bed, a pocket full of condoms, a boner, and a body full of nerves. She creeps into the room, a shy smile on her face. "Sorry, I guess we don't have popcorn or chips so I just grabbed some candy." She walks past him and he watches her ass sway in her pajama shorts.

She crawls onto her bed, lying next to him. They decided on a random movie they both had seen and relaxed into the softness of her bed. Halfway through the movie, he decides to make his move. He places his hand on her thigh, rubbing and squeezing it softly. He notices her clenching her legs together. He turns and sees a shy look on her face.

He doesn't waste any time and presses his lips against hers, rolling on top of her. The makeout session is soft, lust in the air but both are careful with their movements. Her hands rub all over his chest before trailing down to the buckle of his belt. She unhooks it and slowly shoves her hand into his pants. He groans feeling her palm him, it's a vast difference from him stroking himself.

"I-is this ok?" She murmurs into the kiss.

"Don't stop ma." He pleads, bucking into her hand. After a few minutes, he decides it's time for the real deal. He slowly takes off her tank top and shorts, leaving her in an orange bra and matching thong. He could bust at the sight of her wearing his favorite color, it looks amazing on her.

His clothes are next, the only article left being his boxers. He pulls out a condom and releases his hard member from his boxers. He's so busy putting the condom on like he has practiced, he doesn't notice Y/n looking at him in fright. He turns back to her, pulling her towards him by her legs. He taps her folds a few times, sliding his member up and down as he gathers her slickness. Small whines fall from her mouth, egging him on. Before he can slide it in, he's stopped by her hand grabbing him.

"W-wait!" He looks up at her and frowns seeing the frightened expression. "What's wrong?''

She swallows harshly and sits up, covering her exposed chest, "Can I tell you something? You can't get mad at me though." He nods, curious as to what she's going to say.

"I know you've had sex multiple times, and that's fine, but can you go slow? I've never done this before..."

Her words are shocking.

She's a virgin?

He thought she'd had sex at least once or twice.

He can tell she's beyond nervous, so he decides to ease her nerves.

"Can I be honest too?'' She nods, hoping he won't be an asshole towards her. "i'm a virgin too."

Her eyes widen at his confession, "But you tol-I know." He rubs his neck in embarrassment. "I lied because I really like you and I didn't want you to see me as a loser."

His words bring a smile to her face, comforting her. "I wouldn't have seen you as a loser," she tells him, rubbing her palm against his arm. He sighs in relief and his eyes land on hers.

The two stare at each other, a new sense of understanding and lust in the air. They move closer and before they know it, their lips are touching once again.

He lays her back down, his hands gently squeezing her hips. She shyly opens her legs, allowing Chris to fall in-between them. He grabs his dick and does just as he did before, rubbing in between her folds, gathering her slick to make it easier for him to slip in.

"I'm going to slide in now ok?" She nods, continuing to kiss his lips feverishly. He guides himself into her warm entrance, moans falling from both of their lips.

He pulls away from the kiss, his head falling into the crook of her neck. She's squeezing him so tight, her velvety walls sucking him deep inside of her. It's taking everything in him not to spill into the condom. "Fuck," he groans, clenching his eyes in ecstasy.

"M-move, please move," she begs him. He nods and slowly pulls out before thrusting back into her. He falls into a nice rhythm, not hard and fast, but not slow either. The moans falling from her plump lips is like music to his ears, urging him to keep going.

He lifts her leg up, pressing into her chest as he pants in her ear. "So good for me, squeezing me just right." He praises. She whines and claws at his back, the pleasure being too much for her to handle.

His hand snakes in between them and he uses his middle and index finger to circle her clit, just like he saw in the videos. her back arches and she grips a handful of hair. "Chris nghh- I'm close, oh god'm close!" She whimpers out. He can't help it, he thrusts even faster, drawing louder moans from the girl beneath him. His fingers draw faster circles around her clit, her walls starting to spaz around him.

"fuck-i'm cu-" she cuts herself off with a loud moan, her jaw slacking as she throws her head back. The site of her having an orgasm was enough for Chris. He stalls deep inside of her, a deep groan exiting his throat as he rocks their meshed bodies back and forth. He plants kisses all along her neck, praising her for doing so good and thanking her for this moment.

The two lay there, panting softly and trying to hold on to the moment. "Was it good?" Y/n asks softly. Chris chuckles and plants a quick kiss on her lips.

"It was better than my dreams."

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TAGLIST🍑

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision

@ivonchetooo1239 @imaslut4kehlani @that-general-simp @m4stermindd @itzdarling @gigisworldsstuff @adoreindie @braindead4l @pettydollie @chrissgirlsstuff @alexis007 @ratatioulle @yamamasjumpercables @luv4kozume @sturnioloslurps @kqyslyho3 @mattslolita

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e1e4n0r5 · 4 months

Text

Twisted Love: Chapter 3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Summary: You always expected to marry your twin brother, Daeron. However, when this does not come to be, you find comfort with your siblings. As only Targaryens could.

A/N: Okay, this chapter is a little angsty! Aemond is having some big feelings and he doesn’t know how to express those feelings with words because of his emotionally stunted upbringing. But you can bet his wife is gonna knock that out of him pretty quickly.

Warnings: canon-typical incest, figging (insertion of ginger root into the anus), coercion/dub-con if you squint, mention of past fire-play, jealous husband, relationship insecurity, ANGST

You bounced on the balls of your feet, wringing your hands in front of you as you watched the skies for any sign of Daeron and his dragon. It was time; your twin was finally returning home. After ten long years apart, you would finally be together. The two of you; all five siblings.

Aemond watched you out of the corner of his eye as he stood up straight next to you; his place as your husband and as Daeron’s brother, loathe as he was to admit the latter. He couldn’t deny that he wasn’t exactly happy with this development, of the youngest Targaryen-Hightower sibling returning to Kings Landing, most likely for good. He detested change, and he had grown accustomed to the routines and structure the four of you had established for yourselves. Not to mention the dynamic; Aegon might have been the eldest, but he was hardly the one in charge. Aemond enjoyed being the head of the group, the feelings of security, power, and dominance it gave him on a daily basis. He wasn’t looking forward to bringing in an unknown fifth element into the arrangement you all had together. Even if that fifth person was his own sibling.

He enjoyed being your husband, and having you as his wife. He felt he had won that day, the day you asked him to marry you. The day you promised yourself to him, and he to you. The day you consummated your love for each other, officially. He was dreading the fact that the man you had spent your entire childhood fantasising about marrying would now be present in your lives every single day. Daeron hadn’t set foot in Kings Landing in ten years, and you had never been allowed to travel to Oldtown. Aemond had had you all to himself (not including your other siblings and children) for a decade, and now he just knew Daeron was about to steal you away. He’d lost an eye to Lucerys, and he would soon lose his wife to his own brother.

He leant forward and whispered in your ear. “Settle down, my love,” he enjoyed watching you shiver at his soft Valyrian. “People might think you have a ginger root up your ass.”

You blushed bright red, your back passage tingling with the memories of that day.

Aemond had been awake before you, as he always rose with the sun, whereas you liked to sleep until mid-morning. It wasn’t your fault; your husband was insatiable. There was a freezing Winter snow falling across the city, forcing Aemond to cancel his training with Cole that morning. So instead, he’d had a devilish idea.

You had spied him sitting in his chair by the fire, his hands working something with a small knife.

“Good morning, husband,” you greeted him as you slid your feet into your fur-lined slippers and pulled on your thick dressing gown, crossing the room.

“Good morning, wife,” he replied back, not taking his eye off the thing in his hands. Was he whittling?

When you got closer, you saw that it wasn’t wood. It was softer than that. A fruit?

“What are you doing?”

He smirked up at you. “I think I might just have found an ingenious way to keep you warm today, my love.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Have you commissioned me some clothing I don’t know about?”

He laughed, a rare but beautiful sound. “No. No, wife, not clothes.” He held up the thing in his hands. A ginger root.

“Ginger?” you asked with a small smile. “Are you going to put it in my tea? You know I can’t stand the taste.”

“No, my love; your ass.”

He said it so casually that you didn’t pick up on it at first. It took you a few seconds, then you gawked at him.

“What?” you demanded.

He carved the root a little more, examining it from different angles. He seemed satisfied. “Aegon told me of a little trick he’d heard about. Assured me it’s well worth a try.”

Before you could respond, the passage between your room and your siblings’ opened up, your brother and sister stepping through.

“Morning to you both,” Aegon greeted cheerfully. Helaena had clearly already satisfied him. “What have you both got planned for the day? Helaena was thinking of taking the children down to the Dragonpit.”

“Aemond wants to put ginger up my ass!” you declared hysterically.

The two of them didn’t even blink.

“Oh, figging,” Helaena explained, walking over to Aemond and examining the root he had carved. “Yes, it’s a very interesting experience. Aegon and I have both done it a few times now.”

“Always a fun time,” he winked at you, helping himself to a few grapes from your breakfast platter.

“Very well carved, Aemond. Good thinking with the flared base.”

“And a good size too,” Aegon added. “Our little sister will definitely be titillated today.”

You stared at your siblings, abashed. Out of all the things the four of you had done together, for some reason this was the thing that baffled you the most. Why, in the name of the Seven, would anyone want to insert ginger into ones back passage?

The three of them chuckled at how you were staring back at them all. Aemond stood up.

“Y/N, dear wife, be a good girl and bend over the bed. Now.”

You instinctually covered your rear with your hands, shaking your head nervously. “It’ll hurt, won’t it?”

“Not hurt,” Aegon shrugged.

“But it’s definitely a memorable experience,” Helaena smiled dreamily. “Aemond, do you have another piece you could carve for me? I think I’d like to partake.”

Aemond nodded. “I do, dear sister.”

“As big and thick as you can, please,” she hummed happily, picking up her skirts as she walked over to your bed. She bent herself over, exposing her ass completely.

“I only have a smaller piece. Helaena, why don’t you take this one I’ve already done, and I’ll carve a smaller one for Y/N? She seems hesitant about this whole experience.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you, brother.”

Aemond looked to you. “Abrazȳrys (wife),” he commanded, “come here. Now. Watch how Helaena takes this, and you’ll see it’s not as bad as you are imagining.”

You headed over to the bed, Aegon holding you against his body as both of you watched Aemond dip the root in some oil and then slowly press it into Helaena’s ass. Her hole accepted the small intrusion with no effort, but she began mewling regardless. Aemond pressed his thumb to the flared base of the root, keeping it in place in her ass as her hips lifted up and down, grinding against the bed sheets.

“Does it hurt, sister?” Aemond asked. “Be honest; our little Y/N doesn’t want any lies.”

She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t hurt. But it burns a little. It’s wonderful.”

“Burns?” you gasped.

“Nothing too bad,” Aegon reassured you, kissing the side of your head. “It’s just a bit uncomfortable.”

You frowned at Aemond as he began peeling and carving the other root. The one he intended to put inside you. “Husband, I’m not sure about this…?”

“You don’t need to be sure, wife,” he said simply. He looked at you, his eye softening a little. “Do you trust me? Do you trust that I would never harm you, or wish ill upon you?”

Your frown softened in return. “Yes. Of course, I do.”

“Then trust me now. This will be an interesting experience for you. It won’t harm you at all. I want you to try it. For me. And if you truly do hate it, you don’t have to do it again.”

“Except as punishments,” Aegon added cheekily, playfully squeezing you a little.

You smiled at him and Aemond, your will bent to theirs. “Alright.”

“Good, now bend over the bed, next to Helaena.” He paused. “Who seems to have climaxed all over our sheets.”

Helaena had indeed orgasmed, seemingly just from grinding herself against the edge of the bed, with the root in her ass. “It just feels so good,” she explained lightly, no shame at all in her voice.

Aemond smirked back at you, his argument won. “See? How awful can it be when Helaena climaxes in just one minute?”

You choose not to say that some of Helaena’s desires can be a little sadomasochistic, often deriving pleasure from giving and receiving various forms of pain. She had once orgasmed when Aemond and Aegon held lit candles to her inner thighs. Not close enough to burn her skin, yet close enough to hurt. It was peculiar, even for Targaryens.

Aegon nudged you forward, bending you over and pulling up your nightgown and robe. Helaena gripped your hand, still grinding and moaning on the bed. Aemond stepped up behind you, squeezing your buttocks and giving you a few spanks.

“Are you ready, wife?” he asked you, spreading your cheeks with the fingers of one hand.

You nodded. “Yes, husband.”

You snapped back to the present even as your mind ran through the sensations of having that ginger inserted into your back passage. How it had stretched you and begun to burn. As Helaena had described, it hadn’t been horrific, but it had kept you on your toes all day, until Aemond had removed the root after fucking you senseless in the evening.

Daeron’s dragon Tessarion’s cry filled the air. Not too far away, you could see her outline in the clouds above. He was here. Your brother was finally here.

Tessarion landed a hundred yards or so away, just enough for you to turn your head slightly to avoid the dust her wings kicked up. You almost didn’t recognise the man in the saddle. It was a man, not your twelve-year-old twin brother. You couldn’t make out his features, but you could see the Targaryen white hair. The man dismounted, rubbing Tessarion’s neck affectionately before sending her to fly to the Dragon Pit.

He started walking towards you all.

Your heart raced.

You moved to step forward, but Aemond and Aegon discreetly held you back. The Queen had to greet him, as was protocol. They could feel your need, but you only had to wait a little longer.

“Prince Daeron. My darling boy,” your mother greeted.

It was him. It was Daeron. He was older, a man grown. But he was your brother. His cheeks have slimmed, his nose a little longer, his jawline stronger. But he was here.

“Your Grace. Mother.”

They embraced, only for a second, before pulling apart. It was warm, by your mother’s standards.

She turned. “Your father, the King, is abed at the moment. The years have taken their toll, but I shall take you to see him later. You remember your siblings. Prince Aegon, Princess Helaena, Prince Aemond, and Princess Y/N. You know Aegon and Helaena married, we’ll have tea with their children soon. And Aemond and Y/N-”

Daeron rushed forward and pulled you into his arms, uncaring at your mother’s indignation and scolding. You clung to each other, and the world stopped. He smelled the same, whereas he lamented that you had changed your perfume, or perhaps you now add oil to your hair?

“Sister,” Daeron breathed in your ear, holding you tightly, his eyes closing in bliss as your perfume filled his senses. Oh, how he had missed you. It had been agony for him, every day he thought of you, longed for you. He’d never wanted to leave in the first place, it was his mother’s and grandsire’s idea. His heart had been crushed when he had read mother’s letter four years earlier informing him of your marriage. He had been filled with anger; how dare Aemond steal his wife from him, just because he was away studying. It was an outrage; he had been tempted to fly back to Kings Landing on Tessarion and dispute the whole matter, to take you away and live as husband and wife together. But he had known that he would never have stood a chance against Aemond, nor Tessarion against Vhagar.

His eyes opened and he caught Aemond’s. The taller brother stared down the younger, his one-eye unblinking. Daeron swallowed thickly, keeping hold of you for support. “Brother Aemond,” he greeted in a somewhat shaky voice.

“Valonqar (little brother),” Aemond greeted with a smirk, enjoying his brother’s obvious discomfort at his presence. He didn’t like the way Daeron was holding you so tightly, it irked him, but he could disquiet his brother in other ways. “I hope you’ve kept up with your Valyrian; the four of us speak it often, and the children are learning too.”

Daeron flinched. “Forgive me, brother, there was no-one to help me maintain our ancestral language in Oldtown. I only speak Common Tongue now.”

Aemond nodded his head and smirked; another piece of leverage to use against this intruder.

You didn’t notice your brothers’ tension, pulling out of Daeron’s arms. You cupped his face in both your hands, staring closely at his face. He had grown so much. He wasn’t as tall as Aemond, nor as strong, but he was here. He was home. You longed to kiss his lips, but settled for both his cheeks, your lips lingering on his skin. “Finally,” you whispered, like a prayer, “Finally, you’re home.”

He smiled down at you. “I’m home. And I’m not leaving.” He looked up at Aemond at the end.

Aemond just smirked. ‘We’ll see about that, brother’, he thought.

The eldest sibling stepped forward to break the tension, even as he had to hold in his laughter. “Daeron, it’s been so long,” Aegon greeted, pulling Daeron in for a hug.

The two brothers embraced for a few seconds before separating. “Hello, Aegon. I missed you. Helaena,” he smiled at his other sister, kissing her cheek before embracing her.

“Y/N missed you greatly,” Helaena said in her soft voice. “She’s happy now you’re home.” Daeron tried not to interpret that as you being the only sibling who had missed him and glad to have him back.

Aemond spoke up. “Why don’t we take him to meet our children?” he asked, smiling down at you with his hand on the small of your back.

You completely missed how Aemond stressed ‘our’. Daeron did not, frowning at the taller, older brother.

Your face lit up. “Oh yes! They’d love to meet you!” you grasped his hand, pulling him towards the castle. “Come on, Daeron, come meet them.”

Aemond added, his smile widening wickedly as he clasped his hand on Daeron’s shoulder, “Yes, your niece and nephew would love to meet their uncle. Our son Maenor and our daughter Aena, though little Aena is not yet one so she won't have much to say.”

Daeron had to keep his mind on you and your happiness, as not to punch Aemond on the jaw. Aemond was playing with him, it was clear and painful. They both knew Daeron had been hoping and expecting to sire children with you himself, so to hear the words ‘uncle’, ‘niece’ and ‘nephew’… It was all just a game to Aemond.

One he had won.

The five of you, your mother, your grandsire Otto, and the five children filled Aegon and Helaena’s sitting room with a tea service. The twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, sat politely with the grown-ups and had a piece of cake before playing on the floor. Maelor and Maenor ate some cake on the floor, closely monitored by Aemond and a nanny. And you sat little Aena on Daeron’s lap, chuckling softly when you had to show your twin how to support her properly as she liked to bounce on her feet now she was close to walking.

Alicent and Otto were called out to a Small Council meeting after an hour or so, leaving you all together.

“You know Maelor and Maenor were born within the same week,” you smiled, watching with a proud smile as your son showed your twin his newest bracelet made for him by Helaena. Daeron still held little Aena somewhat awkwardly on his lap, but your little girl didn’t seem fussed, only cooing happily as she gummed on a wooden spoon. It made your heart swell, and almost brought tears to your eyes. In another life, they could have been his children. But then they wouldn’t be Aemond’s, which would mean they would be different. And you wouldn’t change your life or children for anything. You’d give Daeron a child someday, you knew it.

“It’s why we named them so similar,” Helaena agreed. “I actually delayed naming Maelor when he was born until Y/N had Maenor and had named him. They were conceived on the same night, after all.”

You choked on your tea and Daeron almost dropped Aena. Aemond quickly scooped your daughter out of her uncle’s arms, having been hovering at the side. He was very protective of both your children, but especially Aena. She had him wrapped around her tiny fingers, even though Aemond would never admit that. He bounced her up and down and cooed at her to distract her from crying. She was smitten with her father so it was always an effective tactic.

“Helaena…” you whispered. Daeron didn’t know any of that yet!

She seemed to realise her error. “Oh. I’m sorry, Daeron. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I only meant that Y/N and I had fertile days around the same time.”

That didn’t help.

“Do you think either of you will have more children?” he asked quietly, looking awkwardly down at the floor. He prayed you’d say no.

Alas, Helaena continued. “I’m actually trying to conceive at the moment, so it’s fortunate you-”

You interrupted. “I’m sure I’ll have more children in the future. Aena isn’t quite one yet, so in a few months, mayhaps. Does that sound alright, Aemond?”

Your husband looked at you from kissing your daughter’s chubby cheeks. “I’m always happy to have children with you, my love. We practice often enough,” he winked at you, basking in how much Daeron physically cringed.

You blushed and dipped your head. What was happening with everyone today?

That night was the first complete family dinner in over ten years, the King included. It was a lovely meal, it had filled your heart to finally be seated next to Daeron after so long apart, but there had been an undeniable tension in the room, coming off both Aemond and Daeron. Aemond had kept his hand firmly on your thigh the whole evening, not even moving it when food was served. He used his left hand to make your plate up, then his own, eating slowly with just his one hand. He barely said a word beside you as you caught up with your beloved twin.

After everyone was finished and conversation had lasted well into the evening, you all dispersed back to your rooms. Aegon and Helaena came in to yours and Aemond’s rooms via their usual passage, and you poured the three of them some wine. You had drunk enough for the day, feeling tired and a little emotional after the long day. Aegon and Helaena sat on a sofa by the main fireplace, reclining back comfortably. Aemond stood by the fire, contemplative as he stared into the flames and took the occasional sip of his drink. You felt restless from the energy he was exuding, sitting delicately on the arm of an armchair.

“It’s nice to have Daeron home,” you offered to the room.

Helaena nodded. “It will be, when we all know each other again.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Aegon pitched in. “You have to admit, sister; Daeron’s been gone so long, he’s basically a stranger to us now.”

“No, he’s not!” you protested. “Don't say that, he’s our brother! He’s always been our brother. It wasn’t his fault he was sent away.”

He jokingly held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not saying it is. But we haven’t seen each other in a decade, and there’s only so much letter-writing can do. If I hadn’t known who he was when he arrived, I wouldn’t have recognised him.”

“Aegon is right,” Helaena concurred. “He’s a stranger now, but he won’t be soon. The dragon lost will be found again.”

Before you could get upset about your brother's and sister’s attitude towards your twin, Aegon spoke up again.

“Well, how funny is it that you want your little brother’s babies?” Aegon laughed good-naturedly to his wife. “I thought he was going to have a heart attack.”

Helaena just shrugged. “Well, you have three children already. Surely you wouldn’t begrudge Daeron a child with his sister?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” he smirked, looking at Aemond.

The three of you looked at Aemond, observing him as he just stood by the fire, wine cup in hand. “Fuck off, Aegon,” he grumbled.

Helaena paid no attention to his mood. “I think it would be nice if Y/N and I were both pregnant at the same time again, and especially if both babes were Daeron’s.” You looked at her beseechingly, silently begging her to stop talking. You could feel Aemond’s ire rising. He has never and would never hurt any of you, but his temper was infamous within the Keep. “Aegon has three children and, Aemond, you have two. Daeron doesn’t have any-”

“Because he’s been pissing away his years in Oldtown,” he snapped. He moved from the fire and practically threw himself into the armchair where you sat on the arm. He fisted the loose material at the back of your robe. He needed to be close to you and to squeeze something, but would never hurt you for it. “It’s not my fault he never came back to be with us. He has a dragon more than capable of flying from Oldtown to Kings Landing; he could have told Grandsire to get fucked and returned at any time. He chose not to; he chose to stay in Oldtown with those prissy Maesters and dusty books. It certainly doesn’t mean my wife owes him a child. You give him one if you want, sister, if you think it would be nice.”

“Let’s all change the subject,” you said softly, rubbing Aemond’s knee.

Aegon, rather drunk, had other ideas. “So how will we get him to join us? He’s been cooped up for years, after all. Doubt he’s ever seen a tit, let alone a cunt.”

You groaned, standing up. You took Aemond’s cup from his hand and drained it in one gulp. He didn’t even look bothered. You refilled it from the jug and handed it back to your husband. He lifted it slightly in thanks, drinking deeply. You had known Daeron’s return would disturb him, but you hadn’t thought it would be this bad.

“I think that can wait,” you said diplomatically. You couldn’t and wouldn’t hide your desire to have your twin join the four of you, but it wasn’t an urgent matter, and your husband was perturbed enough as it was. “Let’s all just get to know him again.”

Helaena frowned at you quizzically. “Have you not been desiring this for a long time, sister? You planned to be his wife growing up, not Aemond’s.”

That was Aemond’s final straw. He stood up abruptly, stormed over to his side of the bed and began angrily disrobing for bed.

Aegon and Helaena misinterpreted the action as an invitation, standing up and heading towards the bed.

You stood in front of them with a shake of your head. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Aegon shrugged. “Alright. Come on, dear wife. Away to bed for us.”

“Do you want to fuck my ass?” Helaena offered neutrally.

You heard Aegon reply as they headed back down the passageway to their own rooms. “You know I’ll never say no to that offer.”

You turned back to the bed, seeing Aemond already under the sheets, facing away from the room. You walked over to the bed, climbing on it from your side.

“Aemond?” you asked, kneeling behind him. He gave no response. You looked at his nightstand. His eyepatch lay on the dresser, but the dish where he stored his sapphire was empty. He hadn’t taken it out. “Aemond, sweetheart, you need to take out your eye,” you leant down and kissed his bicep. “You know it will hurt in the morning if you leave it in.”

Still silent, he removed his sapphire, placing it in the bowl.

Glad he had at least listened to you, you lay down behind him. You tucked yourself in as close as you could to him, wrapping your arm tightly around his waist from behind. “Aemond, I love you. You know that, don't you?”

Seconds ticked by and your heart pounded in your ears.

After what felt like an eternity, he took your hand and pulled it up, kissing the back. “I love you too.”

You considered it a success. “I'm so happy to be your wife.”

Aemond had to hold back tears. “I'm happy to be your husband.” Until you leave me.

Chapter 4

@watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @aemondsdelight @thelittleswanao3 @misspascalpunk @heavenly1927 @probablybraindamage @theoneepileptic

#twisted love #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #daeron targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #helaena targaryen x reader #daeron targaryen x reader

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wordbreaker · 3 months

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The Taming of the Dragon, 1 ✷ Aemond Targaryen

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen / F!OC

SUMMARY: One evening, Aemong, in dire need of clearing his head, catches a Dragonkeeper on the beach tending to Vhagar. The Queen of Dragons doesn't seem bothered by the stranger's presence. Quite the opposite. Aemond is immediately intrigued. Even more so when he discovers that the stranger is a girl who comes from the North and bears the name Snow.

-ˋˏ following chapter ✶ ao3 ✶ my inbox ˎˊ-

Aemond Targaryen was on the verge of going mad. Everyone around him, from his mother to his grandfather and even his failing father, had only one word on their lips: Rhaenyra. His half-sister, who lived in Dragonstone, haunted the Red Keep. Her ghost wandered the corridors and manifested itself on their lips. He no longer wanted to hear that cursed name, which brought with it bad omens and curses.

“She'll do anything to usurp the throne! Even if she knows Aegon is the rightful heir!’ Alicent Hightower shouted.

Her brown curls bounced with every step she took. Her incessant to-ing and fro-ing along the Small Council’s table was making his head spin.

His mother had summoned him—as if Aegon wasn't the first son—to this secret meeting where her, his grandfather Otto, Criston Cole and Larys Strong would discuss stratagems, politics, and manipulations: three things he had started to loath. His love for his mother and his sense of duty had kept him from leaving the minute she made that request.

His expression revealed his true opinion of this ridiculous spectacle which he was watching with a distracted eye. He had stopped listening a long time ago and was waiting patiently—as was expected of him—to be dismissed. These discussions had a way of boring him. They went round in circles, nothing more than paraphrases of a previous meeting. A constant déjà-vu fuelled by obsession and a thirst for power.

“Viserys will come round,” her father reassured her.

The Queen laughed, a mundane, almost inelegant, gesture that was incongruous with her status. Rhaenyra had the gift of unearthing his mother’s inner ugliness. She could turn the most important woman in Westeros into the common little girl full of rage she had once been.

“She has his favour. She is the favourite child! He won't change his mind, not even about his first son!”

And what a son! Unsurprisingly, Aegon was nowhere to be seen today. His brother had never taken to politics. He was probably busy fucking some whore in the Silk Alley or some maid in his rooms, happy to let Aemond take over the responsibilities he left vacant.

Although it pained him to admit it, Aegon was the first son and he belonged on the Iron Throne. Aemond would much rather see his brother sit there than his whore of a half-sister. Aegon wasn't evil, just a misguided soul that his mother and grandfather would set straight. He was sure of that. Leaving the kingdom in Rhaenyra's palms, on the other hand, was tantamount to condemning the inhabitants of the Seven Kingdoms. Her reign would only bring calamity.

He tilted his head back and looked up at the ornate ceiling. His fingernails beat against the wooden table as the minutes ticked by. Slowly. Much too slowly. He held back a yawn.

The tone had been raised, words had been shouted, orders, given, and in the midst of all this racket, Aemond felt like screaming. He couldn't care less about Rhaenyra, his uncle, and her brown-haired bastards.

Aemond didn't want to suffer what his birth had spared him—responsibility. The second son was merely the replacement, the forgotten one. He would only appear on stage if Death came too early.

He wanted to be left in peace until then.

A futile desire for someone bearing the Targaryen name. No ancestor of the blood of the Dragon had known peace and he certainly wouldn't be the first.

The sun had been down for at least three hours when Aemond finally escaped from the clutches of his mother and grandfather. He mourned a wasted day and headed for his rooms.

On the way, he came across Aegon, his eyes reddened, and his eyelashes still stuck with sleep. His fist itched. He felt a visceral need to bring it down on his brother’s face. Why wouldn’t he grow up? What would become of Westeros if his grandfather and mother succeeded in making him king? Aegon was an immature fool and Aemond was expected to pick up the pieces. What did he gain by doing so? No recognition, no respect, and certainly not power. He was asked to do it because it was expected of him. An unspoken rule he learned to obey from an early age.

Aemond Targaryen would forever remain the second son, obscured by the shadow of Aegon’s unworthy glory.

“Brother.”

Aegon nodded, but the sly smile on his lips threw off any semblance of politeness. Aemond remained unmoved. He would not play his game, not tonight, although a few insults came to the tip of his tongue. He clenched his jaw.

“I assume the council was as interesting as usual. I'm sorry I couldn't be there but, you understand... A pretty servant was waiting for me. Couldn’t disappoint her, you know?”

Aemond didn't reply. He had not even deigned to leave the castle, not even his rooms. His hands began to shake, and a stabbing pain seized his sapphire eye, as it did every time he was upset. Lazy bastard.

When Aemond was mastering the art of sword fighting, Aegon was swilling whole jugs of wine. When Aegon was thrusting his cock between the thighs of a whore, Aemond was immersing himself in the histories of Old Valyria.

They couldn't have been more different.

Aemond continued towards his chambers, his face tense. Behind him, his brother burst out laughing and tried to talk to him, but he quickened his pace. Tonight, he had no patience for conversation.

Soon, the large wooden doors of his rooms appeared at the end of the corridor. The relief he felt was dulled by a weight in his chest.

At the last moment, Aemond turned around and hurried back. He felt as if he were suffocating within the gigantic walls of the Red Keep. The vast corridors were no longer so. They closed in on him and whispered hissing words. They slipped into his ear and snaked into his mind to unearth his worries. Stories of legitimacy, inheritance, the throne and responsibility—everywhere he went, his duty followed and plagued him.

Aemond needed to see Vhagar. He usually avoided disturbing her in the evening. His dragon was no longer in her prime and slept more than the others. Tonight, he would allow himself to be selfish. The need was too great. He had to clear his head, or he would go mad like many Targaryens before him.

He continued walking until he came to a darkened alcove. Aemond slid his hand over the cold stones. Eyes closed, he savoured the sensation. Click. He pushed open the wall, revealing a long and abandoned corridor.

The secrets of the Red Keep were no longer unknown for him. Aemond had spent his youth wandering up and down the corridors of the building in search of them. The stories said that Maegor the Cruel had beheaded the architects, the masons, the carpenters... all the brains and hands that built this fortress. They took these secrets to their graves, secrets that only the blood of the Dragon could recognise.

After the loss of his eye—thinking of Lucerys Strong made him cringe—Aemond had redoubled his efforts to find them all. These passages had offered him the ideal refuge to escape from the gaze of others during the most difficult period of his life. This tradition had survived.

Aemond didn't even stop in front of Balerion's skull—not when his own dragon, alive on top of it, was waiting for him—and he rushed through the corridors, down some stairs, up others, turned left and then right, down some stairs again until he finally reached a door which he pushed open.

The fresh air whipped across his face. Immediately, all his worries evaporated, although his hands continued to tremble—a vestige of his wrath. He inhaled the smell of the shore, a delicious mixture of salt and air.

Aemond made his way down the stairs and onto the beach. He relished the sensation of walking on the white sand. It crumbled under his leather boots. Aemond found this instability reassuring. Nature could be unstable too. The wind had picked up and was blowing thousands of grains around. These whirlwinds, small storms of matter, calmed him and the proximity of Vhagar finished off the hurricane rising in his heart.

With a slight smile on his lips, he walked over to the dunes where his dragon had taken refuge since he brought her back from Driftmark, eight years ago. A mountain of green scales stood among the other mounds of sand. It moved with every breath. Aemond could almost feel the warmth of her breath, the hardness of her scales, and could already imagine himself riding her, hair blowing in the wind, free in his mind.

His joy was short-lived. The gods did not like to see him happy.

Aemond stopped dead in his tracks. Next to the gigantic figure of Vhagar, a small silhouette stood out. It was fidgeting and tormenting the dragon’s sleep. The short distance between the two made him clench his fists. They were close, far too close. Aemond had forbidden anyone to approach his mount. He had never had to repeat his request before. Who would be foolish enough to approach a sleeping dragon? Those who had risked it were no longer around to tell the tale. They had been burnt to a crisp and their loved ones had had to mourn an unrecognisable pile of ashes.

The stranger must have been unconscious or just mad.

Aemond stomped over to them.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he growled rather than asked.

He knew he was protective of Vhagar. Everyone around him had noticed. He had exchanged her for an eye, and this suffering had only redoubled his murderous impulses: Vhagar was his. Anyone who dared touch her would face his rage.

The latter rose in his chest and accelerated his heartbeat. It coursed through his entire being, leaving no part of his body untouched. His nails dug into the palms of his hands. His muscles quivered, waiting for just one thing—for him to attack.

He stepped forward, ready to confront the stranger, who jumped and turned but did not reply. This silence made him even more furious. Who dared ignore their prince?

Moving a little closer, Aemond recognised the gleaming black armour and scaled helmet of the Dragonkeepers.

A breeze of relief blew over his heart, but it didn't completely calm the agitation that had been building up inside. At least this person knew what they were doing.

Worry and anger gave way to curiosity: what were they doing here? Aemond had never come across a Dragonkeeper outside the pit. They lived there to ensure the well-being of the creatures. Like monks, the pit was their sanctuary, and nothing could keep them from their duties.

Normally, at least.

He couldn't see their face. Vhagar's massive form cast an equally colossal shadow over their body, which was further darkened by the night. It was only when he was close enough to smell the smoke coming from their uniform that he realised it was a girl and, worse still, that he didn't know her.

The last time he had ventured into the dragonpit, he had been only ten years old and had two eyes. Back when he was still Dragonless-Aemond, the place had seemed unreachable yet idyllic—the embodiment of impossible dreams. Eight years ago, he would have easily been able to name the seventy-seven keepers with the time he spent there. He came every day, waiting for the moment when a dragon would accept him as a rider.

The Dragonkeepers’ faces had clouded over with time, reduced to vague memories that the satisfaction of having claimed Vhagar had swept away. Far too large to fit in the pit, his dragon had made her home on the dunes of King's Landing and, in doing so, had made the dragonpit a bygone era of his childhood.

“State your name. Now.”

She dipped into a clumsy curtsy, perhaps the worst he had ever seen. She almost tripped on air and fell face-first into the sand. He winced. This girl was cruelly lacking in grace. No doubt the keeper’s profession had damaged her manners, which already left a lot to be desired.

"Lucella Snow, yer ‘ighness.”

His eye twitched.

A bastard from the North.

The shamelessness made perfect sense now.

These people were nothing but barbarians, made savages by the cold and their proximity with the Wildlings. They prayed to their strange, faceless gods, remnants of a primitive past, and still clung to superstitions dating back thousands of years which bore witness to their backwardness. Too limited for the political intrigues of the South, they retreated into their icy fortresses and only left them to defend themselves.

Northerners were strange and even the Starks, although not the worst of their species, were no exception to the rule.

Add to that the absence of a father to beat her and train her like a lady, which she could have become with a little effort, and you had the bastard in front of him. She was not unpleasant to look at, Aemond decided. Her pale skin, hidden under the ashes smeared on her cheeks, and the few strands of black hair sticking out of her helmet leaped out at him. If she had been born in wedlock, many suitors would have fought for her hand in marriage.

“And what on earth is a Winterfell bastard doing here?”

“I’m sorry, yer ‘ighness, but I’m afraid ‘am just a bastard frum White ‘arbah.”

Her accent struck Aemond's ears and made him wince. Syllables here and there disappeared as the vowels struggled to make themselves heard properly in this gibberish. Her voice was deep, deeper than his mother's or his sister's—the only women of his life—, and dragonfire smoke had taken the evenness out of her tone, leaving it hoarse.

He didn't like the way she avoided his question or her undeniable lack of politeness. She looked at him with jaded eyes as if he were the one who shouldn't be there. He thought he saw a flame dancing in her amber irises. A strange colour for someone from a Northerner. In these lands, eyes were only blue, grey, or black: bland colours for a land saddened by the blizzard.

“Winterfell... White Harbor... Northern towns all look alike.”

“I suppose yeh won't mind if I call you Velaryon, then? Yeh understand... Valyrians… They’re all th’same.”

His indecency irritated her. A mouth like hers belonged in a dilapidated tavern, not in a place like the Red Keep.

Northerners didn't belong here. They weren't like them.

“What is your concern here?” he asked her again.

Why isn’t Vhagar killing you? he thought.

Next to Snow, the Queen of Dragons looked peaceful. His companion was used to the presence of the keeper of the North, Aemond realised. The thought worried him. How long had this stranger been roaming around his dragon without him knowing?

The bastard pointed her gloved fingertips at a sheep carcass, no doubt ready to be charred by Vhagar, judging by the hungry look on her face. Aemond had not seen it until now.

The presence of this woman was upsetting his plans and troubling his senses.

“I’m bringing her food.”

Her 'r's rolled off her tongue.

“I already feed her.”

“Not enough. Obviously,” Snow retorted without hesitation, pointing to Vhagar's visible ribs. “Age tends t’work up their appetite. Ain’t tha’ right, sweetheart?”

She tenderly stroked the dragon’s muzzle, who let herself be petted under Aemond's hallucinated gaze.

His mount, reduced to a common pet.

His nostrils flared. He abruptly grabbed her hand and pulled her away from Vhagar, ignoring the grimace of pain on the Dragonkeeper’s face. Good. Perhaps she would understand that lurking around his dragon was not without consequences.

Vhagar, the Queen of all dragons, ridden by Visenya, had fought and survived Aegon's Conquest. She embodied the glory of House Targaryen and would not be touched by a commoner. A Northern bastard even less so.

Without a glance at her, he climbed the rope ladder and settled into the saddle.

"Sōvēs," he commanded.

Vhagar, lethargic, took her time shaking her wings before flapping them and taking flight. She sent grains of sand and stones flying. Soon, the beach was nothing more than a pale speck drowned in the thick clouds bathing in the twilight’s silver light. The icy air invigorated him, but he couldn't find the comfort he had come for. His thoughts remained stuck on the Dragonkeeper.

When Vhagar lost altitude for a moment, when the two of them broke through the cloud barrier and the beach was visible once again, Aemond saw that she had not moved and that her eyes were riveted on him.

Aemond didn't understand her expression but decided he didn't give a fuck.

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aemondsbeloved · 1 year

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Turn Back Time

summary: The night after Storm’s End and death of his nephew, Aemond returns to the Red Keep and deals with what he has done to his family. The next morning when he wakes up, Aemond is in the brief past. Now, Lucerys and his father still live and his brother is not yet King. If there was no civil war he might have been able to marry, you, his childhood friend, and perhaps this is why Aemond decides to change the future of his family (3.5k)

warnings: mentions of the death of Lucerys, Aemond having guilt, Aemond’s POV, angst with a happy ending, unedited

notes: I feel like this fic summary is so cringey but I really like how this turned out so I hope you guys enjoy!!

The night’s events in the Stormlands left Aemond soaked cold to the bone from the rain and his limbs feel weak when he dismounts Vhagar. Walking through the Keep he is silent, the water dripping onto the floor from his riding leathers the only sound to be heard. When he finds himself at the door to his mother’s apartments, Ser Cole is at the door asking Aemond what happened but he does not have the words for that.

“I need my mother,” he pleads and as Aemond never pleads for anything, Ser Cole lets him in.

His mother was resting peacefully, still sitting on her chair near the windows. Tonight the moon pours its light through the window and along with the candlelight near her for reading, there is nothing else in the room. Finally, when she looks up the calm expression on her face falls and she is asking him what has happened.

He does not have the words for this either and fall to his knees in front of where she sits. Without thinking, Aemond’s head falls into her lap and suddenly he is a boy again. “I am tired, mother,” he whispers and closes his eye. When he does he is haunted by the night’s events, the Baratheon girl he was due to marry and the fact she was not you, the girl he had only ever wanted, and the memory of Lucerys Velaryon falling from the sky. “I have ruined everything.”

“She will understand,” his mother tells him, mistakenly thinking Aemond was this distraught over his marriage to a Baratheon and not to the young lady that Aemond had always thought he would marry. “You have your duty and she could never hate you for that.”

In that much, she was right. If Aemond knew anything in the world it was that you would forgive him. You had always done so, his sharp words when his wound would send spasms through him face, his inability to always be open with you when you desired that, the way he treated his nephews when you had never begrudged them in your youth. Your forgiveness was the least of his worries, however, and Aemond could not bear to say it, but he had to.

“Lucerys Velaryon is dead,” he tells his mother and he cannot lift his head from his mother’s lap. “It was an accident but it was my doing.” The admission makes his loathing that much stronger for himself. For all the years he could not live without hating Lucerys, now that his bastard nephew was gone he could no longer hide his hatred for himself behind someone else. For a fleeting moment he wonders if this is how his nephew felt that night in Driftmark. Harm was done but it was not the intent. Lucerys did not want to slice through Aemond’s eye and Aemond did not want Lucerys Velaryon to be dead, to his surprise.

The comfort his mother gives that night was as good as trying to heal a knife to a heart and Aemond moves to his rooms slowly. He has no memory of taking off his clothes and drying himself before falling into his bed but he does. When he wakes in the morning he is almost regretful to do so and as he left his bed he pays no attention to how his wet clothes from the previous night are nowhere in sight. It is only when he is dressed and leaves his rooms that he realizes something is not quite right.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you come up to him, a soft smile on your face as you link arms with him and walk in the opposite direction he had been heading. His eye is on you as he walks with you and something feels very wrong. “Your brother and sister will be in the throne room soon, best make sure you’re there. Rhaenyra is with Daemon and her sons it seems.”

“Lucerys?” he asks and the very name from his lips makes you look at him and laugh, startled. “He lives?”

“As far as I am aware,” you teased, thinking this a joke. “You and your brother haven’t killed your nephews yet praise the Seven.”

He did not laugh at your joke, a rarity, and you give him a long look. “Is something wrong? You are not yourself today.”

“All is well,” he insists, but all was not well, especially not when he stood in the throne room again. For the second time, Vaemond Velaryon called Rhaenyra’s sons bastards and Daemon cut his head off for it. Aemond stands still this time, an impassive gaze looking at his uncle. Lucerys Velaryon lived as did the King and there was no war yet.

The dinner that night is more or less the same, except for the fact you are there. Aemond had asked you to join and you had refuted the offer.

“I am not a Targaryen,” you said bashfully. “This is an affair only meant for the King’s family.”

“You could be a Targaryen one day,” he says with an air of arrogance. You would forgive him for it.

You had scoffed at him with a fond smile and left him there near his rooms, but come that evening you were there. His mother had looked at him with a curious expression, as if she had a question to ask him, but you had stayed by his side at the table.

The dinner was as he remembered it, Aegon had said something crass and Jace had stood up. Aemond had stood up, aware of your weary eyes as you looked from him to Jace. When Jace gave his speech Aemond remained unimpressed, still wanting to call him a strong boy again. Even the roasted pig was laid in front of him and Lucerys had still laughed, remembering the prank from their childhood.

Aemond wanted to stand up and make the speech he had the first time but when he looked at Lucerys he recalled the face of the boy who was falling to his death. At the memory that had not yet come to pass, Aemond swallowed nothing and ignored his smirking nephew.

“Are you well?” you whispered, reaching to place your hand on his arm. You had seen that he was not himself and Aemond found himself wanting to tell you. Surely you would think this was a dream of his, or perhaps you would think he had gone mad.

He did not answer you. If he had the words the explain his state of mind, they died with him that night in the Stormlands. You would not believe him, that much Aemond knew for certain. “Why would I not be?” he asks and his words are sharper than he intended. Your eyes fall to your lap at his tone and your hand leaves his arm. For the rest of the dinner he does not say a word.

The toasts were unbearable, Aemond decided, and even the content expression his mother had for once could not soothe him. His father would die tonight, he remembered. Despite the fact it was not proper, most certainly not the actions of the dutiful son he was meant to be, Aemond pushed his chair back and sought to leave.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, turning to look at his parents. “I am tired and should like to retire.” The words are proper, the cadence of a prince, but Aemond does not sound like himself. His mother worries, he can hear the words before she even says them but his father is dismissive. For the first time in his life, Aemond is grateful for his father’s lack of care for him.

When he leaves the room, Aemond is sure he is not followed. He ignores the way Daemon and Rhaenyra’s eyes are on him as he leaves. Before, Aemond had left the room only after punching his nephew and calling Rhaenyra’s sons bastards. This time that he leaves early he is not sure what is better.

He hears your footsteps before he sees you. He knows it is you because no one else would run after him. “I have a mind to be very cross with you, Aemond,” you say and he turns around from where he stood in the corridor to see you looking out of breath. He smiles absentmindedly as he remembers how the Septa would always tell you that your habit of running in the castle was very unladylike. “Something amuse you?” you ask him and this time you are cross with him, your eyes widened and eyebrows raised. With your lips pressed into a fine line, Aemond has no doubt he had ruined your evening.

“It is nothing,” he tries to assure you, hoping you would give this up. He turns around and walks away, planning on leaving you behind.

You would not have that, it seemed. “You will not ignore me,” you tell him lowly and though he does not look your way, he hears you walking in pace with him, your furious strides meeting his indifferent ones. “I am your closest friend and we have known each other since we were children, Aemond. I will not have you cast me aside just so you can close yourself off as you tried to do all those years ago.”

He stiffens and his surprise at your words has him still. You stop with him and give him a long look as he contemplates whether he should tell you. Your words were true, he admitted to himself. You had not been to Driftmark but you had been there when he returned to the Red Keep without an eye. When he had not let anyone in his presence for months, you had waited by the door, making the Kingsguard give Aemond lemon cakes you had gathered from the kitchens. When he let you near him, you had never flinched around him.

“You would not believe me,” he tells you after a minute.

“Impossible,” you insist. “There is nothing I would not believe coming from you.”

He tells you in that corridor which was only lit by firelight about the Stormlands and all that had come with it: the Baratheon girl he had to marry for the support of Baratheons for his brother, Lucerys coming to Storms End and Aemond’s demand for his eye, the way he lost control of Vhagar and Lucerys falling from the sky.

“I believe you,” you tell him after a long pause but uncertainty passes through your eyes. “But what if this is a sign?”

He hums, uncertainty in his eye now, not understanding your meaning.

“That the war to come is not worth the cost,” you elaborate and smile wryly. “Aegon has never wanted to be King. You know your brother.”

“He is my brother,” Aemond says in a hiss, something ugly growing in him. You do not flinch at his words. “It is his right.”

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But Rhaenyra is your sister—”

“Half sister,” he interrupts you, his words unkind.

“Still your sister, Aemond. Do you not think she would make a fine Queen?”

“You support them now?” he asks snidely, his lips pinched in an ugly frown.

“I only mean to say that you have seen what will happen if Aegon is crowned as King. There will be no peace, not you and not for us, but what if she was Queen?”

Aemond tried to not think about how you said there would be no peace for both of you, almost like one could not exist without the other. He did not like his half sister and that would never change, but he realized he would have to see her before she would leave for Dragonstone. He picks up your hand and presses his lips to your knuckles as you held a breath. “All will be well, my lady,” he tells you. “I must see my sister.”

You say nothing when he walks away to where Rhaenyra’s chambers were. When her handmiaden opens the door. The young woman is obviosuly shocked and weary, but lets him in regardless as she leads him into the solar.

“You left our family’s fast very suddenly,” he hears Rhaenyra as she enters the room. “The Queen was exceptionally worried.”

Aemond looks at her for a moment and considers her. He has hated his elder sister for a long time but he wonders who was at fault for that. “I will send her my apologies come the morning,” he tells her and without further contemplation, he motions to the sofa. “I have something to tell you and it is grave. You should sit before I say it.”

She considers him before she seems to trust him and sits on the sofa and places a hand on her protruding stomach. “What is it?” she asks him before he sits down and Aemond realizes she does not seem to find his presence bothersome.

“Something peculiar has occurred to me but I trust you will believe it to be true as it concerns the future of the Realm and House Targaryen.” Rhaenyra nods, eyes concerned as she looked at him. “I have lived in the future and have seen the beginning of the end for our House. I have seen the result of our father’s death and the plots that have rippened against you. I went along with them but I know now Aegon cannot be king.”

Rhaenyra blanches at his last words. “What plots?” she asks and her voice shakes slightly.

“My grandsire has been plotting to usurp you with the help of the small council since our father’s decline. Lord Beesbury is the only one who did not betray the King,” he elaborates. “Our father will die tonight and the council will crown Aegon.”

“Will they?” she says and bites her lips, spite in her eyes.

“Aegon is in the street of silk right now,” Aemond says quietly. “You must go to the King now with a witness and ask him to reaffirm your place as his heir. When he dies your coronation must occur immediately. My grandsire and the members of the small council will answer for their crimes but should be sequestered in their rooms until you have been crowned Queen.”

She nods in agreement. “Why are you doing this?” she asks him and as Aemond stands he looks at her.

“You are the best option I have,” he says. “I trust my mother, brother and sister will not be harmed.”

“Your loyalty will not be forgotten,” she tells him and Aemond fights back a smirk because he had not found any loyalty to Rhaenyra until an hour ago. His loyalty was to you and the peace the both of you might have.

“There is a lady I would like to marry,” he hears himself saying. “It would bear no political advantages but I desire her hand in marriage.”

Rhaenyra is surprised that much is clear and she realizes she does not know her brother at all. “You will have it,” she promises as she rises from her seat. “Yours will be the first marriage ceremony in the Sept of my reign, brother. I swear on the memory of our father.”

She is serious and somber as she says these words and Aemond nods, not thinking about how beloved their father was to Rhaenyra and how he could not stand him as the years went by. In the back of his mind he knows she will not betray her words even if the sentiment is nothing to him.

Viserys dies as Aemond said he would and if what he hears is correct, Otto Hightower along with every member of the small council save Lord Beesbury was kept guarded in their rooms when Rhaenyra went to Queen Alicent. What was said Aemond did not know but the meeting behind closed doors lasted nearly an hour and at the end, Princess Rhaenyra had the Queen’s support. He suspected it had something to do with the assurance her children would live and even have places in court.

Aemond was there with his mother, Rhaenyra and Daemon when Aegon was found and brought before them. Daemon asked Aegon to denounce his right to the throne and have his life. His brother seemed seriously bothered but it was clear he was upset to be dragged from flea bottom to say he didn’t want the very birth right he had spent his youth saying he had no interest in.

It all rather fell into place easily and Aemond did not want to blink lest he lose this picture that looked like something that could be peace. But Rhaenyra was crowned and House Targaryen stood strong side by side.

After the coronation Aemond sought you out and found himself in your chambers.

“You helped your sister,” you tell him as soon as he entered your room with a faint smile. You did not appear surprised at this.

He does not correct you when you refer to Rhaenyra as his sister this time. “I did. It had to be done and it was my duty,” he reasons and after surveying your room bathed in the sunlight of dawn.

“You could not have done,” you say, smiling at him like you knew a secret he did not. It had been this way since you were children and he lost his eye, he would be rude, cruel even from his pain and station and you would smile before insisting he was wholly good. There was nothing whole about him, he had told you once with spite. Like everything, you had disagreed and taken everything in stride. “You are a good man, Aemond. Now she sees it too.”

He tipped his head down and chuckled. You were predictable in your kindness and forgiveness. As a warrior, a knight in training, Aemond would have loathed this trait of yours, but as a boy who has long since pined for you and coveted your faith in him, he loved this.

“Rhaenyra swore on the honor of our father I would be able to marry whomever I wanted,” he tells you. “My wedding will be the first marriage ceremony in the Sept, she told me.”

“Oh?” you ask, your mouth gaping open. Your ease and relief at the event’s of the past night and day seem to vanish and your body is stiff with what he thinks is nerves. “How generous of her. Who is the lady?”

He looks at you and his gaze feels like it has been on your face for a year before he speaks. “I requested it of her and she was easily made in agreement,” he explains. “You know the lady well.” Aemond knows he is wrong for teasing you after the stress of this past day but a part of him wanders if you know it already.

“I do?” you ask. For someone as intelligent as yourself you question sounds dumb to your ears and perhaps Aemond’s too. “You’ve never been very interested in the ladies in the court before.”

Your words are true and Aemond thinks your pensive look is due to you thinking back to feasts and banquets hosted where he would seldom dance with ladies. It was always his mother, his sister, then you.

“Do not tax yourself by thinking of my interaction with every lady in court,” he tells you after a moment. By the way your eyes snap to his he thinks you are aware now he was teasing you. “There is no one who knows her better than yourself.”

“Aemond,” you whisper, admonishing him as you look at him bashfully and maybe even a tad bit enraged. “Must you toy with me?”

“Apologies, my lady,” he says, not sounding apologetic at all. “But I thought you knew. There is no lady but you I would wed and certainly no other I would ask the Queen to allow me to marry.”

Your gaze is soft when you look at him after he says these words, a sigh escaping your lips. “Oh Aemond,” you say and take steps towards him before you reach him. When you tilt your head to look at him, he wraps his arm around your waist. He doesn’t pull you closer, not yet at least, but rubs soothing circles on your back. You lean into him and rest the side of your cheek against his chest as your limbs relaxing now that you are in his embrace. “There is no one else I would marry. The Realm itself would have to pull me away from you.”

He tucks your head under his chin and there is nothing stopping him now as he wraps both arms around your middle, pulling you against him. This was the closest he had gotten to peace, Aemond realizes. He thinks that you were right. Rhaenyra might make a fine Queen. He knew for certain if it were not for her, he would not be able to marry you.

* * * * * *

reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3

#aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen fluff #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd x reader #pro aemond targaryen

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ladythornofrivia · 6 months

Text

Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Two)—Revised

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: modern!reader survived from the attack. But the new coming threat awaits her.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings & disclaimer: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, size kink, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and Aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

a/n: I’m sorry; I have to redo the chapter due to my perfectionism and complications of getting my chapter point across. I hope it's better this time. By the way, I misspelled Criston’s name so I edited on the first chapter, and my mind STILL wouldn’t stop thinking about Aemond. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter Two: The Green Star

Within their reach towards the destination in King’s Landing, under a stretched mile, moving from town to town, and markets and orphanage—after entering through Gate of the Gods—someone held you tight with one arm as he gripped the reins with the other hand. Your head bobbed and flopped from the tremendous speed from a horse. Your eyes opened to a band of armored men couldn’t find words to question or dare to challenge at someone’s actions from carrying you—a mysterious young woman—in his arms.

With your one eye open, for the last few hours, the moonlight casting its soft radiant light over the lands. Finally, underneath a cloaked hood, you spotted Criston Cole. You knew him, of course, based on how he acts in the show. Men who have seen Criston—his excellence in combat in training grounds and battlefield—never gave or reveal a soft spot for a woman. For a Knight in Westeros, the knights held the upkeep of never to lay a hand on a woman, let alone consummating a woman. Just like kings and queens, knights’ reputation must purify through oath and the civility of duty, not by the heart.

Within these governed laws must require a sheer will to not break a vow from a source of desperate love and intimacy or camaraderie of long-lasting companionship, one woman to the next. Being sent into the Wall and join the Night’s Watch is inescapable when choosing to lay or develop affections for a woman, whether the woman is married or lonesome whether being a bachelorette or widow. Or perhaps through dissent, other than committing a heinous crime. Once being sent at the Wall, the stories on what they have done in Westeros will be nothing but a fruitless conversation.

Meanwhile in Criston’s thoughts, although Criston thought you’re beautiful—even in your sleep—he does not love any woman; his unshared notions and expression to come into terms on how he adore the Targaryen princess, Rhaenyra, but all that’s forgotten when she gave birth to not one but three children and is betrothed and married to Prince Laenor Velaryon. Soon it erases the traced reminiscences of their shared times between the princess and the knight in armor, Rhaenyra, as a mother, placed her adoration for the children—and the claims to the Iron Throne—above all else.

But now he still loathes the dragon princess, buries hatred it in secrecy for Rhaenyra leaving him, and swear loyalty to Queen Alicent—as you read and watched the show.

Once the army infiltrated through the colossal gates, halfway to the Red Keep, you spotted Criston and his men trudged their way on the crowd—men, women and children were all staring at Criston Cole, but for one main reason: you—your hood came off due to the rush of wind. Although Criston carried you with ease and attentiveness, lifting you in his arms without so much of a trouble despite traveling, how his arm grew tired, not wanting to carry you anymore, but does it to maintain his clean image.

At first they made no effort to complain to Criston’s questionable nature regarding to his deeds. Bringing a young woman is unexpected.

“If you so much on planning to bring a whore into the Targaryens’s court, I do not wish but to think of the worst consequences for you and for the good of the realm. Your decision will cause a catastrophic downfall,” the man beside Criston spoke with urgency.

Criston spun his head and pierced his deadly and relaxed glare. “I’m in no position to take anyone as my bitch, ser. In fact, why don’t you do as you’re told by our queen.”

“You mean your queen,” the man seethed.

Criston ignored him, rolling his eyes.

“In fact, you can put this useless girl in the Street of Silk. She’ll be a great asset to men who needs tight cunt for a good breeding and it can swallow every seed and it can give birth to multiple bastards until she accepts her failure in death.”

Criston halted his tracks. “Then why don’t throw yourself to a woman’s cunt in the Street of Silk, Ser Marrow. I’m sure the fine ladies in King’s Landing will appreciate your service on fucking someone for having delicate desire of yours.”

This did not sit well with Ser Marrow. In fact, Ser Marrow could not register Criston’s reasoning on bringing the girl.

Knowing this won’t end well, but the girl has to be robust.

Hasten into the street of Rose Road, but then encountered traffic, to which he lead the horse to Street of Sisters, then turned right at Flea Bottom. Flea Bottom, filled with watchful eyes as Criston Cole and his men passed through.

All was quiet until you heard the words all at once:

“A whore!”

“The knight is carrying a whore!”

“Kill him!”

“To the death of the knights!”

“Fuck the Targaryens!”

People in Flea Bottom cheered as they fell from the windows of their townhomes and landed on the knights, who are all powerless when their swords were still in their sheaths; the swords are long to draw out for retaliation.

Criston, as brutal as he is, stabbed and slashed with his jagged sword, as people roared with rage and clawed the stallions skin. By their mistake, the horses punted and jabbed and ran, stomping over people’s bodies, and reached to the Street of Looms by the west side of the road.

Criston errored. When he glanced behind him, the people who are left alive still hunted them down, but his comrades slashed their way through for a clear promenade.

Night is throng with potential threats and sacrifice.

“For fuck's sake," he hissed. "We must reach to the Red Keep! Warn the others!” Criston shouted. “We must protect the Targaryen line!”

Suddenly the man’s speed had caught up with Criston and yanked you by the cloak and dragged you below, but Criston pierced his bloody sword on a man’s throat and retrieved you back in one swoop as his steed and his company ushered in the entrance gates of Red Keep.

By the time the gates are shut tight, you have woken up, but immobile and drowsy.

“Where…” your voice croaked. “Where am I?”

“You’re safe, my lady,” a voice said, looking up, you spotted none other than Criston Cole, a character you recognized in the House of the Dragon.

Screaming, you nearly throw yourself off the horse, but Criston held you. Though the men behind you gave an impression of unused to seeing your antics.

“At ease, my lady. You’re safe,” he said with a tight smile.

You cringed at his pretentious charm.

Did I potentially became an actress without giving an audition and be on a set of House of the Dragon?

But then recalling Ser Remon Blackwood’s words and call upon a realization. Westeros is real.

“Sorry, you just have me startled,” you said, deadpan. But you felt a tremendous wave of affliction after facing three men who tried to ambush you.

“It’s quite alright,” he said, still wearing a tight-lipped smile. Dismounted from his horse, he helped you down and ambled towards the stoned bridge. “Stay behind my men; they’ll protect you.”

Out of nowhere, Prince Daemon comes to into a scene.

“You’re late, Ser Criston,” he said with a sardonic grin.

Excited as you’re now, Prince Daemon wasn’t really your favorite member of House Targaryen.

“Apologies, my prince. I never knew you’re concerned of my punctuality, you’re merely acting as a dutiful handmaiden,” Criston remarked smoothly.

Asshat, as always.

Prince Daemon scowled. “Alicent needs you at this moment. I’m here to see my brother, not as a messenger. That damnable green star has caused ruckus to Caraxes and I.”

Criston’s jaw shifted from gritting his teeth. “I’m her guard not her hound.”

Prince Daemon rolled his eyes, and marched upon the gates leading to the Red Keep.

You’re certain that your wounds won’t fall into another failure as you watched Criston speaking to Daemon. One man leaned over against your ear. “One wrong move and you’re good as dead,” he warned.

Giving him a cold shoulder, you gazed upon the view of the dark ocean and crystal, ink sky. From gazing at far away town, it was magnificent, but upon a closer view, you knew how the underbelly of King’s Landing is.

Then looking upon the Red Keep, you were still in awe of the structure, vibrancy with crimson and ivory. But before you admire other parts of the Red Keep, two of the men blindfolded you—one wrapped the fabric on your eyes, the other on your wrists, then tackled you down while the others ignored your voice.

“One more sound and I’ll slit your throat,” he said.

Hiding behind them, even with a dark vision, you’re carefully planning out on your exit avoid of gaining infliction.

With a strike of punch, there’s not much you could do but felt trapped into a situation you can’t escape in.

The noise ensued.

The swords had drawn in.

Overhearing Prince Daemon is being ambushed by a band of thieves and killers who clambered out from under the bridge in the usage of strong rope and hooks secured and pierced the stone. Hoisting themselves in the air as they drew their blades out, attacking the rogue prince.

Grunt by grunt, Prince Daemon sliced and slashed through ragged clothe.

Though two of the men dead, except the bulky man with a great sword, twice as thick and honed. When he lifted the sword, you blocked the attack with a dagger in one hand while your eyes are blindfolded. With your rage, the green spark eroded, and snapped the sword in half, your blindfold tore in half, leading you doing a spin kick across the man’s cheek, sent him flying around seven feet away. Criston, Daemon and the army watched in awe. The dagger shattered; picking up the dead man’s sword, tying the sheath's belt around your waist, you clutched the blade and fought your way near the entrance. Although you retaliate, you earned wounds gashed on your exposed flesh.

When Jacaerys and Helaena appeared outside the palace due to curiosity, they spotted you fighting the band of killers with one slice and left them dead, blood sprayed everywhere, and tainted your peculiar clothe, fighting together with Prince Daemon.

Jacaerys—Jace—drew his blade out, but Helaena held him back, but Jace stubbornly charged in. Prince Daemon spotted them a mile away and towards the man who attempts to aim Jace’s head maimed through a roundish belly and fell down, the man’s body split into two. You managed to seize Jace and dodged the attack—blocking the blade from the killer before managed to have the upper hand; piercing through the heart, returning Jace back to Helaena’s side in one piece. “Get back inside! I’ll take it from here,” you said before charging back into the battlefield on the bridge.

The sentinels and men from the City Watch fought with their battle cry, attracting the attention from commoners at the streets behind them, flooding in, scattered at every corner.

Unbeknownst to you, Prince Daemon wondered who you were, or where you came from or why you came with Ser Criston. But you skills in battlefield, hasn’t seen anything extraordinary. He parried and lanced through the enemy’s chest. Behind Daemon, the killer held a brick and held above his head, but your split his head into two.

Prince Daemon’s peered at you as you smiled at him shortly before the men were charging towards the heirs. You skewered and slashed their legs in half; the earning of the intruders’ agony was worth it.

Until the man, thrown Helaena off the bridge, her shrilled screams filled the night’s air, but Helaena seized the rope, holding onto her dear life. When the man undo the hook, you knocked him out with a kick on his balls, resulting of him falling back with howling cry.

“Give me your hand,” you said to Helaena, your other hand outstretched to hers.

“Jace!” she bellowed, as the rope wobbled.

Behind you, Jace killed another man, who was trying to push you off the bridge.

“Help me pull the rope,” you said to Jace. Within an instant, you and Jace worked together and lifted Helaena off from the brink of death.

With the battle nearly over, you reached for Helaena’s hand and lead her back, safe and sound onto the bridge and fled with them into the gates.

Prince Daemon and Criston reached alongside.

“Close the gates!” Criston commanded. “Close the gates!”

“You’re safe,” you told them.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Jace said, putting a smile on his face.

Facing Helaena, you asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Helaena nearly sobbed. “Thank you.”

“See, everything’s alright.” You grinned widely.

Then a hot stab seared into your lower belly and collapsed; your body violently shaken, suffocating.

“Take the girl to the Maester,” Prince Daemon said, cut the traitor’s throat. “I’ll head back to the bridge with Caraxes.”

Screams echoed outside the gates, garnering everyone’s attention, but others fled into the Red Keep.

Your eyes gazed upon Jace and Helaena watched you in horror as Criston elevated in your arms, sprinting down in the castle, then through the secret passages, his mind motioning the idea of who could escort you faster to the Maester to dispose the poison; Criston rarely attends the healer’s room; Criston is an undefeated warrior with no battle scars.

With the last of your awake, you watched Criston entered the secret passage, and while crossing from a secluded hall, from there, he spotted the one-eyed prince, who returned from his training, softened at the sight of you, vulnerable in Criston’s arms, as you collapsed, eyes halfway lulled in oblivion. “She has been wounded,” you overheard Criston said.

Sheathing his sword, Aemond took an examine of you, as you examined him, listening in while dazed.

Tall and handsome, graced with fair hair and delicate yet strong features.

“What happened?” Aemond approached you.

Criston trudged passed Aemond and turned the corner into another hall. “The people from the Flea Bottom saw her, and wants me dead,” he said rather composedly.

“What you’re doing is treason,” Aemond reminded.

“Consequences be damned, my prince. But I found her alive in the forest.”

Aemond’s brow quirked. “How?”

“The men in armor are dead; all have been stabbed, and their cocks have been…cleaved,” Criston whispered at the last part.

Aemond’s eye widened.

“She saved Princess Helaena from falling of the high bridge, and protected Prince Daemon himself.”

Aemond’s hardened expression softened.

“Ask her once she’s awake,” Criston suggested.

Aemond suddenly swept you into his arms. “Go and ward off the people from Flea Bottom. Otherwise my mother will question your knighthood and send you to the Wall.”

Criston is relieved when you’re not in his arms anymore and fled back.

In these last awakened moments, your eyes saw but a glimpse of long, silver-gold hair glowing like halo, and a soft glow of his blue eye gaping into yours.

“Well done, my fair lady,” Aemond’s voice crooned. "You fought bravely."

Before you faded into your subconscious state.

~Aemond’s POV~

After positioned you onto the surgical table, he faced the Maester, who was bewildered at the dragon prince with a fallen maiden in his arms.

“You mustn’t tell no one of this,” Aemond said. “Heal her, and I’ll reward you well.”

Soon, he heard the footsteps, and sprinted outside the Maester’s room and hid among the shadows—after unlocking the secret wall and spied on Rhaenyra, and his mother, Alicent, who accompanied Rhaenyra the Maester’s room.

“Your Grace, Lady Rhaenyra,” the Maester bowed after prepping the medicine on his tiny desk beside the surgical table, where you lay.

“The men outside the Red Keep were severely injured,” Lady Rhaenyra said. “And the people from Flea Bottom arrived here without a warning, flooding through the gates; the guards were gravely injured from defense by the time we arrived.”

Queen Alicent, on the other hand, was surveying the maester with tensed posture.

“I cannot spare this room for the men,” the Maester said. “I shall send more healers for the guards. There’s another room for them to repose.”

Rhaenyra stood with neutral expression, still obtain a regal posture. “Good.”

Queen Alicent intruded with, “What of those from the Flea Bottom?”

“Syrax escorted them out,” Rhaenyra vexed. “I never would’ve expect that the plans to visit my father would come to terms of bloodshed.”

Queen Alicent chimed in with, “It is already been taken care of. However the penalties must continue; the people from Flea Bottom are beastly as they come, and should pay for its crimes from infiltrating the Red Keep.”

Rhaenyra darted her hues on Alicent. “The Commander of City Watch has been injured. That is why I came here on his behalf.”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” the Maester said. “I happen to be in a delicate procedure.”

Rhaenyra’s brows furrowed. “What might I ask what the cause of your refuse my request?”

The Maester turned around. Alicent and Rhaenyra pivoted their gaze to a lying figure on the table.

While laying still, you were mumbling incoherently, sighing.

“The poison has taken a great effect on her,” he said.

“Who brought her here?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Ser Criston, my lady,” the Maester said, but Queen Alicent knows that the tongue of a liar has shown nothing but hesitation; the grey eyes of an old maester averted. Alicent has known her subjects well for as long as she could remember; resided in King’s Landing for more than six years.

“What a strange attire she was wearing,” Rhaenyra commented, approaching your sleeping body, caressing the side of your face. “Beautiful girl, but, strange choice of appearance. Her gown is too short.” Then she took notice on your right thigh inked with a large and fiery outline of a red dragon stretched across the thigh, and on the arms until the knuckles of your delicate hands. “I’ve never seen anyone with strange markings,” she said, fascinated.

The maester gulped. “She fought valiantly outside the Red Keep, princess. She not only protected Prince Daemon, but rescued your son, Jacaerys, as well.” He then looked at Alicent with pride. “She also saved Princess Helaena from falling off to a drowning river beneath the bridge and consulted from this young girl before traitor stabbed her, contaminated with poison.”

Both Alicent and Rhaenyra are in deep bewilderment of the revelation regarding to your deeds.

“Impossible,” Rhaenyra said, paled.

“Are you certain?” Alicent chimed in.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said. “Thank the gods your heirs has been graced by the valiant savior.”

Queen Alicent approached you, though rather carefully, studying your face.

“So young and vulnerable,” she whispered. “She shouldn’t die in vain. Not when she saved our children,” she said to Rhaenyra with watery eyes.

“She secured the successors to the Iron Throne and Driftmark,” Rhaenyra added.

Alicent could only stare at your visage. “We shall bless her with our gratitude.”

“We shall await for her recovery, and ask her questions, regarding to the green star,” Rhaenyra determined. “Until then, she must rest upon the hands between the Gods and you, Maester. Keep her alive and guarded from The Stranger.”

The Maester bowed. “As you wish, Lady Rhaenyra.”

As soon as Rhaenyra left, Alicent moved closer to the maester. “You have served as a Maester for many years of your excellent service. You may be truthful to your skills, but your eyes offered a lie. Tell me, who summoned her here?”

The Maester is unable to dart his eyes at her. “Your Grace,” is all he uttered.

“I can assure you that you won’t be punished; I shall spare you from the slice on your tongue,” she guaranteed, rather kindly. “Pray tell, who gave you the order? Who brought her here?”

After a minute of glancing at your sleeping form, he then veered at Alicent, and leaned against her ear. “Prince Aemond, Your Grace. He requested for me to treat her wounds and aid her through salvation, and handed her over to me—carried her from the entrance of the Red Keep.”

Alicent was awestruck once more with another revelation.

“I do not believe he sees her as Helaena’s rescuer to offer his gratitude,” she mumbled. “Rather more than what it lies beyond the prince’s decision.”

In the heart of a dragon prince’s mother, Aemond perceived the nature of your goodly heart. In the heart of a dragon prince still remains unknown. Rather what Queen Alicent seems to believe in.

Then the sincere smile fell onto her face.

~Your POV~

Your eyes have opened. Not in the apartment you lived in, but rather in the hands of a man who was drawing out the equipment to settle the resolute force on the poison that is bestowed on you.

In the maester’s room, there you were, your immovable body splayed at the rocked surface of the surgical table, weakened arms and hands clinging onto dear life. You wouldn’t hold still, not when the maester held the tools with honed end lancing on the poisoned area by your lower stomach.

“No, don’t touch me,” your groaned with plea, tears on the corner of your swell.

The old maester did his bidding, and gazed upon your agony with his melancholic eyes upon your fettle. For a short moment, you were sure that you’re going to die soon. With all that it’s left in your body is shattered and bleeding with venom, leak altogether against your raw and vulnerable flesh.

“It’s alright, my lady, you’re safe,” the maester said with a sad, polite smile.

“Don’t hurt me,” you pleaded, tears prickling.

“It’s alright,” the maester repeated, his gentle voice gradually turned to a firmed tone, petrified of severing you through medicine.

The heavy oak door opened, unveiling the dark silhouette. Though your vision remains unclear, it is obvious who entered the healing room.

A young woman with elongated copper-brown curls reached on her chest, with brown eyes and elegance of her dark green dress was flowing across the floor as she ambled, encountering the maester as you listened in.

“How is the girl?” she asked, rather in a motherly voice.

“I was eliminating the disinfection of the poison, Your Grace. The girl’s stature could not survive long in this dreaded indisposition. She won’t last. Her bones have been fractured and her flesh is newly bled.”

“Have you used the Milk of the Poppy,” the queen asked, hoping. Her hands folded together with anxiousness.

“She took the last of it, Your Grace,” he said with a scowl on his face. “The lack of substance is insufficient—only a quarter of the liquid left; her mind is as resilient as a bull’s head, still awake and eccentrically movable.” He wiped the bleeding knife, sighing. “Mumbling and groaning in her unconscious state. Gods be good.”

“What of her wounds? The markings? Will she ever move again?” Queen Alicent noted your deep scars forged on your smooth, delicate skin, her hand smoothed against your tousled, stiffed locks across your softened look on your face, sleeping.

“The girl requires the milk of the poppy. Should the girl move while under the stead of my delicate care on discarding the poison within her body, her death will be as slow and merciless,” he reminded the queen. “It cannot be undone—The Stranger won’t spare a second chance for anyone. In additional process of cleansing and stitching on her fresh wounds needed delicacy, requires of greater assistance.”

Queen Alicent comprehended. “Go see if there’s anymore milk of the poppy. Bring the other healers to aid the maester,” she eyed and told the servant.

“Yes, Your Grace.” The girl bowed and quitted, skittered through the door.

Queen Alicent ambled and sat beside your restful sleep, whilst you’re unaware of her presence, watching you laboring your staggered breath in the humid air, smothered in heated sweat. Queen Alicent bestowed her concern on your poor health that’s closely endangered, to be sent to the God of Death—The Stranger, one of the many Gods in Westeros. Regardless, Queen Alicent’s main concern is your well-being.

“The effect won’t last long,” he reminded the queen. “There so little of the substance.”

Queen Alicent swept your hair longer. “Do what you must, Maester.”

For she and the others have something else in store for you once you gained consciousness and well accord.

As of now, you must battle your life between the air of life and death.

Piercing cries reached into the barricaded doors in the Red Keep. For those who walked pass by near the halls and down on the staircases leading to the lower grounds, would surely be terrorized by the sounds of your screams that is twice as loud. They were certain it was a dying sound of a dragon, but they were undeniably mistaken.

Luckily, the doors were sealed. No one was awake at the sound of your voice.

“Keep her still,” the maester instructed.

The godswives pinned you down from failing on the table each time you shifted. On a pair of limped legs, your one leg slithered downward across the table, and one of your fractured bones punctured with twinge of pain, searingly poking and a sensation of splinting.

You could no longer withstand the pain, not with the surgical instrument lancing through your bleeding skin. The wounds on your flesh stopped the blood from flowing. Albeit the process was painstakingly slow. The poison was heating up from your stomach and down on your hip.

And the conflict you upheld will unleash. One kick sent the godswife fell on the floor before she had seized your lower calf.

The door boomed, unveiling the healer delivering the milk of the poppy to the Maester. And Queen Alicent entered the room, which the Maester is unexpected with her reoccurring attendance.

The maester was undermined in the position of stress, hoping for other solution, but gained no new ideas to soothe you. Therefore, Queen Alicent went over to your side, ordering the godswife to loosen their grip.

“Listen to my voice,” Alicent murmured.

Little by little, you listened, but your breathing rasp with dejection.

“Don’t fight it, sweet girl,” she said gently, holding the cup filled with milk of the poppy. “This will do you good.”

Struggling to free from their grasp, you gazed at woman in green gown with trepidation.

“I don’t want to die,” you whispered with your ongoing struggle. “I have so much to live for.”

“You won’t be,” she reassured you, settling the cup into your parched lips, and you consumed the liquid and let your head fell down again. “Be brave,” she said. But this time, your struggle has dimmed, as did your eyes blurred harsher, unable to see the silhouettes of her, the maester and the knight. With your limbs sank, your breathing went from rush to steady flow. Your eyelids lulled into sleep.

~Aemond’s POV~

The repair of your wounds has gone successfully. Though rather took quite long, it has gone in favor. Rather, in Prince Aemond’s favor.

Aemond awaited in the dark of the great hall, eavesdropping his mother’s voice, and eyeing on you. As soon as she and Ser Criston left, Aemond met up with the Maester in silent haste.

“Have you told anyone of my whereabouts?”

“No, Your Highness.”

He knew that the Maester told Alicent; spying from one of the secret passage.

His eye flickered over the Maester’s shoulder. “How is she?”

“She’s in good health. She has defeated The Stranger.”

Aemond gave a small smirk. “You did well, Maester. At least I don’t have to kill those who harm the young woman.”

“It would be unwise to pose a threat for the Greens, my prince.”

Aemond had his hand behind his back. “I couldn’t care less of what the common people think of my duty.”

“That you do, my prince.”

Aemond gave the Maester small pouch with five coins for keeping his word, and make his way to your repose body, wearing the strange attire, which it struck an intriguing notion to him. Aside from your appearance, what caught his sight more is your visage and your long locks splayed across the table you laid on, Aemond pressed his fingers and traced the soft line of your face, the smoothness of your face.

Candle light flickered, it casted soft glow onto your features. Lifting your shirt, it revealed the greenish color of the poison faded as for the fresh wounds has been stitched.

Aemond’s hand ached to linger his touch on your flesh. Without so much doubting, his fingers traced over the lines of your waist. Hearing you moan, Aemond’s lips curled upward.

“I shall be taking my leave. Tell the servant to bring a spare attire for her,” he told the Maester, lifting you up in his arms and left the room, walking to a staircase and settled you down to one of the spare rooms. If his family rejected his idea of you staying, he’d rather annihilate King’s Landing than to put you into one of the servant quarters. He found a perfect spot for you to lay rest.

Resting you down on a bed with washed sheets, he dragged a spare chair and sat beside you. Aemond couldn’t restraint his smile at your sleeping figure. Despite it all, he was thankful.

He should have been sleeping in his own chambers, but curiosity lead him awake.

The servant entered with a nightgown and handed it over to the dragon prince. Shivering from the cold, Aemond discerned of your body devoid of blanket.

“She’s cold,” Aemond told the servant. “Fetch her warm blanket.”

As the servant dismissed herself, obliging.

Aemond, without a shred of single doubt, is intrigued with you. While the servant is gone, he resumed tracing his hands and fingertips onto your body.

Moaning, your body shifted on the side, which caused him to chuckle and reverted you back to the former position. A soft hum rumbled into his throat, studying you further, his hand hand splayed over the lines of your exposed thigh, slithered back up to your waistline, cupping your breast while the undergarment is intact. Seeing your chest heaving, it coaxed him to further his touch, smoothing again with your waistline, then up onto the back of your neck, smoothing your cheek with his thumb as he smiled adoringly.

He placed his hand afar when servant returned with a wooly sheet and placed it over onto the foot of the bed.

Aemond then stopped the servant; the girl’s eyes gleamed with fright. “Don’t let her wander out from her chambers; she needs few days of rest. It’d be unwise if she puts herself into harm’s way again. She can stroll through the gardens and the training yard as long as she watched afar.”

The servant could only nod then departed to rest in her own quarters.

Alone again, Aemond unfolded the sleeping wear and had you sat up, your long locks veiled most of your naked figure, though choked when he spotted red outlined marks on your arms. With precision, Aemond had your strange attire remove and exchange with new ones. Laying you down, he undo your tennis skirt and pulled downward, he spotted the red dragon on your whole leg and a pair of thin and pink material clad your womanhood.

Licking his lips, he smoothed the linen of your nightgown, shielding your legs and awaited for the maid to return.

When the maid has been summoned upon the demands of a prince, Aemond handed your attire over to a trembled servant, requesting for a good wash.

“I trust you tended to her needs whenever she desires and not utter a word to my family regarding to my requests or my doings,” he stated.

“No, my prince,” she said.

“Should you utter, I’ll feed your corpse to Vhagar,” he growled.

Aemond could only gaze upon her meek stance and parted away into the room anew and stayed, eyeing you. Shifting onto your bed, particularly your legs from sliding down with a soft stretch, Aemond couldn’t keep his hands apart. His mind plagued with other ideas. But held them off and left your chambers after looking at you one last time.

~your dream~

The sudden chill on your body has left with warmth and comforted with safety, not with the sheets of think blanket, but rather in the arms of a strong man. In the void of your dreams, you spotted long locks of silver-gold shining like golden halo as the blue eye behold with a sapphire stone on the other eye.

“My beloved star,” his voice echoed.

~Your POV~

Your drowsy body lurched, resulting your stomach and stitches twinged in exasperating pain, hissing.

“My lady, you should be careful with your wounds,” the servant girl said.

Hand over your head, your tousled hair tainted the pillows you slept on with black sand sticking onto your head.

“Oh, I stained the pillow,” you said. “I’m so sorry, I’ll wash it.”

Before you had a chance of disarding the pillow case, the servant girl halted you. “I shall take of it, my lady.”

Remembering where you’re at, you surrendered; the wounds you endured is another battle.

The servant carried the bowl with porridge, lifting the spoon and approached close to your mouth, you said, “I never like porridge.”

Shocked, the servant insisted with, “You must, it’s good for the wound.”

“As much I would like to, I’d rather eat something else, if you don’t mind,” you insisted.

She settled the bowl down. “What do you wish to have at this moment, my lady?”

“Ham, bread and cheese,” you requested. “A hot cup of tea. If it’s required for me to eat porridge, then I’ll do it.”

The servant rose onto her feet with a smile. “I’ll fetch your food right away, my lady.”

“Thank you,” you said.

“Anything else, my lady?” she anticipated.

“A bath,” you said, cheeks flushed as your head lowered, hidden in shame.

The servant bowed and calmly shut the door.

Your head plopped back down on the tainted pillows, not for long. The morning weather has simmered with sunlight. Abiding for your meal, you lounged, idling and contemplating.

From a modern world, jumping back to centuries past is one thing, but in a fictional world is another. In order to see another day, you must play the game.

You’re startled at the sound of a knock from the door in your contemplation. It was rather quick.

The servant returned, gladly served the meal on the round table and quitted the chambers, as you consumed every single piece of the breakfast portion. Once you’re finished, you propped the tray on the desk, and as you grabbed a cup of tea, the parchment fell down onto your lap.

Breaking the seal, the parchment wrote in few words.

Beauty is not when a soul finds when awake, rather in sleep.

Your heart raced, though slowed when it has no name—not knowing what the letter meant.

But for some reason, you feel as if you’re being watched.

In solace, your servant returned with new dress and shoes for you, and prepared a steaming bath on the room next door with smoke materializing.

“The bath is ready,” she notified.

Undo your nightgown and undergarments, you hopped into the bathtub, soaked with bubbles and rose scented bar soap with a new bottle contained in liquid substance like jelly—the Maester created hair cleanser for hair like yours—muddy and greasy. And so, while the servant assisted you, scrubbing your hair, you lathered yourself with bar soap, washing off the black sands from Blackwater Bay at the Dragonstone. By the time you’re done rinsing and drying yourself, she wore the dress over your head. While you’re combing your hair, she tied the corset around you and then gestured your feet to insert into the shoes. Last but certainly not least, she clasped the golden necklace on you at the vanity mirror.

For a moment, the self-conscious in you dwindled, for you have seen yourself in a mirror, filled with new life striving.

Another knock came in. You answered, revealing the Maester with medicinal items in hand and greeted you “Good morrow.” After a short exchange of words, you let him in, and allowed him to inspect your wounds and delivered you the milk of the poppy, then made a further inspection of your new wounds and the poison in your belly. In the end, the maester is relieved.

Another knock came in for the third time. Revealed Ser Criston Cole swung the chamber door open, following Queen Alicent. The servant already left once she gathered the soiled sheets before the arrival of the maester and the Greens.

“Your Grace,” the Maester bowed, though you didn’t have time to curtsy because the characters you’ve seen on the show are brought to life.

Overwhelmed, you curtsied though as if you’re suffocating with elation.

Queen Alicent gazed at you before the Maester.

“How is she fairing, Maester?”

“The wounds on her flesh are still new. But with her withstand to harm is astounding; and yet she’s able to move with agility and ease.”

Queen Alicent darted her eyes on you, from head to your shoes. “How are you fairing, sweet girl?”

Your mouth opened, stuttered. “I’m doing perfectly okay, Your Grace.”

Alicent grinned. “Wonderful. I hope King’s Landing doesn’t settle disagreement in your heart,” she said.

“No,” you replied, shaking your head. “I’m not offended. Not in the least.”

Queen Alicent examined you. With your cleansed appearance, she finds herself genuinely smiling again.

“What is your name, sweet girl?”

“Name’s (y/n), Your Grace,” you said in a somber smile, drowsy during the massive effect of Milk of the Poppy.

Alicent seems pleased with your introduction. “A pleasure. Rhaenyra’s right. You are beautiful.” Then her face turned grave. “As much as we idle our conversation, you must be prepared with your answers with the Blacks. You protected their heir, just as you rescued my daughter, what’s more is your capabilities, so brace yourself. I shall be heading to the council with the others. Ser Marrow will escort you to the council room once you’re done meeting with the Maester.”

You nodded. “Alright.”

“I shall see you there.” Queen Alicent left without a word as Ser Criston followed.

After done conversing with the Maester, you thanked him as he left your quarters.

Dabbing your lips with lipstick, you ushered yourself to meet Ser Marrow. But instead of a greeting, he struck a blow on your belly and the side of your cheekbone with his gauntlet not once but seven times, bruising your lips and nose, and blindfolded you with a golden fabric.

“You should’ve stayed dead, you whore,” he said, then dragged you down at the council.

~Aemond's POV~

It was a clear message when Alicent told Aemond that she had an important council meeting up the high floor. Meaning, no heir is allowed to enter unless the heir becomes King or Queen. Disregarding of his mother's words, Aemond found his way through the secret passage again, peering through the carved hole, as he flicked his gaze, spotting Alicent and Criston, chatting, while the rest were still on a most gossiped subject that lasted in recent days--the green star.

"Looking for someone," a voice said.

Aemond looked over to his brother, Aegon, who was drinking red wine in a heavy goblet.

"You shouldn't be here, brother," he said.

"Neither should you," Aegon said. "Besides, you didn't answer my question."

Aemond ignored him and listened to Alicent's conversation.

“Where could she have gone? Did the guard lead her onto the wrong room?” Alicent agitated.

“She’ll be here soon,” Ser Criston assured her, watching the Blacks interacting.

Their talk has cut through the air when the double doors boomed, startling the Blacks and Green; with you in his hand, keeping you standing, bleeding as your dress tattered, and your nostrils bloodied, eyes shielded with blindfold, and your hands tied on the back.

“Here’s the whore you wanted,” Ser Marrow seethed to the Greens, casted you down with splat.

Your head raised and studied the environment—the council room. But you took noticed of the Blacks and Greens’s faces, are all unexpectedly mortified of your bruised appearance and the guard’s sudden outburst.

In the land of Westeros, a girl from a modern century has entered into the House of the Dragons.

Taglist: @galactict3a @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @hufflepuff1700 @colored-tr-panels @valeskafics

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huramuna · 2 months

Text

banshee's lament - chapter 8.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.7k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

i've been planning this chapter for months now, i hope you all enjoy! there is a surprise in this chapter 👀

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, talk of chronic pain and illness

story playlist

It was slowly nearing half a year since Shera and Cregan arrived at King’s Landing– she still hadn’t gotten used to the heat but she had finally, somehow, begun to adjust to the people, the looks, the whispers and sneers.

She, albeit slowly, was losing care in such things. She had been spending more and more time with the people she cared about– the ones who made her happy. She still visited Helaena and the children once a day and sometimes would even stay overnight and giggle under the covers with the princess like they would when they were children.

Her mornings started by watching Aemond spar with Ser Cole. She didn’t hide from it anymore– as she felt… somewhat liberated from showing her eye to him. She couldn’t exactly explain, to herself, much less anyone else, why she felt warmer than usual when watching him clash swords with his mentor. Sweat dripping from his face, the little sneer he plastered on when he was particularly concentrating. It felt like butterflies were trapped in her stomach, beating against her skin to get out. It was unfamiliar at first, the feeling– but now it’s become a recognized acquaintance, even if she couldn’t exactly name it.

Aemond, as well, had taken it upon himself to make more effort to spend time with Shera. His days before she returned to King’s Landing were very structured, very planned and scheduled. He would wake up, spar with Cole from morning light until lunch with his mother, then back to sparring until early evening when he would wind down by reading in his chambers, eat dinner, and then go to bed. ‘Going to bed’ didn’t really indicate sleeping, however. He didn’t need much of it to function and found the dreams (and nightmares, to his chagrin) that came with sleep uncouth– so he laid, usually for hours, until his mind drifted into the lightest of sleep cycles. He valued organization and repetition– impromptu changes to such a rigid routine were unwelcome.

Except for Shera– a very impromptu change to his life on her own. Mayhaps unwelcome at first, his outward antagonistic behavior to her was improper and came from a place of, surprisingly, regret. Regret and self-loathing. Usually, he attributed the feeling of self-pity and self flagellation in association with his brother, who was in all rights, a pathetic example of a man (but still his brother and wouldn’t tolerate such talk about him from anyone else) but when Shera came back, walking down that hall– she had looked so small, like she was a fragile heirloom on the verge of breaking at any moment. She could hardly walk without guidance and hid herself.

When his mother said she was returning, as vague as it was, he felt some sort of resentment bubbling up in his gut. What gave her the right to return now? He fully expected her to be the epitome of a Northern lady, hardy and strong, unyielding. The letters ‘she’ (unbeknownst to him at the time, the words were fabrications of Cregan) sent after Driftmark, painted the picture of someone who was fine, who was well adjusted, who didn’t have to go through moons and moons of relearning how to be a person. The image of Shera he had concocted into his mind, and onto paper– an icy woman with fiery hair who would come to blows with someone rather than shed a tear– was not what he saw.

No, what he had seen in that hall, who he had seen– he didn’t recognize her. Then, seeing the small curl of copper hair, the fur stole, the wolf. It struck him like a bolt of lightning, spurring every cell in his body into action, setting them on fire. Blood pumped in his ears and he could hardly hear her (whispering voice aside).

She was broken. Harsh, yes– but it was true. She was a shell, behest to the terrible experience they both suffered.

Regret flooded through him. She was this way because of him, because he dragged her along in the middle of the night to watch him claim Vhagar.

I should have killed them. I should have killed them.

And he retreated from her. He hardly remembers his words to her after she came out from his mother’s chambers– they felt vile in his mouth, like spewing venom. The primal part of him, the dragon, was unruly and restless.

He couldn’t stop lashing out at her–

But what did he really feel?

He fucking missed her. He missed her more than he could ever profess. He wouldn’t admit it outloud, of course, he had to maintain some form of self-preservation.

After their night in her room, after seeing her eye– there was a shift. They spent more time together and she became a fixture of his schedule.

Wake up, spar with Cole and have Shera watch him until noon, they would lunch together three days out of the week with Helaena. He cut his afternoon sparring in half and spent that time with Shera. At first it was awkward, but they melded into one another like their youth quickly.

She begged him to teach her how to draw, to help strengthen her eyesight.

“It… it hurts to focus.” she sniffed, looking up at him. She didn’t wear her veil when they were alone, which he made sure they were when they were drawing. Her blind eye was red rimmed slightly, twitching.

He had set up a vase on a small table for her to draw– it was a simple clay vase with a depiction of two nightingales in flight. They had just moved on from plain objects to something a bit more detailed, albeit only by a little bit.

“Don’t strain, Shera. Just… look at it normally. It’s blurry in some places, right?”

“… yes.”

“Okay. You looked at it up close for a good five minutes. Do you remember what was on the side?”

“The… the nightingale imprint.”

“You can see it in your mind, but it’s not clear to the eye. Use your memory to fill in the blanks.”

“Aemond— this… this is just a test of memory. How is this helping my eyes?”

“Trust me.”

She started off shaky, her first slew of sketches no better than his were when he had first started, but she fell into it quickly. She developed her own style, straying from the charcoal that Aemond used exclusively, and opted for more colorful tools– she had woad paste pastels imported from Dorne. They would sit and depict the same thing and come out with completely different results.

It was so easy to forget that she was betrothed to another. That she was to leave soon.

That she was to be his nephew’s wife. His nephew who didn’t give a shit about her. His nephew who was there. Did no one else think it a bit sick that she was to be the wife of someone who took a part in her mutilation?

Was he the only sane one?

He sighed softly as they finished up their drawings for the day. They had been sketching the coastline of Blackwater Bay– Shera went with a color scheme of blue and green and sparse spots of orange and yellow.

He stuck to his monochromatic charcoal.

“Rhaenyra’s name day gala is… in a fortnight, right?” Shera hummed, using her foot to pet Moongeist, who was at her feet.

“Mm,” Aemond responded, flicking some errant charcoal powder from his doublet. “A mummer’s farce, if you ask me.”

“... I don’t care much for events– but at least… your mother and sister are getting along,” she tilted her head as she wiped her hands off.

Rhaenyra and Alicent had been working together to plan the event and were in high spirits. They were frequently seen chatting lightheartedly.

“Half-sister,” Aemond clarifies, giving her a pointed look.

“Half-sister,” Shera says, brows raised. “I suppose it is a send off, too– since…” her voice trails off slightly, not really wanting to talk about her impending wedding to Jacaerys. She hasn’t spoken much to her betrothed as she didn’t feel the need to– she let him run around with her brother and do what he liked. She imagined it wouldn’t be much different when they were married.

An uneasy silence settled over them. There were many words on the tips of their tongues that they just couldn’t say– it would make it real.

“Shera-,”

“Aemond-,”

They spoke at the same time, standing up simultaneously. Moongeist made a warbling chuff sound that sounded like a laugh.

He must be sick of our antics.

“I should get back to my chambers– before dinner. Cregan wants to… eat with me, for some reason.” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Hm,” Aemond hummed in his usual manner.

—

Shera sat across from Cregan, leg crossed over the other as she fed Moongeist scraps under the table.

“What did you want to speak about?” she broke the silence, glancing up at him. She had put her veil back on– to her dismay, as she had come to like not having it on… around Aemond, at least.

“Do I need a reason to want to dine with my sister?” he asked, clenching his jaw slightly.

“... no,” she mumbled, flicking her nails against one another. “But you don’t usually dine with me.”

He chewed on his piece of mutton slowly, regarding her. “I’m leaving, Shera. I need to go back North.”

“Why?” she blurts out, a bit more emotionally than she wanted to. She and Cregan didn’t have a great relationship, but they were… siblings. There was familiarity.

“I’ve stayed too long already, there is a keep to run, things to do, Shera,” he narrowed his gaze. “Will you be alright… alone?”

Her lip caught between her teeth. “... I suppose so.” she and Cregan had their moments– she thought he was a huge idiot most of the time, but that was her brother. She had been by his side for the last ten years and he nursed her back to some semblance of health when she returned from Driftmark. No matter the choices he made, the ones he made for her– they were all one another had, really.

Her chest ached slightly that he would be going back North and leaving her here. She wouldn’t be alone, per say, but… her blood would be so far away.

“Will you… attend the wedding?” she asked then, drawing little circles on the table with the tip of her nail.

“Yes, I’ll return to Dragonstone for it.”

“Dragonstone?” Shera looked up, slightly alarmed. “I thought the wedding would be in King’s Landing?”

Cregan stopped chewing, suddenly looking sheepish. It was unbecoming of him. “I… yes,” he cleared his throat. “Jacaerys said that after his mother’s name day gala, they will move back to Dragonstone.”

Why does no one tell me anything? “Hm.” she grumbled, sounding much like Aemond– she’s picked up on his little mannerisms and made them her own, it seemed.

“You will be going with them and will be wed soon after.”

She made another noncommittal noise, scraping the remains of her plate to the floor. She’d lost her appetite.

She would be alone sooner than she thought.

—

Returning from a luncheon with Helaena, a few days after Cregan’s departure, she discarded her veil right away as soon as the door was closed behind her.

She waved her hand in front of her face, despairing in the heat of the South. Moongeist agreed, his tongue lolling out in a pant as he lapped at a small tub of water at the foot of the bed.

“It’s too hot for us here, dovey,” she whimpered, wiping sweat from her brow, beginning to strip the various layers of clothing she had on— she did have somewhere to be later in the day, but she would simply have to redress. “I hope Dragonstone is more breezy, lest we melt.”

The layers flew off of her, pooling upon the floor like a puddle of dark ichor. It likely didn’t help that she only wished to wear dark colors, attracting the heat of the sun to her poor constitution. Her cheeks flushed red with the errant warmth and she wondered if this was how those with Targaryen blood felt all of the time— constantly huffing, puffing, warm and sweating. It was terrible.

Finally in nothing but her shift and underclothes, she walked to the bed, hand reached out to peel back the blanket when something shiny caught her eye.

Investigating further, she found a small velvety box, opened to reveal a silver choker, inlaid with three sapphires. Blinking profusely, Shera carefully pried the piece out of its holdings and inspected it. It was, to say the least, flawless. It matched her silver earrings that she always wore almost down to the exact detail, the engravings even the same— long, flowing tendrils into the metal, outlining the gems like garlands. Pearls hung from the bottom of each sapphire. Her thumb roved over the center sapphire, the largest one and the most prominent. It was cool to the touch.

Gently placing the choker down, she dismantled the box looking for a note or any indication of who might have left it. She guessed it to be Jace— did he intend for her to wear it to the gala? She would have to find a garment to match.

Shera descended to her wardrobe, rummaging through until she landed on something that would go swimmingly with her new necklace. It was a dress she hadn’t worn at all, and had been tailored for her shortly before leaving Winterfell. It was a silver and blue dress with intricate embroidery akin to that of a Godswood, but the leaves were a cool toned blue rather than red. She had a pearl-laden head garment, imbued with a silken veil and ringed headdress of sorts, with silver moons hanging down on each side.

Curious.

–

“You… must stay outside, lovey,” Shera murmured to Moongeist. She had received a missive– unclear from who, but either Alicent and Rhaenyra– that they would prefer if her wolf was not in attendance to the gala. She wanted to cry, leaving him outside of the ballroom. Contrary to popular belief, she didn’t really command her companion– their relationship, as impenetrable as others may see it, was the culmination of years of hard work and trust. They were so attuned to each other, Moongeist knowing when she was pushing herself too far, when she was in distress, and when he needed to step into a situation. He was, on all accounts, very polite and well-mannered – for a wolf. He had never bitten anyone who didn’t deserve it. His good conduct thus far and impeccable record was apparently not enough for him to be admitted to the event. He whined as Shera snuffed into his fur, murmuring soft nothings into it. “I’ll return as soon as I can,” she whispered. “I’ll come get you when everyone leaves and you shall have all the scraps you’d like.”

Tearing herself from him, he sat dutifully outside of the glass door that led from the gardens into the ballroom. She willed herself not to cry, not to cry.

She was unsteady on her own feet, hoping to find someone familiar to steady herself on. The last option of familiarity presented itself first. Jacaerys spotted her right away, putting a hand on her waist. “Shera,” he smiled warmly. “You look… wonderful tonight. Mother is going to be so happy to see you in attendance.”

“Jacaerys,” she responded, willing a smile on her face. He was better than no one. She steadied herself by putting a hand on his shoulder. His eyes, usually sparkling with mirth, were a bit dim. He seemed… forlorn. “We don’t have such lavish events like this much– up North… apart from feasts. There usually isn’t much dancing.”

He swallowed, his brow furrowing minutely. “May I interest you in a dance, then?”

“Mm,” she hummed as they descended to the dance floor. She thought about her dance with Helaena and Aemond on the night of her betrothal dinner– it all felt so far away now. She tilted her head slightly as they danced. Jace’s head was looking to the door, as if he was waiting for someone. “As annoying as he is– I miss him as well.”

Jace looked slightly bewildered. “Pardon?”

“I may only be able to see from one eye, but I’m not completely blind,” Shera murmured. “You’ll see him again.”

The prince softened slightly, nodding his head. He was grateful for the words.

They danced a bit more and mingled, more so Jacaerys talking to people and stringing Shera along. Somehow, through it all, she became separated from him, walking on her own through the throngs of people. The heat, even with her less thick layers than usual, was stifling– from all of the bodies.

She suddenly felt… panicked, like when she was lost in the tunnels that one evening. “Excuse me,” she whispered hurriedly as she pushed through people, who didn’t even seem to see her there. “Pardon m–”

Her voice was cut off by a strong arm pulling her around her waist. Her anxiety damped right away as the familiar smell of sandalwood and leather took over her senses. Aemond looked down at her. “Lost again?” he was wearing a black and deep purple button-up doublet, with a long overcoat. It had a flared collar. He looked nice– it wasn’t much different color wise to his usual garb, but it absolutely wasn’t something he would spar in. He was even without his sword– but a brush of Shera’s hand near his waist revealed he did have his dagger strapped to his belt.

“... mayhaps.”

“And where is your guide? It is unlike your dog to abandon his post.”

“He wasn’t invited to the gala,” Shera frowned.

“And you’ve… been left alone?”

“Jacaerys was–”

Aemond held up his hand. “You don’t need to tell me any more,” he rolled his one eye. “He wouldn’t be able to keep track of you if you were the size of a dragon.”

They fell into an easy sway– he was much more relaxed than he was when they first danced. But Shera couldn’t shake what her brother had said– they… Rhaenyra and her brood, which included Shera now, would be leaving a few days after the gala. She hadn’t told Aemond, she didn’t know how.

“You’re worried,” he tilted her chin up to him so their gazes could meet. “I can feel your unease from here.”

“... I…” her mouth felt dry, her hand clutching his inner elbow shakily. “We’re leaving.”

Aemond stayed silent.

“Jacaerys and I… are to be wed upon Dragonstone– and we are to leave… in a few days.”

Aemond still declined to speak.

“Aemond,” she pressed her thumb into his skin.

“You can’t leave again,” he stated. He did not ask, nor plead. He stated it, as if it was a definitive fact. “I won’t let you.” the same moment of rage she had seen before was there, bubbling under the surface. A vein in his neck bulged out and she could feel the control he was trying to keep over himself, over the situation. He gripped her face with both hands now, boring into her with a surprising and sudden placid smile.

–

With a hand over her swollen belly, Rhaenyra scanned the crowd. It’d been so long since she properly enjoyed an event. The planning of it with Alicent had been… more fun than she thought it’d be, and the two women quickly fell back into a rapport, akin to when they were girls together.

It felt right.

Her eyes eventually fell upon two familiar faces— Shera, her veil pulled back slightly by Rhaenyra’s half-brother, Aemond. His hand gripped her face softly, but with intensity as the two locked gazes, lips pursed, brows furrowed, clearly in a heated conversation. It took Rhaenyra all but five seconds to be teleported back to her own wedding to Laenor, all those years ago, where she and Daemon had been in the exact same position— where she had dared Daemon to cleave through her father’s men, steal her away to Dragonstone and make her his wife.

Fuck.

–

“They think you are tame and controlled— but I can see it, the blood welling and boiling just under the surface of your skin. You’re hardly holding it together,” she whispered harshly. “Do you not think I’ve tried to devise everything I could… to stay? To stop any of this?”

“Quell me, then. Let me take you to marriage and let me cut your lip, taste your blood in the ways of old. Dampen my molten blood. I’ll do it in an instant, under the heart tree, in the molten halls of the Dragonmont– anywhere,” his nail pressed into her cheek, angling her head upward to look directly at him. No escape from madness, look me in the eye, he seemed to taunt silently.

It was overwhelming. She was overwhelmed with the warmth in her stomach, the butterflies she felt– they bursted into ash, searing into her like a brand. Shera felt the world around her chill, her extremities cold. “A-Aemond,” she croaked, her hand grasping at his shoulder with all of her might, but it’d only came through as a light tug. “A-Aem—“

Coldness spread through her, her vision fading to white. Then she was warm, extremely so— like she was on fire, panting and spewing hot breaths from her open maw.

Blinking her eyes— she was outside, her heavy wisps fogging the glass pane on the door. Wait. She had full vision, not just the one. It felt odd, so wrong for her to be able to see all around her like she was whole and normal.

Why was she outside? Just let me in, Godsdammit, let me in! She growled low, hands coming up to scratch at the wood and glass, nails digging into it. Her nails were longer than normal and much sharper, a deep black in color.

She wanted in, in, in, in— her hands, no— her paws and claws shredded at the door, eyes peering into the crowd. They were gathered around, shifting slightly to let her see what was going on—

They were gathered around her, eyes rolled back in her head as she laid limp in Aemond’s arms. She saw Jacaerys storming over, already hurling accusations towards Aemond.

No, no, he didn’t do this, stop! She screamed, barking and howling, her teeth biting into the wood and beginning to rip it apart, splintering and cracking the glass.

Shera watched in horror as Jacaerys unsheathed his sword. Aemond was still holding her, loathing to give her up—

Stop, stop, stopstopstop! She bursted through the weakened door, glass and all, feeling it tear at her fur and skin. Patrons gasped around her as she mulled through them towards the center, snapping and snarling.

“Moongeist, calm down!” Jacaerys said, his eyes wide in surprise as she sat between him and Aemond.

So she was Moongeist— that is why it felt so familiar. She, no, they drew their lips back in a growl, hackles raised. Back off, back off, back off! They screamed, snapping at anyone who got too close.

‘That wolf has gone mad!’

‘Is that the prince’s intended?’

‘Yes, but not the prince that’s holding her.’

‘How wanton.’

They panted heavily, still feeling a deep rage within them. Everyone was too close, too close– the sounds of the gala drowned out as they looked to the upper windows of the ballroom. A familiar sight to behold– the cream colored blur and siren’s song of a voice.

A beige and cream colored barn owl sat atop the eave of the window, staring down at them with wide eyes.

‘Now you know, dear Shera.’

–

Shera awoke later, still cold as ice. She was back in her own body but still felt the remnants of itching fervor from being in Moongeist– not ‘in’, it had a word. Warg. She heard children’s tales about it, how a man can enter the mind of a beast and become one with it.

She glanced around the room. Aemond was pacing– she was in… her chambers. Jaw clenched, she sat up from the settee with surprising vigor.

“Shera–” Aemond sputtered, stopping his pacing.

“Hush, come with me,” she grabbed his wrist and strung him along, feeling more lively than she had in ages. Moongeist padded alongside them, hugging to her leg just in case.

She led them down to the weirwood, not letting go of her grip on him.

“You cannot lie to me, Aemond Targaryen, not here. Do you see that?” she gestures to the face etched in the bark of the Great Oak– staring back at the two of them.

How silly they must look.

“Do… not… lie to me,” Shera pleaded. She approached him, her hand skimming the edge of his jaw. He was so warm, always so warm– he permeated through the cold she always felt. “You can lie to everyone else. Keep… those walls up and don’t let anyone in. But not… not to me. Never to me,” she was trembling with the weight of what she was asking, her fingers drumming against his skin. “Did you mean it? Did… you mean it? You want me here with you?”

He stilled her by covering her hand with his own. “I wouldn’t–,” Aemond murmured, his free hand coming up to unhook his eyepatch. Her breath hitched as he discarded it. The moonlight caught the concaves of the gem first, expanding over the flecks of blue, all shades of it.

A sapphire.

She palmed the matching stones on her mysteriously gifted choker. “You… you… your eye…” Shera stumbled slightly, her knees wobbling beneath her.

Aemond held her upright with one arm, slung around her waist. “Hm?” he asked in return, a playful lilt to his voice– something only reserved for her.

“It’s… it’s blue!” she squeaked, pulling his face closer to her, observing with the same scrutiny that she had when they were sketching together. “And… and…” she kept babbling, tugging at her gifted choker. “And this? You… you git! You… cad! Oh, you’re incorrigible.” her words were inflammatory in nature but she… was laughing– as much as she could anyways. It was a quiet giggle, like the soft trill of a small bell.

It made Aemond chuckle in return. The two of them soon devolved into a fit of joviality. “I quite like you in blue, Shera. In my color,” he leaned down to whisper in the shell of her ear. “I had to let Jacaerys know… exactly…” he punctuated each word as his hand made a home on her jaw, inching closer to her lips. “... where and to whom,” his thumb pulled down her bottom lip. “You belong.”

Every nerve in her body was on fire. She’s never felt so warm, so hot in her life. Is this what it felt like to be a Targaryen? Gods, it was fucking stifling.

“And… to be clear,” he continued. “You belong here. With me.”

Her mouth parted, she was barely breathing. She… she wanted… she wanted to kiss him. She wanted him, more than anything she’d wanted before. She was mad; this was mad. Even on shaking legs, she pushed herself on her tippy-toes, pressing their lips together.

She felt… elated. More than elated, it felt like she was flying, skimming the clouds like a dragon, wings spread… free.

Aemond melted into her right away, pulling her closer as they melded together. His tongue swiped against her lower lip as he caressed her so softly, so gently– more gentle than she could ever imagine him being.

This was the first time she ever took something– something she wanted, and she got it. It was selfish, she knew– selfish and dangerous and reckless and just… hers. This was hers. He was hers. “Mine,” she whispered as they caught their respectful breaths. “If… I’m yours, then… you are mine, right?” she clarified, a bit less confident than her previous possessive declaration. “Quite right, little wolf.” he hummed, pressing another kiss to her temple.

In a brazen show of exuberance, she captured his lips once more.

Things were forgotten. Namely, everything that wasn’t them in this moment. Their individual turmoils, their shared despair. All notions of her mysterious collapse, Aemond’s scuffle with Jacaerys, Shera’s impending marriage to the said prince, tensions rising between two sides of a family–

This was for them.

The only time that either of them had taken anything for themselves in the last ten years.

a/n: ART IN THIS CHAPTER BY @lonelymagpies who, as always, was LOVELY to work with! they captured the scene perfectly.

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 years

Text

Some jealous Aemond Targaryen scenarios

Aemond knows that you're already his, and he trusts you. You would never betray him. But this doesn't stop him from wanting to cut out the wandering eyes of the men who leer at your beauty. Both eyes, preferably, so that they may never gaze at you again.

One supper, he watches as you dance with Jacaerys, your childhood friend who remains dear to you. Your smile is like sunshine, and he loathes that it isn't directed at him. He lets it continue, because you've once gotten cross at him for being so possessive of you, especially around Jace or Luke, who are like your brothers.

"Seems like your lovely lady is enjoying herself," Aegon mocks, wanting to add fuel to Aemond's already simmering fire.

"Shut your mouth, brother," Aemond spits out. But in that moment, he notices Jacaerys' hand tighten around your hips, a bit too low for his liking. Aemond slams his goblet harshly onto the table, splashing wine everywhere. All stares land on him, confused or shocked. You raise your eyebrows, already used to your lover's outburts, as if to say 'What is it this time, Aemond?'

He slowly makes his way over to you, stealing you from Jacaerys' hold. "Allow me to have this dance with you, my love." The commotion restarts, and Jace backs away to return to his place in the table. Daemon finds himself smirking at his nephew's blatant jealousy.

One afternoon, as you sit alone in the gardens, Larys Strong emerges seemingly out of nowhere, mentioning something about an offer "to commit favours of the highest discretion" for you, for a paltry price that he failed to mention.

You relay this incident in passing that evening to Aemond, as you sit with him in his quarters, quietly studying Valyrian philosophy. His lips curl in distaste, and he doesn't say much in return. You fail to notice his grip on the page of his book tightening, partially tearing it out.

You barely see Larys Strong after that. When you do, he only greets you rushedly, not even meeting your eyes. As if he was afraid.

The worst of it occurred when a knight from Dorne, who was unaware of your relationship with the Prince Aemond, openly asked for your hand in the courtyard.

"Utter one more word to my lady, and I will feed you to my dragon." Aemond says lowly, his eye glinting dangerously at the Dornishman.

"Where I come from, we despise dragons," the knight counters, blissfully unaware of what he's inviting to happen, "I'm not afraid of you, Targaryen prince. The lady should have a say in this. She should choose."

"She has already made her choice," Aemond's hand tightens on the hilt of his sword, resting by his waist. Your hand drifts atop his, trying to calm him down.

"Please, Ser. It will only ever be Prince Aemond whom I love. He is the only one." You state clearly, hoping to assuage the knight's desires.

The knight gazes at you for a while, "Very well, my lady." Aemond gets summoned by Ser Criston Cole, so he tugs at your waist, "Let us go, my dearest."

Aemond starts to walk away first, but he faintly hears the knight whisper to you in a rush, "Should you tire of riding that scaly dragon, my lady, you know where to find me."

You mistakenly think that was the last you've seen or heard of that knight, when he left King's Landing. But a week later, news reaches you. That very knight was found dead, scorched to a nearly unrecognizable husk. Burned to his death. You feel sick to your stomach, the realization creeping up to you.

This should make for an interesting conversation to have with your dear Aemond during supper.

🐉🖤🐉🖤🐉🖤🐉

Masterlist

some 3am thoughts, written in a rush, so I couldn't add a taglist for this one :)

#aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen headcanons #aemond targaryen x y/n #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #ewan mitchell #jealous!aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader

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abcwordsurge · 3 days

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concept! now hear me out here. pixal and kai... in an arranged marriage.

why I think this would be a good idea:

they have one of the funniest dynamics in the show

I love the idea of royalty, and how the two of them would interact with it differently (I think pixal would understand the system more, and would try to work around it to change things for the better, while kai would be loud and obnoxious about things he wants to change and it would attract attention that could either be helpful or massively backfire)

ninjago AUs make my brain go bzzz

and there are SO MANY ideas in my mind for, like, sideplots. the main plot would be, of course, pixal and kai getting to know each other, navigating their relationship (which would be PLATONIC, of course, just to be clear), and balancing their different styles of being royalty.

potential side plots!

jay and cole working in the palace (perhaps cole as a cook and jay as a waiter- that's the first thing that comes to mind at least) and being, like, the comedic side duo, as well as two of kai's buddies

pixal getting to know nya as well as kai, and nya admitting that she LOATHES the idea of an arranged marriage, although pixal's happy for the opportunity and is rather enjoying the change

kai trying to figure out how to ask whether pixal would mind if he goes on dates with other girls, and then once she says it's fine (they are friends, after all), he also has to figure out whether he actually WANTS to go on dates with other girls (aromantic kai? yes please)

zane is a frequenter of the palace, to visit kai and nya, though he doesn't work there. anyway, he's delighted to meet pixal, and they get to talking, and they turn out to have a lot in common, and THEY'RE SO SWEET AND IN LOVE YOU GUYS

I have. more thoughts. lmk if y'all wanna hear more about this AU

#ninjago #ninjago pixal #pixal borg #ninjago kai #kai jiang #kai smith #ninjago au #jay walker #cole brookstone #nya jiang #zane julien #pixane #ninjago royalty au

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jacevelaryonswife · 1 year

Text

Golden and Silver, my new colors | part three

But who thought of the damage done to you? Who thought of the negligence directed at your situation? Who thought of your loneliness? Why should you alone carry the responsibility of keeping things the way they are?

∴pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!reader

∴warnings and a note: slight angst, pregnancy, some reader’s thoughts may be a little aggressive to the topic of pregnancy, spiteful reader, english is not my first language. There's a bit of book!aemond here.

golden and silver masterlist

There weren't many activities for noblewomen to do in King's Landing, or even any entertainment. It all boiled down to reading and sewing lessons, walks in the garden and listening to the gossip of the other court nobles. You weren't an avid admirer of the Targaryens, but you would like the privilege of having your own dragon so that you could discover the beauty hidden in the most geographically and culturally diverse corners of Westeros, and most importantly, escape the shadow of your family. Those thoughts had been recurring over the last few days, a beautiful illusion indeed, after all, what was the cost of dreaming?

Your new favorite spot was a secluded part of Aegon's river, just you, a good book and a basket of fruit, sweets and wine. Most of the next few days were spent there, with a soft towel under your body and the comforting sound of the lapping waves — and the masterful sunset. It was a good refuge, a good hiding place. A good place to stay inert and away from certain people. However, the dichotomy of that feeling was curious, as even as you contemplated the calm and peace of being under the radar, there was a burning desire to savor every stage of rancor, a spark in your vein to demonstrate your dissatisfaction, loathing and anger. In secret corners of your mind the nature of such sensations was frightening, especially putting them into practice.

The damage could be irreversible.

Fuck the damage.

Your steps were heavy as he mulled over those memories. Memories of your absent husband, your parents delighted with the position they'd gained at your expense (but indifferent to your failed marriage), and the Queen trying to maintain your unwavering faith in Aemond's change. Everyone will have an answer.

Upon arriving in the chambers shared with Aemond, your eyes noted with surprise the presence of Talya, Queen Alicent's personal servant, near the door.

"My lady, the queen demands your presence in her chambers."

The rude eye-rolling action was almost done by you, nodding silently and allowing yourself to be guided up the stairs beyond Maegor's holdfast. The Queen's Royal Protector, Sir Criston Cole, bowed briefly to your arrival before being announced inside the family room.

“My dear, how are you?” Alicent inquired, but she wasn't the only one in the room.

“Fine”, you replied simply.

“I was worried about that dinner situation, but I hope whatever happened is a ghost from the past.” The lack of response forced the queen to proceed. “I have been reflecting on your safety and I thought a personal guard would be necessary, especially in your condition,” she said, “this is Sir Koren Fowler, he will be your sworn protector from now on.”

Looking closely at the tall, robust, fair-skinned, brown-haired, brown-eyed man, there was nothing that bothered you about the matter. It was common for people of your position to have formidable personal guards, however the thought of having someone at your side every moment of the day was a little uncomfortable, especially in your moments alone. But it wasn't all bad, not when Koren of the Fowler house was almost... pretty. Almost? No, definitely.

"I understand. Sir Koren,” you bowed.

"My lady."

“My queen,” you said, “if that is all, I would like to retire now.”

Your behavior triggered a flea in Alicent's ear. That was the first time in months that you didn't want her help in your marriage. Perhaps it was the positive effect of the dialogue with Aemond the nights before. Perhaps good fruits could be reaped at the end of it all, despite its almost kilometric internal distance.

If she only knew...

“That's all, dear,” she said simply, gesturing to the man in the room.

You didn't speak to your new protector during the ride, or afterward, really caring little about the new change in your routine. Perhaps he went unnoticed most of the time, you thought, or you could use his authority to keep him away, as Prince Aegon did with Sir Arryk. Requesting a bath from your maid, you lay down on the bed as the last remnants of light disappeared from the sky, resting your right hand on your belly. A lump formed in your throat as your body went cold with fear. Would you be able to love him? How could you love him with so much resentment in your heart?

How could I love him if I'm so scared?

A child should represent happiness, the greatest gesture a lady could do for her husband — especially if it's a son. But you didn't feel any of that. No joy or satisfaction. You didn't want to die giving birth to the child of a man who didn't deserve your respect. The same man that entered your chambers a few seconds ago and was not noticed by you. Aemond watched your figure closely, wondering what was going on in his head. He had a bouquet in hand, your favorite according to his mother, the flower was composed of four completely red petals and one with a whitish center and a red outer face. Suddenly he thought of how he should address you. The word wife still sounded strange when said aloud, so he spoke to you by name, as he never had before.

“I brought them for you,” he said when your misty gaze met his before drifting to the ceiling again.

He wasn't the only one who had difficulty saying certain words, as any thanks seemed impossible for you to utter. He took a deep breath, looking at the front of the bed.

"Hope you enjoy it."

No answer was given.

"How are you?" He tried.

“Fine,” you said.

“Good.”

His steps were slow, almost fearful, his expression serious as he sat beside your prone body. Who was he kidding? He would rather deal with a thousand soldiers and swords than confront his feelings, than give in to your mercy.

“I know we didn't start off ideally. But I hope you might reconsider a second try,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your gaze lingered on his. Funny how things are. If this were said a few weeks ago you would happily accept it, heart alight and warm as you cup his face and dare a passionate kiss on your husband's soft lips. But now, now… it's everything you don't want. You don't just want his repentance, you want to subject him to the punishment that fits him.

"Good for you."

"What do you mean?"

"Good. For you. That's exactly what I mean.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“That I don't care what you think must happen, not anymore,” you said, moving to sit up and facing him firmly. “You've had enough time to be a decent husband, or at least try. Why should I believe that now would be any different?”

“You're pregnant,” he anticipated, “That should be enough to change things.”

“What if I wasn't? If I wasn't pregnant? Would you be here with my favorite flowers trying to fix what you've done without even apologizing? Or would you just remain immersed in your own navel without caring?”

The bitterness in your features was enough to make his jaw tighten, making him reflect a little.

"Is that what you want? Apologies?" He asked.

"No. I want nothing from you,” you said, “not a drop of longing for you is left in my body. But if you want to apologize, do it because you're sorry, not because your mother expected you to."

Nothing was said after that, just violent eye contact before you left him to move to your shower. Very attentive to the reality around you, you stopped Sir Koren's steps before he could follow you like a guard dog (which was his job).

"You don't have to come after me, I'll be fine."

"My la-"

"This is an order."

Aemond wasn't in the room when you got back, which wasn't a bad thing. You didn't talk to him before going to sleep, uncomfortable enough with the body next to you in the bed, obstinate in finishing the construction of your own wall forged of hatred to keep your husband away. Maybe it was enough to keep him away, you thought, but that night he watched you intently until you fell asleep, not bothering to look anywhere but your covered silhouette. And no, he wasn't limited to eye contact just at that moment. In the next few days when they were together on any occasion, however short, the one-eye prince would spend long moments staring at you. Your cutting words constantly haunted him in the activities he carried out throughout the day, with no room for respite. Aemond was unsuccessful in erasing your sharp posture from his mind. His beautiful wife. So beautiful. So…

How could he define? What did you mean to him? Why was it only after your outburst that he thought of the word wife more often?

Over the next few days you kept yourself even more distant, both physically and emotionally. Not just his, but everyone's except Sir Koren Fowler. He stayed a few feet away from where you were sitting, every day, without saying a word, without breathing in the slightest so as not to interrupt his reading. Must be frustrating, no? Being a renowned knight with accumulated victories and being confined to that style.

“I'm sorry you have to stay here,” you said, looking up from your book to find it over your shoulder.

“It’s not a trouble, my lady,” he said in his stoic posture.

“Do you like being here?”

“It's a nice place.”

“That's not what I asked.”

He took a deep breath. “It’s my duty.”

"And you like? Because wouldn't I.”

"It’s an honor to serve the king's family."

“It must be an honor to serve the King and the Queen. The Princes too, but not me. I'm just normal, I guess. There must be more interesting things to do.”

He did not answer. You didn't bother to continue that conversation either. That day after returning from the garden you went to meet the craftswoman and Irma, without telling them, just to check. It was a good surprise to see that one model was already ready and the second one was in progress. A satisfied smile left your face as your ran a hand over the glamorous fabric, worthy of the most beautiful queen in existence. And it was yours, yours alone.

“The jewels will take a while to finish, my lady.”

“Don't worry, I know. I have other pieces that will match the model,” you said.

"Are you going to wear it to Princess Rhaenyra's reception ball?" Irma asked.

"Definitely."

“… my lady, when you said you would donate your other dresses… was it true?” She asked.

You smiled. "Yes, it was."

The fair-skinned, red-haired young woman perked up, her eyes more smiling than her open smile. “If… if you don't dare,” she whispered so that madam Layla wouldn't hear, “could I have one of them? One of the black ones with blue details.”

You don't know why your breath hitched in reluctance, or why it felt wrong to part with it. You despised him, didn't you? And despised everything he stood for.

"Of couse. I have others of the same model.”

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cambion-companion · 1 year

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could you maybe write an aemond/wife reader fic where they are getting ready for a yule ball and going to it idk idk just a little thought love ur work <3

Hi my love, I wrote something similar, just the breakfast with the family the morning of Yule or Jōl as it was originally known as in Scandinavia :)

I'm writing this at 3 am because Aemond will not get out of my head like...bruh.

Word count: 600

Aemond x reader | Daeron and Aegon have fun | breakfast with the fam

You took a heavy swig of mulled wine, your mind still in a sleepy haze as you sat at the dining table with your family. It looked festive with glittering decorations upon the stone walls and the grand hearth hosted a cozy crackling fire.

Your eyes cut over to where your husband sat. Aemond looked quite as tired as you felt, though he gave you a sly smile when your gazes met. Heat rising to your cheeks you looked hastily away. You felt his hand rest upon your knee beneath the table.

"I know why I am so tired." Aegon observed the two of you over the brim of his crystal goblet. "What's your reason?"

Daeron watched you and Aemond with interest as well, clearly taking mental notes as always of what Aemond was about to say.

"We got little rest, Aegon." Aemond said shortly, hiding a secret smile as he too took a sip of wine.

The rest of the family had yet to arrive, so far it was just you, Aemond, Aegon and Daeron. Aegon seemed intent on capitalizing on this fact, he snorted into his cup. "So, it was a productive night then?"

Daeron looked confused a moment, his lilac eyes swiveling between the three of you before they widened slightly. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh', dear brother." Aegon chuckled heartily as Aemond shared an annoyed look with you. "With luck you too will be able to arrive exhausted to the Yule breakfast with your lady."

"Aegon that's enough."

"Aemond, I swear to the Seven, you don't know how to have fun."

"Oh no, he does." You interjected, grinning behind your napkin as you delicately dabbed the corners of your wine-stained lips. "Of that rest assured."

You were pleased that your words seemed to leave the eldest prince speechless, a light pink dusting Aemond's high cheekbones as well. Daeron looked fascinated.

Your eyes found the dancing flames of the fireplace, though all you saw was the memories of the previous night. Aemond's arms wrapped around you, your mouth on his body, the taste of him, feeling him as he moved inside y-

With a jolt you were yanked back to reality as the double doors opened to admit the rest of the family. Helaena entered first with her children, Alicent, Otto and even Cole followed close behind.

"Happy Yule, my loves." Alicent beamed at everyone as they tucked themselves into the lavish feast as it was brought out by the servants. "I, for one, cannot wait for the tourney events this afternoon."

You glanced over at Aemond, meeting his violet eye and grinning at his displeased expression.

"Yes, Aemond. You're going to participate." Alicent was watching him as well.

Aemond gave her a nod, his hand on your knee clenched involuntarily and you giggled. He loathed tourneys.

Aegon looked uninterested, Helaena gave an excited little clap.

Daeron grinned at Aemond with obvious admiration. "I am to compete as well! Perhaps we shall even spar against each other!"

You nudged Aemond beneath the table and he spared a small smile for his younger brother. "That would make it more bearable, Daeron."

"Rhaenyra and her children are arriving this afternoon as well." Otto said. "The Velaryon boys will be competing in the sparring match today."

"They will present no challenge at all." Daeron piped up.

"You have not yet met them!" Alicent laughed at her youngest's confidence.

"Aemond told me everything I need to know!" Daeron puffed out his chest trying to sneak a drink of wine, but Alicent caught him with a glare.

"See what you've done?" You whispered to your husband, who was not bothering to hide his grin now as he looked fondly at Daeron.

"I do." Pride dripped from Aemond's voice as he leaned into you, placing a chaste kiss to your temple as you rolled your eyes. "I find myself not so put off by the tourney after all."

Gods help those Velaryon boys.

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spinchip · 2 months

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NEVER THE DARK

Chapter 15

Read on Ao3

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

warnings: Character death

I LOVE WHAT I DO NOT HAVE. YOU ARE SO FAR. // MY LOATHING WRESTLES WITH THE SLOW TWILIGHTS.

“She’s already seen you face, why does it matter if she knows your name?” Kai asis from where he’s still sprawled across the front of Miss Emma.

Birdy sits down heavily, his back to the group, “it does not matter." He says simply, but there’s a slump to his shoulders that telegraphs defeat. Hopelessness. Nya knows that this is bad. "All that matters is getting you to the Mountain of Madness.”

Miss Emma floats on. Jay has stopped shocking her, collapsed on top of her bell tiredly as Kai keeps them moving. No one says anything. Over time, Miss Emma begins to droop again. When Jay gives her another shock, she just seems to lower herself quicker to the ground.

“She wants us off.” Nya realizes as the jelly's tentacles pool along the ground under them.

“We are a heavy burden for her to carry.” Birdy agrees.

They are passing over a forest- this one is a menagerie of blues, reds, and purples. The grass is a dark teal and white flowers and tall tubes protrude from the earth. Miss Emma drops low enough in a clearing that they can jump off without getting hurt and stops completely, waiting.

“Thank you.” Birdy says quietly to the animal. Kai pets her bell as a gesture of appreciation, and they all slide off her and onto the forest floor. The moment there are no more hitch-hikers on her bell, Miss Emma slowly drifts away, flying high enough to disappear into the clouds.

There's a long, tense moment as no one knows what to do next.

“We should keep moving.” Birdy says softly.

“She was telling us the truth, wasn’t she?” Kai asks bluntly.

Lloyd steps forward, “Kai-” He starts but Birdy cuts him off.

“What did she tell you?”

Kai locks eyes with Birdy and the air grows thick with tension.

It’s Jay who speaks next, “Barath told me you murdered Farley. He said that you were a warlord in your past life, and that you had committed crimes among the worst of all the people banished here.”

“Genocide.” Kai clarifies, “Destruction of land, culture, food. Untold numbers of death and destruction. Samira told me about how you’ve kept trophies of those you killed. Your mask, your knife… all belonging to the dead.”

Nya can’t help her own need to know the truth and she speaks up next, “Wox told me you were dangerous. That the respect these people have for you is based in fear and hatred.”

Cole hesitates, “And Ila said you walked into Oasis the day after you killed Farley covered in his blood.”

“All true.” Birdy doesn’t hesitate to confirm it. “You were right in the throne room, Kai. I am a monster.”

“Birdy-!” Lloyd whips around to face him, appalled, “No!”

Birdy squares his shoulders, “No, Lloyd. I must take accountability. I cannot run from this.'' He doesn’t break eye contact with Kai, “This is who I am, yes, but I have no ill will towards you all. Samira was right that I know how important you are to Ninjago too, and I will not allow my home realm to go unprotected and vulnerable without you. I belong here, in this place, but you do not. I will get you home, I swear it.'' His voice takes on an edge of desperate honesty.

They were still so far from the Mountain of Madness. If they left Birdy here and tried to find it on their own, it could be ages before they got out of here.

Lloyd looks from Birdy to the others, waiting. It hits Nya that Lloyd is waiting on them to weigh in- he wants to hear what they all have to say. It’s not like Lloyd never asks what they think on large decisions of this nature, but ever since they lost Zane Lloyd had taken the full weight of leadership and had refused to share it with the rest of the team. He was the one who made decisions. He was the one who was always alone in that choice. Maybe he was tired of being alone.

Nya doesn’t know what to think.

Cole steps forward first and Nya knows his opinion well enough that she can tune him out, “I still trust him.” But when he speaks, she looks at Cole and really listens, taking in everything he says, “He wasn’t working with Samira. He wasn’t in cahoots with Maurice. Everything he’s done has been solely for us, at the detriment of himself.” He locks eyes with Birdy, “Maybe he did some bad things… some really bad things… but he’s trying to help us. It’s all he’s been trying to do. I don’t think he’s going to lead us astray. I still want him to guide us.”

There’s a pause after Cole finishes, “Cole is right.” Nya says aloud, finding the truth in her words. Everything Cole said made sense. Birdy had been on their side from day one- “He stopped Maurice before he even knew we were the elemental masters. He had no reason to do that, but he did.”

“You can’t be serious!” Jay gapes, “Didn’t you hear him? Confirmed murderer! Evil bad guy here!! How can you just take his side?”

“I’m not on anybody's side but ours,” Nya fires back immediately, “I may not be thrilled about putting my faith in a- former- dicator, but I want what’s best for us, and getting back to Ninjago as quickly as possible is exactly that.”

Jay looks down at that, thinking.

“I can’t follow him.” Kai says sourly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lloyd finally speaks up, “What Birdy did in the past-” He looks back at Birdy and pauses, face twisting as he hesitates on what to say next, “It wasn’t as black and white as it seems.” He settles on finally, “I trust him.”

There’s a heavy, tense silence. Lloyd meets Kai eyes, his expression imploring him to see sense.

“I don’t trust him.” Kai reiterates firmly. He closes his eyes with a grimace, “...But I do trust you. If you think this is the right call… then I do too.” he bites out begrudgingly.

“Fine.” Jay echoes, crossing his arms, “Let's go then.”

Birdy takes a moment to look around and get his bearings before he starts to walk, the others falling in line behind him. It's... awkward. He doesn’t speak much, only opening his mouth to warn them of obstacles, “Avoid the flowers,” He says, pointing to one of the numerous white flowers dotting the ground, “They tunnel into the ground. It is like stepping in a hole.”

Jay immediately steps in one and face plants, but he’s fine.

Nya start to notice that the plants they’re trekking through for this leg of the journey are strange, even for the Realm of Madness. Everything is coated in a thick waxy film and all of it is shaped like funnels or cups. Tall purple speckled plants with tube protrusions, green vase-like plants that grow as tall as her waist, huge pink and purple trees with tops like a sea anemone- and the plants she noticed that aren’t cup shaped have a sponge-like texture. Everything here is geared towards catching rain.

She looks inside one of the purple plant tubes and sees a small puddle at the very bottom, feeding into the stem. Raising her hand, she shoves at the liquid- but it doesn’t move.

“Birdy, what’s up with the water here?” She asks, pulling her hand away.

“It’s not water.” He answers stiffly, but she doesn’t think the discomfort is because of her. She’d noticed how still he’d seemed as they traveled deeper into the forest. There was something about this place that rattled him, “It’s acid.”

“ACID?” Jay squawks.

“It rains acid here,” Birdy says apologetically, “But we should be safe. It is the dry season.”

“I thought you said nothing was guaranteed in this place?”

“We need to move quickly.” He says bluntly.

As they hurry through the forest, Nya keeps an eye out for any potential dangers. That snake spider in the white forest had snuck up on them. She wasn’t keen on being surprised again. Because she’s looking towards the trees, she doesn’t notice everyone’s come to a stop until she runs into Cole.

“Oof-” She stumbles back, “Sorry- what happened? Why are we stopping?”

“I apologize.” Birdy says, emotionally flat where he’s standing in front of a large purple tree, “I was simply making sure we were on the right track.” When he starts moving again, he takes a wide step over something. As the others begin to move, Nya sees that the thing Birdy had stopped at and stepped over was a oblong dark spot on the grass. She’d seen a few of them before, scattered around the forest. She steps over it too but doesn’t ask about it. Birdy's voice had taken on that tone that comes when he’s not feeling like himself.

She blinks, surprised at herself for knowing that.

“If you don’t know where you’re going, then we should stop and take a break.” Kai says, pausing in the middle of that clearing underneath the tree's arching canopy, “We can keep going once you’ve got your head on straight.” he crosses his arms, planting himself firmly.

Birdy shakes his head, “I remember the way now. We should cover as much ground as possible today.” he says, voice toneless and disconnected. His body language is empty too, his shoulder slumped and his hands loose around his staff.

“I mean… we haven't had lunch.” Cole points out with a wry smile, “A quick snack break couldn’t hurt.”

“Do we have food? Or will we need to forage.” Nya asks.

“We have food. Cole hooked us up.” Jay says, slinging his backpack off and opening the top.

“I got Ila to make us some stuff for the road after… our talk.” He frowns, rubbing his chin, “I’m kinda surprised she did, actually… considering how they were plotting against us.”

“The food is safe. Ila is different from Samira.” He reassures them. There’s a thick pause. He hasn’t moved from the edge of the clearing, “We shouldn’t stop here.”

“Why? It’s the dry season, isn’t it?” Kai responds dryly, waving away a sandwich Jay offers him.

There’s a pause before Birdy stiffly sits down. “Alright.” He says blankly before he crosses his legs and gets into a classic meditation pose.

“You like to meditate?” Lloyd tilts his head.

“Sometimes.” Birdy doesn’t offer any additional information, and the group goes quiet as they eat and rest.

“So what’s the game plan when we get home? I mean, we don’t know anything about... Anything.” Nya turns to Lloyd.

He pauses mid-bite and frowns, “Well… we need to meet with Pix first and foremost. There’s no way she hasn’t been gathering intel in the time we’ve been gone. Mom might know something about that gauntlet and who might have gone after it, so we could go to the dig she’s on and ask her.”

“If we do that we gotta stop at home so I can get my gameboy.” Jay says immediately, “Do you know how long it’s been since I haven't played video games? I’m going through serious withdrawal here!”

Kai shoots him a withering stare that Jay is completely oblivious to.

“Well, as long as you don’t go pretending a piece of wood is a gameboy, then I’m not too worried about you.” Cole comments wryly.

“Oh, don’t tempt me. I have a whimsical imagination.”

“You like to play video games?” Birdy asks quietly.

“Yeah! There’s this game called Prime Empire, that’s the one I’m really into right now.”

“We were all really into it when it first came out.” Lloyd snickers, alluding to an inside joke Birdy’s not a part of.

“We were sucked into the game.” Cole explains even though Birdy hadn’t mentioned his confusion, “Jay saved us. It was a whole thing.”

“...You have had a lot of adventures.” there’s a pause as Birdy tries to think of what to say, “I would like to hear more about them.”

Lloyd hums, “Well, other than a few small fight here and there, and the current situation we’re in, the last big ordeal we had to take care of was The Mechanic and Fugi-doves team up.”

“The Mechanic cyborg-ed him.”

“Badly.” Nya adds darkly, “I could have done so much better.”

"Don't get any ideas." Cole ribs, nudging her playfully with his elbow.

Jay nods, “Yeah, he botched it up pretty bad. Fugi used to be a nothing villain, like, petty things. Now that he’s all…” Jay waves his hands in the approximation of gears turning, “Scary looking, he’s got actual minions.”

“I turned into the ocean.” Nya informs him, “But I got better.”

“Before that was Shintaro. We were invited by the princess for her birthday.” Lloyd continues.

“Queen Vania now. She’s cool, I think you’d like her.” Cole smiles.

“Her dad, the king, ended up being this evil warlock. His best friend was a floating skull.”

“Interesting…”

“I think you’d like him more than Vania,” Kai mutters, “Birds of a feather flock together.”

Lloyd graciously doesn’t acknowledge Kai, “Prime empire was before that, and then there was…” He stops. The air grows thick. “Let’s not talk about that one.” He murmurs.

“...What kind of game is it?”

Jay perks up, “Let me just tell you the story!” He launches immediately into an animated recap. The others interject every now and again to add their perspective and to correct Jays embellishments. “-And that’s how I lost my eye!” He says, pointing at the patch. Cole takes over after that, talking about princess Vania and the caves beneath Shintaro. The conversation devolves into one long timeline of their most recent life-or-death situations that Birdy listens to intently. He stops them with the occasional question, but otherwise is quiet while they recount it all.

So it’s a surprise when he interrupts Nya’s explanation of the Mechanics plot by leaping to his feet and taking a confrontational step towards Kai, “What are you doing with that?” He demands.

Kai jumps, surprised. He’d been leaning against the tree mindlessly checking his pockets for something to fiddle with- he looks down and realizes he’d fished out the painkiller Samira had given him and was rolling it between his fingers absently. “I’m playing with it.” He says with a raised eyebrow.

“That is not a toy.” Birdy bites out. Maybe he wouldn’t be so aggressive in any other environment, but this place put him on edge in the worst kind of way.

“I know that.” Kai shoots back sharply, standing to his full height, “What’s your problem?”

“Give it to me.” Birdy orders, holding his hand out, “I am not going to watch anyone else die here.”

“It’s not poison!” He clenches the pill in his fist, “It’s a painkiller for FSM’s sake.”

“It is engineered to be horribly addictive.” Birdy stresses, stepping up to Kai, “The withdrawals for that could kill you-”

“I've been managing my alcohol withdrawal just fine, thanks, I'm sure this wouldn't be any worse.” He snaps, shoving the pill back in his pocket.

Birdy jerks as if struck, “You are so dependent on alcohol you would die from it?”

“Stop talking to me.” Kai turns his back on him bitterly.

The air is fraught with tension, the energy pulled so taut it was only a matter of time before something snapped.

Birdy opens his mouth, “Do you think your friend sacrificed his life so you could ruin yours?”

CRACK-!

It all happens so fast Nya can barely keep up. Kai’s fist connects with Birdy's mask so hard he goes sprawling in the dirt. He stumbles back, slamming into a tree and slumping down at the base of it. He’s got one hand holding his mask in place reflexively, looking up at Kai in shock.

“You-” He snarls, body a pillar of fire as he towers over Birdy, “You do not get to speak about him! You are not even a fraction of the man he was! He may have been a robot, but he was more human than you will ever be!”

Cole gets in front of Kai and pushes him back. He keeps his hands on Kai’s chest to stop him from advancing on Birdy again, “Kai, stop!”

From his place on the ground, Birdy reaches a hand under his mask to wipe at his face. His fingers come back stained dark with blood, nearly black in the strange lighting of the realm. He looks up at Kai and his hand tightens around his staff dangerously.

“What are you going to do? Are you going to hurt me?” Kai spits, leaning to glare at him over Cole's frame, “Just like you hurt Farley? Fine then, go ahead! I can take you!”

Birdy looks down at his hand like it’s not attached to him. He throws the staff on the ground as if it’s burned him and shakes his head hard to clear his vision. He hasn’t said a word, mute in shock. He stumbles to his feet but he has to use a tree to catch himself, leaning on it to keep his feet under himself.

“I’m the master of fire! You don’t scare me!”

Birdy is shaking all over, hand trembling where he has it pressed against the strange tree. His chest is rising and falling rapidly and he has all his focus on Kai.

He turns and vanishes into the woods.

“Birdy!” Lloyd takes a step after him but aborts the mission, whipping around to Kai, “You two stay here with Kai and maybe knock some sense into him.” He points at Cole and Jay before turning to Nya, “Nya, come with me.” She has to scramble to keep up as Lloyd darts after Birdy, but it’s not long before Lloyd stutters to a stop.

He lets out a low growl in frustration, “I don’t know where he went.” He scrubs at his face roughly.

She places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, “Just take a deep breath, Lloyd.”

“Everything fell apart so quickly.”

“I know.” She swallows roughly and looks away. She doesn’t have the words to make this okay. If they can’t find Birdy, if they can’t convince him to come back… they’ll be lost in the middle of nowhere in a realm that wants so so badly to kill them. Her eyes flick over the ground right to a footprint is half hidden by the leaves of a bright red shrub.

“Look!” She points to it, hoping a solid lead will cheer Lloyd up, “He went this way!”

They cautiously start to track Birdy, being extra careful not to miss any indicators where he ran off to. Finally, they come upon another small clearing. Another large, alien looking tree stretches up above them, the trunk of the tree is a deep blue and there are several bulbs along it where the wood splits to reveal huge chunks of a pale blue spongey growth. On the other side of the tree, Birdy’s foot sticks out from where he’s sitting in the dirt under the shade.

“Birdy!”

And right next to his foot is his mask.

Lloyd stops in his tracks the moment he sees it. “Are you okay?” He asks, staying out of sight of Birdy's face.

A gloves hand reaches out and takes the mask, slipping it on with his body still mostly hidden, “I am alright.” He stands up then and comes around the tree to face them, face once again firmly hidden. He’s holding a water bottle in one hand, using it to rinse the stain off his gloves. Well, he’s trying to.

“Here,” Nya says, stepping forward, “Let me.”

She swirls water around his hands and uses it to sweep the dark blood off the fabric. While she works, Birdy speaks, “I apologize if I worried you. I was always intending to return, I just needed a moment to… attend to my injuries.” He finishes awkwardly. “I was not going to leave you stranded.”

“Birdy, I didn’t come after you because you’re our guide.” Lloyd says, “I came because I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Speak for yourself, Nya thinks. Well, that’s not entirely fair- she did think that Birdy wasn’t the villain he made himself out to be, and she trusted him to a degree. She wouldn't call them friends, but she didn't want to see him hurt either. Maybe her decision to follow Lloyd was almost entirely based on selfish reasons, but she had also been alarmed by Kai’s punch, worried about the brutality of how the hit had landed. Kai could knock out an opponent's teeth with a weak swing- there was a lot of damage to be done with a sucker punch like that.

“He isn’t like that, really.” She finds herself saying quietly as she draws out the last of the blood in Birdy's gloves, “He didn’t used to be, at least. He was more levelheaded than me before… Before we lost Zane.”

Birdy stays quiet.

Nya keeps going, “He took it the hardest out of us all, I think. He feels a lot of guilt. He lost his elemental abilities right before it happened, y’know? So I think he blames himself.” she moves water over his gloves absently. The blood is gone, but she can’t look up to meet his eyes, “And yeah, Zane was special to all of us, but he did something else for Kai. Kept him balanced, maybe. He got lost after Zane died. He trained until he collapsed, he spent hours patrolling the city, he kept busy because then he could dull the pain. And when he had to stop moving, he drank.”

“Grief does funny things to us all.” Lloyd says softly.

“You’re right. Zane wouldn’t have wanted this for him, and Kai knows that, but you were wrong to speak on his behalf. He’s gone, and none of us want to hear a stranger put words in his mouth.” She lets the water drop, splashing to the ground.

A long moment passes quietly, “I apologize. It was not my intention to disrespect your friend.” It’s his turn to drop his gaze to the ground.

“C’mon,” Lloyd says softly, “I think the others will want to hear that too.”

When they get back to the others, the air is tense. Kai is leaning against a tree attempting to wrap a bandage around his bloody knuckles. Jay is hovering at his elbow and Cole is standing off to the side, not looking at either of them.

Kai notices them first, but cuts his eyes away and pointedly ignores the trio rejoining their group.

“It was wrong of me to bring up your friend.” Birdy says before stepping any closer, “I reacted so strongly because I was afraid for you, Kai. Those pills are designed for control. Samira supplies the people of this realm and then twists their addiction against them.”

“I don’t need your worry.” Kai says, but it’s lost some of the bite it had before.

Hesitantly, Birdy approaches Kai. Slowly, with enough time for Kai to draw away, and with more than a bit of caution to stay out of easy access of another swing, Birdy cups Kai’s injured palm. He takes the bandages next, moving to wrap his hand, “There is not a switch I can flip to turn it off.” Birdy says wryly, carefully winding the gauze around Kai’s hand, “I am sorry for what I said.”

Kai just stares at him.

“...You may not trust me, but I trust you.” He continues, finishing up dressing his knuckles, “I believe you would have made the correct choice.”

Something shifts in Kai. his features soften and he pulls his hand away gently- his guard is still up, but there’s a change in his heart, “Y’know, you’ve got a hell of an iron jaw.” he tries for a joke, but it falls flat. Then, “Why are you doing all this? After everything you’ve done, why have a change of heart now?” He asks, search for an understanding. He didn't get Birdy. Maybe that was part of his aggression- he didn't understand how a warlord like him could just... suddenly decide to be a good person. There had to be a catch.

Birdy looks away, ruminating over his thoughts and looking for the best way to put it all into words, “I am trying to make up for the pain I have caused. I regret the things I have done. I wish I had never stepped foot in that throne room- I have been stuck in the dark ever since, plagued by the mistakes of my past... but I have a choice, now. Even in the darkness, I can choose to reflect the light.”

Kai freezes, looking at Birdy with wide eyes. He opens his mouth, but there’s a crash through the underbrush that interrupts him.

A massive two-legged beast blasts into the clearing with a series of loud clicks, hissing at the group gathered there. On top of the animal, on a makeshift saddle with a pair of leather reins in her hand- is Morrigan.

“I found you~!” She sing-songs.

Her steed shakes its head hard, obviously agitated by the bit shoved in its beak. It’s a massive thing with a set of wings to match, and it’s body was a patchwork of soft brown feathers and iridescent scales. Large slits flutter around the base of its throat as it breathes in, scenting the air. It’s feet are distinctly bird-like, with claws like a raptor and rough textured skin. It isn't happy about its predicament as a faithful show pony, flicking it’s head and flapping its wings in rage.

“You disrespected me, lover! I told you- either you gave me those flowers or something very bad was going to happen.” She flips her brown hair over her shoulder with a flourish, grinning down at the group with shark teeth, “I’ve come to collect, darling.”

“We don’t have the flowers any more!” Lloyd argues.

“Oh, I know that, little boy.” She giggles, “I’m here to do something very bad!”

With that, she shoves her finger out towards them and commands the vulture-bat beneath her, “Sick ‘em, boy!”

With that, the beast roars- and its small beak splits in half, its face opening up in four pieces to reveal a garbage disposal of razor sharp, serrated teeth stained with old blood. Its dark purple tongue flicks out before it crashes forward with the intent to kill. Despite its massive size, the thing is fast. It is upon them before they can think, and it’s only the speed of a ninja that saves their bones from snapping in those jaws.

“What is that?” Jay squawks in unison with the bird, who charges at him.

“A vulture-bat!” Birdy says as he leaps for his staff, fear bleeding into his voice, “Keep your eyes on it! It is quicker than you think!”

“Ew.” Nya says with a nervous laugh, mostly to herself. The bird is horrifying in it’s awkwardness- it’s bones seem too big for it’s body, the tautness of it’s skin revealing the spaces between feathers and scales. Little peeks of pink flesh that’s stretched so thin the blood vessels underneath are clearly visible. It moves unnaturally too, it’s body too long for it’s legs. Every other step it’s chest slams to the ground and bounces back up like he’s compensating for a missing limb. When it roars, foul smelling spittle flies everywhere.

Then she sees it. A long, thin appendage coming out from it’s tail feathers.

It whips it’s body around and her only warning is the high pitched whistle that comes from a deadly strike. She ducks, and the tree behind her explodes.

It’s like razor-wire, thin enough to decapitate any animal that comes it’s way, yet sturdy enough to nearly halve the trunk without even the hint of structural weakness.

Morrigan pulls on its reins so she can look at her targets, “Y’know why I haven’t killed anyone, Birdy? Because everyone does as they are told and gives me what I want.” There’s a manic shine in her eye, “Now you’ll see what happens when you disobey.”

She pulls out a knife and stabs the vulture-bat in it’s haunches. It roars in rage and shakes itself hard, trying to dislodge her, and when that doesn’t work it dives forward with the intent on killing anything around it. It’s pain needed to go somewhere.

Cole brings up a wall of earth high enough to trip the beast and it crashes to the ground, it’s claws scrabble for a moment and it’s back on it’s feet in almost no time. Kai throws a ball of fire in an attempt to scare it, but the singed feathers only seem to enrage it further. It’s mostly a game of cat and mouse with the ninja just barely dodging teeth and claws and a razor tail.

Nya knows they can’t dodge forever.

Birdy dives under the razor-wire that nearly takes his head before he pops up at the beasts underbelly. He’s almost trampled before he managed to grab hold of a patch of feathers and haul himself up onto the animals back. He’d only done all of that to get out of harms way, but now that he was nearly face to face with Morrigan, he had no idea what to do. He brandishes his staff anyway, trying to find his footing on the rampaging beast.

Morrigan stands up, hands still wound up in the reins to keep her balance and she brandishes her sword, “You think you're the only one with a thirst for blood, don't you? You think you're the only one with the guts to slaughter someone!” She snarls with a sadistic smile, “You have no idea what I'm capable of when I don't get my way.” She yanks the reins to one side and the animal veers sharply, whole body tipping and turning. Birdy crashes sideways off his feet and is nearly flung from the beasts back before he can catch it’s tail feathers in one hand.

Nya flicks her wrist and calls a ball of water to her. She throws it as hard as she can, watching it soar through the air and slap into Morrigan. What’s most important is how the water drowns the leather and the scales on the monsters back.

The beast turns toward Nya sharply at the attack, and Morrigan can’t keep her footing on the slick saddle.

One foot slips from under her and she can't catch herself. She tumbles down the beasts shoulder, but before she can hit the ground her body yanks to a painful stop. The reins are still wrapped around her wrist, leaving her dangling at the monsters chest. The bird slams sideways into a tree because of how hard Morrigan yanks on the reins in her fall, narrowly avoiding bashing her to paste. There’s genuine panic on her face as she swings her sword up, trying to slice through the reins so she can survive this encounter.

Birdy crawls up the bird to it’s neck. He nearly throws himself off it when he lunges for Morrigan, holding his hand out for her to take, “Let me help you!” He shouts, voice nearly lost among the vulture-bats cries.

She would have to drop her sword. She looks at him for a long moment before her face twists in hatred. With a mighty heave, she swings the sword at Birdy, aiming for a killing blow. He yanks his hand back and she misses, the sword cutting into the vulture-bat’s shoulder.

It rears back in pain and Birdy goes flying off, rolling to a stop in the dirt.

Morrigan is thrown backward and shaken around as the vulture-bat reacts to the sharp sting. It spots her as she’s thrown to the side, it’s large black eye focusing on her. It understands immediately. With a sharp turn, It whips its head around so she goes flying in a wide arc- right in front of its mouth.

It’s face splits in four. It lunges forward.

The crunch of shattering bones makes Nya feel sick. Blood splatters across the clearing as the bird shakes its head like a dog with a toy, other… debris raining down from its jowls. She didn’t even have time to scream. That must have been a mercy.

The blood pooling on the ground seems to be eagerly absorbed by the ground, leaving swathes of darker spots on the grass.

Nya can see its throat spasm as it swallows what's left of her.

Everything is quiet. The beast’s gills flutter again.

Birdy grabs her arm, snapping out of her trance. “Go!” He orders urgently and quietly.

She turns and runs. She can see Jay ahead of her, and she focuses on not losing him and nothing else. She doesn’t flinch when the vulture-bat roars behind her, and she doesn’t stumble when the earth shakes as it chases after them.

“It’s gaming on us!” Lloyd shouts from somewhere behind her.

“We have to fight!” Cole confirms.

They break out of the forest into muddy earth, the thickness of it sucking at Nya's feet as she tries to run. There are no trees out here in the wastelands- well, no trees big enough to hide behind. The spindly little black plants will do nothing for them now.

She turns around right as the bird explodes from the forest, a looming monster taking up all her vision. Her heart leaps up to her throat. It doesn’t hesitate, covering the land in three long strides before it’s upon them again.

Cole tries to use earth, but the mud is too soft to even slow the beast down. Jay flings lightning but the bird is fast, dodging that and Kai’s fireballs alike. Lloyd hits it heavily on the side with a ball of green energy, and the beast roars in rage as it turns on him. There’s more fighting- fighting is too generous for what they’re doing. Surviving, maybe. Just barely. It’s so angry that any real damage to it just pisses it off even more, too much adrenaline in it’s system to feel any of it.

It bites dangerously close to Cole, whipping it’s long tail back with deadly intent-

SNAP

The tail slams into Birdy's side- hard. It’s enough force to throw him back until he’s tumbling in the mud, coming to a stop on his back.

Black blood streaks across the wet earth.

His whole left side is torn open.

Nya is moving before she can think, “Keep it distracted!” She orders, flying across the mud. She slams down on her knees at Birdy's side, trying to assess the damage- did they pack enough bandages? How bad is it that he most definitely got realm of madness mud all inside his wound?

He has a hand pressed against his side. His glove is soaked through with blood. He makes no attempt to move, “Nya.” he says quietly.

“You’re gonna be fine.” She reassures him immediately, “Just lay still.” She tries to pry his hand away from his side, but he won’t move it.

“Nya, it is too late.” His voice is resigned. She feels like his voice is always resigned, always ready to die, “I need you to listen to me. Please.”

She shakes her head, “Just move your hand. I have medical training, I can help you.”

He acts as if he didn’t even hear her, “You have to go north-east from here. Towards where the sun rises- if you see a tree split in half by a lightning strike, you are going in the right direction.”

“Birdy, move your hand! You’re going to bleed out if you don’t let me stop the flow!”

“Keep walking past that split tree. You’ll see four big mountains in front of you-”

“What are you talking about?” She snaps, stressed and desperate.

“I’m telling you how to get to the mountain of madness.” He says soberly.

She looks at him in disbelief, “Take us there yourself!” She snaps. She pulls on his hand and he lets her, too weak to fight her anymore.

Underneath his torn blue tunic, past the dingy white robes underneath, is glimmering silver skin and a tangled mess of torn wires and gutted tubing. Nya’s brain stalls.

“Nya.” She jerks as if she’s been struck. Everything else vanishes to background noise. That’s not Birdy's voice. It’s softer, higher-pitched. It’s the sound of snowfall and red tailed hawks and fresh baked cookies. It’s the sound of home.

She slowly looks up at him, at that stupid stupid mask. Her eyes are blurry with tears.

“Zane?”

“Watch out!” Jay screams, the sound of the fight behind them blaring reality back into her ears.

She turns around and the beast is upon them. She’s too rattled to think straight-

Zane bursts forward spilling oil and transmission fluid all over the mud. He shoves Nya back, behind himself as he pushes his hand forward in a desperate attempt to change the way this fight ends. A giant pillar of ice shoots out of the mud in front of him and brutally slams into the Vulture-bats chest. Ice spreads at the point of contact, frost swirling up its skin in painful cracks. The beast squawks in startled pain, jerking away from the two before it finally decides the fight isn’t worth it. It flaps it’s massive wings in a panic, scrambling away from the ice and taking flight. It flys like a bat out of hell, it’s ground speed nothing compared to how quickly it takes off towards the horizon.

Zane's knees buckle, and he crashes into the mud and doesn’t move again.

#ninjago #zane julien #nya ninjago #kai ninjago #cole ninjago #jay walker #lloyd garmadon #ninjago never the dark #spinchip fic #ninjago au #someone dies brutally this chapter. sayonara...#blood #gore #broken bones

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carefulnowprincess · 2 years

Text

Bloodlust (Daemon Targaryen x House Cole Fem Reader)

Gif credit goes to the original creator

Bloodlust

Daemon Targaryen x House Cole Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Summary: With your husband now dead at the hands of a King, Daemon has plucked you from your old life and brought you to Dragonstone to be wed. Will your decision to marry be in vain or is there be more below the surface of this dragonrider to be discovered?

Warnings: Mentions of death, short hair Daemon, Daemon being his usual dick self, breeding kink, forced marriage, Daemon’s slutty little strand of hair, sexual teasing, yelling, some bits of hitting (not abusive), blood kink, dom Daemon, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of cheating, spitting kink (just a little), unprotected PIV sex (wrap it up folks), vaginal fingering, oral sex (female receiving, mentions of male receiving), praise kink, fucking on the throne (but not the one you’re thinking of), drinking, hair pulling, biting, rough sex, orgasm denial, Caraxes and mentions of dragons, fear of flying, Daemon is sweet on you and only you

Length: Over 6k

A/N: The piece de resistance, the smutty smut goodness is here! Please enjoy as I worked really hard on trying to capture Daemon and Lady Cole’s marriage and wedding night. Shout out once again to @middimidoris for beta reading, love you! ;)

Please read chapter 1 here and chapter 2 here

Chapter 3

The salty air of Dragonstone is something you came to loathe. It stuck to your clothing, stung your eyes, and coated your tongue. How Targaryens for generations lived in this area was beyond your comprehension, though you imagine it was simply for conquering rather than the actual location. Most days it was bleak, walking along the small shore of the island you had access to. Caraxes often flew over the island, his shrieks heard from miles away. Sometimes it terrified you when he cried out, other times you wished to be as free as him.

A heavy sigh came from your lungs as you walked up the steep steps and back to the castle. Daemon watched you from afar with a fist resting against his cheek. His heart was almost whole. The only way it could be filled to the brim was with your joy being alongside him as Queen, but in the past week, he couldn’t help to notice the sadness and resentment in your eyes. Daemon gave you time to settle into your new surroundings. If he wasn’t so observant he would have wed you the next day you both arrived ashore, but he would not allow it no matter how much he wanted you.

As you made your final few steps to the castle gateway you noticed them open with Daemon walking outside just as Caraxes landed in front of you which caused you to be startled. He took notice and gave you a small smile. The dragon let out a roar that made you jump backwards. Daemon chuckled as he soothed his beast, rubbing alongside his snout and leaning his forehead against him.

“Did he frighten you Lady Cole?” He asked. Your heart was pierced again being called such a name. You approached them both slowly, still unsure of the beast. You had been used to seeing them once in a while when you were off in Westeros to attend several journeys accompanying your husband but while you may have been a strong woman, you were always terrified of being eaten alive or worse, turned into a royal burnt snack.

“I have a name, and it is not that Daemon,” you said coldly. He chuckled but understood your pain.

“Well, it is certainly not Lady Wife or Queen, yet,” he emphasized. He held out his hand to you.

“Come, Caraxes will not harm you. You have my word,” he said gently changing the subject. Feeling uneasy, you took small steps forward with your heart beating loudly. Although Daemon would never want to cause you true pain, he would rather stick a knife in his own heart than see you terrified of his Blood Wyrm.

Steadily you reached out to your King’s hand and took it. He pulled you to his body and looked down at you, his raw stare of purple eyes studying your face. You could not tell what he was thinking until a smile graced his features.

“You have my word, no pain will come to you. Caraxes may be a beast, but he is mine,” he assured you. His cool fingers intertwined with yours before he kissed the back of your hand and slowly placed it onto the dragon scale. “Gīda gīda valītsos,” Daemon cooed to Caraxes.

He felt rough, warmer than you had imagined as your fingers glided along his scales. Caraxes shook himself surprising you but Daemon pulled back watching you interact with his bonded dragon.

For the first time since taking you in, his heart was filling, mended by the laughter of your gentle touch with Caraxes.

Sitting at The Great Hall of the Stone Drum did not feel all that significant. Daemon sat opposite of you at the end of the long table, having far too much of a feast growing cold in front of you. Although you were now more attuned to Daemon’s attitude and became more comfortable even in the presence of his dragon, you still had an uneasy feeling that sat in your gut.

“You should eat something,” Daemon said as he lifted his cup of ale to his lips to drink. You poked at your food but still, you felt disgusted. Your hands curled into fists as you stood up abruptly.

“Why did you have to kill him?!” You shouted. Daemon rolled his eyes and set down his goblet.

“I told you, it was a favor in your honor. Bastards like that do not need to be around for long. Besides, did you forget the little conversation we had before, or were you too distracted by my cock in your warm cunt?” Daemon mentioned casually as he stuck his fork into his fish.

You were shocked at how relaxed he seemed. Your blood was now boiling, both at the thought of the passion you both had once shared one evening so long ago and how little he seemed to care about you in the present.

“ANSWER ME YOU INSOLENT FUCK!” You roared. Daemon's eyes darted to you. He felt the anger and stood up, walking towards you and grabbing your wrists harshly.

“Do not play foolish with me Lady Cole. You never wanted into that marriage. I could smell your cunt dripping the second I saw you in that brothel. You ached for something more, something that your husband knew nothing of. He gave you a home, I am offering you everything. I thought of you night and day, spilled my seed into my hand, fucked every woman I could find and called out your name. Do you STILL NOT UNDERSTAND? I ACHED FOR YOU! EVERYDAY! I STILL DO! Iksā sir lēda nyke se iēdrosa ao vēdros nyke!” A true Targaryan roar erupted from his lungs, his own face becoming frightful.

In the heat of the moment, you pulled away from his grasp and slapped him hard across his porcelain white face. Daemon felt the string of your hand, but even more so, felt the poison in his heart.

“And you thought killing my husband would make me want you, even after all these years? Why just wait until he passed like a normal lord?” You cried as tears formed in your eyes. “He may have been shit, but he was still mine…” you said, slumping down against the table. Daemon grabbed you by the nape of your neck. His hurtful eyes subsided looking at you. He promised himself that did not want to cause you undue pain yet he continued. He would never win you over with reckless acts such as this.

“Because my Lady, I told you, I am fucking consumed by you. I do not want to share you with anyone else. I want to take your cunt into my mouth and make you cry my name each night as we lay together. I want your belly to swell with my children. Your husband was simply a holding place before I saw you,” he said softly. His long fingers found your jaw and traced them lovingly as he kissed your tears away.

Your eyes closed at this moment, weighing the options before you again as you felt his soft lips on the skin your cheeks. You could simply accept your fate since you were already at Dragonstone or you could try to escape, make a new life for yourself somewhere else. Where could you even go? How would you even leave?

Choosing your fate you opened your eyes to meet his, the color of his irises always surprising you.

“Daemon, I do desire you but…please understand what this has done to me, to us,” you said quietly. He felt your nerves calm as his fingers skimmed across your face to your lips.

Your tears finally stopped as he lifted you up to sit on the table. Shamefully he placed his head on your shoulder.

“I will try to understand if you will still have me,” he said in return, muffled by his lips touching your bare skin. You hummed at how calm he was now and traced his white blonde locks down his neck.

“I will still have you, my King,” you said as you kissed the crown of his hair. Daemon lifted his head to look at you.

“My Queen,” he whispered as his lips hovered over yours. You ached to kiss him in his moment but smiled sadly, pulling away from him.

“Not yet. We have not been wed under The Seven Gods,” you stated. Daemon smirked at you.

“Tomorrow we shall wed. The gods will smile upon us and you can finally be my fucking Queen, to give you everything you hunger for, to breathe the fire I have,” he said.

You leaned forward to whisper against his ear.

“I cannot wait my King.”

Loud throbs of the Blackwater Bay waters crashed against your chambers in Stone Drum as you stroked the dress you held in your hands. Fine details in the colors of House Targaryen, crimson red and black, adorned the garment. You fingered down the length of the fabric and felt anxious at the thought of a marriage to Prince, well now, King Daemon Targaryen. He must have been planning your arrival for months as your room was filled with fine clothing fit for a queen. Slipping from the clothing you wore, you put on the dress you would wed Daemon in. Smoothing out your gown, you walk to the mantle of the fire that burned inside your room, staring into the flames as you adjusted your earrings. The fire that crackled inside the pit was like flames that you held inside your heart and stomach, everchanging but never dull. This marriage would be a tricky one you thought, thinking you could not believe you were here now, something in you calling out for the desire to be his queen.

Your thoughts were interrupted as a knock was heard from your door.

“Come,” you said still gazing into the flames, unaware that it was Daemon standing in the doorway.

He felt as if he was in a hallucination, too much of a good red wine flowing through his veins at the sight of you. Your skin glowed beautifully against the fire as your eyes finally met his.

“Ao jurnegon hae iā dream ñuha riña,” Daemon whispered. Your heart was racing, unsure of the language he muttered to you but you smiled at him regardless.

He strutted to you, looking confident and tall, a sight to behold also adorned in black and crimson red. The fine details of dragons lined the fabric and his short hair was slicked back save for a single few locks of his hair hanging off of his forehead. You wanted to yank on it and kiss him abruptly but pushing that thought from your mind you turned to look at him.

“My King,” you nodded your head in gesture before Daemon caught your chin with his fingers. Your heart stopped as you licked your lips.

“My Queen,” he returned, watching your delightful tongue coat your bottom lip with saliva. He had never been more jealous of a tongue.

“Your beauty is radiant in those colors,” he complimented you. You smiled feeling slightly bashful at his words. He took a moment to look you up and down. He studied the rising of your breasts in your dress, down to the floor and back to your eyes. The softness that only you were kind of enough to see showed in his face.

“Thank you Daemon, you look as handsome as any King should be,” you complimented back. Daemon gave a soft smile before he reached out a hand to your head to finger at a lone strain of loose hair.

“I see you did not put your hair up, is there a reason why?” He asked.

You thought for a moment, unsure what to even do with your hair. You remembered seeing him long ago with your husband of House Cole, his long hair at the time adorned by a few strong braids. You felt sadness in your heart as you secretly preferred the longer hair on him.

You gave a puzzling look. “I just finished dressing when you arrived. I am honestly perplexed as to what I should be doing with it,” you motioned as you watched him play with your hair.

“I could be of assistance if you will allow me,” he offered. You nodded. He gestured for you to turn around as he began to stroke at your hair, his fingers easily running through it. The sensation was unmatched, a welcome touch from your future husband.

With just the glow of the fire, Daemon made quick work of producing four braids into your hair with half-up ponytail. The style was simple but allowed you to show off the dangling earrings that you wore. As he finished creating the last braid, he desired to kiss you along your neck and shoulders but decided not to. Instead, he reached into his pocket.

“Move your hair for me my darling” he cooed. Your face did not turn except for a brief glance over to him and did as you were instructed when you felt a heavy coldness sitting around your neck. You looked down at the jewels of the necklace you now wore, studying it in front of the flames.

Bending down Daemon breathed onto your ear, the hotness feeling relief as you felt a chill in your chambers from the dampness of the waters that churned outside.

“When I fuck you later, I want you only wearing this,” he whispered. The fire that was in your gut moved to your cunt, igniting a larger flame that you had not felt since that night in Flea Bottom.

You breathed out a shaky breath and turned to face him, your arousal licking at your throat again with the words you chose to say next.

“I wouldn’t imagine it any other way, my King,” you teased with an eyebrow lifted. Daemon’s cock twitched in his pants. The desire to toss you onto your bed and fuck you senselessly was high, but he wanted to wait, no matter how much you prodded at him.

He chuckled in return, pulling you against his body to feel his semi hard cock rub against your leg. You gasped a bit with your cheeks tingling and the feeling being sent down your body.

“In two hours then you shall be by my side in The Great Hall, wed as King and Queen. Do not be late,” he said firmly, reaching out to stroke his thumb against the large jewel of your necklace.

With a hover of his mouth above yours, Daemon breathed onto your lips before exiting your chambers and closing the doors.

You were once again left aching in a dark room with your chest rising up and down in anticipation.

Two hours could not come soon enough.

Daemon waited patiently in The Great Hall with a septon he had found as he held his hands behind his back staring at the closed doors. The few hours had passed by faster than you imagined as you stood behind the wood, still a racking nerve going to your brain and heart. You did say you would wed him, didn’t you? Of course, you were in the throws of passion agreeing to such a thing causing you to lose sight of what you had really felt at that moment in time. Either way, it was now or never as you pushed open the doors.

In the tradition of Westeros, normally your father or a brother would walk alongside you to your husband, but this was no tradition. Gracefully you made your way to stand in front of Daemon and the female officiant.

Daemon watched you like the first time he had seen you, stunned by your beauty as felt seeing you earlier in your chambers.

After your romp together in Flea Bottom, Daemon took special notice each time you accompanied your husband to Kings Landing admiring the beauty you so easily brought to every boring feast he was forced to sit at. He would simply drink his wine, desire in his eyes sparkling at you, watching you put on a show with your husband as you danced the evening away. You would look at him as well from a distance, never approaching him except when being greeted at the beginning of your journey and your ending. How in those moments you desired to fall to your knees and take his cock in your mouth, something to take the edge off before you became bored to tears at returning to normal life as Lady Cole.

The septon raised her hands in the air as you both looked at each other, the fire of the dragon showing through to you from Daemon’s eyes as you studied his beautiful face, watching your eyes with each move as you smiled.

She began the ceremony reciting prayers of The Seven Gods before she looked at Daemon.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” the officiant said as she gestured to Daemon to remove his cloak and cover you. Slipping off the much larger black cloak adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen from his body, he placed it onto your shoulders before returning to his spot in front of you.

“We stand here in the sight of gods to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” the woman stated. A white ribbon appeared from her robes as she wished for you both to hold hands to begin the tying of the fabric before Daemon stopped her. Tugging a small dagger from his waist, he pricked a finger producing a few drops of blood. He signaled for you to do the same, gently pressing the blade against your skin as blood began to drip. Now holding hands together, the blood you shared seeping together as one, symbolizing the blood of the dragon now flowing through your veins.

Daemon nodded to the septon to continue as she tied the fabric around your entwined hands. The blood you both shared stained the ribbon making your heart swell as you looked at Daemon. He gave you the same look of adornment as he always does, the sound of officiant barely registering in his mind as he was too focused on you.

“Let it be known that Lady Cole and King Daemon of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” she announces as she unties the ribbon from your coupled hands. Daemon took the ribbon and placed it into his pocket as he still gripped your hand tightly.

“The love of the Seven is holy and eternal. The source of all life and love. We stand here tonight in thanks and praise to join two souls as one. Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. Hear now their vows.”

"Look upon each other and say the words,” the septon commands as you both look at each other. You feel the flutter in your heart you had not felt in a long time.

"I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," he says softly with a smile.

You smile back and repeat the vows. "I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."

With a step forward, Daemon took your face in his hands with a tender hold, looking at you with all the love and trust he had in his heart. "With this kiss, I pledge my love," he whispered against your lips before he sealed them against yours in a blistering and meaningful union. You wanted to moan at the taste of him as it had been such a long time, but you simply wrapped your arms around him to hold.

He pulled away from your mouth for a moment to whisper against your lips.

“Iksā sir ānogar ānograro,” he said staring into your eyes. Daemon finally felt whole, his heart a goblet now pouring through the rest of his body to finally have you in his arms for the rest of his life.

You smiled in return and for the first time in so many years, you felt needed, wanted and excited to begin your new chapter as a Queen.

As Daemon escorted you to the long table to share a prepared meal, he looked at you as if he never looked at anyone else.

Now that he had you, he vowed to himself to never let you go.

The small feast after the ceremony was pointless as you both attempted to sit quietly next to each other but proved impossible as Daemon struggled not to bed you on the table itself. There was a wine that flowed through you both, making sloppy endeavors to remove the clothing you both had on your bodies. He leaned over to your chair, gripping onto the wood as he pulled you from it to set you on top of the table, carelessly pushing food aside and ripping seams of fabric. You felt so hot as your head was swimming, watching from behind cups spill onto the floor and clattered plates fall.

“My King,” you breathed out in a panic as he bit into your neck and down your throat. Your undergarments were starting to feel the effects of Daemon’s spell he had over your mind before you yanked on his hair, slick with sweat. He breathed heavily looking at you.

“My Queen,” he answered as he reached beneath your dress to cup your mound. You gasp out at the feeling as you made slow movements sitting up, his fingers finding your wetness.

“I don’t want us coupling here the first time,” you pleaded to him. Daemon groaned, his cock pressing uncomfortably against his pants.

“You said that so easily, yet the first time we fucked you didn’t mind the roughness,” he chuckled. You laughed in return.

“I have grown you know, but–”

“True, you’ve grown to be more beautiful than any woman in all of Westeros and beyond,” he murmured against the swell of your breasts. You whimpered. You tugged hard against his hair again to get his attention. A hiss came from his lips.

“Fuck me like a proper Queen then, take me to our chambers,” you said seductively.

Daemon moaned in annoyance but agreed, picking you up off of the table as you wrapped your legs around his waist as he led the way out of The Great Hall, down the corridor of hallways, and finally making his way to his chambers. The room was larger than yours but embellished in fine tapestries that you had little desire to look at in the heat of the moment.

You were tossed onto the bed and sat up quickly to begin unthreading your dress from behind as you watched Daemon remove his vest, and shirt and unlace his boots. The feeling between your legs grew more feverishly, wanting to ride him like the dragon king he was as you toss your gown to the floor. You were now naked before him save for the jeweled necklace you promised to keep on as he fucked you.

He pulled you to the end of the bed grabbing your legs and seizing your lips in a forceful kiss. You moaned against his lips, pressing your tongue against him to allow you to enter. He happily accepted as he licked into your mouth. Teeth clashed as Daemon reached down to finger at your necklace for a moment before squeezing hard on your breast causing you to break from your kiss.

“Oh Daemon,” you whined as he dipped his head down to take a breast into your mouth, nipping harshly and biting. His free hand kneaded your other breast as you laid back watching him.

“You’re so lovely my Queen, your breasts will soon feed our children,” he murmured against your skin as gave the same attention to your other breast. Heat rushed through your body at his comment, the thought of bearing babes to him something you would not dismiss as you did for your previous husband. A pinch of your nipples in both hands and Daemon’s lips were on yours again as you fought to breathe. Moaning together Daemon trailed his hand down the curves of your body to feel everything your body had to offer him.

Pulling away from your lips, Daemon sat up to remove the final barrier of his clothing but not before he tugged at the small dagger you saw during the ceremony. He set it down next to you, curious about what he was planning.

“My King?” You asked breathing heavily.

“Do not worry about it for a moment lady wife,” he said taking off his pants. His cock sprung free from its confines and you were greeted by something you had ached for all these years. Hands of yours immediately went to grab him, lovingly tugging on him as you licked the palm of your hand and began to stroke him. Daemon groaned at the feeling.

“Fuck how I missed your hands,” he moaned as he moved to cover your body with his cock resting against your thigh. You felt the tip graze against your clit making the arousal in your body spill over, rushing through every fiber of you.

“Then show me how much you want me again Daemon, I am yours,” you stated, reaching up to pull his lips to yours again in a bruising kiss. He kissed you back with need and made quick work to move down your throat biting any flesh he could. You hissed in return loving how rough he could be. His tongue moved over every inch of your torso, his body sliding off the bed and onto the rug that laid beneath when you sat up, your chest heaving. You felt a rush of arousal pool to your center at his motivations, unsure if he was doing what whispers you heard of men and women doing together.

“My King, what are you doing?” You asked feeling tense. Daemon spread your thighs apart, sucking into your skin to leave a mark on each leg as he stared at your cunt. It glistened with wetness as his own desire was inside of his body at the sight of you.

“I told you when you were made Queen I would take your cunt into my mouth each night so you can finally cry out your King’s name properly. Besides, it’s not like that shell of your former husband would take care of you as I can,” he boasted, lifting a leg of yours onto his shoulder.

You felt a lump in your throat at the way his eyes bore into you and back at your center, wanting to consume your body and soul with such an act.

Before you could protest, Daemon carefully dragged a finger into your wet cunt with no resistance. You moaned in delight at the feeling, his finger finding its way in and out of you. Your head leaned back from pleasure you had received before he sped his movements and added a second finger to your body. Inside at just the right angle, he touched you with such ability you knew he was your king. Before you had become accustomed to his digits, you felt the wet sensation of his tongue on your clit as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you. Startled, your head shot up at the foreign feeling but cried out in delight, sitting up and taking a hold of his hair. He moaned into your cunt at the feeling of your hand gripping him.

“Like the finest of wines,” he said as he swirled his tongue on your clit. His sharp purple eyes observed your responses of his tongue as your breaths became more labored. Daemon knew you would hit your peak shortly.

The leg that leaned over Daemon’s shoulder began to twitch, your breath came out in pants as you began to feel that fire ignited pushing down before your body became flooded by your orgasm and crying out his name. You yanked on his hair urging him to stop but Daemon would not allow it, quickly removing his fingers and drinking from your cunt as if it was chalice. He held open your legs as you gripped harder and harder onto his perserated hair.

“Daemon please you need to stop,” you whined as you tried to push him off your body. Coming up for a breath, he smirked at you.

“I know you have another in you, you’re going to give it to your King,” he said, moving his body from his knelt position to cover your body. He snaked his thumb down to tease at your clit slowly to build momentum for you as you felt overly sensitive still. He calmed your nerves sealed with a kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth. You moaned against him, your hands wrapped around his neck as you enjoyed the taste of yourself on your lips.

It was then Daemon removed his thumb and once again slid two digits into your entrance with little resistance. He stroked inside your walls hitting a spot you could not place inside your mind as he increased his speed.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” you whined, moving your lips from his. He watched your eyes close, mouth agape as his expertise never failed him before. He had done this hundreds of times with many women but it was only in this moment he cared about what you were feeling when your body surprised you with another shattering orgasm. This time it was heavier as you cried out and bucked your hips upwards spilling Daemon’s name from your lips as you soared above the skies as if you were a dragon yourself.

He watched you come back down from above as he bit at your shoulder and removed his fingers from you sliding them both into your mouth. You suckled with ease, a string of your juices pulled from a digit.

“Seven Gods my Queen, you are exquiste,” he praised, licking the rest off of his own fingers.

You made a small giggle in response.

“Are you convinced now that you had made the right choice instead of that fucking mess you once called a husband?” He bragged. You rolled your eyes and smiled.

“I think you need to remind me when you fuck me,” you purred as your head was still swimming from your orgasm.

“You would never have to ask, I will fuck you every day until the end of time,” he responded as he gathered some wetness from between your legs to coat his cock with. He groaned in response.

It was then you were not sure what Daemon was up to as you watched him reach over for the dagger to unsheath it above you. You swallowed now a bit nervous. He gripped the small blade between his palm as his face contorted for a moment in pain. Drops of blood spilled onto your chest as he smeared the liquid over your heart and pressed his thumb to your lower lip. The tang of iron was upon your tongue as you darted out to taste.

“Anogar ānograro,” he whispered as he pressed his cock inside of you to your surprise. You yelped at the pinch, his cock larger than your other husband’s was. The familiarity was lost upon you as he kissed you deeply, his tongue tasting his own blood as he began to rock his hips against you.

It was slow at first to help get you adjusted to his size before his cock felt like it had a mind of his own, skin slapping at force causing you to whine out. He watched you for a moment with serious eyes, his hand moving to press the skin of your cheek upwards as you wrapped your arms around his neck and wrapping your legs around his backside.

Daemon began to mutter something once again in a language unfamiliar to you as he moved his face to the fresh blood that laid above your heart, licking it up as you watched. Fresh arousal pooled at your cunt as you watched him do this, never thinking that this sight would make you wet.

“My King,” you cried out as Daemon bit a fresh mark into the now cleaned skin on your heart as his hand groped at your breast roughly, your necklace bouncing against your neck. You would not lie as you enjoyed the roughness of his pleasure upon you as Lord Cole was as quick as he was careless in the art of fucking.

“My Queen,” he responded with a groan as he pulled his cock from you and flipped you over at a lightning speed. He easily spread your legs as he towered over your form, slapping on your behind causing a sting with a hiss pulled from your lips. He pressed your head downwards to the soft bed, your face smushed as you inhaled the fabric as he once again slipped his cock into your warm cunt.

The position soon became your undoing as he fucked into you with swiftness chasing his own high. You moved your hand to your clit to touch as you had hoped pull a third orgasm of the night.

“You are a fever dream, fuck you look so good like this my Queen,” Daemon gritted through teeth. Your eyes were closed as you moaned with your finger rubbing at your body before you shot your head upwards.

“Daemon, I’m going to cum, cum with me, oh fuck please come with me,” you panted out. He moaned at the neediness of your voice, enough to easily spill his seed into you as he reached down to slap your hand away. You cried out in protest. He yanked at the braids in your hair for a moment that caused you to yelp and pull your head upwards.

“I don’t know if I’m quite ready for you to cum again,” he teased as he let go of your hair to hold your hips again. You huffed out and whined at the denial.

“I’m begging you my King, please fuckkkk,” you whimpered as your body ached to be free again. Your arousal sat on the edge of cliff ready to leap forwards as you turned your face to look back at him He looked good in control, sweat dripping down his forehead at he made eye contact with you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and pain.

“Be patient my love,” he said with a huffed breath before he quickly pulled your body flush upwards against his backside, his cock ramming up into your body. He held your breast in his hand as his fingers still covered in blood smeared upwards as he tugged on the jewels the hung from your neck.

Tears formed in your eyes at the pain of your body before you opened your mouth again.

“Let me cum and I will give you every child a King could ask for,” you promised him between pants. Daemon’s arousal at your plea was almost enough to make him cum but he held back.

“I know you will. You will bear to me sons as strong as any dragon alive and daughters with the fire in their souls as each Targaryen has brought into this world,” he gritted through his teeth. Your body was sticky with sweat as you whined again wanting the fire inside to be flushed out.

“Then let us cum together so it can happen, please, oh gods,” you pled before Daemon whispered in your ear to finally let go, moaning out his name with fresh tears flowing down your cheeks in relief as his own seed spilled upwards into your body, his cock now finally spent. He slowly unsheathed himself from your cunt as he kissed at your shoulder and kissed behind each ear.

“You did so well my darling,” he cooed, turning your body over to lay down on your back. He saw the mess of his cuml seep down your thigh, his softening cock twitching at the thought of having a babe grow inside of your body. He could not take the chance as his thumb pressed the mix of your cum and his back up into your fluttering enterance. You shuttered at the feeling, laying quietly as your breath was slightly labored from your shared activities.

Daemon pulled you up the bed to the comfortable pillows as you laid on his chest, his kisses covering your forehead.

“It was indescribable,” you said as you closed your eyes. Your body ached from soreness but you both easily fell asleep, no other words spoken between you both.

Hours later after you both had recovered and regained your strength, you made your way to Dragonstone’s throne, fucking for pleasure as you rode him in the middle of the night and sucking his cock as he professed his love to you but not before he tugged at your lips to open, spitting down your throat that you happily swallowed. He soon came into your mouth with his hot seed filling your mouth as he pulled at your braids.

“I am determined to fuck you on every table, chair and available surface of this castle,” Daemon said as he came inside of your cunt for the second time that evening.

You laughed.

“You can try Daemon,” you spoke as he held your chin between your fingers as he gazed down at your body. His heart was now full, the blood of dragons runneth over spilling into his body at the sight of you.

“I will never let you go again,” he murmured against your lips as he kissed you.

Now that you were in the arms of the King of Dragonstone, you had never felt more certain in this moment that you made the right decision as he cradled your body, kissing you with fire and strength of every dragon ever born.

“And you never will.”

Valyrian Translations:

Gīda gīda valītsos = Steady, steady boy

Iksā sir lēda nyke se iēdrosa ao vēdros nyke = You are now with me and still you hate me!

Ao jurnegon hae iā dream ñuha riña = You look as a dream my Lady

Iksā sir ānogar ānograro = You are now the blood of my blood

Anogar ānograro = Blood of my blood

So that was a fun ride eh? I hope you enjoyed it cause I sure as hell did! I'll probably write some more before the season is over but I really just wanted to get this mostly one shot out into the universe. A big thank you to all my readers and again to my beta reader @middimidoris

PS YES THE NECKLACE THING IS FROM TITANIC LIKE I COULDN'T HELP IT

Tag List: @middimidoris @acrossthesestars @phoebe-danvers

#daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon fan fic #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #prince daemon targaryen

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