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idksmtms · 5 months

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The Prettiest Trophy (Capitol Elite!Aegon II Targaryen x Games Winner!reader (Hunger Games AU)

Summary: You never thought you would make it out of the hunger games, but now you have another fight ahead of you. What do you do when one of the most powerful citizens of the capitol has chosen you to be his?

Word count: 3.5k

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, Dub-con due to power imbalance, coercion too ig (???), some angst (reader talks about survivor’s guilt from the games), p in v s*x, unprotected s*x, oral f receiving, degradation (constantly referring to lesser status of districts), objectification and ownership, (please let me know if I missed any)

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so.

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

AN: Aaaaa my first fic finally! Didn't mean to make it this long but I got a bit carried away! I hope you enjoy! (Side note: I was imagining his hair as the style in the black and white pic, just with Targaryen white, Side note 2: I def realise the references to the way Gollum talks about the ring, IT WAS ON PURPOSE)

You never thought you would leave the arena. Every second could have been your last and you still didn’t quite believe you had made it out, that you were standing outside the President’s mansion at a lavish party, dressed in silks and jewels. No one told you how to live after the games were over. It had taken you three days just to be able to get out of bed and move around again after leaving the arena. Being at this party? It felt like a betrayal to all the people who had died so you could live. You sipped from the sickly sweet drink that almost seemed to glow in the night, and looked around the garden.

Most people had finally left you alone thankfully, though you could still see eyes turning your way, whispers and conversations pointed toward your presence in the garden. At least no one was trying to force you into a picture like some capitol celebrity anymore.

People in the most lavish costumes customary of the capitol milled about, talking, whispering, cackling like witches in their modified bodies with their modified voices. It was a horror show. The gardens had been decorated with delicate yellow fairy lights strung up in the trees and over poles around the tables. You assumed they wanted to give it a warm and welcoming look with the yellow lighting but it only cast grotesque shadows on the building that was not only the backdrop to this party, but to all your nightmares. There were tables set up with stark white tablecloths draped over them, an area cleared away for a dance floor, and more noise coming from the entrance to the mansion. Avoxes walked around carrying trays of food and drink between their hands, heads bent low, and shame began to rise inside you. What were you doing here? Why were you forced to be here?

There was someone behind you. You didn’t know when you had become so aware of any presence, probably somewhere between fending off humans and wildlife alike in the arena, and you could distinctly feel someone behind you. A slight shadow fell over your shoulders. A small touch rustled the train of your dress. Someone cleared their throat. You turned around, hands quivering, and looked at the man smirking broadly at you. Your first thought, shamefully: was he even real?

His hair was so blond it was white, cut short and combed back so perfectly he could be no less than an aristocrat. He wore a suit of dark grey over a black shirt, one of the less eccentrically dressed people at the party. But his shoes were lavish. Black and shinier than anything you had ever seen, embroidered with gold thread, gold jewellery dangling from the laces and gems stamped into the fabric. Surely this man was of the richest of the rich, because even in the capitol people were wont to have shoes so lavish. You stared at his shoes for a good minute, whole body frozen, when he cleared his throat once more. You looked at his eyes. You couldn’t tell if they were more blue or grey, like ice had formed over a stormy ocean.

“And who might you be?” He asked, mouth still smiling, before he brought his glass up to his lips and took a drink while waiting for your answer.

“You don’t know who I am?” You asked, almost taking a step back. That couldn’t be true. Viewing was mandatory, your face had been plastered across every screen in Panem for weeks, it couldn’t be true that he didn’t know you. And yet… for a moment… it felt so good not to be recognised. You were just some other girl, lost in the crowd at a party, who hadn’t gone through what you had gone through.

“Well, I may know of you, but I don’t know you know you,” his smile had softened and he stepped closer until his elbow lightly brushed yours and you were both looking out at the party.

“I suppose that’s true,” you answered quietly, still watching his face. His skin was almost as dangerously pale as his hair, and sallow, like he was never quite in the best of health. Though you couldn’t deny the truth, he was a handsome man regardless of his slightly ragged appearance.

“Aegon Targaryen the second,” he held out his hand, running his eyes over your face like he hadn’t gathered enough of it the first time, “and you?”

“Y/n L/n,” you breathed out, reaching out an unsteady hand to limply shake his own. He gently clasped your fingers and brought your hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to your knuckles before releasing your hand. It was such an odd sensation, his hot breath brushing over the back of your hand, his fingertips slightly rough - but not enough to suggest any sort of manual labour - clasping the skin of your palm. Your cheeks went hot, the tips of your ears tingling, and you continued staring at this enigma.

“How has the capitol been treating you?” He asked, chugging the rest of his drink and depositing it on the tray of an Avox as they passed by like some well-practised dance. You didn’t want to reply. “Well, I suppose you haven’t had the time to truly enjoy it. At least, not the truly fun bits anyway,” he shrugged, tilting his head and looking at you like it was a particularly amusing thing he just said.

You couldn’t understand this at all. Who was this man? What was this interaction? What did he want with you? Why was he acting so mundane, like this was normal?! None of this was normal.

Noticing the look on your face, Aegon chuckled and reached forward to push some hair over your shoulder. It took everything within you to hold in your shiver.

“Ah, you must be confused about who I am! I shouldn’t have assumed you would understand the name Targaryen. We may be famous in the capitol but who knows what goes on in the districts,” you swallowed hard and nodded, trying not to flinch at the dig. “Our family works in all sorts of sectors, for example, my uncle Daemon is responsible for manufacturing arms for the state, my younger brother Aemond works under the president in some position or other - god knows he never shuts up about it - and my father currently runs the peacekeeper program. Of course I’m expected to step up to that eventually but- I won’t bore you with the details.”

You didn’t really consider that work. You had seen the way your parents toiled in the factory every day, had seen the way every member of your family slowly became a hunchback from their work. But you weren’t going to say anything to him.

“What does your family do?” He asked, and again you almost moved out of surprise. His face seemed so sincere as he watched you, waiting for an answer.

“I’m from District 8, so my parents work the looms,” you answered slowly. You almost sounded condescending, like you were talking to someone who couldn’t quite understand your words, but Aegon understood it was the shock of him speaking to you. After all, it had only been a week since you had left the arena, he understood how difficult it would be to gain your confidence. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. And Aegon was a firm believer that flattery could get you anywhere, especially a girl’s bed. So he decided to change course.

“Do you see that man over there?” He pointed discreetly to a spot just to your right and you shuffled back so you could look over without being noticed. You sipped from your glass as you noticed the man, an older gentleman wearing a full fursuit topped with a lion’s mane going around his head. Even his face had been painted with fur and whiskers to resemble a lion with the body of a human. You nodded to Aegon, turning away from the man. Something about that picture made you uncomfortable in a way you had never been before. “Well, rumour has it that he wears that entire get up, face paint and all mind you, every time he fucks.” You gasped, staring at Aegon with eyes so wide they started to hurt.

“You can’t be serious,” you whispered sharply.

“I am the most serious, dearest. Why would I lie to you?” He smirked, leaning closer once more. He draped his arm over your shoulder and you stiffened for a moment before continuing to listen to his next story.

You were slowly beginning to relax in Aegon’s company as he continued to chatter to you. He no longer asked questions or expected you to speak, just pointed out people in the crowd and made colourful commentary that had you hiding your face in his shoulder and giggling against the fabric of his suit. He gazed at you with sparkling eyes full of mirth and shared his ever-full glass of whatever drink they were serving at the time. You couldn’t help but be charmed. Maybe, just maybe, not everyone in the capitol was as bad as they seemed.

“D’you wanna go somewhere quieter?” He finally asked after completely relieving another stranger of their dignity. You took a moment to catch your breath and looked at him, at the sudden darkening of his eyes and the way his tongue poked out to lick his lips. He watched you like a tiger readying to pounce. You nodded without a second thought. Though he had made the party bearable, anywhere would be better than here. He smiled and reached down, sliding his fingers over your inner wrist, then your palm, then grasping your hand in his own. “Come on.”

Aegon led you into the house and up the stairs, nodding at random people (who sometimes you could barely recognise as people), skilfully dodging attempts at conversation. Up and up the lavish stairs you went before walking down a large hallway and stopping in front of a wall. Aegon pushed at the wall and it gave way, revealing a spiral staircase in the dark that led up into an abyss.

“Um, are you sure you know where you’re going?” You asked, pausing at the entrance to the rather dingy looking chamber.

“There are some perks to having been at the president’s mansion practically since I was born. One of those being secret access to the roof, now come on!” He dragged you into the dark and shut the door behind him, before ushering you up the first steps.

The staircase really wasn’t all that tall. In fact, you could see the top and light bled down from the opening. Your heels clanked against each step and you almost toppled back into Aegon more than once. Then you were at the top. Then you could see the whole Capitol. Oh it was breathtaking! The whole city, laid out before you like a miniature scene to play with. There were lights glimmering in houses and cars on the roads and life! There were signs of life everywhere. Oh you couldn’t believe it. You almost believed you could see to the very edges of Panem.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Aegon asked, and you turned to meet his eyes. Both of you had moved right to the edge of the rooftop so you could look out over the party, and he moved to stand directly behind you. You could feel his chest press into your back. The fabric of his shirt rubbed against the skin of your back and he was a solid pressure behind you, like the comfort of a wall at your back when you slept. “Hm?” He asked again, bending his head down to run his nose up your neck. You shivered, the light graze was just ticklish enough to start a spark inside of you.

“Yes,” you breathed out, clenching your hands on the concrete to stop yourself from leaning back into him. You didn’t know him. You didn’t really know him. You didn’t know him at all.

“You know,” he began slowly, hands going to your shoulders and turning you around to face him. “When I first saw you on the television, the day of the reaping, I knew you would win.” Your breath caught in your throat. Your mouth was so dry. You wished you hadn’t discarded that sweet drink so quickly. “And look at you now,” he leaned in closer, cupping your face to force your eyes to meet his, “you’re the winner, the greatest person in Panem, to come out of the districts anyway.” He gently kissed your right cheek, warm lips on plush skin, and when he pulled away the breeze cooled the hint of saliva he had left behind. “You’re the greatest treasure one could possess, you know?” He kissed your other cheek, firmer this time, like he was trying to leave the imprint of his lips on your skin. “Everyone knows the winner of the Hunger Games, and to say you own them? To parade them on your arm for everyone to see, saying you own the very concept of survival?” He seemed to groan in pleasure, and then everything was moving.

His lips were on yours, slightly wet and forceful. His tongue was delving into your mouth, tasting like sugar, too much sugar, and you wanted to pull back because it was so overwhelming and everything he had just said and and and… and it felt so good too. It was warm, and desperate, like no one had ever been for you before.

A hand moved into your hair and grasped the strands at the back of your head tight, pulling slightly to tilt your head back so you had to look up at him. He was almost leaning over you so your spine bent over the edge of the roof, and the skin of your back scratched against the unpainted concrete. He huffed against your mouth then pulled back, his other hand coming up to trace your mouth with his thumb. You stared into his eyes but he wasn’t looking back at you, not really anyway. He was watching his prize, the reward that no one but him deserved.

You whimpered, a small and pathetic sound that only seemed to make his skin hotter, and he let go of your hair to begin pulling the straps of your dress down your arms. It was a heavy thing, and it felt good to finally be rid of the weight, but you were keenly aware of the cold night and the party in full swing just underneath you. If someone in the garden decided to look up, they would surely see you bent over the edge.

“Wait-” you began to protest, but Aegon was past listening, past caring. He just shoved the dress under your breasts and down your legs, before grabbing your face and bringing your mouth to his own again. His hands travelled over your neck, then caressed your shoulders. He gently pressed the red indents the straps of the dress had left and you sighed into his mouth, leaning onto his chest. Your nipples rubbed against the fabric of his shirt and you gasped into the kiss before moving your chest slightly. The warm little tingles travelled all the way through your torso and you clung to his arms.

Aegon kissed sloppily over your cheeks, your neck, pausing to bite into it until you grunted with pain and pushed at his shoulder. He licked all the way down to your chest, his tongue warm and wet, then the slick trail of spit suddenly cold. Your legs felt unsteady, and you leaned back against the barrier as he began mouthing at your breasts, little circles of warmth formed everywhere he kissed, and then his mouth closed over your nipple and you clenched. It was so… weird. A wet suction formed over your nipple and it seemed to make the inside of your breast spark, your stomach jolt, and the space between your thighs tingle and turn to mush.

“Come on precious,” he mumbled against your skin, “you can be louder,” and he bit the flesh. It really was a live wire attached to your skin, so easy to spark, so easy to create a fire that spread all throughout your body.

Aegon was quicker with the other nipple, licking over it like a dog with a bowl of water, before making his way down to the apex of your thighs. He seemed to be in a hurry with the way he dove his face between your legs. A cry left your lips, loud and shriek-like, at the overwhelming activity. His nose slipped between your lips and pressed to your clit, his tongue out and flat and lapping against the sticky slick that covered the puffy folds that hid your hole. He was ravenous, pressing his face in in in until you stood on your tiptoes and half your weight was balanced against his face. The contours of his face pressed at your hole, his nose rubbed at your clit, and he moved his face back and forth so his tongue could poke inside of you then slip back into his mouth. He began speaking into you, rumbling words you couldn’t understand over the rushing in your head.

“Come on, cum on my face,” he huffed, grabbing your thighs and licking at your clit until it was puffy and swollen. “I wan’ you to cum on my face, give me what I want.” He pressed his tongue inside you. In. Out. He licked your clit. In. Out. He sucked it into his mouth, and your legs shook so much that you would’ve fallen onto the floor if you weren’t practically laying on the barrier already. It was a release. That’s all it could be called. Every muscle clenched then released. Even your mind felt like it had slowly been clenching and now it had been unravelled and was slowly dripping out of your skull.

“Fuck, that’s right,” Aegon mumbled as he pulled away, standing to full height and pulling your hips against his own. His hair had fallen forward into his eyes and his mouth and nose glistened in the low light, but he didn’t seem to care one bit. He had leaned over your body again, pressing his face into your neck. The slick on his chin stuck to your skin and squished whenever he moved. He humped into you a few times, grunting and groaning, before hurriedly reaching down and fumbling with his belt and zipper. You could hear the clanking of metal, the rustle of fabric, and then something warm pressing to your thigh.

There was no waiting with Aegon. His body simply didn’t contain the patience for it, and really why would you wait when the prize you had so long coveted lay bare before you, just ripe for the taking? A shift here, a push there, and he caught at your entrance. He finally pulled away from your neck and looked into your eyes. He caressed your cheek, and you could tell all he saw was a trophy he had just won.

Then Aegon pressed into you, and his veins rubbed at your slick insides, pressing against your walls and sliding against your own textured flesh and you were leaning back to moan into the night sky, chest heaving. He kissed your breasts and pushed into you again, his lower stomach pressing your clit. Again, he moved into you and the sparks flashed and you clenched around him, onto him, and he moaned against your ear, hot breath fanning the shell.

“Fuck yes, you’re my precious little thing aren’t you? Huh? You’re my special little prize?” His hips slapped against yours and the sound echoed over the roof. His mouth biting into your neck sent sparks through you. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and oh god it was too much! You clenched onto him and screamed into his neck, open mouth pressed to the sweaty skin. You clenched and unclenched onto him as waves passed through you, melting your flesh and your bones. It was over too soon yet it lasted too long. He pushed once more, twice more, and you could feel him quiver against you, even as you tried to push him away from the pulsing flesh of your insides. You could feel the spurts inside you, hot and gushing. You felt it trickle out of you, slide down your thighs in warm rivulets and you shuddered.

Aegon still lay on top of you, huffing heavily into your neck. You didn’t know what to do, so you stayed still, waiting for guidance, waiting for the other shoe to fall. He slowly pushed up on his arms so his face hovered above yours, and he smiled a dazed and delirious smile. Was it always there, or had it just appeared, that insanity in his eyes?

“Oh my precious,” he sighed, cupping your cheek, “we have so much ahead.”

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arabellasleopardcoat · 8 months

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Bouquet of Violets (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You are happy in your marriage, even if your husband can be quite hellish. It all starts to go wrong when a secret admirer shows up.

Warnings: Angst! Fluff! All the feelings! And yeah, mature language and topics. Canon character death (Not Aemond)

A/N: Hopelessly romantic (delusional) reader! meets Aemond. Based on a song I grew up listening. The girls that get it, get it.

Aemond, unlike you, remembers the first time the two of you met. You wore your hair down, back then. It cascaded down your back in the ways girl's hair often did before they flowered, unstyled and wild.

You must have been nine, or ten years old. He was twelve and having a temper tantrum, hiding in the corners near the throne room. Your father was in an audience with King Viserys, while you and your mother explored the Red Keep. Aemond had never found out what the meeting was about, nor did he care.

Your mother was dressed in brightly colored robes, matching your father’s. You were still dressed in the frocks of childhood. Your small, bony shoulder, had hit him right on the ribs as your mother walked you down the hallway, and Aemond had been ready to give you the tongue lashing of your life. Yet, something had halted him.

When you had bumped into him, you had raised your gaze, to meet his. Back then, he didn’t wear the eye patch, the scar tissue too raised to do so. Instead of flinching back at the gruesome sight of the marred flesh, as most people did, you had offered him a kind smile.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to.” Your sweet smile lit up your whole face. You were not the prettiest girl he had ever seen, all awkward limbs and missing a tooth. But you were the kindest. As you fell back into step with your mother, clutching your doll, Aemond could not help but be charmed by you.

So many years have passed that Aemond does not recall what your mother and you were talking about. What he does recall are another two things: First, that you were sheltered. You referred to a pet of some sorts as your friend. Second, you were clearly hung up on the notion of marriage.

Later, he would realize that The Stranger had not touched your family yet. While you might have been familiar with the notion of death, as many children were, but had not fully grasped the troubles of mortality. That was why you were concerned over the thought of what would happen to your pet when you married.

Your mother replied something along the lines of them going with you, but the doubt was clear in her tone. She was uncertain about the prolonged longevity of your childhood companion.

Sometimes Aemond thinks of how much you must have wept when they passed. The idea of you being so distraught over something you loved makes his heart ache in a weird way.

Darkly, he thinks of how you will react once he is dead. He knows his chance of surviving this are low, especially now. Will he merit as many tears as your pet did?

The words your mother last spoke before the two of you disappeared down the hallway were forever etched in his memory.

“The man who loves you will respect everything you love and hold dear. Remember that.”

You came to him with no pet. But he would have taken in an entire farm if you had.

The next time the two of you had crossed paths, Aemond had liked you even more. You were beautiful. Having long left behind the styles of childhood, your hair was worn up as a proper lady. It made it easier to admire your eyes, magnetizing and intelligent.

You were fond of reading and writing. When he saw you again, your nose was buried into a book. It was not philosophy, or history, or any useful subject, really. You read love stories, fairy stories and all sorts of things. Literature and poetry and children’s tales all rolled into one.

It was your mother, who encouraged that passion of yours. Despite being married to a man who was much older than her, and less educated, she had found happiness in him. She looked at the world in a rather unique way. One you had inherited.

You had been taught to read at an early age. According to your mother, education was the greatest equalizer between men and women, even if she didn’t voice it around your father. He didn’t know his letters very well, and so, had little clue about what books you choose to bury your nose in. If he had known, he would have disapproved.

Most men would have, truly. No one wanted young maidens to get unrealistic ideas about how marriage was supposed to go. Yet, when Aemond himself had the chance to put a stop to it, he found himself unable to.

If Aemond was to be honest with himself, he would have said he enjoyed it. The way your face would get all dreamy, your sighs so sweet, as you progressed on your reading and imagined a love like the ones in your books. Perhaps it had been the reason, in some misguided attempt to appeal to that side of you, he started doing this.

Your second meeting, which you thought had been the first, had not been due to chance. When Aemond was told it was time to marry, the choice came to your family or the Baratheons. He had never been one to protest his duties, no matter how opposed he was to it. But on this, he put forth his own selfish conditions. Aemond would marry you and no one else.

His mother had had to insist to your parents, unwilling to give up their precious daughter in times of political unrest. It was no secret to anybody that upon the death of King Viserys, things could turn ugly. It made your family wary of marrying you to Aemond.

Never before had he cursed his parentage so much. By then, Aemond had not seen you in years, but he knew you were the only choice for him. Kind and unafraid at ten, you could have only grown into a wonder.

And you did. The more he gazed at you, during that second encounter, the more he discovered. Unfortunately, Aemond had not been taught how to speak with maidens, much less one he wanted so badly.

Unused as his lips were to speaking kind words or flowery speech, he found himself in absolute terror of doing or saying the wrong thing. When he had wanted something in the past, he simply commanded it. Aemond was not used to wanting to keep a woman, but he guessed it took more effort than that.

His mother berated him all the way home. In his fear of his words upsetting, he had ended up not saying anything at all.

“You picked her yourself, Aemond, and barely showed excitement over it. The poor girl must think you hate her.”

And you probably did. Aemond could tell that you felt your encounters were awkward, but you slowly started getting used to him. What charmed him the most had been that never once you were afraid.

It ended up becoming a routine. Sort of a play date, but for adults. Set up by your hopeful parents, you would meet each other weekly and sit in silence. Each time, you would walk in with a pep in your step, wearing pretty gowns and smiling.

You would try to engage him in conversation, but he felt too self-conscious for it. It didn't phase you. You suffered through exactly two rounds of awkward conversation before starting to bring books. Sometimes, they were two, one for him and one for you. But his favorite times were when you brought only one and read aloud to him.

You had a very pleasing voice. You pronounced your words carefully, and in an even tone. And you would always ask for his opinions on the chapter when you finished. It made conversation much easier.

Any other woman would feel unhappy at having to go through such efforts. Astoundingly, not you. Overall, you seemed happy, and it puzzled Aemond to no end. Asking you had not proven very enlightening either.

“Of course I am happy.” And you had given him a smile so bright, he was convinced you were not actually your parent's daughter, but rather, the daughter of some old god of the light. “We are a good match. We like books. And you are a Prince, good with the sword, and very learned. Why wouldn't I be happy?”

Practical. No matter how romantic the books you read, or how magic the stories you enjoyed, your answer had been purely practical. You deserved more. A loud love story, like the ones in your books, and not a quiet life, spent in the shadows of a man who could barely pay her a compliment.

You gave a little spin, awed at the way your skirt moved and spread. It was the softest cloth you had ever felt, in cream and gold. Queen Alicent had gifted it to you along with many other pieces for your trousseau. You were to marry a Prince, and so, no expense was spared in updating your garments and linens.

What an honor it was, to have such a caring mother-in-law. Having witnessed the poor relationship between your mother and grandmother, you were thrilled over it. You had heard Queen Alicent had asked for you specifically, believing your temper to be a good match for her son. Since the announcement of the betrothal, she had been nothing but doting, if a bit overly worried about his treatment of you.

And Prince Aemond. You truly had no complaints. He was a tad too stoic for your liking, but he was never unkind to you. Despite the rumors about his fearsome character, you had found him to be very handsome.

Your first impression of Aemond was that he was tall. He was all long vertical lines in black and white. A study in contrasts, if you wish. One that, were you an artist, would have your hands itching for some coal. The only pop of color was his eye, a pale blue that shone on his handsome face.

He lacked the boyishly handsome features most men your age had. Instead, much like art, he was divisive. The eye patch that should lessen his appearance, only contributed to his uniqueness. There was something in the way he smiled, too. Something that hinted to something darker, dormant under the surface.

It was both attractive and intimidating. His stoic, aloof nature reminded you a lot of the leading men of the books you read. Your knowledge of that sort of man, through literature and observation, hinted to you that your betrothed must be more than met the eye.

What sort of passions and secrets must be hiding under his cool facade? You could not wait to find out. You imagined growing old with him, slowly learning his secrets and tells, just like your mother had done with your father.

The story of your parents' betrothal and marriage was one you knew well. As a child, you asked to hear it every night before bed. Your mother had been engaged to him being quite young, while he was already a man. He had been patient with her, but not very affectionate. Slowly, she had worn down his defenses, and gained his trust. It had taken years, with your father being a very gruff man. But they were the most loving couple you had ever met.

You yearned for something like that. A love that was built on mutual respect and trust, something that grew with you and filled your house with children and laughter. And with Aemond, you could not help but think that it would be possible. Wasn't he, too, a cold man who treated his bride kindly but never with affection?

You smiled at your reflection. You made a lovely bride if you said so yourself. Eyes full of hopes and expectations for your future marriage and the family that you would soon start, face glowing in happiness. One day, you said to yourself, as your Lord Father came to escort you towards the Sept, I will tell this story to my daughter.

Prince Aemond waited for you at the altar. It was a small gathering, your wedding. There were his siblings, mother, and grandfather and your parents. Your stomach tightened up in nervousness and excitement. You hoped he found you as beautiful as you found him.

When his eyes met yours, he gave you a small little smile. Secret, and barely there. You felt tears starting to well up in your eyes. You were so nervous, but so happy. This was the beginning of your new life, you could feel it.

You finally reached him. Aemond seemed startled at your tears, his hands coming to clasp yours almost in instinct. You gave him a bright smile. How kind, your betrothed was. He might have trouble expressing it, but for this, no words were needed.

You could see your nerves reflected on his face. Your hands squeezed harder. Aemond mimicked the gesture. There was a sense of understatement there that had previously been absent from your encounters. During the whole ceremony, neither of you let go or stopped looking at the other. As he leaned in to kiss you, you met him halfway.

This kiss had featured in your dreams for quite a while. As a young girl, when your lessons with your Septa got particularly boring, you daydreamed about the day you would marry. In your head, it was always perfect, and the kiss felt magical. You were a bit embarrassed to admit it, but once you met Aemond, your daydreams turned a bit less innocent.

The kiss fulfilled one of your fantasies, and left the other lacking. Aemond gently cradled your face in his hands and kissed you, very tenderly. His lips felt slightly dry, but he kept his motions gentle and sweet. It was a perfect as your childhood self had imagined, with the guests even clapping at the end. Unfortunately, it was just as innocent.

Considering that, and the fact that Aemond had demanded there not to be a bedding ceremony, you had correctly guessed your wedding night would be spent on your own.

The consummation of your marriage would be a challenge in itself. Aemond didn’t seem too keen on touching you with a ten-foot pole, and you weren’t sure of how one should bring up the topic.

Despite it, you were happy. Your only task was hanging on his arm at important feasts, which were few and far in between. His father’s declining health meant there was little to celebrate.

Your days often went without even seeing your husband, but you were never lonely. There were gardens to be walked, and books to be read. There were even tiny, blonde children, that you could chase around in the gardens and tickle. They were not yours, but Princess Helaena's and Prince Aegon's, yet they shared the striking silver hair your husband had. Looking at them, tiny sticky hands and still smelling like babies, you could imagine the future with your husband.

You could spend hours playing with them, or having tea with the Queen. You enjoyed trailing after her, she was always very kind. Frequently, you wondered how she and Aemond could be so alike yet so different.

The only thing that broke your routine were the times Aemond requested your presence.

“Milady.” Your handmaid said, stepping lightly inside your chambers. “The Prince has requested that you go to him.”

Instantly, dread and excitement pooled in your stomach. As a young lady, you were both fearful of the act and excited by it. Too often, you had heard it was something hurtful, but that it marked the change into womanhood. When Aemond called, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the night he made you a woman.

You rushed to take out a nightshirt from your trousseau. You had separated them into three categories. There were ones that you wore nightly, others that were slightly bigger that were saved for an eventual pregnancy, and the ones that were for Aemond. Those were the prettier ones that your Lady Mother had purchased to help you entice your husband.

It was always one of the latter that was chosen. You hated not being prepared, so you always made sure to look pretty and be clean. Just in case. It had not happened yet, but it didn't mean it never would.

Your handmaid aided you to put your robe on, followed by your slippers and a thick cloak. The Red Keep, despite being inhabited by dragons, was always cold. Your handmaid always walked you to his chambers, and this night was not the exception.

She left you at his door, after you were announced. Aemond himself opened his door, welcoming you inside.

You had gotten better at not staring at him. Despite his state of undress, in only sleep pants and his hair down for once, he was a delight for the eyes.

“My lady.” He kissed your cheek. The door closed after you. He aided you out of your cloak. “I was hoping you would read for me tonight.”

You tried not to let your disappointment show on your face. Aemond, as if sensing your mood, merely shoved a book in your hands. He didn’t even offer you a seat, but you took one on the bed anyway. By the weight of the book, you would be here a while.

“On a far away land, whose name I am unable to recall…” Aemond settled down on the bed next to you, eye closed. You didn’t understand why he did this sort of thing, but you weren’t bothered by it either. It was a small price to pay for all the luxuries you got to enjoy.

Despite ending up with a sore throat, it was fun too. He picked the books now, in a stark contrast to the days when you had been a couple courting. And as a man, Aemond had access to many more books than you had. You had recently started making your way through some chivalry tales, with a lot more blood than you were used to.

It was enough for you. Perhaps he was not very affectionate, but he clearly enjoyed your company. Why else would he keep summoning for something as menial as reading books?

You settled into a comfortable routine, grounded by the rhythms of court life. For a while, everything was extraordinarily normal. It was not until you were three months into marriage with the Prince that things started to get weird.

It was the ninth day of the tenth moon of the year, and the date felt slightly ominous. There was a restless energy in the air, something unusual. Perhaps, it was you. As of late, you had been feeling a bit blue. The lack of letters from your family and the twins starting their lessons had left you with more spare time than you thought you would have.

Deciding to go have a bath to try to shake that restless energy from you, you headed toward your rooms. When you entered, the first thing you noticed was the smell. It was strong and floral like, permeating the surrounding air. Your maids used sweeter smells for your rooms, on the Queen’s advice. They were the sort of smells that Aemond favored, and so, she had hoped surrounding you with them would endear you to him.

Then, you saw them. It was a big bouquet of violets, laying on top of your bed. Delighted, you ran towards them. You were unable to resist the urge to smell them, breathing in their scent. This close, you noticed they were slightly bluer, closer to dark blue than purple.

You toyed with their petals, wondering where they could have come from. Perhaps your husband? Aemond was not very inclined towards romantic gestures, but there was no other explanation for it.

You were nearly bursting in excitement to see him. The flowers had been such a kind gesture, you could not help but feel a wave of affection. But no matter how much you wished for it, you had seen nor hide nor hair of Aemond.

Denying it was stupid on his part. Aemond will not protest against it. But what else could have he done? He had panicked. It's not like he meant to do so.

His mother held a weekly meal with all her children, and had taken to including you. Having often berated him about his treatment of you, it was not surprising that she had decided to take you under her wing.

Aemond did feel a bit guilty over his own coldness, but he wasn't really sure how he ought to behave. Apart from his sister and uncle, he had not seen many loving pairs during his life, and anyone would agree that Rhaenyra and Daemon should never be held up as examples of anything.

You were lonely, as of late. The twins had gotten old enough for lessons, and so, they had limited time to play with you in the gardens. You were far enough from home that the letters took a few days to reach you, too. As a young woman, almost too young to be forced to leave everything you knew behind, isolation must have been taking its toll.

Let's not forget you were not only two years his junior, but also a woman. You were of a fragile disposition, with your constant daydreaming and romantic thoughts. Aemond ought to have been paying more attention, but his mind had been busy elsewhere.

His father looked more and more close to death with each day that passed. His grandisre was constantly plotting. Without needing to be a seer, Aemond knew that things were not looking good. There would not be a peaceful reign for Rhaenyra.

He had been so caught up on his worries and duties, that Aemond had forgotten to take care of his woman. Aemond had not summoned you to his rooms that week, too wired to project the calm you would need in the days that would come. You would not do well if a war broke out.

Aemond had been quite lacking on his duty of taking care of you. Pretty little flower that you were, he could almost see you starting to wilt. You spent more time indoors, and stopped your daily walks in the gardens.

Despite fairness being regarded as a desirable trait for a lady, Aemond did not like the way your skin had lost its sun kissed glow. It just didn't fit you. Blue was more of his thing than yours, gorgeous golden woman that you were.

Hence, the flowers. Choosing the violets was an impulse. Aemond liked the colors and the smell was tolerable yet distinctive. He would know immediately when you received them, being able to smell them on your hair and clothes.

Sweet natured as you were, you had thanked him for them. The fact that you had liked them and associated them with him had been enough to warm his heart. The fact that you had decided to do so during the dinner with his siblings, enough to stomp on it.

It had not been quiet enough.

“Aemond?” Aegon frowned. “Aemond gave you flowers?”

Knowing his brother as he did, Aemond knew he was struggling hard to contain his laughter. He had been the butt of the joke too many times to confirm or deny anything. He would rather not be embarrassed in front of you.

But in truth, the idea of being weak, of being mocked, was not one that scared him. He had been humiliated many times during his childhood. What bothered him more was the thought of his feelings for you being exposed in such a manner. He was not prone to sudden bursts of affection, or doing thoughtful things for those he loved.

Aemond preferred to love in silence. There was no need for grandiloquence, or big gestures. Marriage was a sacred thing, between husband and wife. It was not something that had to be shared loudly. His love was spoken quietly, in the same way he had been taught to.

His mother loved quietly. His grandsire did, too. Their eyes spoke when their lips did not, their love a discordance with the words out of their mouths. Aemond had grown like that, loved but never told, learning it as a secret language that tied them all.

The flowers, though. The flowers had been a betrayal of their code. Something they would not understand because while everyone in the Red Keep was fluent in the art of loving and not saying a word, you were not. You were a foreigner, with your tales of romance and princess from a far away land.

This had been Aemond, clumsily speaking your language. Shy about it, as many people were when speaking one that was not theirs for the first time. It was hard. It was private, and certainly not something he wanted to be outed in front of Aegon, who would not know love for his wife if it hit him in the face.

His expression must have been deadly because Aegon had started squirming on his seat like his pants were on fire. Your face had fallen, turning into a terrible, sad thing, that made something funny to his heart.

“It wasn’t you. Of course.” Your voice was softer still. Aemond continued eating his dinner without a word. Because really, what could he say? Anything that he did now would be mocked by Aegon.

The way your face had fallen, brows pinching together in a sad little frown, had haunted him later. He wanted to fix things, but was unsure how. You were not used to his brusque manner and speech. Aemond felt it might do more harm than good, if he were to speak with you. He might end up offending you more without noticing.

Besides, how did one even start to explain that he had denied tacitly to gifting you flowers fearing not being understood and mocked? He would sound like a fool.

Instead, he had penned you a note. Instead of apologizing, Aemond had hoped to butter you up with a few compliments. You must have realized it, then, because you had walked the whole day as if floating in a cloud.

Come the ninth day of the next moon, you had nearly forgotten all about the incident. You had thrown away the flowers before they even had a chance to wilt, and the note had been burned to a crisp in your fireplace. You had convinced yourself having a secret admirer was improper for a married woman, and refused to give it more thought.

It was a bit strange, that your husband was not angered by it. Yet, at the same time, you supposed he was thankful for your discretion over the entire affair. Aemond was very sensible and smart, so it was logical he wouldn't blame you.

Aemond had kept summoning you to his chambers, be either for you to read to him or just to sit in silence. Your happiness persisted. Until your breakfast’s tray was set on your vanity.

You noticed it when you were sipping at your tea. Groggily, and confused, you found a piece of paper under your napkin. On a neat handwriting, there was a quote from one of the poetry books you favored.

You gave a tiny gasp. Your hands clenched on the paper, your cheeks heating up. The penmanship was not one you recognized, but the words made your knees nearly buckle. No one had written you sonnets before.

Ninth day, you realize. Same as the flowers. If not your husband, then who? The idea of the secret admirer came back, stronger this time. The dates could not be a coincidence, this had to be the same person. Ninth day of the ninth moon, then ninth day of the ten.

You started over analyzing each interaction you had with men. When the knights opened the doors for you, your eyes would linger on theirs. When a Lord would greet you, you would try to remind if he had something to do with violets.

You found yourself daydreaming of this man. Would he be an older man? Would he be prone to smiling, or would he share the stoic nature of your Prince? How would his hands feel on your skin? All the daydreaming made you feel guilty, for fantasizing about a man who was not your husband. Yet, at the same time, you knew that you would not act on it. You loved Aemond too much.

It was flattering, to be wanted in such a manner. You liked the idea of it because it was different from the love you were used to. But you would rather not meet the admirer, knowing you would have to reject him. You enjoyed the attention, not the person it came from.

There was only one person in Westeros that you wished would lavish you with attention and love. And you knew already he was not your secret admirer.

Secretly, sometimes, you thought of telling Aemond. What would his reaction be? The thought made butterflies flutter in your stomach. Would he get jealous? Would he turn more affectionate? You imagined he would want to claim you in some way.

Alone, at night, you pictured his eye, narrowed in anger. Those hands, gripping harshly at your hips, leaving bruises. His body over yours, his lips on your throat, your chest, your stomach. Your hands would follow the path that the imaginary Aemond's hands would take, caressing and groping until they reached their destination. You would arouse and tease yourself until you reached your peak, a scream of his name dying in your throat.

The wondering does not last to meet a third moon. No, because King Viserys passes away and Prince Aegon is crowned King. The whole Red Keep is in a state of disarray, and you feel oddly fearful, watching the constant movement the family seems to be in.

Even Queen Alicent, usually so kind and calm, is on edge. She seems on the verge of a neurotic episode, pacing frantically around the halls, muttering to herself. You can't help but feel something bad is about to happen.

Your husband is in a terrible mood. He seems to have a constant headache, and so, you have taken to being even more kind to him. Some nights, he will summon you to his chambers. He keeps asking you to read to him, but you can tell his mind is far away.

You try grounding him, placing your hand on his thigh or shoulder every chance you get. If you were more confident, you would try something more bold. Aemond seems to enjoy your touch, but he doesn't encourage you to do it. His face remains unmoved, and he keeps telling you to keep reading.

His only tell is that he always reciprocates. If your hand is on his shoulder, his goes to your hip. If you touch his back, Aemond caresses your hair.

It leaves you feeling a bit out of balance. It's entirely innocent, as if you were two children discovering love. Yet at the same time, you can't help but feel like you are burning up in your need for him.

He starts requesting for you to stay the night with him. Aemond never touches you beyond holding you to him, body pressed close to yours in a long, vertical line. Sometimes, you wake up to his manhood prodding you from behind, but he promptly excuses himself out of the bed you share. It makes your thighs clench up in need.

It's unbearable. You feel like you are going insane, your center pulsating in need each time you are near him. The simplest touches can set you on fire. You decide to be bolder, soon. You can't keep this state of affairs.

Before you can explore this new side of your connection, Aemond is pulled away. A mission for the King, he explains. You stay behind, feeling restless. Not having been told what his mission involved, nor where he was going, you can't help but worry. Aemond had taken Vhagar, and that, at least, gives you a slight sense of safety. You were familiar enough with his mount to know she could be his fiercest protector if she felt someone was threatening.

You spend your hours praying for his safe return, along with the Queen. While not part of the Small Council formed around Aegon, but you imagine quite well what they discussed. Alicent is as scared as you are.

You go to bed late that night. With Aemond away, you can't sleep, already used to his body pressing against yours. You had hoped exhaustion would help you overcome that problem.

It's even later when heavy footsteps and the slamming of a door rise you. In the dark, you can barely make out a silhouette. A tall man, holding a dagger.

You scream. The man grabs you roughly by the shoulders and pushes you to lay down on the bed. This close, you can feel that his clothes are strangely humid, as if dried in a rush. You had not considered it before, but the letters and violets do not seem so romantic anymore. Instead, they scare you. You find yourself faced with the possibility that this man might this be your secret admirer. Has he felt encouraged by your happiness? Is he dangerous?

There is a heavy candleholder on your nightstand. You reach for it in the dark, and swing at his head. The man yelps. You start to struggle against him. His tone is familiar to you.

“Seven Hells.” He curses. It's then that it hits you. This is Aemond. Aemond is back. You don't get to rejoice on it, or pull him to you, though. He keeps speaking, in a confused tone. “You… I… I made a mistake.”

Aemond gets up and away from you. His clothes still reek of humidity and sadness. You remain there, laying on your stomach, as you feel an uncontrollable urge to cry. There is something inside you that has been rattled until it broke, something that tells you that this Aemond is not your Aemond.

The next morning, you find out he has killed Lucerys Velaryon. Instead of going to his mother or grandsire, he had come straight for you. Aemond had been trying to forget on your skin, lose himself in you.

When you see the violets covering every inch of your room, bouquets over your bed, on your vanity and even the windowsill, your eyes sting. It's bittersweet to realize that, now that you look at them, their color is surprisingly close to a sapphire.

Dividers by yours truly. Por supuesto que la canción era Ramito de Violetas. Grande Zalo Reyes.

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vhagarlovebot · 1 year

Note

Ahh I better get this request out before it’s too late. I was thinking along the lines of angst to smut but with tender feelings at the end.

*Aemond is courting the reader and things have been going well, but reader has kept wondering when he will ever reveal his eye. She’s brought it up multiple times and he kind of brushed it off but one day there was a bit of an argument about how she feels a little betrayed that Aemond doesn’t trust her at this point in their relationship and Aemond’s insecurity bursts out and he bitterly tells her his past and he’s only ever heard bad things about his eye and that he’s convinced without the eyepatch he is unsightly enough for her to leave him. Reader carefully reassures him and he finally takes it off in front of her, and he was not expecting a soft reaction from her. Aemond becomes overwhelmed emotionally and he kisses her and pours all of his feelings into that kiss which leads into the first time they have sex. I’m sorry if it’s long I just wanted to give you enough detail so there won’t be any misconceptions. 🫣

gwen’s note: i have done a few works very similar to your req, so sorry if this is a little short.

“betrayed?!” aemond turns around, face red with anger. “you feel betrayed?” he asks, taking two long strides towards you. but you don’t back away, you stay firmly in place even if all you want is to take your words back.

aemond is so close that you clearly see every little freckle on his face, how sharp his cupid bow is, how long and painful the scar on his left side looks. you raise your hand to cradle his face but aemond grabs your wrist, stopping you as his right hand removes the eyepatch you’ve seen him wearing since the day you met him.

and you are left speechless. it is jaw-dropping, the sight you have in front. you don’t know what you were expecting but it was definitely not a gemstone filling the spot where his missing eye should have been.

but aemond takes your silence as a confirmation of what he already knew. you are disgusted, horrified, just like everyone else in king’s landing. and it’s not like he cares about what other people think, he only cares about what you think.

before aemond can pull away, you stand on your tiptoes, softly kissing the sapphire and along his scar. you can feel the exact moment aemond stops breathing.

“i know what you’re thinking.” you whisper, kissing down his jaw, his cheek and his nose, lips hovering over his. “you still are the prettiest man in all westeros.”

aemond’s heart flutters and tries to hide a smile, he wants to look angry, it’s easier for him. but every time you tell him how pretty he is, he transforms completely.

“say it again.” aemond wraps his arms around your waist and your body relaxes immediately at knowing he is no longer angry. “say i’m… pretty.”

“you’re not only pretty,” you say, your hands grabbing the lapels of his coat pulling him down to your level. “you are gorgeous, aemond targaryen.”

aemond crashes lips and teeth against yours in a desperate kiss. you sigh, melting into him, and his tongue brushes your lower lip, asking for a permission you instantly give as you move your head to the side for a better angle.

you start walking to the bed, still kissing him like it’s the last time and you need him to survive. but when his legs hit the mattress he pulls away, and you watch in silence how he tries to put the eyepatch back in its place.

“no!” you stop him, throwing the piece of leather somewhere in the room. “i don’t want you to hide from me.” you tuck his hair behind his ear and you lean in, lips brushing his neck as you whisper. “i— i want to look at it,” you drag your teeth against the skin of his neck, licking a path down and then up to that sensitive spot behind his ear where you suck. “and i want you to fuck me while i look at it.”

#📮 ⌇ my works ˖⋆࿐#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen scenarios #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd x reader

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boobamilktease · 7 months

Text

Tragic Fates - 1

Ever since I was a babe, my family had great relations with the Targaryens. My family had been there for the birth of Aegon, and they had been for the birth of my siblings, and eventually me.

Growing up with the Targaryens is a surprisingly stressful experience. I was always in the middle, never choosing a side, though I always leaned towards more Aemond’s side than others. Aemond, though he was quiet, was a joy to have around. He was like a much needed breath of fresh air….before the accident.

I wasn’t present for the accident when it occurred, but I did sneak to see him after the maester finished stitching his wounded eye. He looked so empty when I saw him…just sitting there. I remember gently creeping closer to him and I eventually called out to him.

“Aemond….are you ok?” I ask him, to which he doesn’t respond, only staring at what’s in front of him. Worry is written on my face and I attempt to call out to him once more. “Aemond…I heard what happened……” this statement seemed to finally snap him out of his daze as he stares at me with a cold look in his eye. “Why do you care? You won’t believe me….my own father doesn’t care enough to punish Lucerys!” Aemond says frustrated.

“I believe you Aemond…..I’ve been your friend for how many years now? And I do care about you! You are my friend! Blood related or not we are siblings.” I say, pouring my emotions to him…if he thought I didn’t care for him, he was entirely wrong.

Though, this didn’t stop the slight drift Aemond and I had between us. Aemond spent more time in his sword training and I was busy being prepared to be a wife. I was 14 when my betrothal was announced to the public. I was betrothed to a young lord of 18 who was not the ugliest man I’ve ever seen, but not the prettiest. Aemond was way more gorgeous than him.

Regardless, my wedding went without a fail, much to someone’s dismay. The bedding ceremony was as my mother described, mediocre at best. But what was interesting, was how Aemond stared at me all throughout the feast. Not once did he ask me to a dance, given they weren’t his thing though, and his eye never once drifted away from me.

For a while I thought I had done something to upset him, but in honesty I did nothing wrong. We never argued, we just slowly drifted apart as our lives became more complicated. Besides the mediocre bedding ceremony and many more attempts later, my marriage was ok. Obviously, I did not harbor any romantic appeal towards my betrothed, and surprisingly he understood.

We became more as friends than lovers, often telling jokes and gossip than having sex or producing heirs. I liked it this way, and so did he, but of course our families were concerned as to why no heirs had been conceived or at least a recorded attempt to conceive one. To that in which we came up with the little white lie saying I couldn’t be pregnant Ed resulting in a mistress.

As the years went by, my husband and the mistress were able to produce heirs enough to satisfy our families, and while they weren’t my children, I was an aunt to them. I was happy and proud that they were able to have children, and still consider me to be apart of their family. I was happy until I received a letter at my door stating that Prince Aemond was to be married soon and his wedding would be held in two moons. Instantly I was reminded of our history, and I was happy for him…right?

#hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #prince aemond #aemond x reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #fanfic

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damn-stark · 5 years

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Lost dragon finale

A/N- I know it’s long But i didn’t want to write another chapter... this is the final chapter I hoped you guys enjoyed this series as much as I enjoyed writing it!! :)

Warning- none really

Episode- 8x06

Pairing- Podrick Payne

We waited months to see Jon and Tyrion after they were inprisoned. All the lords and Lady’s of the great houses were gathered to discuss the fate of the inprisoned and the fate of Kingslanding. I loved reuniting with my cousin Arianne after not seeing her for years.

Greyworm came out and I noticed that only Tyrion was with him.

“Where’s Jon?” Sansa asked Greyworm also noticing that Jon was not brought like he was supposed to.

“He’s our prisoner.” Greyworm responded.

“So is lord Tyrion they were both to be brought to this gathering.”

“We will decide what to do with our prisoners. This is our city now.” Greyworm told Sansa bluntly. I just rolled my eyes.

“If you look outside the walls of your city you’ll see thousands of north man who will explain why harming Jon Snow is not in your interest.” Sansa threatened him but that didn’t cause him to react.

“Along with the golden company and dornish army.” Even If I didn’t see her I knew Sansa had a smirk on her face when I pitched in. Jon was also my brother even If I haven’t known him as long as they have he’s still my brother.

“And you will find a thousand of unsullied who believe that it is.” Greyworm said giving Sansa and me a glare.

“Some of you may be quick to forgive the ironborn are not. I swore to follow Daenerys Targaryen.”

“You swore to follow a tyrant.” Sansa said inturrpeting Yara. That comment that Sansa made did make me slightly mad. I knew what she did was a bad thing I know but she was still my family.

“She freed us from a tyrant. Cersei is gone because of her and Jon snow put a knife in her heart! Let the unsullied give him what he deserves.” Yara snapped.

“Say another word about killing my brother and I’ll cut your throat.” Arya threantend Yara finally shutting her up. Finally. Ser Davos tried to reason with Greyworm but it went how I expected. I knew Greyworm and the unsullied weren’t just get a piece of land and call it even, no. They want justice for Daenerys.

“Jon committed his crime here, his fate is for our king to decide... or our Queen.” Tyrion spoke out.

“We don’t have a king or queen.” One of the lords said.

“You’re the most powerful people in Westeros....choose one.” Tyrion told all of us.

“Make your choice then.” Greyworm said to us. I rested my hands on my very pregnant belly and looked around at all the us of gathered to see who was going to speak up first. It was quiet at first until a lord from riverrun spoke up but he was later told to sit down by Sansa. I wanted to laugh at the way she did that but I held it in not finding it quite appropriate for me to do so. I always did like the Starks and this was one of the reasons. Sam tried to tell us that we should let the people decide but that idea didn’t go well everyone didn’t take it seriously and we all laughed at it like it was some funny joke.

“Who then?” Ser Davos asked Tyrion after he had said that him being king was the worst idea because of who supported.

“I have had nothing to do but think these past few weeks about our bloody history. About the mistakes we’vemade.” Tyrion paused for a moment and slowly walked closer to all us. “What unites people, armies, gold, flags, stories there’s nothing in the world more powerful then a good story, nothing can stop it, no enemy can defeat it and who had a better story than Visenya the Beloved.” All eyes were on me now. I shifted in my seat. I was about to say something but I decided to let Tyrion finish.

“The girl who survived the sacking of kings landing. Went into hiding in Dorne because people wanted her dead. And that’s what everyone thought for so many years. She crossed the narrow sea, not to gain armies or to take over cities but to find the only family she thought she had left. And in that short time she accomplished a lot. She was loved by the people of Meereen not because of her name but because of her self. She helped those in need just like she did here. She fought for the north when she had no reason too. She could’ve taken a dragon and came here first but she wanted to fight by for what was right.....she’s saved me from people who have wanted to kill me when she had every reason to let them and or kill me herself..... she fought and fought... and she saved people because she didn’t want the people to suffer the same fate as her family once did. The people here think of her as a savior. The dragon princess who saved them from the dragon queen... she’s the very few of the Targaryens that people love.....who better to lead us to the future.” Tyrion explained.

I was lost for words I couldn’t speak. I looked over at Podrick who was right next to me. He only smiled and squeezed my hand.

“That is the wheel our Queen wanted to break.....from now on rulers will not be born they will be chosen on this spot by the lords and ladies of Westeros to serve the realm.....I know you don’t want it, i know you don’t care about power but I ask you now if we choose you will you wear the crown. Will you lead the seven kingdoms to the best of your abilities from this day until your last day.”

“I will.” I told Tyrion with a warm smile and tears in my eyes. I may not want the crown but it’s never about what we want is it.

“To Visenya of house Targaryen and Martell I say I.” Tyrion said. Arianne was the first one to say “I” followed by Gendry and sam and then the rest followed except for Sansa. She turned and looked over at me.

“I know we may not know eachother well but I do respect you not because we’re friends but because of what you’ve done you’ll be a great Queen but ten of thousand of north men fell in the Great War defending all of Westeros and those who survived have seen so much and fought to hard ever to kneel again. The north will remain an independent kingdom as it was for thousands of years.” Sansa told me. I nodded in agreement. Only because I heard how hard they have fought especially how hard she has fought for her home.

“All hail Visenya the Beloved first of her name, Queen of the Andals and first men, Lady of the six Kingdoms and protector of the realm.” Tyrion announced.

“All hail Visenya the Beloved!” The others then stood up and said at the same time. Tyrion bowed his head and then started to leave but before he did I stopped him.

“Lord Tyrion.” At the sound of his name he stopped and looked over at me. “You will be my hand.” I told him. I trust no one else beside him to be my hand.

“No your grace I don’t want it.”

“And I don’t want to be queen.”

“I don’t deserve it, i thought I was wise but I wasn’t I thought I knew was right but I didn’t. Chose Ser Davos choose anyone.”

“You cannot.” Greyworm said to me. I only furrowed my eyebrows.

“But I can.” I stated to him with a glare.

“This man is a criminal he deserves justice.”

“He just got it, he’s made many terrible mistakes, he’s going to spend the rest of life fixing them.”

“It is not enough.”

I stood further away from the docks where the stark siblings were both of us waiting for Jon to come out. I didn’t want to stand by them because it was going to be there own moment with their brother and I didn’t want to be in the way of that. When Jon finally came out he walked over to me he looked a little suprised on seeing me because last time we saw one another I didn’t even show and because he didn’t even know I was with child and now I was about to explode.

“Your grace.” He said while he took knee in front of me.

“Please Jon there’s no need for that.” I told him while I extended my hand to help him up. He took it and stood up.

“I’m sorry for what I did please forgive me.” He said with a deep frown. Even if he didn’t exactly say her name I knew he was talking about her.

“There’s nothing to forgive Jon.... I was going to do the same thing.” I told him with a frown. I looked over at the sea and then back to him. “You know that Greyworm and the rest of unsullied are leaving right? They’re never going to come back So that means you don’t really have to go.” I told him with a small smile. He chuckled slightly.

“It’s what’s right and plus I don’t want you to go into war if he found out.” He said sincerely. Even if I tried to argue with him to stay and not go to the wall I knew I wouldn’t win he was too stubborn.

“Well if you ever get tired of being up there then you’re welcome to come back anytime you want or even go to the north it is an independent kingdom after all.” I said. It got quiet for a couple seconds between the both of us.

“I know we didn’t know eachother long both as siblings or as friends but I’m glad I got to meet you.” He said to me with a small smile.

“I’m glad I know you too Jon... thank you for everything.” We then gave one another hug and when we broke apart he looked down at my belly.

“Take care of yourself and of your little one...write to me after it’s born.”

“I will.. bye Jon.”

“Bye Visenya.”

After being crowned I named Ser Brienne as the First Lady commander of the Queen’s guard in the six kingdoms. And she knighted Podrick after. I also named Bran stark master of whisperers. Some of the golden company stayed in Kingslanding but a lot of them stayed. And Harry Strickland became part of the queens guard.

Podrick and I also got married after I was crowned because we didn’t find it apprioate to get married before with everything going on. So that made him a Ser and a King which his friend Bronn teases him for. Before I was crowned though the baby was born. A girl. Rhae Targaryen . She had the prettiest brown eyes and dark hair. Podrick wanted to take my name instead of me have his, he said something about, after me hiding my name for so long that he didn’t want me to hide it no more.

My sigil instead of being three dragon heads is now a dragon around a sun with a spear in between it. Signifying my two houses.

“Your grace.” The members of the small council said as I entered the room. I still find it weird that they call me that. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.

“We seem to be missing a master of law.” I told them as I took seat on the far end of the table.

“Yes your grace a suitable prosepect will be brought to you for an audience in the coming weeks.” Tyrion responded.

“And drogon any word?” I asked.

“He was last spotted flying east towards vola—”

“The farther away the better.” Bronn inturrpted Sam.

“Perhaps I can find him due carry on.” Bran said and then he was taken out of the room.

“Ser Bronn of Blackwater, Lord of high garden, lord paramount of the reach and master of coin would you say that crowns debt to you has been payed?” Tyrion asked Bronn. I raised my eyebrow waiting for a response.

“At full my lord hand and your grace.”

“Good time to start incurring a new one. We have hungry people to feed can we expect some assitance in this regard?” I asked Bronn.

“Indeed we can.”

“Lord Davos we have an armada to rebuild ports to repair.” Tyrion said.

“ we have these projects will begin as soon as the master of coin and lofty titles provides funding.” Ser Davos said directing his comment to Bronn.

“The master of coin looks forward to helping the master of ships but first he has to ensure we’re not wasting coin or soon there won’t be no more coin.”

“Anymore.” Lord Davos corrected Bronn.

“You master of grammar now too.” Bronn responded causing me to laugh a bit.

“Grand maester it is my theory that on my years of work on Castrly rock sewers that clean water takes lead healthier population.” Tyrion told Sam.

“The archmaester has done some research on this subject and it turns out—.”

“The strong live and the weak don’t.” Bronn said not letting sam finish.

“Find the best builders and set them to the task.” Tyrion said.

“Master of war how are we doing on rebuilding our army?” I asked looking over at Daario. I didn’t trust anyone else beside Daario to be master of war. He was commander of the second sons and he’s a great fighter. He was loyal to Daenerys and even if he was devastated by the news he still thought it would be honor to serve by my side.

“We’re getting there I brought some of the second sons here so that means that they’re joining and some of the golden company have joined too we’re still working to add more soilders. We will train them hard so they can be the best army.”

“Good.”

“Speaking of builders all the best brothels burned down the master of coin is willing to fund reconstruction.” Bronn said.

“The arch maester is less than enthusiastic about the salutary affect of brothels.”

“I imagine he isn’t using them properly.”

“I think we can all take agree ships take precedence over brothels.”

“I think that’s a very presumptions statement.”

“I once brought a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel.”

“Oo you never did finish that joke.”

—

Visenya ruled gracefully and well over the span of ten years until she stepped down from the throne and went back to Sunspear with her husband Podrick. Where they enjoyed their time in the water gardens and everything Dorne had to offer. They ended up having five more kids over the span of those ten years. They both lived very happy lives togther the knight and the princess. She got what she always wanted. A family of her own filled with love. She got what her parents didn’t have. She got love. In her life she thought she was lost with nowhere to go. If she wanted to seek revenge or if she wanted fire and blood. She didn’t know what she wanted or where to go.... but she later figured out that she didn’t want revenge or a fight no. She was never lost she was always where she needed to be.

#game of thrones imagines #game of thrones #game of thrones fanficiton #got s8 #got #got imagine #podrick payne #jon snow #sansa stark #arya stark #bran stark #tyrion lannister #bronn of the blackwater #ser brienne #ser davos #samwell tarly #daario naharis #arianne martell

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dierwolves · 6 years

Text

robb stark; to get together

Request: Imagine you are Baratheon betrothed to Robb Stark, and you don’t get along at first but when he gets in while you were changing and he can help but think you are the prettiest girl (even tho he thought it at first as well) and make love to you?

Notes: I’m not convinced… I hope you like it, because I honestly love Robb and it’s the first time I write about him. It’d be lovely if you sent some Robb requests. Enjoy!

Warning: Smut ahead!

You stood still in front of the railway, watching the rain fall over Winterfell with pursed lips. A moon had already passed since your wedding. A moon since your parents had locked you up in Winterfell. You couldn’t believe it. Your father had tricked you into believing the trip to the North was a mere formality, that nothing involving you would happen, but he had lied. You had hoped if you were to ever get married, it would be to some Lord of the South. You were the only daughter your father, the King, was fond of, but you could only guess that your venomous mother had something to do with your marriage to Robb Stark. There was nothing wrong with him: he was nice and chivalrous and it seemed like he would never harm you. But so did your father, so did Ned Stark and so did Rhaegar Targaryen, and the three of them had betrayed or harmed their espouses in some way or another, some of those having a terrible ending. Furthermore, you haven’t got off on a good start.

“My lady, would you mind to walk with me?”

“I’d rather not.”

He seemed shocked at this, as if he wasn’t expecting such answer.

“Excuse me, my lady?”

You sighed, thinking of a way to end this conversation rather quickly. “If we are going to spend the rest of our lives together, I would like to have some time on my own, for now.”

You knew he wanted to retort, but he held back, turned around and walked away. It was strange for Robb Stark to be impolite, especially towards women. Had you really offended him that much?

That happened a few weeks before the wedding. You had apologised to Robb, and he had accepted your apology, but you still didn’t talk much,he was being quiet cold with you. It was understandable, you thought, as you had been extremely rude with him. But you weren’t about to apologise, you knew you were too proud for that. So you both were kind of stuck right now. You had to fix it, because even if you weren’t going to love each other, at least you hoped you could live in harmony.

Robb was having these thoughts too. He wasn’t like you. Of course, ignoring you had felt pleasant the first few days, but after that, he started to feel some remorse: he really wanted to have a happy marriage, and if there was any chance, just like it happened with his parents, he hoped he would fall in love with his wife at some point.

You had started to get to know him by watching him interact with other people. You had guessed right: he was nice, chivalrous, and he didn’t take you for a stupid girl. He actually took into consideration what others said and thought. However, you still feared he’d eventually turn into a worse man. Furthermore, after the wedding ceremony, he had stopped every man in the room from groping or handling you. He escorted you to your new room, his room, with Grey Wind trailing behind you. That night, Robb has slept at a considerable distance from you, with Grey Wind at your feet.

You had settled into a somewhat comfortable routine. He woke up before you, got dressed and left you alone so you could get dressed. You’d do so, and you’d spent the rest of the day either hidden in the library, the forest or the crypt; doing what were considered lady activities with Sansa; or simply walking around with Grey Wind. You also read some books to Bran; he said he liked your accent. You tried to avoid Lady Catelyn and her watchful eye, which was always looking at your belly. She expected it to grow into a pregnant belly soon, but it wasn’t likely to happen as Robb and you had yet to consummate your marriage. Robb had respected your decision to push that moment back, but you wondered how long it would be until he started looking for another woman.

That night, you were in the bathtub. It was part of your non-spoken deal. He stayed in the library, or training with his sword, and you had the freedom to have a bath by yourself, no husband and no maids.

Suddenly, the sound of a crack startled you. You turned to the door, where Robb was standing facing the wall, although you could still see his red cheeks.

“What are you doing there?!”

“You fell asleep, my lady. I thought you’d already be in bed.” He said with a quiet voice. You looked through the window, and the moon was high in the sky. It was, indeed, very late. You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t just stand up and grab your night clothing, Robb was in the room. He noticed this, and turned back again to the door. “Do you want me to leave?”

You thought for a moment. It had to happen at some point, and even if it didn’t happen this night, it would be a big step forward if you started to feel comfortable around him. So you stood up from the tub, water dropping from your body, and approached the table where the towels were neatly folded. You could see Robb’s eyes widen, and his cheeks redden. You smirked at this: you wondered if the stony boy from the North had ever seen a naked woman before. You dried your body and grabbed the nightdress. Robb had yet to speak. He was sitting at the other side of the bed back turned to you.

“Robb, are you okay?”

He nodded. “Yes, don’t worry, my lady.”

When you finished getting dressed, you turned your eyes, and you understood why Robb had been so awkwardly quiet. There was a bulge in his trousers, and even if you had never lain with a man before, you were from King’s Landing: you had seen enough to know what that meant. You coughed. “Robb…”

He blushed, and gave you the most embarrassed look you had ever seen. “I’m so sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean to…”

“It is fine Robb; it’s not something you can mean to. It happens.” You stayed in silence for a few minutes, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts, until you spoke again. “Have you been with another woman, since we got married?”

His brow creased, and he seemed outraged by your question. “Of course not! You are my wife. I would never do that.”

You hadn’t noticed the weight that suddenly lifted from your chest. You hadn’t noticed how the fear of betrayal had affected your mood. Anyway, you suddenly felt the need to show Robb the appreciation you had rejected for weeks, and that he clearly felt for you.

“Robb, do you think we could…?”

He turned to you, unsure about whether he had understood what you meant. “Now… you mean…”

You nodded, and decided to take the lead. You pulled a little from his shirt, letting him know you wanted him to undress. He did so very quickly, and when he turned around, you had got rid of the nightgown you had covered yourself with. His eyes were fixated on your chest. He looked at your face, to check one more time whether you were sure about this, but there was no doubt in your eyes.

He delicately caressed your breast, his eyes shining in wonder. It was hard to believe he had never touched a woman’s teat before, but that was the case. You engulfed his large hand in your own and squeezed, craving more contact. He took the hint and started massaging them stronger. He pinched your nipples, giving you a pleasurable pain. He moved his face to your chest and he started licking, softly at first, but he quickly added some biting. His tongue was making your nipples harder, and heat to pool in your lower belly.

I brought a shaky hand to her cock. He noticed, so he did the same you had done and put his hand over yours. “I’ll tell you.” You nodded.You started of slow, but you slowly increased the speed of your hand. He left you do it alone, and his pleasured face only encouraged you to continue. You were so focused doing this that you hadn’t noticed Robb’s hand sneak between your folds. The cold of his hand made you hiss.

“Sorry, if you don’t-” You shushed him and gave him a kiss on the lips, his light stub itching you.

“It’s just, your hands are cold.” He nodded and moved his hand back to your pussy. He played a little with your little nub. Your knees gave away, even if you were on the bed, and you grabbed him by the shoulders. When you noticed you had stopped pleasuring him, you went to put your hand back on his cock, but he stopped you and moved your hand back to his shoulders. You wanted to complain, but your words were caught on your throat when he pushed one finger inside you.

“Oh, Robb…”

“Y/N…” You smiled. It was the first time he used your name, and what a great moment to do so. You moved your head to his neck, and left wet kisses from his ear, to his neck and where his chest started. You had begun to move your hips over his finger. He pushed a second finger inside of you, while he kept a finger on your clit. You hugged him tighter and open your legs a little bit more. Robb could feel your juices slip around his hand. He couldn’t believe he was finally sharing this intimate moment with you. You knew it wouldn’t be soon until you’d come, so you decided to tell him.

“Robb, let’s change…”

You didn’t finish your sentence, you were already moving away from his embrace. He removed his hand looking confused, and taking advantage of his confusion, you pushed him against the bed and straddled him, giving him a sly smirk.

“What are you doing, Lady Y/N?” You rolled your eyes at his formality, and sat straddling him. You started kissing his neck, and lowered to his chest and abdomen until you reached his hard member. You had never done it before, but you had heard your maids talk. You licked the tip, and looked at his face: he was closing his eyes tight, and his mouth hanging open. You didn’t dare to put it all in your mouth, so you grabbed the base of his cock while you sucked the tip. He didn’t seem to mind by the moans you heard. It didn’t last long, as Robb was scared he would release inside your mouth. He softly raised you and pushed you against the bed.

“Do you mind if I return the favour?” You moved your head from left to right, and he went straight up to your core. He kept your legs wide open, holding you from you thighs. He gave a teasing lick, and he seemed to enjoy it. He quickly noticed how every time he licked on your little nub you’d jump on the bed, so he started sucking there, making you cry louder than ever. You were so lost in your pleasure, that you barely noticed him slipping a finger inside your moist hole. It was a pleasuring sensation. He inserted a second finger, and a quiet cry of pain left your lips. He took his fingers out quickly, which left you an uncomfortable feeling of emptiness.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, go on. It felt good.” You said with a strained voice.

“Are you sure? Because I’ve heard it can be quite painful-”

Ignoring him, you supported yourself on your forearm and grabbed his hand. He got the cue, and went back to fingering you. Robb, in an attempt to distract you from the possible pain, brought one of his hands to your breast, and started softly caressing it. The love with which he was touching you left you completely dazed. His fingers inside you, his hand on your chest, his tongue on your clit, it was all too much too handle for your first time.

“Robb, I’m ready.”

He raised his eyes, and this time he didn’t question anything. He hovered over you, holding his weight with one arm while he held your waist with the other. He moved it to the base of his shaft, guiding it inside you. He left a relieved moan, while you groaned at the size of him: two fingers compared to that were nothing. It took a while for you to get used to it, and you were thankful for Robb, who was attentive enough to wait for you. You started to feel pleasure growing on your lower belly, and your hips moved upwards to meet with his. Robb looked at you with questioning eyes, and you nodded. He started moving, little but little, and then speeding up, until he was humping at an unexpected pace. In a mix of sweat, clashing skin and shaky breaths, you both came. You both stayed quiet, regaining your breaths, still unable to believe what just happened. Robb was still inside you. When he came back to reality, he moved from you and lay next to you. You were unsure, but you got closer to him and rested your head on his chest. He covered you both with some thick furs, making sure to keep the heat.

“Are you okay? It isn’t too cold, right?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry Robb.”

You settled into a comfortable silence until Robb spoke again. “So, was it good? Are we good?”

You had to stifle a laugh at his innocence. “Yes, we are good. We’ll do just fine.”

Maybe, it would be a happy marriage, after all.

#Robb Stark #robb stark x reader #got #got fanfiction #got imagine #got one shot #game of thrones #game of thrones one shot #game of thrones imagine #robb stark imagine #robb stark oneshot

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letitia-is-cross · 7 years

Text

Spill out my Passions upon your Feet

JONxSANSA, Modern Royalty AU, Oneshot, 6911 words, Uses all the jonsa smut week prompts in one. Read it on AO3

Summary:

“Why do you torture yourself like this?” “No one, Rhaenys, you cannot tell her, or him, or anyone.” Oh Jon, she thought, everyone that matters, already knows.

As they grew, their feelings grew, but an impossible love tangled up in the royal families of modern day Westeros is doomed to fail, no matter how much Jon may burn for Sansa, and she may ache for him.

Dedicated to Amymel86 as she is fabulous and kind and wonderful and honestly is just a wonderful part of this fandom.

"Which one is she?"

Rhaegar crouched down next to his son, looking at the official portrait of the Royal Family of the North.

"Which one do you think she is?"

A young finger smudged the glass over the face of a little girl with grey eyes and a begrudging smile.

"That one? With the dark hair like Rhaenys?"

"No, not that one."

"The red haired one then, like her Mum."

The King of the Crownlands watched his son's small face, curious for his reaction.

"Yes that's her; your future bride. What do you think?"

Thin, 12 year old shoulders shrugged.

"Pretty I guess. Do I really have to marry her though, Father?"

Big eyes looked up into his, Rhaegar sighed, they were just like the boy's mother's.

"Yes Aegon, you do."

Jon Targaryen hurtled down the palace corridor, skipping round a corner and skidding on the marble floors.

"Rhaenys! Wait! Wait for me!"

A gleeful laugh drifted back down towards the dark haired boy, and he pushed his skinny 10 year old legs all the faster.

Rounding the last corner, his dress shoes flying across the polished staircase, he slammed into the legs of his Father.

"Jon! You're late!"

"Sorry Father, I lost track of time reading and- and Rhaenys challenged me to a race, and then I had to changed my pants because I slipped-"

Seeing the upward tick of his Father's mouth, and knowing that he wouldn't face any penalties today of all days, Jon blew out the rest of his breath and took his place beside his sister.

Jon wasn't too worried, after all, whilst it was the arrival of a Royal Family, this wasn't the state greeting and there was no one to report on his tardiness in such close company.

He was glad of his timing a minute later though, when the doors opened to the drive and he and his family stepped out just before the line of Range Rovers pulled up carrying the King in the North and his family.

Excitement thrummed through him. Whilst not directly, his Mother had been the 2nd cousin twice removed or some such relation of the King of the North, and they had grown up together. Before she had passed, his Mother would tell him such wonderful stories of the North and of the king, Ned Stark. Jon could feel himself near vibrating in anticipation of meeting the man she had spoken so fondly of and his family.

The car door opened and out stepped a man with an austere brow and straight lips, followed by a beautiful lady with long dark red hair.

Their picture of elegance was soon ruined by the spilling of three children from the back of the car. A boy around his age, with his mother's hair in riotous curls, a girl around five that looked much like him but was twisting her head every which way to take in her surroundings, and a boy around four whose hair was a reddish brown and looked to be bouncing in giddiness at the sights before him.

Jon's vision was soon stolen however, by another girl stepping out, holding a boy around two by his hand, hair brighter than her mother or her siblings held back in a French braid.

She was her mother in miniature, down to the elegant way she led her little brother over to her Mother to be held by her.

Jon quickly rattled the names of the Stark children off in his head, matching them to the portrait used to teach him their names.

Robb stood next to his father now, a grin splitting his face. Next him was the second Stark princess, Arya, the one who looked like her father and like him. Bran stark stood next to his Mother, Rickon Stark in her arms.Â

Between her parents stood Sansa Stark, first Princess of the North and- Jon didn't bother to close his gaping mouth- the prettiest girl Jon had ever seen.

Sansa giggled as Jon placed a wreath of flowers on her head, brushing a fallen petal out of her eyes.

He grinned back, folding into a sweeping bow, hands flourishing at his sides.

At the ridiculously flamboyant action, Sansa couldn't help but break into peals of gasping laughter, joined a second later with Jon's soft but hearty chuckles.

"Well, Queen of Love and Beauty, what would you have of your Knight, my service is yours."

A failure of a wink accompanied his words and Sansa laughed all the harder.

"Jon- oh gosh- Jon-"

"How rude! The lady laughs at my declaration! I am wounded to the core!" Jon clasped a hand to his chest to accompany his melodramatic teasing.

Sansa fell down on the grass clutching her stomach, soundless gasps escaping her.

Soon, Jon joined her on the well manicured lawn, laughing along as they gazed up at the branches above.

Sansa turned her head to view the boy lying next to her, giggling now and then, reminded of his antics.

Sometimes she didn't know how she had thought he was rude and didn't like her, the first time they met. Although Jon hadn't been able to speak four words in a row together to her for the first three days, which had rather upset her sensibilities. He had been verbose enough with her siblings, especially Robb and Arya, who had all become thick as thieves.

It was that, really, that had changed things.

...

Sansa wasn't silly. She wasn't stupid. And they would be the only reasons to cry about stupid sisters and brothers, and princes that didn't invite her to play.

She had been having fun with Rhaenys anyway, they had become fast friends, sharing a love of all things beautiful and bonding over brother's that could be absolutely intolerable at times, although she did love hers dearly, especially Robb, who always looked after her.

So she wouldn't have been able to play knights and dragons anyway, but still. It hurt. It hurt that they didn't ask.

It was all Jon Targaryen's fault!

He was so friendly and nice to all her siblings, he even got along with Arya, and she didn't like too many people, she had asked Robb if Jon had said he didn't like her, but Robb had just said he hadn't, though-

"Don't be silly Sansa, he definitely likes you, and if he didn't he'd get in trouble from me!"

At that, he had flexed his arm in a poor imitation of the strong men at the Northern Games, and grinning cheekily.

She had forgotten her worry that afternoon after that, but it all came rushing back now.

Sansa had been nice! She had curtsied, and said hello and smiled, and she had thought he looked very nice, she had liked his pretty eyes.

But he had just stood there, gaping like a fish, until his sister had elbowed him!

She didn't understand! Aegon was nice, he talked to her properly, Sansa couldn't help but he glad he was her betrothed, even if she hadn't seen him much, and he seemed to prefer playing with his other friends than with them, and didn't have nearly as pretty eyes as-

Well. She would give Prince Jon a piece of her mind.

Tears still welling in her eyes, Sansa stomped as gracefully as possible over to the garden where Rhaenys said Jon would likely be.

Seeing him bent over some flowers, looking ever so peaceful, Sansa stopped trying to be graceful and ran over to the boy, planting herself in front of him.

"Princess Sansa!"

Sansa took in his widening eyes and flushed face happily, thinking he had finally realised his rudeness, but would not be deterred from a proper dressing down.

"Prince Jon, if you don't like me then-then that is okay, but I want to know why!" Sansa allowed herself to stomp her foot at this point, too upset to care for being ladylike.

"What- don't like- wait-"

"Don't try and say you don't! You won't talk to me when I try, but you talk to everyone else, and you play with the others and not me and- and you didn't even ask me!"

Sansa wasn't used to not being liked, especially by people she wanted to like her. She always tried to be nice, and she couldn't think of anything she'd done to Jon.

Frustrated and embarrassed about having to confront the boy before her, the tears that had been welling, started to escape.

They jumpstarted Jon out of his shocked silence.

"Oh no! Sansa, oh don't cry, please don't cry, oh gods-"

"You shouldn't say that, it's rude to the gods," Sansa managed to interject between hasty sniffles and wiping her face.

"I'm sorry, I won't, just please, please, please don't cry. Here, have this-"

Sansa took the handkerchief with slight suspicion, not sure why he was talking to her now, and even being nice!

"I'm really sorry Princess, I didn't mean to make you think that. I was just worried- I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of you."

"What?"

"Well, you're so good at being a Princess, and you're very proper, and pretty, and polite, and I didn't want to look an idiot."

Sansa considered this in between blowing her nose.

"Here, just wait, let me, let me get something, I'll be right back, don't move!"

Sansa watched as the boy ran off to the palace backwards, shouting back as he went.

Deciding to wait she sat down. Well. That was a stupid reason not to talk to her. He just went and embarrassed her.

But he had called her pretty, so he couldn't be all bad.

She might, maybe, possibly forgive him.

Brought out of her deliberations by her name being called again, she turned to see Jon running back towards her across the lawn.

"Here, I made this for you today, but I was too scared to give it to you, that's why I didn't ask you to play too."

He placed a garland of daisies, lopsided and shedding, upon the crown of her head.

Sansa didn't know what to say, but she thought, as she tackled him with a hug, that she could, probably, definitely, forgive him after all.

...

Three years later, Jon was 13 and Sansa was 11, and they were, Sansa thought, the very best of friends.

Well of course, Rhaenys was also her best friend, but she had best friends her age as well, and her and Rhaenys talked about different things than her and Jon. It was just different.

After all, no one knew how to make Sansa laugh like Jon did. Except for maybe Robb (and Arya when they were on the same side, but she wouldn't admit that under pain of death) and he never did so with the soft gentleness of Jon.

Jon was always gentle, so very, very gentle.

Smiling fondly over at her knight, lying beside her under the blue skies and warm wind, Sansa knew what she wished for.

"I want my knight to smile more, if it pleases you. After all Sir Jon, you have such a pretty grin, I would not want to waste it."

Jon grinned at her.

"As my Lady commands."

"Why does Aegon have to marry Sansa?"

Rhaenys looked over at her littlest brother, sitting on her bed, confused eyes peering up at her.

She sighed, you'd think at 15 years old, the boy would have asked such a question before, but it had never really been an issue, before this year.

"Is this about Sansa not being able to spend time with you as much this year? I know you've already had an argument with her about it, so don't lie and deny it!"

Jon's naturally brooding face grew even more brooding.

"...maybe."

Rhaenys gave an even bigger sigh, gods, why did she have to put up with such idiots, really.

"Aegon shall be king, little brother, and Sansa shall be queen. That is why they must marry. The insult and harm done to the North in the past century, partly by our grandfather, can only be mended by the sharing of power that a betrothal would achieve. The treaty was made so that it was ensured a Northerner would have say in the treatment of their homeland, sharing the throne is the only way to ensure this.

"Aegon and Sansa must marry because they are the first to fulfil the requirements of the treaty, Jon. They are, unfortunately, in this situation, the sacrificial goats."

"But-but, why not have you marry one of the Stark boys! You are eldest, and first in line to the throne!"

Rhaenys shook her head, Jon knew these facts already, knew the answers to his questions, but he refused to think it all through.

"It is how the treaty sets out the balance of power Jon, you know this. A Queen married to a King has more power than a prince consort married to a Queen, and besides, the agreement was set out before the rites of inheritance were changed. I certainly am more than glad to relinquish my rights to the crown and I also would rather not marry any man."

At this, Jon let out a begrudging chuckle, but his eyes still frowned and his lips were tinged melancholy.

"Jon, listen. Go and find Sansa, apologise to her and then run amok with her as you always have. Treasure the time you do have together, rather than mourn what you do not."

"Are you... wearing... a dress?"

"So you have spotted the change, my dear third-cousin-of-my-father's-brother's-mother-in-law!"

Robb slung an arm around Jon's neck as he joined him and Arya in their corner of the ballroom.

Jon rolled his eyes exasperatedly at his fellow prince, whose commitment to his long-standing joke of giving Jon the most ridiculous relation possible was going on 6 years.

Turning back to Arya, he asked once again, "Are you actually wearing a dress? You've never worn a dress, you hate dresses, what did your Mother possibly blackmail you with to get you to wear a dress?"

And it was not as ridiculous question as it sounded. Arya's hatred of dresses had become legendary throughout all the royal families of Westeros. Not once had she worn one to a state dinner or ball. Not. Once.

But tonight, she had on a dark green, almost black creation that sat high on her neck, leaving her arms sleeveless, and was form fitting except from where it swept out from the base of her waist. In... a... skirt?

The dress looked wonderful, no doubt of that, and Jon noted absently that Prince Gendry Baratheon was making no secret of the glances he sent Arya's way every few minutes. It somehow made it look like Arya was nearing tall, or at least not short, as she admittedly was.

"Wait! Don't! I want to say it!" Arya huffed and rolled her eyes but let her older brother interject once more.

He coughed regally before saying in a voice almost too pompous to bear, "It is an 'elongating wide-legged silhouetted jumpsuit'."

"Uh. A what?"

Jon thought Arya might strain herself with the force of her eye rolling at him this time.

"It's a jumpsuit you idiot, but it's wide legged, so it looks like a skirt."

"Ahhh, I understand now. Yup, well. It looks great, where did you get it?"

At this, Arya actually smiled fondly, her lips quirking up in a soft smirk.

"Silly Sansa made it for me actually. She found out that I, well that I," and here Arya blushed, "that I wanted to look good tonight. Like a girl. Pretty. I wanted to look pretty.

"She didn't tell me, she just put it on my bed the other night and let me find it. I thought it was a dress too, almost didn't try it on. But I did, and Jon, it's so comfy! And I can still run! And there's no weird breezes, and I'm not worrying about looking stupid and it fits so well. And it's well, it's perfect."

Jon could hardly believe his ears. Arya, whose praise was usually around two syllables long on a generous day, was gushing. Gushing.

"Yup, good old Sansa, she came through for you, little sister," and with a push that had her glaring at him, Robb spurred Arya over towards the Stormlands contingent with a wink. "Go impress Prince Charming now, and thank Sansa when you do!"

Jon was mostly otherwise occupied when Robb started talking to him again after that though, sweeping his gaze around to find Sansa, wondering if she had seen their little gathering take place.

Finally he caught sight of her, and whilst he registered a brief feeling of discomfort in his stomach at seeing her in the arms of some Reach lord, he could only admire the radiant smile on her face as she watched her sister punch Gendry Baratheon on the shoulder after he whispered something in her ear as they danced.

Watching her, watching them, so kind, so sweet, so Sansa- Jon felt something within him give way.

Gods, she was just so- Sansa.

"Sansa, if you could be anything, anything but what and who we are, who would you be?"

"A florist. Or a jeweller. Maybe a fashion designer. Or a historian. But probably a florist."

Jon hummed, pushing a stray hair behind Sansa's ear as she sat before him mending a rip in his favourite sweater. Of course he could afford another one with the blink of his eye, but he could never turn down Sansa when she asked to fix something, to care for him.

"Why a florist?"

Jon could see her as one though, surrounded by beautiful, natural, flowering creatures all day. Just like her. Quickly he tucked that sort of thought away, even though admiring Sansa had been part of his makeup since he first met her.

He could hardly stop himself now.

"Flowers can mean so much. And I'm not just talking about the language of flowers, I mean, what flowers mean to the people that give them, that receive them."

Giving up on looking anywhere else, Jon lay back, resting his head on her lap whilst stretching his legs out before him on the grass.

"How so?"

Sansa finally put down his sweater and focused on him; Jon smothered the cheer that went up inside of him at having her undivided attention.

"Well a lover can give flowers because they want to romance someone, because they want to seduce someone, or they could do it merely because the flower reminded them of how beautiful their love is, to brighten their day, to just say, I love you. And flowers can be a thank you, for loving me, yes, but for caring for me, for being with me, for standing by me. And they can be a celebration, a memory or a mourning all at once."

"A memory. Like you and me, and your wreath?"

Jon held his breath, cursing at himself for suggesting such a thing, unsure if he wanted her to admit the flowers meant the same to her as they did to him.

But then Sansa smiled that gorgeous tender thing, that Jon had only ever seen in this glade, this little patch of garden that was theirs. And in that moment, he felt the restlessness that crawled along his shoulders every time he was near her lately, that had plagued him since he realised Sansa was becoming a woman, settle.

And in that moment, Jon felt at once laid open to every eye that thought to look, and as though the world was at his fingertips.

"Yes, Jon. Like you and me."

"Jon- Jon! You need to calm down. Please, calm down-"

"How, Sansa?! How am I meant to calm down when he goes and pulls shit like that! As if he doesn't know he insults you every time he-"

"Jon. Calm. Down. Now."

Sansa was pleased to see Jon snap his mouth shut at her firm tone, glad that after twelve years of friendship she still had the upper hand.

She was less glad that he proceeded to kick a chair halfway across the room.

As soon as he did it though, Sansa could see his eyes widen and him quickly turn to her, hands out placating and eyes wide and gorgeous, hoping he hadn't scared her.

"Shh, I'm fine. It's fine Jon, I'm used to it."

As soon as she said it she knew her words would have the opposite effect to her intention.

He blew up again.

"But that's it! You shouldn't have to used to it! There shouldn't be an it in the first place. He shouldn't ever even bloody look at another woman! He's got the best one bloody well promised to him since birth but the fucker still feels the need to fuck around?"

Sansa could see Jon's shoulders shaking in his fury, felt the tremble in his chest as she placed a hand over his heart. She couldn't help the swelling in her own chest at his words, stamped down the melting of her legs and the porcelain smile trying to break across her face.

"Jon you know as well as I, that what Aegon feels for me, or I for Aegon, is inconsequential. If he wishes to have his flings, why should I stop him. As long as they do not continue when we are married-"

"If he dared-" Jon snarled out his words, obviously too angry to finish.

"He will not. Do not worry for me Jon. I will be fine. I am strong."

"Aye," and finally Jon let his grimace fall to a fond stare, "that you are. You really are strong."

"Good. Now stop being jealous," Jon spluttered but couldn't get a denial out in time, "and come read to me, I'm rather cold and could do with company on the sofa, and I do so love your Mr. Darcy impression."

And as always, Jon grinned.

"As my Lady commands."

"Sansa?"

Jon could see her hastily wiping away tears, using the sleaves of her dressing gown instead of the handkerchief she always seemed to have at the ready.

She turned a bright smile over to him, trying to hide the redness of her eyes behind the brilliance of her grin.

As per usual though, it didn't work on him.

Two steps later and she was in his arms, hoisted onto his lap, safely entrenched on the padded bench placed on the private balcony.

Her sobs renewed about two seconds after that.

"Hush, sweetling, shhh, oh my sweet Sansa."

They only came harder.

Jon cradled her closer and kissed her forehead.

They didn't move for the rest of the night.

"Jon, are you a virgin?"

Jon hadn't known his face could feel so hot until that moment.

"Wh-wha-what?"

"A virgin. Are you one?"

"Sansa, I'm 24!"

"So, plenty of people, especially people like us, don't have sex until they're married still. Or just later on."

Absolutely flabbergasted, Jon stood stock still with his mouth dropped open. That still seemed to happen quite often around Sansa.

Walking up to him she closed his mouth with her fingertips on his chin and a cheeky little smirk curling on her lips and in her eyes.

"Well?"

"Why?! Why all of a sudden do you want to know?"

"Uh uh, don't try to distract me, young Jon-"

"I'm older than you!"

"-I want my answer! Come on, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Jon suddenly felt much more eager to spill the beans, if only to torture himself with the knowledge of whatever lucky bastard had claimed such a title. Absolute cunt, he was sure.

"Ygritte."

Fuck, he hadn't meant to blurt that out.

"Ygritte?! The ambassador from North of the Wall, that visited a couple of years ago?! Her?!"

Jon couldn't tell beyond his hope that her anger was driven by jealousy, but Sansa seemed rather upset by this information.

"Yeah, but it didn't last or anything. She headed back North, and I stayed here of course. It was just a fling.

"Anyway, who was yours?"

"Aegon."

An increasingly familiar boiling fever swept over Jon at his brother's name.

He loved his brother, he did. Half siblings or not, Aegon and Rhaenys would always be his true brother and sister. But there was only so much jealousy and resentment of a gift left unappreciated that one could stand before it festered.

"Really?"

Suddenly all of Sansa's bravado had disappeared, and Jon watched as she hugged her arms to herself.

"Yes. He was my first. There have been a couple others, very discreet, private things. Sandor, and Dickon. But Aegon was the first. And soon he'll be the only, the last."

And then it was quiet. Sansa sat with her arms tight around herself, eyes glued straight ahead. And Jon sat with his elbows on his knees, palms pressing into his eyes, trying desperately not to let the heat of his anger, at the world, his father, her father, and everyone before and here and now and future, overtake him.

And there they sat. Together.

"Why do you torture yourself like this?"

"No one, Rhaenys, you cannot tell her, or him, or anyone."

She could feel her heart breaking for her brother, not so little any more.

She stood over him, holding the ripped out front page of the Kings Landing Telegraph.

Couple of the Century, Princess Sansa and Prince Aegon once again steal the show on a series of romantic public outings.

"Please Rhaenys. Please. No one can know."

Oh Jon, she thought, everyone that matters, already knows.

She wondered if it was cruel of her, loving that he could not take his eyes off her.

Rejoicing in his dropped mouth and wide eyes.

Looking as he did in his black evening suit, with his hair pulled back into the most enticing man bun she had ever seen- she could only think he deserved it.

She had chosen the gown, silver and form fitting and showing enough skin to tantalise, but not enough to shock. Though he certainly looked shocked, she giggled to herself.

Tonight marked the beginning of the end after all.

Her Engagement Ball was taking place, and everyone and anyone was there to celebrate.

One year. She had one year.

Suddenly feeling too hot, too close, too fast, too soon- she stepped out onto the shadowed balcony alcove along the servant's corridor.

She had found the most effective way to deal with her upcoming marriage was to not think of it at all. But that proved rather hard when she was standing there, supposedly celebrating it.

She heard a figure slide onto the balcony behind her, and she turned with a practiced smile at the ready.

And she dropped it as soon as she saw who it was.

"Jon." And she couldn't help the smile that broke across her face at seeing him.

And then she saw something break in him.

The next moment she was back against the balcony, two arms caging her in and a solid (gods, so solid) body standing guard at her front.

"Sansa, you look. Gods- you look straight out of my dreams."

His head came forward to rest right in front of her, their eyes burning into one another. She could feel her breath growing laboured, felt the heat pouring off his body, so close but so far from hers.

He was devouring her with his eyes, more open than he had ever been before, desperate in his gaze and heavy with his breathing.

"Please, Gods please. Sansa."

He was begging, but he wasn't begging her, she knew that.

She would beg the gods too, if she felt she could talk in that moment.

Instead she felt her knees wobble beneath her silver dress, and strong hands give up their stony grip to hold her with gentle care.

So gentle. He was so, so gentle.

He pressed them together, temple to temple, and she could hear his heart beat, felt each ragged breath and knew hers matched. That she too could only savour, could only dream.

"Jon? Sansa?"

They didn't jump apart, they didn't even move.

She could tell they were both wondering what would happen if they just never let go.

Finally, the head and body of the King in the North came through the alcove curtain, stopping short at the sight of their embrace.

"Sansa?"

She knew in that moment that if she held on, Jon would never let go, he would hold on to her through everything.

But she also knew that everything had consequences. So many consequences, for so many that she cared for.

She let go.

"I'd be a carpenter."

"What?"

"I'd be a carpenter, or an electrician. I'd have a small business. With a few employees that were more friends than co workers."

Jon broke off another piece of lemon cake and popped it into her mouth, if only to stop her questions.

She had pulled away that night, and he understood. But he, he couldn't hide anymore. Not to her anyway. He knew that she saw the feelings that infused his every move, his every moment.

He admitted it. He wanted her to break too.

He didn't want her to hide anymore either.

"I'd go to work everyday, and I'd make sure that I had roses and daisies planted in my garden at home. Sometimes I'd get home before my wife. And then I'd stop and make her a wreath of flowers, even though, as a florist she would've been around them all day.

"When she got home I'd meet her outside the front door, put her wreath on and carry her through the doorway, just like newlyweds. Because I know I'd feel like a newlywed everyday.

He could see the tears starting to pool in Sansa's eyes and he gave her more lemon cake and continued rambling.

"I'd build her things. Shelves for her favourite books, like Austen and I'd read them to her, over and over as many times as she liked. I'd make her chairs to sit in when she was carrying our child, and a stool to put her feet on so I could rub them.

"I'd help her with her flower shop, and make sure she knew my flowers always had meaning. That they always carried memories. We'd go for a walk to the local bakery in the mornings and buy lemon cakes and apple scrolls and finish them before we got back home.

"I'd be a carpenter and I would make her tables to put vases and vases of flowers in. You could have a room for your sewing, and a garden for your shop, and we could sit in it, and make love under the stars on a blanket in our garden.

"I would make love to you every moment I could, after work, before work, during work, on the weekends, or during our daughter's naptime, when we find a moment to ourselves-"

And he knows he's crying and she's crying but now oh gods now-

Sansa's kissing him, she's kissing him and it's everything he ever dreamed it could be.

And then his hands are on her cheek and in her hair, and one of hers is grasping his shirt on his chest and one is pulling on his curls, and his tongue's in her mouth, running along the roof of her mouth, twisting against her tongue, and then she does this thing with her tongue- and he's gone, a hand on her hip now, pulling her so close he can't tell where her heat ends and his begins.

Both hands to her gods damned beautiful arse then, lifting her up and -ugh, fuck, her legs wrapped around him are where they're meant to be, always, he swears.

There's a fire raging through him but she's caught as well, and he knows that they'll fall to ash together. That's all that matters now.

But he has to taste more of her, has to, now.

Breaking away from her mouth is the hardest thing he's ever done but the taste of her throat and chest and oh gods fuck the taste of her breasts is a very good distraction. She moans above him, hips bucking and writhing, and head thrown back, gasps and glorious sounds pouring unending from her swollen lips.

He disconnects for the ten seconds it takes for them both to undress and he has her on the table now, the left over lemon cakes thrown to the floor in haste and desperation.

"Gods Sansa, so long... dreamed, so fucking long..."

"I know... me... me too... ugh-please, please Jon..."

Her begging may have just about ended him but so had the view of her glorious body, only a part of what makes her his Sansa, but still so beautiful and a part of her just as worthy of being worshiped as her dreams and her mind.

Nipples the same shade as her lips almost call to him and he's latched on before he even processes the thought, hands eagerly searching out the other place that can make her moan for him, gods but she is moaning for him.

Fingers dip into a pool of wetness and he cannot resist, it would be futile to try.

Rushing as much as he dares, because he will savour this, fuck the gods he will savour this moment to cradle to his soul for the rest of his life, he kisses his way down her stomach. He leaves marks in his wake, just as he did on her throat and breast.

Maybe he shouldn't but he needs to know that there will be proof, even if it isn't eternal, but he needs there to be some proof tomorrow that this happened.

Reaching her cunt, he pauses to breathe her in, musk and salt and arousal, before licking a stipe from the bottom of her slit to her clit, sitting swollen, pink and perfect and the crown of her mound.

Sansa lets out a breathy scream and Jon doesn't think he's been prouder in his entire life.

He sinks his tongue into her first, getting a deep and devouring taste of her, memorising it for every night, every day in the future. Nothing will ever taste as good as her in this moment.

His name has turned into moans and screams on her lips as he moves up to brush the tip of his tongue across her clit, delighting in the buck of her hips and the thrust of her cunt into his face.

Fingers now, in and out and his mouth and tongue sucking and swiping, and his name is still on her tongue but she's trembling and she's so gods damn tight he can barely breathe for the picture she makes, enraptured in her pleasure.

She comes and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Then she's clawing at his back, bring him up to lay on top of her and she says

"Please, Jon. Please. I need you."

And he could never resist her after all.

When he finally sinks into her, it's the best moment of his life, and the worst as well. Because he knows, nothing will ever, ever compare to being joined to her. To Sansa.

He had always imagined their first joining a furious burst of passion, ending gloriously but quickly with short pounding strokes.

They make love for the first time on the table on his room, forbidden and star crossed they are, he takes his time, and he will know every inch of her body by the time he is through.

He draws out slow and steady, letting her feel him, feeling her in return. She's so hot, so tight, so fucking, fucking wet they make obscene sounds every time he moves within her.

It only makes him go slower.

He loves it, loves hearing her desire, loves feeling how wet he's made her, and soon he's gently circling her clit, still moving his hips with aching slowness. But then she's coming, gasping and grasping at his shoulders and teeth biting where his neck meets his shoulder.

He wants to close his eyes, it feels so fucking good, but she's so gorgeous, coming on his cock for him, he can't bring himself to ever take them off her again.

And then he's speeding up, lifting her legs up and over his shoulders, kissing her, kissing her, fucking so bloody deep into her he can't- he can't-

He comes as she clenches around him again, her own fingers on her clit this time and still, even as his vision goes white from the feel of his come shooting into her tight, slick warmth, knowing on a primal and deeply satisfying level that she has him inside of her now, he cannot take his eyes of her gorgeous face.

Her beautiful, beautiful face.

"I love you."

His cock's still inside her, they're naked on his side table, and she's engaged to his brother.

There's never been a more perfect moment.

Her hand reaches up and cups his cheek so loving and warm, he can't help but lean in and kiss it.

"I know," and tears are in their eyes again, he sees them in hers and feels them in his, "I love you too."

And then the door slams open.

"Oh Gods!"

"Fuck, what the fuck!"

"Ah, little brother."

Jon thinks everything may have ended.

Ten minutes after the most amazing moment of her life, Sansa is wrapped in Jon's dressing gown, sitting on a bed, and wondering what will happen now.

Jon and Aegon are standing before her, and she doesn't think she's ever been as tense as she is in this moment.

"Aegon. I love Sansa, she loves me and I cannot, will not let you marry her."

Half of Sansa agrees with Jon's stance, half cannot fear what will happen, all of her loves him even more for his words.

"I know."

"I'm sorry for keeping- wait, what?"

Sansa cannot help but agree. What?

"It's not like you didn't make it obvious, you are both rather poor actors, anyone who knew you knew you were in love from the day you met. Honestly."

Aegon is at this point picking his fingernails with a shit eating grin on his face, Sansa knows her fiancé is not a bad person, she knows him, but she cannot help but fear that expression.

"Do not worry little brother dear, and my dear Sansa, I'll not say a word, but you have to promise me to do me a favour in the morning."

Jon and Sansa exchange glances, but cannot think of anything he would make them do that he could not achieve by simply telling the truth now.

"What would you have us do?" Sansa enters the conversation for the first time, ignoring the wobble in her voice.

"Ah that, you'll find out in the morning. Don't worry, you won't be able to miss it."

Morning comes, and Jon fears for his future.

It turns out that Rhaenys is the one to break the news.

Sansa is still in his room after last night, they decided if it was to be their final and only night together, they would make the most of it at least.

She bursts in, paper in hand, slippers and dressing gown still on.

She stops suddenly, taking in the picture of the two of them, Jon curled protectively around Sansa, their faces ready and braced for their penalties.

She lets out a great bellow of laughter, and is soon wiping tears from her eyes.

"That's why the great idiot decided to do it today, a month early, idiot man. Poor things, he probably had you worrying the night away,"ï¿½ she giggles, "though you were probably too busy doing other things to wile the night away."

"Rhaenys, what's going on? What do you mean?"

"Here, you lovesick idiots in love, read this, and brace yourselves, there might not be an easy ride ahead."

Jon grabs the paper out of her outstretched arm and he and Sansa sit up to read it together, headless of their nudity.

CROWN PRINCE AEGON TO ABDICATE TO MARRY SECRET LOVE, ACTRESS MARGAERY TYRELL. PRINCE JON TARGARYEN TO TAKE HIS PLACE AS KING AND BETROTHED TO PRINCESS SANSA STARK.

The headline is huge and accompanied by a photo of Aegon at what is obviously a press conference.

"We all agreed that you would rule better than Aegon anyway, he himself included, and he and Margaery really do seem to be in some sort of love. I think."

With that, she up and left the room.

Jon looked over to Sansa, feeling as though someone had just hit him upside the head with a war hammer.

But this meant- this meant-

"Will you marry me?"

Once again, his words come out before he can think them.

Her lips come up to meld with his and he feels tears upon her cheeks once more.

"Yes, my knight, I will marry you. Yes, yes, yes, yes."

Every acceptance is accompanied by a kiss and Jon is air, he is light, he is the taste of her lips and the love in her eyes.

He is Sansa's. And she is his.

And their next kiss, it is gentle.

So, so, very, very gentle.

#jonsa #jonsasmutweek #amymel86 #jonsaff #actually jonsa #modern royalty au #fluff and angst #smut #of the lovey dovey kind really

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