#hotd fanfic
Text
De Jure
In light of a recent scandal, she finds herself becoming part of Aemond's plan for the future- Part 2 to De Facto.
PM!Aemond x unnamed female character
Main Masterlist // AO3
Warnings: 18+, smut, politics (putting my degree to good use), questionable power dynamics, manipulation, dub con/non con elements, baby trapping
Words: 4121
A/n: He looked too good at the New York premiere and I couldn't help myself :)
A strange feeling seems to follow her around Hightower House, like there are eyes on her, like everyone around her is watching her, like they know something.
It’s plausible enough that Aemond likes to keep her behind late most nights because he trusts her, more so than the other staff. There’s always something they need to talk through, some crisis that needs solving, some issue they can form a preemptive strategy for. Mostly “crisis resolution” comes in the form of him bending her over the desk and tearing through her tights, or having her on her knees with his hands in her hair and his cock slipping between her lips.
Aemond is precise, attentive, relentless. He leaves her stunned and satisfied in a way that the wanting never satiates itself.
Then there are the occasional glances, the sparse touches, his hand on her back when he walks into a room, his hand on her thigh under a desk, in the back of a car.
He’s careful to act inconspicuously around others, but there’s something about the way Maris glares at her, the way Alys watches her with her brows raised.
What if they know? How could they? How could they not?
Then she starts to get noticed by Otto Hightower. He’s a formidable figure in Hightower House, notorious for expecting the best from the staff, for his bluntness, his restrained but short temper, his intolerance for anything less than perfection– this is the man who made Aemond Targaryen the political force that he is after all.
After Aemond’s success in de-escalating the Aegon situation, Otto Hightower had personally pulled her aside and commended her. “Aemond said he wouldn’t have been able to pull it together if it weren’t for you.”
She’d been rather stunned that Aemond would mention her to his grandfather.
“Just doing my bit for the party,” she’d said.
He nodded his head at that, mouth poised in something like a smile.
She never has plans on a Friday night these days. She’s working through some polls, anxiously waiting for Aemond to finish a meeting with the inner circle, Otto, Cole and Alicent.
Alys is watching her between glances at her laptop, the same red lipstick on her lips, an eerie white light illuminating her face from the screen. Her nails tap against the keys and the surface of the desk when she pauses to think, to stare.
“What?” she says sharply, weeks of patience wearing thin.
Alys smirks to herself before slowly closing the lid of her laptop. “It seems as though something’s bothering you.”
A panicked feeling hums in her chest. She was too harsh. Her reaction was too obvious. “No, I’m fine,” she mutters.
“I thought you might be tired, you know, with all the overtime Mr Taragryen has you doing.”
She tries to laugh it off, to smile and shake her head, but her mouth feels stiff.
“Maris thinks he likes you.” Alys leans back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers.
“No more than he likes anyone else, I’m sure.”
One of Alys’ eyebrows lifts. With a short humming sound in her throat her lips break into another smile that bares her teeth. “Between us, I think Maris has a crush on him. It was cute at first but now I think she looks a little desperate…”
Desperate. What does that make her?
“... I think he likes you because you’re good at your job, but then sometimes it’s like he goes out of his way to ignore you. I thought he might be doing it to make the rest of us feel better.”
They stare at each other, locked in a silent dare. She feels her chest moving with her breath, her heart drumming under her skin.
“I think you’re reading into things,” she says, wincing at how dry her throat is.
Alys’ smile is gone now. She has this certain look, it can be unassuming and yet unnervingly intense. But they go back to their respective tasks. She looks like she has another thought brewing in her head, but she is interrupted by the ringing on the phone on her desk.
She picks it up instantly. “Hello, sir. Yes, sir. I’ll send her through now.”
The meeting isn’t over yet, the others would have passed the office on their way out. She tries not to stand too eagerly, taking her time as she collects the papers in front of her and picks up her phone– but what if Alys thinks she’s moving too slowly? She resists the urge to tut at herself or fiddle with the fabric of her skirt.
She has to walk by Alys’ desk to get to the door, and the thought fills her with dread, like she’ll be able to see right through her head and read every thought.
“Wait,” Alys calls as she hovers in the open doorway.
She turns to face her.
“He’s sweet,” Alys says, “and too gorgeous for his own good, but the Hightowers are opportunists.”
She knows that. The whole country knows that. For a generation, Westerosi politics has been nothing but a game between the Greens and the Blacks, a rivalry that started when Otto Hightower’s daughter caught the eye of Viserys Targaryen.
“You’re a smart girl,” Alys says. “Be careful.”
The walk to Aemond’s office feels longer than usual. The closed door feels more daunting. She taps her knuckles against it three times and pauses for a moment, until she hears his voice telling her to enter.
The days are growing shorter and the sun is already setting, a warm glow bleeding in through the tall windows. The light makes Aemond’s hair appear more golden than silver. He’s sitting on the sofa, suit jacket open, tie discarded, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, hair dishevelled, like he’s been running his hands through it.
Criston Cole is sat in an armchair and nods to her when she walks in. Otto Hightower sits with his back to the door, Alicent beside him.
They’ve been in here for hours, the table between them is covered in empty coffee cups and newspapers with bold headlines. Some have moved on from the Aegon scandal, others have not.
She looks to Aemond for an instruction.
He beckons her with a single finger, anticipation already pooling in her belly despite their company. She stands beside him, hovering by the arm of the sofa where Aemond leans against his elbow, clutching her papers close to her chest.
Otto greets her by name. She’s rather proud of how far she’s come since her first day, scared to even step foot in his office.
He and Cole continue to discuss the Duskendale by-election which will inevitably take place in light of Aegon’s removal. Otto says this will be an opportunity for the Blacks to capitalise on the scandal, win themselves another seat in Parliament and put pressure on the Greens, on Aemond. Alicent listens all the while, picking at her fingernails.
“Rhaenyra will pick someone close to her, someone charismatic,” Otto says, looking directly at her.
Why would he do that, does he expect a note to be taken on the conversation?
Aemond’s hand appearing on her waist takes her by surprise. She stares down at him wide-eyed at his carelessness. He doesn’t seem worried as he gently pulls her down to sit on the arm of the sofa. His arm stays wrapped around her back, his hand slotting into the curve of her body, his thumb tracing circles against her shirt.
She tries to look at Otto and Cole without drawing too much attention to herself, but they don’t seem surprised at Aemond’s little display of affection. Alicent stares at them passively.
“Who in the Black Party has any charisma?” Cole says dryly. “She’s hardly got any allies left.”
“Jacaerys,” Otto says.
Cole scoffs. “He’s fresh out of uni.”
“He’s young but he has appeal,” Alicent says. “Certainly more than Aegon ever did.” She says it so gently but with no hesitation.
“And a good speaker,” Aemond adds, “people respond to him, he’s likeable.”
One more question remains, a ceaseless itch in her brain, as distracting as Aemond’s hand clinging to her body. She clears her throat softly. “Who’s our candidate going to be?”
Aemond’s grip on her waist tightens and he looks up at her, dying sunlight beaming over his face, catching on the tip of his nose, the curve of his lip, the lines of his jaw. “We’ve been discussing that.”
She hates this, feeling like she’s a step behind everyone else in the room. She looks up at the faces of Otto and Cole. Aemond has a sister, Helaena, but she stays away from public life. His younger brother, Daeron, is still studying. There are also plenty of Hightower cousins, people already in their inner circle.
“If we are all in agreement,” Otto says, fixing his suit jacket as he stands. “Come, Alicent.”
Aemond’s mother has always been a glamorous woman, younger than she appears. It’s not something she’s ever noticed before but she has such a solemn look about her, wide brown eyes and fallen lips.
Aemond stands to kiss her on both cheeks. “Thank you,” he says, softly, still loud enough for her to hear it.
“I trust your judgement,” she says.
With that the three of them leave the room and Aemond closes the door behind her.
She’s still sitting unsurely on the arm of the sofa, resisting the urge to dig her fingernails into the leather.
Aemond turns to face her. He slips off his suit jacket and places it carefully on the coat hanger by the door. He takes measured steps towards the sofa. “I have something to tell you. Sit down.”
Her stomach drops at the sinisterly soft tone of his voice, but she does as he says, slipping from the arm to the sofa itself, only to find she cannot sit comfortably. The back isn’t quite in the right place, the seat is too soft, like she’s melting into it. She tries to sit with her back straight, her legs crossed, her hands in her lap and her head held high as he approaches her.
By now she thinks she has a good read of him, the subtleties in his expressions, the hints into his mind. She can’t read him now. He looks at her with excitement, with something softer, with a look of hunger and lust. But she can tell that he’s far too happy with himself.
“You look nervous. Are you nervous?” he says, undoing the buttons on his cuffs and pulling them up to bare his hands, the muscles and tendons of his forearms.
“Well, I don’t know what’s going on.”
“It’s exciting, I promise.”
Exciting to him, clearly.
“Alright,” she says.
Aemond stands before her and smiles, only for a moment. Usually, in this position, he’d reach out for her cheek, maybe he’d lean down to kiss her.
He just looks at her, with amusement, wonder, curiosity, perhaps even pride. With a small hum to himself, Aemond says, “we need a candidate for Duskendale.”
“So I’ve heard,” she says, quietly but defiantly.
“I want it to be you.”
She feels her eyes go wide. The room feels cold and close. She can hear Aemond breathing through his nose, slow and steady.
After a few moments of silence, Aemond says, “what do you think?”
It takes her too long to find her breath. “You suggested it to Otto?”
“Yes. He and my mother agree, you’ll be perfect.”
Heat flushes in her face. She feels an urge to laugh, or cry, or grab him by the shoulders and ask him why in seven fucking hells he thinks this would be a good idea.
But then this is what she’s always wanted. This is why she studied so relentlessly, spent hours and hours in the library pouring over textbooks, why she gave up sleep to meet her deadlines, missed meals to afford rent in Sunspear, dedicated so much of herself to the extra work, all so she could have the very job Aemond is offering her on a silver platter.
It would be worth it, wouldn’t it? Knowing she could actually make a difference to the world that seemed determined to have her fail.
What if she asks him “why?” What if she gives him a reason to doubt her and he snatches that chance away?
She barely registers Aemond’s hands closing around hers before he pulls her up to stand. His forehead and his nose rest against hers, his breath warm over her skin. His lips are almost upon hers but he doesn’t move to kiss her, he keeps her waiting and restless.
“They’ve all agreed,” he mutters, “we need someone with no history, no scandals, nothing that could be held against us, not after the mess Aegon’s made.”
She pauses, pulling back a little so they can meet eye to eye. “You want me because I won’t embarrass you?”
Aemond tilts his head. “I want you because you’re the best option.” He leans in again, pressing a delicate kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek. “You’d be a perfect fit, you’re intelligent, you’re meticulous, you don’t miss details and you’re unafraid to speak your mind.”
He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth but she turns her head. “I want to feel like I’ve earned it,” she utters.
Aemond’s mouth trails to her neck instead, kissing her firmly. “You have earned it,” he says, his hands moving to her waist, squeezing her, claiming her. His touch roams over the rest of her body while he kisses her neck, her thighs, her rear, anything he can reach.
It’s dangerous how she responds when his hands are in the right place, and he knows it. But she reaches for his wrists to make him stop when he starts to tug on the waist of her skirt with his fingers.
“Is that what you think this is,” she says, “do you think I’m only trying to get a career out of you?”
Aemond frowns.
“Do you think I want to be remembered as some shallow opportunist? Is that all you think I deserve?”
When he hums it catches in the back of his throat. He makes a small pout with his lips, the way he often does when he’s thinking.
“You have an opportunity to do something remarkable here,” he says, his voice low and chilling as he takes her chin in his fingertips. “Look at all the work you’ve done for me already, why deny yourself the chance to do more?”
It doesn’t have to be a denial, does it? Saying no to him would only mean she could take a different path, her own path, on her terms. Unless this is it. Unless she says no and this is the end of everything.
His fingertips press into her jaw, as if his patience is wearing thin with every passing moment.
She looks into his single violet eye and the sapphire prosthetic set in his left socket, determined to stand her ground. “Not like this,” she says.
Aemond tuts. “Are you worried you won’t get in? You’ll get the seat, I’ll make sure you do. You’ll get the career you’ve wanted for so long, you’ll get everything you’ve worked for.” There’s desperation in his voice, something familiar and yet primal. His thumb gently strokes over her cheek to her lower lip. “I’ll keep you with me. Wouldn’t you like that?”
Reason slips from her mind and something dangerous tightens in her gut. “What do you mean–”
Her question ends up muffled against his lips as Aemond kisses her, deeply and desperately, pulling her into him, closer and closer.
She holds her hands up and the only place for her palms to go is against his chest so she can feel his heat and his heartbeat through his shirt. She parts her lips, welcoming his tongue and his teeth, welcoming the way he consumes her.
“Once you’re in Parliament we can make things official,” he mutters between their kisses.
He goes in to kiss her again and she pulls back. “What?”
He huffs impatiently, taking her face in both his hands. “I need someone reliable by my side, someone like you. It’ll be good for my image, and for the party, to appeal to family values.”
She feels herself scowling. “Did your grandfather tell you that?”
“Don’t give me that look,” he says teasingly,
“What about all the work I’ve done already? I can’t give everything up?”
“What would you be giving up?”
Infuriatingly, her mind is suddenly blank.
Through the windows behind them, the sun is setting lower and lower in the sky, the golden rays only shining brighter as night creeps in. The world is as it was when they first met. Aemond’s eye burns in the light, his eye that has bored into hers as he’s pushed her over the threshold of bliss, that finds her across crowded rooms, that must have seen every inch of her skin.
“We’ll announce an engagement before you’re confirmed as our candidate,” he says. He comes to kiss her gently. The moment could almost feel tender, if he were not seeking to uproot her entire life. “You’re perfect,” he whispers against her lips. “Say yes to me, please, I need you to say yes.”
It’s easy to get lost in Aemond Targaryen, in his intensity, in his rare offerings of praise and approval. Her arms find their way around his neck, pulling herself into him, absentmindedly rocking her hips against his. His promises excite her as much as they terrify her.
“Say it,” he purrs, his voice catching in his throat as he walks her back. “I need an answer from you.”
The backs of her knees hit the edge of the sofa. She takes a moment to breathe and find her bearings.
Aemond’s eye is hooded and dark, his lips pressed together. She can feel it all simmering under the surface, his hunger, his desperation.
He needs her. He cannot lose this seat to the Blacks, he can’t give them space to challenge him. He can’t let Aegon’s indiscretions overshadow everything he’s been working towards. The Greens need to purge themselves of this damning image, they need a clean slate, and they’re willing to put her in the centre of government to get it.
“I’ll do it,”
His kiss is harsh when he captures her lips again, needy and commanding as he grabs at her waist.
She lets out a breath of surprise when he positions her to lay back on the sofa without parting from her. He’s over her, pressing her into the plush leather, a firm hold trailing from her neck, her wrists, her sides, her breasts through her blouse.
He undoes the buttons slowly, kissing the exposed parts of her flesh of her chest and stomach. When he has the blouse off completely he makes quick work of undoing her bra, discarding that to move his attention to her breasts. He toys with her nipples with his thumbs, lips and tongue until she’s writhing beneath him. She can already picture the bruises that will bloom in his wake.
He’s slow with her skirt too, she can hardly stand it, feeling the fabric and his fingertips dragging down her legs. With her shoes removed, Aemond sits back on his haunches and wraps his hands around one of her ankles, smirking as he strokes small circles over a sensitive spot of her skin.
“Please,” she utters, reaching her fingers out to graze his stomach, still hidden underneath a perfectly white shirt.
“I know, I know,” he coos, hooking his fingers in her panties to pull them from her legs. “I just like seeing you like this.
He wastes no more time, placing her ankle over his shoulder, spreading her other knee with a wide palm and leaning down until his face is between her legs. He knows to start slowly, to tease her with slow drags through her folds. It’s an infuriating feeling but she savours it. It’s the burn she loves, being dragged towards pleasure like a continual tide lapping at the shore.
She craves these unhurried moments, and she supposes there will only be more once Aemond gets his way.
His motions increase in speed when her breath quickens and she starts to squirm, with whispered mumblings of “please… I’m so close… please.” He borders on frantic, hums of approval vibrating against her centre.
It builds and builds until it releases a bloom of warmth in her belly that soon fades back into need when Aemond untangles himself from her. She watches him undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt, as he unbuckles his belt and yanks it from the loops in his slacks. He bares himself to her. There’s no pride this time, just awe when he looks at her.
He positions himself above her, running the tip of his cock, already hard and leaking, against her, pushing against her clit with every gentle thrust.
She holds onto his arms for leverage, letting herself succumb to the sensation, the smell of his aftershave and his sweat, the heat and the sound of their breaths in unison.
“I mean it,” he says with a sigh, “I think you’re perfect.”
She smiles, planting a peck against his lips, before she slides a hand between their bodies and positions him at her entrance. She’s taken him enough times but the initial stretch has her gritting her teeth.
Aemond stills. “We can–”
“I want to take it,” she utters, “I want to feel you,”
His resolve melts, but he doesn’t push further, waiting for a nod from her before he inches himself deeper inside her.
Their bodies mould against each other, her arms around his shoulders, his head nestled into her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he pants. She watches him thrusting into her, chasing his own pleasure as he nudges against a spot inside her that leaves her feeling weightless.
He tries to increase his pace, but the back of the sofa hinders him somewhat. He grunts in frustration, gathering her in his arms and moving them both to the fur rug on the floor with ease. He brings her legs onto his shoulders and pushes into her once more, to the hilt, eliciting a gasp from her.
He chuckles to himself, showing his teeth and licking his lips. “You like that?”
“Yeah, fuck,” she breathes.
“Know you like it when I’m nice and deep,” he mutters, fucking her with swift snaps of his hips. With one hand on the floor he takes a gentle hold of her neck with the other, leaning in so her thighs are pressed against her chest. “My pretty girl, my perfect girl.”
Her second climax is within reach, she feels the heat rising inside of her, her hips trying to buck but she’s caged by him.
Aemond’s hold on her neck tightens. “You’re close,” he says with a wicked smile on his lips.
Her back arches from the floor, head thrown back in ecstasy. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, “please don’t fucking stop…”
She clings to him, each one of them at the other’s mercy.
“I’ve got you,” Aemond says, continuing to drive his hips against hers. He must be reaching his own end, his pace is starting to falter, his moans unrestrained.
Usually he makes a habit of spilling himself over her body, her stomach or her thighs.
“Aemond?” she breathes.
“You’ll take what I give you, won’t you?” he says, “you’re mine now, we might as well get a head start.”
The realisation makes her stomach drop. “Wait–” she tries to murmur between her whines, “you can’t– not yet–”
He leans in to kiss her, to soothe her, to silence her.
He comes with a guttural groan, his hips stilling against her and a warmth spreading inside of her. Her own pleasure erupts after that, she can feel herself clenching around him, her body greedy for everything he has to offer her.
Aemond stays pressed against her for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. He withdraws from her slowly, bringing her legs down– she sees the way his eye lingers between her legs, something hot and wet dripping from within her. He gathers it with the tip of his cock, pushing himself into her again with short, shallow thrusts.
He takes her by her neck again, demanding her attention.
She gazes back at him, breathless, wide-eyed.
“There’s my good girl,” he coos. “With any luck we’ll have a due date to announce alongside your victory in Duskendale.”
#aemond targaryen#my fics#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond fic#aemond targaryen fic#aemond x you#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#modern!Aemond#modern!Aemond x reader#house of the dragon fanfic#ewan nation#ewan mitchell smut
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The Gods We Can Touch Masterlist
|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader| ft. Yandere Aegon and Alicent
Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.
What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?
"I have outlasted all desire,
Coming June 16th
My dreams and I have grown apart;
My grief alone is left entire,
The gleamings of an empty heart.
The storms of ruthless dispensation
Have struck my flowery garland numb,
I live in lonely desolation
And wonder when my end will come."
Chapter One: My Dream
Chapter Two: The Gods' Light
Spotify Playlist
The reader does have a name just for the sake of titles and the typical Targaryen/Strong features, but other than that, descriptions are vague.
All House of the Dragon/A Song of Ice and Fire warnings apply, but I will put specific ones with each chapter.
#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond fic#hotd aemond#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond the kinslayer#aemond x reader#prince aemond targaryen#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x female reader#ewan mitchell#hotd season 2#aemond targaryen x strong!reader#aemond targaryen x niece!reader#hotd fic#hotd fanfiction#aemond targaryen x y/n#dance of the dragons#hotd alicent#hotd aegon#aegon ii targaryen#alicent hightower#rhaenyra targaryen#jacaerys velaryon#lucerys velaryon
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Braids
Pairing: Aemond x child OC/his daughter, Aemond x fem!reader
Warning: Pure full
Summary: Aemond had always dreaded this day, yet his fears were unfounded.
Aemond heard small feet hurrying through the library.
The corner of his lips turned upwards as he heard giggling. Small bodies hurrying from bookshelf to bookshelf. Giggles grow louder.
He pretended to read at this point, knowing sooner rather than later his daughter would demand his attention.
The small heads of his daughter and niece peaked from the last bookshelf corner. Two sets of lilac eyes stared at him with mischief.
“I can both see you.” He spoke behind his book. More giggles erupted from their throats.
He put his book down and stared directly at them.
Little screams filled the large library before Alysanne and Jaehaera came out of hiding. Running up to him.
“Kepa, you know so much.” His daughter began. “Can you teach us how to braid our hair, kepus?” Jaehaera finished.
Aemond huffed out a laugh. He wanted to ask where their mothers were. But Helaena was probably occupied with either the new baby. And his wife was with his mother if she couldn’t be with their daughter.
He put his book down and smiled as both girls stretched their hands forward seeing the various hair ribbons in their hands. He preferred black leather but these were little girls of only five years. Colours, especially favourite colours, mattered to them immensely.
He knew his daughter’s hair better. Seating her on the carpet in front of her while his niece watched from beside him.
“You take the hair and divide it into three strands.” While Jaehaera watched him, Alysanne took three ribbons and did what he told them.
“Now you lay the left outer strand over the middle. Yes just like that, good Aly.” He praised his daughter. “And switch the middle. Did you see Jaehaera?” The small girl nodded.
He showed them more ways to braid. He had some experience himself. He hated his hair sticking to his neck when he worked or read. And the warm weather didn’t help with his dislike.
He once wore a braid to training. But with one swift turn, he whipped it onto his scarred cheek. It hurt like hell.
Aemond was a good observer too. Watching his sister braid her hair sometimes. Or when maids braided his mother’s hair. His wife liked to braid his hair in the safety of their chamber.
After the braiding lesson, both girls sat in front of him and braided each other’s silver-white tresses while he read on.
The giggles erupting now and then made his heart flutter. A smile was permanently etched onto his face.
At the later family dinner, everyone praised their hairstyles. Jaehaera had a fish braid while Alysanne had her hair braided into two long braids and put into a bun at the back of her head.
His wife leaned over to lay her head on his shoulder. He leaned closer to her. “And you panicked you would never be able to braid your daughter’s hair. Or teach her how to braid.”
Aemond chuckled. “I had a patient teacher who showed me how to braid.” He smiled down at her, kissing her forehead softly.
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#prince aemond#aemond x reader#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen imagine#house of the dragon#aemond fanfiction#hotd fanfic#dadmond
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Req: Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co-star (pronounced feminine) where they are on the set of season 2 and how he is surprised by every performances that fem gives (Fem's character is bad and perverse), since since the recordings of season one he was already staring at her surprised by her actings and now with Season 2 he wants to spend more time with her, plus he likes her.
The Rehearsal// Ewan Mitchell x Fem!actress
Summary: Ewan is a method actor and it has been working fine for him. But he regrets this decision when season 2 of HOTD starts with a love scene, being partner with a lovely talented actress who propaply hates him and his mathods. But nothing is better than asking for help when one needs it, right?
|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|
Ewan watched from the monitor, patch removed but wig still on, your close-up was impressive. One look at you and you could see all the ambitions that were going through your character's mind, and he himself regretted not having told you yet. The good news was that filming for season two had just begun, and in this new season, Ewan had the opportunity to do scenes only with you.
They shouted cut, and you immediately broke into a smile, laughing after such an intense scene. You received compliments as you were photographed to keep the raccord straight.
"Congratulations, that's a good start," the director said to you. "Remember you have a special sequence tomorrow, get a good rest."
Yes, you remembered. And Tom (who played your brother Aegon) smiled mischievously at you. It was a kissing scene with Ewan, with whom you had barely exchanged a word since the moment you were confirmed as part of the cast, a year and a half ago. You only spoke a little at the audition, which was a chemistry test, and he was a sweet, unassuming guy. When he was announced as the official actor of Aemond... it was something different. You didn't interact in the scenes in the first season, his scenes were shared more with Fabien and Tom, while you had shared scenes with Olivia and Phia (Alicent and Helaena). The chemistry your characters were supposed to have was only hinted by the placement of you both in the scene or montages of shots that you only saw once the series was released. And in the meantime, Ewan had stayed away from all those with whom he didn't share any dialogue, with the excuse of staying focused on his character. Tom had already told you numerous times that Ewan thought you were a fantastic actress, but you always responded the same way.
"If he does, let him tell me so. Then I'll be flattered.”
When the script for the second season came, both of you, in your respective homes, had your hearts skipped a beat. Your character would approach Aemond in the throne room in the middle of the night. And there they not only talk, but share a kiss that promises to go further in the following seasons. Aemond confessed his love for your character, and being that it was a story taken from the world of Game of Thrones, it was sure to end in much more intimate scenes. Normal for actors and comfortable for a cast that was so friendly and close. But with Ewan being so distant and serious? It was difficult. You didn't even dare to call him. Nor did he call you. What you did do was call Tom.
"She hasn't spoken to me once since we started filming. I've seen her look at me sometimes, like she's trying to talk to me but then, before I could say a word, she's gone quiet again. Tom...I don't think I should take being a method actor so seriously," he said to the other actor.
"It amuses me immensely to be the connecting point for both of you. Don't worry, Ewan, she's a sweetheart, and very understanding. She knows that everyone has their own procedure. So if she has respected your method, you should respect hers."
"And what is her procedure?"
"According to Phia, she loves to walk back and forth repeating her lines in a thousand ways."
Right, Ewan saw the video Phia sent around the group so everyone could see how lunatic you looked. And even there, after discovering you were being filmed, you smiled tenderly at Phia asking her to stop. What else would he have missed since you weren't talking?
You had already taken off your wig, your hair was loose and your dress had been off for quite a while. You were waiting to take off your make-up when your trailer was called. You were expecting anyone, happy to have any interaction with the wonderful team around you, but when you saw Ewan, the smile must have dropped a little.
"Sorry if I'm intruding. Is it late?" Ewan asked you as he saw your friendly greeting getting lost in the air.
It wasn't dark yet, and the next day's filming was starting early, so you genuinely didn't know what to say to him.
"Well... I have to finish off some of the lines for tomorrow.’
The lines you had to say with him, and he knew that. But since that wasn't an invitation, Ewan understood instantly and nodded.
"Well, I just wanted to tell you...it's been an awesome first day of shooting for you. It's no wonder you're a fan favorite."
That made you blush.
"Well, that means a lot coming from you."
He smiled sheepishly at you, you were taller than he was, standing on the trailer and he was on the grass a few stairs down. And yet he seemed way too big.
"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to rehearse," he said, trying to get out of the strange conversation he had started.
You nodded and watched as he walked away, the patch in his hand and taking off his seatbelts. Did he come with the intention of chatting? My God, you'd had a chance to talk at length with your fellow cast member and you'd wasted it? You needed to go over the scene as much as possible!
"Ewan!" You called out to him, hanging almost on your doorstep, he turned with that agility that is so engaging on screen (and in person). "Are you done for the day?"
"I've got to get out of my costume. But...yes, I'm done."
"Would you mind..." you mumbled in an exaggeratedly loud voice for him to hear. How embarrassing. "Would you mind dropping by again to rehearse?"
Ewan stood still for a second. He watched you from afar, so affectionate and shy, totally contrary to your character, and felt a deep tenderness.
"I'll be back in half an hour," he promised you.
You looked forward to it, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you'd put your make-up back on a bit. Ewan, on the other hand, was hurrying more than usual to remove his own clothes, forgetting to remove his fake scars in the rush that followed him. He was punctual, and in thirty and a half minutes, he was knocking on your door again.
"I really appreciate you doing this, Ewan," you said as he climbed into your trailer.
"Don't worry, it's going to be fun."
You looked at each other for a second, smiling, kind of gawking, which was nothing like the scene you had to recreate.
"How do you prepare for a scene?" You ask.
"I listen to some music. But I want to try what you do. "
He looked at you expectantly, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. Like the girls at the school function.
"So... I close my eyes, and I create a map where everything looks a little bit like the set."
"And what do we choose to be the throne?" Ewan smiled, which made you blush even more.
"Well... "There was a fully finished teacup, with the inelegantly squeezed bag next to it, dripping. You'd forgotten to clean it up completely. "That cup itself."
Ewan frowned slightly, teasingly, and nodded. The next step for you was harder to explain.
"Now, Ewan, I need some space."
He sat down on your couch, script to one side, the bastard having already memorized it all. And from there he watched live what he'd been craving for months, watching you pace back and forth. You read the annotations and your lines.
"They will never forgive our family for what I did," Ewan replied, intoning in the silky voice he gave Aemond.
"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." though you paced, your hands and gestures maintained theatricality, and you repeated the phrase three more times, all with trapped deliberation. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me."
"What pantomime do you mean?" replied Aemond.
Then your character stopped looking at Aemond to stare at the Throne. In this case you stopped to stare at the ugly teacup. You had to hold back a smile. Ewan looked at it too.
"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been." Ewan got up from the sofa and approached you, as Aemond does with your character. "It is a crude, chaotic and ugly object, but always that which I have desired."
Then the laughter you'd been holding back escaped, unable to think of the mug as anything else. And Ewan laughed with you, all the tension disappearing instantly. Now he could understand the affection with which everyone spoke of you.
"I'm sorry, really," you said, getting serious again. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise, this is fun. I'm going to try your method. Shall we close our eyes?"
"That's right."
You closed them at the same time, thinking about the huge room, illuminated by a silver light that simulated the moon. And after a few seconds, Ewan opened his eyes to look at you. Although you didn't have your white hair, or the elegant dress, your eyes were the same, as beautiful and bright as they were behind the cameras. And he had the privilege of being the focus of your attention and having them in the foreground.
"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered close to your lips.
"That you tried at least" you whispered back.
"When I get the throne I'll need someone as sharp as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."
Then came the kiss. You looked into Ewan's eyes, up his nose and down to his lips. What was there left to throw yourself? Not much, but with him being so reclusive, with that being one of the few times you spoke to each other, it felt strange to pounce on him without consent. So you walked away, leaving the scene there.
"We can work this out with the director and the intimacy coordinator, if you like," Ewan suggested, a little flushed and extremely sweet.
You poured him a cup of tea while you discussed the romance that your characters might have developed over the years that the series skips. You imagined romantic scenes that might have led up to that kiss and concluded that they were a toxic couple, but possibly better than Rhaenyra and Daemon.
"You know, I love the way you act and I love that I discovered your process," he confessed. "I think the admiration part is not going to be too hard to act out."
"Oh...my process is really ridiculous, everyone laughs at me. I'm glad it at least works. But it gives me a hard time at auditions," you laughed nervously.
"Well, it's true that it's fun to watch. But it's certainly worth it. I don't think you have anything to envy the others, you're...magnetic." He said it with a seriousness that moved you, adding to his intense gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to tell you sooner, because I've been thinking about it since the day they put me in the same room you were in, back at the audition.”
You froze a little, so you just said what you felt in the simplest way and with the most honest smile.
"Thank you."
Ewan took the last sip of his tea and before he left you remembered one of the thousand questions you had for him.
"Is there a reason you haven't removed the scar? Something to do with method acting?"
"Scar?"
You touched his cheek, where the scar began, and Ewan understood instantly.
"Ah, gee, I completely forgot to go through makeup. I'll get a telling off tomorrow."
"Not if you sleep on it until tomorrow" you joked. "Let me help you, I love fake wounds."
You stood next to him, towering over him a little, and lifted the thin layer of silicone with the delicacy you had seen in make-up artists. You were envious of the woman who was in charge of characterising a person as curiously attractive as Ewan. He also smelled exaggeratedly good.
When you took it off, you threw it into the creepy teacup from earlier.
"I've almost run out from, the costume department before," he justified himself. You took the opportunity to wipe that part of her face with a makeup remover wipe. "I usually do this part myself..."
"I know, but I like it..."
And while you were stroking his face with the excuse of cleaning it, Ewan was watching your lips, and didn't notice that you had noticed. You pushed the wipe away, stroking his chin, and at the same time, you both pressed your lips together. A strange kiss, something special, sweet and soft. You stretched it out, standing almost still, afraid of what would happen if you broke apart. When you finally did, you looked at each other with a look of confusion, though neither you nor Ewan pulled away.
It was a dangerous idea, he was your partner, and you had been unprofessional. You broke away.
"I think you should rest. I've distracted you too much." Your tone came out agitated and Ewan rose slowly.
"No, it's all right. I liked it. I liked everything. Didn't you?" He had emphasised the word 'everything' and was looking at you with lambent eyes.
"Yes...I loved being with you."
He said goodbye with a smile of his, and you bowed at your door like a little girl. Most of the team had already gone to rest and you barely noticed.
You had to put on more concealer than usual the next day because of the lack of sleep you'd had from that strange kiss. Ewan had kept his promise and had arrived a good while earlier to re-rehearse the scene. You did it without the kiss or the lights, just with the director's instructions and with your cheeks flushed as you exchanged glances.
"Did you practice with the kiss?" the intimacy coordinator asked you.
You were completely silent. Ewan answered for you.
"Not really, maybe it's better to give a first kiss at the moment of the shot. More realism."
"Well, then I guess you've worked out the sexual tension and dynamics of your characters."
Ewan nodded and smiled, which made you smile. Had he put hours of sleep into your little meeting yesterday? Yes, he had, and he told the woman who was putting on his scar who asked him who had removed it the day before. When you returned to the set, lights on, costumes on, cameras rolling, Ewan looked at you in the distance, asking you with his eyes if you were ready. You nodded with a shy smile, and began to act when they shouted action.
Aemond, still dressed and coming from the castle library, walked into the empty throne room to watch you. You walked behind him, in a smart dressing gown, your hair loose and trying uselessly not to make a sound. Aemond then spoke aloud.
"They will never forgive our family for what I did."
You approached Ewan, who still wouldn't look at you.
"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." You leaned into him a little, as the director had recommended. He was so tall and so tense that you felt as safe as if you were leaning against a stone pillar. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me." Then Aemond would look down to see you out of the corner of his eye, which made your character - and you - nervous.
"What pantomime do you mean?"
Then you looked at the throne, now there was no laughter to disturb you, only the terrible seat of swords before you. And Aemond was looking at it too.
"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been. It is a brutish, chaotic, ugly object, but always that which I have desired."
After a pause, he turned fully around to look at you, his height becoming primordial in that short distance. In that low light, Ewan's visible eye looked into your eyes, dropping to your lips subtly.
"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered in his velvety tone.
"That you tried at least" you replied trying to keep your composure. If they knew how hard you were struggling not to fall to your knees at that moment they would have nominated you for an Emmy by now.
"When I get the throne I'll need someone as clever as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."
He stroked your face gently, something that coming from Ewan was tender and expected, immensely pleasing, but then you remembered that Aemond could never be so gentle in the face of his urges, and you let your own out. You pressed yourself against him, pressing your lips together with all the assurance you had longed for the night before. You could feel Ewan intensify your kiss even more, placing his hand on your neck. All the possible kisses that had been going on in your head during the night were now dwarfed by the kiss that was happening right there. As fierce as your characters, with the longing you had just discovered that you and Ewan had shared for a year and a half.
It was only when they shouted 'cut' that you broke apart, catching your breath and barely breaking away. Some applause, chatter and comments from the team, you could hear little of what they were saying. You pulled away flushed, laughing at the sudden intensity. You looked at the director as Ewan smoothed his jacket.
"Let's look at the shot, I think it was simply perfect, congratulations."
Another round of applause, and you felt Ewan brush your unruly hair out of your face, stroking it as he ruffled your hair.
"What a pity not to have to repeat this scene..." He confessed.
"That's the thing about being so talented," you joked.
"Obviously..." he removed his patch and turned back to you to ask in a quieter voice, "although I'd love to have more private acting classes with you..."
You smiled at the hint.
"I'll give them to you if in exchange you let me remove your fake scars again."
"Deal."
#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfiction#aemond targaryen#ewan mitchell#aemond one eye#prince aemond#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#hotd x reader#ewan mitchell fanfic#ewan mitchell x reader#celebrities x reader#house of the dragon imagines#hotd#hotd imagine#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon aemond
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jacaerys x bethrothed!reader - grief
a.n: felt so sick after seeing the new still i needed to write smth
You were pacing in front of the door waiting for him to walk in. You had seen vermax fly over and knew he was finally back. It had been so long since you last saw him you had no clue how you were even going to react when you did.
You had no clue how he was going to react. You had not see him since he flew away from dragonstone, not before he had given you a kiss and smile promising to return shortly.
The doors suddenly hope and he walks him. The first thing you notice about him was his hair, and then you notice the confused look on his face as he glances at you then at the room full of people who look at him with pity.
“What has happened?”
It should be one of them to break the news to him, his mother or even his father but the two of them seem too distracted in their grief they were not even here to greet him.
You walk over to him and wrap you arms around him in a tight hug, he does not reciprocate it as he whispers to you asking you what has happened. You feel the way he stiffens when one of the maesters begins to speak and informs him. You pull back and stay at his side as he stares wide eyed at him, tears already glossing over his eyes. “What happened?”
You watch as he loses his composure the more and more the maester speaks. The way his breath quickens and his eyes only grow with tears. He turns away, breathing heavily out of his mouth as he grips his necklace tightly in his hands. You know being in this room with all these people is not good for him.
“All of you should leave.” You stare at the room and they all seem frozen, “GET OUT!” the room all quickly shuffles around and everyone dashes from the room. You turn your attention back to jacaerys who has bend over slightly, attempting to reach out to him but he quickly slaps your hands away.
“jace-” “It is my fault.” You shake your head though he can not see it and feel yourself also getting chocked up. “You know that is not true.”
He shakes his head and attempts to walk away from you but he stumbles and bit, you got to try and help him but he pushes you away from him. “There is nobody else to blame but me! if i had not been so foolish, to blinded i,,” He cannot continue to speak as tears continue to run down his face, the grip he has on his necklace tightens until he turns to one of the walls and lets out a loud shout as he rips it off his next and chucks it against the wall.
You quickly rush to his side as he falls to his knees and clutches his chest, when he tries to push you away this time his hands are weaker and you ignore him wrapping your arms around him. He leans against you as he sobs, his body violently shaking, his eyes tightly shut as he heaves into you chest, you can feel the tears soaking into your dress.
You rub his arms up and down and lightly rock back and forth, your own tears flow up to your eyes but you cant try now, not as you try to comfort him the best you can. You lean your mouth next to his ear and press a kiss to his temple. “It is nobody else fault other then aemonds arrogance and borros’ greed. It is not your fault my love.”
Your fingers comb your his curls as he slowly begins to settle down a little bit. You don’t know how long the two of you are sitting there on the floor, you do not care the way yours knees ache or the way your dress clings uncomfortably to your skin all that matters to you now is comforting him.
“Should we go see your mother?” He shakes his head and presses against you tightly. “How can i bare to look at her?”
“She needs you jace, just as you need her.” With your words he nods and you help him stand, he clings to you as you two walk through the empty hallways to his mothers chambers.
Before he opens the door he turns to you once more and you can see he’s clearly attempting to let out a smile but his face only contorts oddly before he sighs, “Thank you.”
You nod and give him your best smile as he turns and opens the door, shutting it quickly behind him. You walk away, fearing if you were even too close you’d be intruding on their intimate grieving time.
You finally allow yourself to cry once you enter the hall once more, walking over to the walk and picking up the pieces of his necklace in your hand, it didn't look unfixable, with some work you could repair it just as you’re sure he will be able to repair himself after this.
--
perm jace taglist <3
@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd imagine#jacaerys targaryen x reader#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys strong#prince jacaerys#jacaerys targaryen#jacaerys velaryon#hotd jacaerys#jacaerys x reader#jace x you#jace velaryon#jace targaryen#jace x reader#hotd fanfic#hotd x reader#hotd x y/n#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#house targaryen#jacaerys
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what about aemond x niece reader but aegon has always been in love with her? she is betrothed to aemond and they’ve always had a thing for the other but aegon has been head over heels for her since he can remember 👀
Always the last
Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x niece!reader, Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader
Summary: The firstborn son, always the last. It was like a mockery of the gods. To give him birthright but take away the one he wanted more than anything in the world.
Words: 1k
Themes: angst, no comfort, basically aegon is obsessed with reader, kind of self harm? (too much alcohol to silence pain), addictions
Warnings: delulu fanon aegon, kind of self harm? (too much alcohol to silence pain), addictions, incest (it's targaryens so obviously)
Author's note: I'm back, and I hope for longer. At first, it was supposed to be a more aemond x reader, but I changed my mind, and it ended up as angst from aegon's perspective. I'm sucker for my delulu fanon aegon. if you want more, my asks are open!!
Aegon knew he shouldn't get his hopes up. The life he imagined with his niece by his side was simply not going to happen.
He didn't deserve her. And even if it were otherwise, nothing would come of it. He had already been married to Helaena for years.
It just didn't make sense, and Aegon was well aware of that. So why did it hurt him so much? Why then, when he heard his father's decision about the betrothals of Aemond and his niece, did Aegon feel as if his life had just been put to rest? Why did it hurt so much? The knowledge that it would be Aemond who would be able to watch her sleep blissfully, hug her, kiss her, and spend the rest of his life with her didn't allow him to function.
He is the first-born son, and yet always the last.
So he turned to drinking and whoring. Aegon was never a serious man. He was always more interested in pleasure than any duty and this time was no different either. He didn't want to think anymore.
He didn't want to think about her, so to silence those disturbing thoughts, he would get drunk to the point of unconsciousness, unable to get her out of his head.
He would do anything to forget, to silence the pain and the voice that reminded him that it should have been him all along.
Aegon drank day and night with no desire to stop it. In every spare moment, all he could think about was his niece. The girl whose smile could light up the darkest corner and whose touch made his heart beat faster.
He knew it was wrong. He knew he should forget her. After all, she was his brother's betrothed. But there was nothing he could do about it.
No matter how much he tried to push away thoughts of her, no matter how much he tried to hide his feelings, he couldn't.
He couldn't forget the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed or the way her hair fell around her face like a waterfall. He couldn't forget her scent and the smile that made his heart flutter. He couldn't forget the way her hand felt in his, or the way her fingers traced patterns on his skin. Even if it was years ago when they were children. When life was easier.
He couldn't forget her. He was completely and utterly infatuated.
And it was killing him.
Every time he saw her with his brother, every time he saw them laughing and joking together, it felt like a dagger in his heart. He knew he should be happy for Aemond, but he couldn't. He was too consumed with jealousy, too consumed with the thought that she should be his betrothed and not his brother's.
He knew it was selfish and even unreasonable. But he couldn't help it.
He couldn't bear the thought of her being with someone else. Not when he had wanted her so much for so long. Not when he had spent years admiring her from afar, unable to do anything but dream of what might have been if things had turned out differently.
No amount of alcohol could erase his memories, no amount of pleasure could dull the pain in his heart.
She was always there, on the edges of his mind, tormenting him with her sweetness, beauty and innocence.
The pain in Aegon's heart only grew when he saw them together.
The sight of Aemond's eyes brightening as he looked at her, the way he leaned in to listen closely every time she spoke, the small smile that appeared on his lips when she laughed, all of it made Aegon's insides twist into a knot.
He felt as if a cold, strong hand was squeezing his heart and squeezing it tighter and tighter with each passing moment.
He tried to look away, to divert his attention, but he couldn't. His eyes always returned to them, drawn to their sight like a moth to a flame. He tried to tell himself that he should be happy for Aemond, that he should be happy that his brother had found someone to make him happy, but he couldn't.
He was filled with a burning jealousy from which he could not shake.
He couldn't stand it.
He couldn't look at them together, see the happiness on their faces, the warmth in Aemond's gaze. It was like a thousand needles piercing his heart with every passing second. He wanted to scream, tear them apart, take her away from her brother, and claim her as his own. He wanted to sink his face into her hair and inhale her scent, to wrap his arms around her and never let her go.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't do any of those things. He was trapped, watching from the sidelines as Aemond, his younger brother, his other son, always the more loved one, was now the one who could be with her. The one who could hold her hand, kiss her, and share her life. Aegon could only stare at it, feeling the bitter taste of jealousy on his tongue.
She was like a drug, an addiction he couldn't shake off. Every time he saw her, his heart sped up, his palms sweated, and his throat tightened.
And every time she smiled at Aemond, her eyes shining with affection, his heart broke all over again.
He knew that Aemond deserved someone like her in his life. But he couldn't help it. Jealousy was consuming him. It was destroying him.
Aegon knew he was not the right choice for her. He was too weak, too selfish, too impulsive.
He was a drunkard, a lustful man, one who lacked discipline and self-control. He would disappoint her, hurt her, and ultimately break her heart.
But that didn't stop him from wanting her, from lusting after her like a drug. Every thought of her filled his mind, every memory of her haunted his dreams.
She was like a bright, shining candle in a dark, cold world, and he was drawn to her more and more because he couldn't have her.
He was the firstborn son, the eldest, the one who was supposed to get everything.
And yet he was always the last. Last in his father's eyes, last in his mother's heart and now last in the race to her heart.
It was like a cruel joke, a mockery of the gods, that they had given him the birthright but taken away the one thing he wanted, the one person he wanted more than anything.
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd fanfic#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen#hotd aegon#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#send me asks#aegon targaryen#aegon x reader#hotd imagine
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The Fall from the Heavens (36)
[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]
[ warnings: hard sexual abuse, torture and starvation, angst, swearing, description of the murders ]
[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]
The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.
Characters & Series Moodboard
Lady Strong Moodboard
Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard
Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
_____
After Prince Aemond and his wife flew off on their dragons into the skies to meet their destiny in the Eyrie, Alys knew what awaited her; Larys paid her a visit shortly after they left the fortress. Despite his light, dreamy smile, her brother's blank, dark gaze expressed everything he had to convey to her.
He was not pleased.
"I'm disappointed. I thought we had made an agreement." He hummed, walking slowly over to the table she sat at, watching him vigilantly, his hand reaching for one of the vessels in which she kept her herbs.
"Worthless objects are usually…thrown away. Do you agree with me, sister?" He asked calmly and smiled gently at her, as if he had just said something comforting. Her expression and grin did not change, although a cold, unpleasant shiver ran along her spine.
She knew what awaited her.
She had seen it in her dream.
The strange, drunken men, guards and servants who could use her body as much as they liked in the darkness of her cell.
She didn't pose or look at them – she just tried to think of something else. She imagined then her unborn child, her mother's face, the soft smile of the little girl who might already be dead, betrayed by her husband.
She tried not to exist, pretended to herself that this was not her body.
The only man who did not take the opportunity to humiliate her was the guard who had been her lover for years, the same one who had watched over her chambers.
She felt a kind of emotion when Ser Erwin came to her in the morning, before his service began, covering her bared, bruised body with a sheet, always bringing her a piece of bread, letting her drink the wine that soothed her pain.
She would not eat or drink anything Larys's servants brought her, knowing that she would die in agony afterwards.
"Forgive me. If I defy him, he will hurt my wife and my children." He muttered, pressing his lips together, his bearded, broad, masculine face contorted in a grimace of pain, his eyes red from tears of grief.
He really pitied her.
She touched his arm and he placed his wide, rough hand on hers.
"I know. Protect your family. I will survive this. I'm grateful to you for what you're doing for me and I'll never forget it."
The man nodded.
"There is something else." She whispered. Ser Erwin looked at her, surprised.
The same dream repeated itself again and again every night: a white deer in a sea of blood and a man standing over it, whose silhouette she knew very well.
"I saw a wounded white deer in the darkness. I saw you standing over him. Promise me that when Prince Aemond arrives here, you will watch over him and his wife." She said.
He stared at her as if considering her words, then nodded again and stood up, leaving her alone in her prison.
And then there was silence.
The men ceased to visit her, and there was an uneasy, dark emptiness in the fortress.
The next day he arrived.
She knew it would happen.
She knew he would come, seeking answers.
In his armour, he looked older and more mature – looking at him from afar, she thought with amusement that, indeed, he was a handsome man and, were it not for his sweet wife, she would have loved to play with him, if only for her own amusement.
So helpless, hiding behind the walls of his pride, filled with complexes and fears, like a little child craving only someone's warm word and praise.
"Why did you lie? I could have your head for this." He hissed, angry and tense, standing at a good distance from the bars as if he feared he might otherwise fall under the influence of her charms.
She laughed weakly at his words.
"If there were no capacity for treachery in you, my words would not frighten you, Your Grace. But it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve stabbed her in the back, would it?" She sneered, saying exactly what she was thinking, thus bringing him completely off balance.
"Why?" He growled, pale as if he was about to faint.
She couldn't believe how frightened he was.
Did he consider that his will as a man was so weak?
That he wouldn't control his members and would just fuck her?
"My brother reckoned that after what was going to happen in the Eyrie she would try to take her own life again. I don’t consider myself a good person, but I’m not heartless. I wanted you to be horrified by my words and get her as far away from here as possible." She said.
"How dare you manipulate me and my wife." He hissed, enraged.
"I didn’t manipulate her. There was no need for that. You. Your pride wouldn’t allow you to listen to the advice of a bastard woman, on top of the Strong line. A witch’s prophecy that could give birth to your bastard child would be a different matter. Wouldn’t it?’" She asked mockingly and noticed how something changed in the look in his eye, his brow arching in pain.
He was suffering.
But why?
After a moment, however, the expression on his face changed, replaced by fury.
"Whose fucking side are you on, you insolent whore?" He growled through clenched teeth, as if he felt like spitting on her.
She realised then that it wasn't himself he was afraid of, but her.
She liked that.
"I am on my side. But my cold heart supports your wife. She has broken deep into it and refuses to leave it. I’m certain you understand me. Such a sweet girl." She hummed, wanting to bring him out of his daze, and the effect she provoked was even stronger than she had anticipated.
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" He shouted low, hatred and madness in his eye, his jaw clenched as tightly as if it was going to burst – he took one step towards her cell as if he wanted to tear her apart but stopped, panting heavily.
Gods.
He was jealous of his little wife.
He was afraid she would take her away from him.
His rage and fear were indeed great, for it seemed to her that he really wanted her to die of hunger and thirst. It was only a few days later that the guards whom she did not know and who had probably travelled with him from King's Landing opened her cell, ordering her to rise.
She did so with difficulty, sore, hungry and thirsty, and moved slowly with them through the familiar corridors of the fortress of Harrenhal. She pressed her lips together as she noticed out of the corner of her eye a fair-haired man watching her vigilantly, one of her brother's spies.
What was he doing here?
Why hadn't the prince sent him away?
Only then did she realise that he certainly had claimed to be a completely different person, putting his guards' vigilance to sleep.
"I need to speak to the Prince." She muttered, sitting down on her bed without strength. The guard placed a plate of bread and a jug of apple juice on her table.
"Be silent, witch. Be thankful to the gods that you are still alive." Said the man through clenched teeth, looking at her with disgust and left, closing the door. She heard the sound of the key turning in the lock and sighed heavily, burying her face in her hands.
She thought that Larys would certainly not poison the prince, but would be watching him with the help of this boy.
Indeed, the man brought her food and drink several times. She sniffed the juice he brought her and then split an apple lying on a tray in half and poured the contents of her cup over it. She snorted under her breath as the apple instantly turned black and began to break into pieces.
The Last Breath.
A poison created from a decoction of several herbs that could only be found locally in the region of Riverdale, slowing the heart rate and making breathing difficult, in large quantities suffocating the victim, in small quantities causing slow agony.
For reasons she understood, Prince Aemond did not visit her throughout his stay in Harrenhal, thus earning her respect and affection – she recognised that since he wanted to catch her brother he felt guilty and wanted to reward his wife for his moment of hesitation.
One night she dreamt of a great stone fortress reaching up to the sky surrounded by clouds, around which she seemed to hear the sea. She looked down upon it, flying on a dragon she had never seen before.
She opened her eyes and swallowed hard, wondering what she had actually seen and what it meant.
The dragon she saw belonged to neither Prince Aemond nor his wife.
So to whom?
That she did not know, but she knew for a fact that she would be leaving Harrenhal soon.
And then she appeared in the doorway of her chamber.
She felt a pleasant warmth in her stomach at the sight of her, her heart pounding faster in the hope that perhaps this girl would forgive her for what she had done, understand that she wanted her good.
She swallowed hard noticing in her eyes sadness so deep and infinite that she felt a squeeze in her throat.
"You predicted my husband would give birth to your bastard child." She said in a trembling, breaking voice, betrayed, humiliated, distraught.
"I lied. I saw nothing of the sort neither in my dreams nor in the fire." She said calmly, looking her straight in the eye. The prince's wife pressed her lips together at her words and furrowed her brow, anger and frustration in her gaze that startled her.
"How dare you lie to my husband, and your Prince?" She asked dryly, standing up for her husband to her astonishment.
How dare you manipulate me and my wife.
She saw that her hand was stroking her lower abdomen in a gesture of nervousness, something she had not done before.
Two streams of blood finally merging into one.
"You are expecting his child." She whispered, but the girl didn't answer her.
Alys sighed heavily.
"My brother had plans for you. He ordered me to seduce the Prince. He wanted you to step aside and try to take your own life again. He knew that your husband would then fall into complete darkness."
Her eyebrows arched in pain, as if some part of her really wanted to believe her.
She was so innocent.
"You didn't tell me about this."
"No."
"You and my husband. You are identical."
She smiled sadly at her words, understanding perfectly what she meant.
They were both a dancing, aggressive fire that burned everything around them, lonely stars in the sky that could only devour each other.
"Yes. Yes, we are."
Her eyebrows arched in pain, her pretty, bright eyes shone with tears of disappointment.
"I believed you."
"I regret not telling you. I didn't want to destroy your already strained trust in him." She whispered, lowering her gaze to the stone floor, recognising, however, that there was nothing more she could do now.
It was already too late.
"Did you make an attempt?"
She blinked, snapped out of her reverie and looked at her, not understanding her question.
"Your Grace?"
"Did you try to seduce him?"
"No. I didn't go near him."
"Why?"
"Because he would have killed me. I just wanted your husband to make the right decision. For him to be scared of what might happen, to try to change the future. For him to tell you about what's happening here."
"I believed you. I opened my heart to you." She muttered in a breaking voice, from which she felt a cold sweat on her neck.
"I know."
The girl pressed her lips together – even though she was clearly trying to remain calm a single, lonely tear ran down her cheek.
"− there are still people in this fortress who will want to kill you − especially beware of the young, fair-haired man − don't eat or drink anything he serves you −" She said finally, wanting her to understand that hurting her was never her purpose or desire.
Like her husband, she could not express her feelings or affection other than through actions, even if they remained incomprehensible to her.
"− why didn't you tell my husband about this? −" She muttered in disbelief.
"− I saw this boy when I was moved back to my chamber − the Prince didn't want to see me anymore then − this servant brought me poisoned food several times, a gift from my brother −"
An uncomfortable, long silence fell between them − her gaze expressed horror, shock and disbelief, her small figure trembling all over in fear. She finally swallowed loudly and lifted her chin higher, trying to control herself and calm down.
"My husband gave Harrenhal to me to rule. That means I will decide what happens to the people who serve here, including you."
Alys didn't even flinch at her words, thinking only with her admiration that her husband did indeed have a great deal of remorse for what he had never actually done.
She thought that perhaps she had inadvertently contributed to something that helped them both.
Her husband had opened up to her, shown her his weakness and helplessness, and she hadn't pushed him away despite her disappointment.
"I saw it in a dream. A stone castle reaching to the skies. That's where you'll send me away." She said softly, and she nodded as if it was indeed as she had said.
"I will not forget what you have done for me, that you warned me. As an expression of my gratitude you will be given gold, and by my order all your belongings will be moved to the Eyrie. My cousin, after spies were discovered in his fortress, is indebted to my family and will receive you with honours. I will introduce you in my letter as a valuable medic who should work alongside the maester. You will not lack anything there."
The Eyrie?
She remained silent, wondering if there was a sea or river somewhere near this fortress, but she wasn't sure.
She decided it didn't matter.
And then what she had feared happened.
The boy had tried to poison her.
She wondered if Prince Aemond would come to her chamber and kill her too, but he didn't.
She heard the guards speaking with each other, saying that he had ordered the servants to try the poisoned wine, and they died one by one in agony in front of his eyes.
They said that looking at them the Prince was grinning broadly.
She swallowed hard at the thought and closed her eyes, already understanding why her brother cared so much about ending her life.
Larys was willing to sacrifice all these people just to get rid of this little girl once and for all and regain his power over her husband.
In keeping with his wife's wishes, she prepared to leave − she did not resent her for wanting to send her away, in fact feeling a peace in her soul at the thought that perhaps her life would now be better than it had been, and she would not have to worry about her welfare.
She looked towards her door, surprised when she heard someone turn the key in the lock. After a moment, it opened, and a young man with beautiful dark curls and bright eyes entered her chamber. She blinked, thinking he reminded her of someone, but she wasn't sure who.
Who was he that he could walk in here?
"My Lady." He said softly and bowed, as if she were a lady of great lineage and not a bastard. She smiled indulgently at the thought, folding one of her gowns, placing it in her trunk alongside the other things she wanted to take with her.
"My Lord." She replied, eager to hear what the young man was coming to her with.
The boy seemed ashamed and uncertain, as if he himself did not know what he was actually doing in her quarters. He began to look around her room, looking at the jars and vessels full of herbs, roots, liquids and other objects she used in her craft.
"I heard you're a witch. Is that true?" He asked casually, a light, wry smile on his lips, as if the thought amused him. She smirked involuntarily at his words, tucking her books into her trunk.
"So they say, my Lord." She hummed and sighed quietly, wondering whether or not a book on philosophy would be of use to her in the Eyrie.
"Did you know my father?" He asked finally, and she looked at him surprised, finally understanding who was standing before her.
He was her brother.
Yes, she thought.
They were so similar.
"Yes." She replied calmly, reaching for more books from her shelf. The boy shifted from foot to foot and swallowed hard, tense.
"Was he a good man? A man of honour?" He asked proudly, however his voice trembled, as if he feared her answer. She froze in mid-motion and thought for a moment.
"He was a compassionate man with a sharp tongue. He was cordial. He laughed a lot. He always treated me with dignity, and his father was proud of him." She finally replied, involuntarily remembering his face.
"Wasn't that your father too?" He asked uncertainly, and she smiled involuntarily.
"Indeed, but only formally. He put his seed inside my poor mother, nothing more." She said.
A long silence fell between them.
"I am also a bastard." He said finally and drew in the air loudly, as if the words were leaving his throat with difficulty. "And I regret that I came into this world."
She turned towards him, curious, wondering if he was looking for her support and advice. She cocked her head and hummed, running her fingers along the table top in front of her.
"From what I understand, you have become heir to Dragonstone. Would you rather be a bastard king? People don't forget someone's origins, even less so when that person rules a kingdom."
She saw that he lifted the gaze of his bright eyes to her, in his expression something similar to what she had seen in the face of Prince Aemond's wife.
They were both sensitive, warm, compassionate, empathetic and assertive at the same time, but what in her case as a woman was an asset, in his case was clearly the cause of his complexes and misery.
He felt too fragile, too weak, unable to be the kind of man that was expected of him − cold, brutal, threatening, mocking, ironic.
It was impossible to change his nature and he felt humiliated.
She thought she understood him.
"You also have a beautiful betrothed. I saw her arrive with your sister through that window." She said calmly, walking around her table and past him, reaching for one of the jars that stood on a bookcase against the wall. When she turned, he was looking at her in a way from which she stopped in half a step.
"I don't love her. And she doesn't love me."
She blinked and swallowed quietly, not taking her eyes off him. He gave up and lowered his head, his cheeks red with shame.
"Marriages are rarely created on the basis of true passionate, sincere affection." She replied, not intending to judge or rebuke him.
"However, my sister does not see the world beyond my uncle, and he spends every night with her." He muttered angrily and regretfully, like a small child who envied others for being able to play with better toys. She sighed quietly at his words and shook her head.
"Their affection was a gift to them from the gods." She said, walking back to her trunk, putting the jar of herbs inside.
"Are you leaving Harrenhal?" He asked suddenly, as if understanding that she was packing her belongings to set off on her journey.
"Your sister is sending me to your cousin in the Eyrie to serve him as a medic." She said calmly. Her nephew stepped closer to her, furrowing his brow.
"Why?"
Curious little thing.
"They don't want anyone associated with Larys Strong to remain in the fortress." She lied. "Thanks to her, Prince Aemond spared my life."
"When are you leaving?" He asked uncertainly, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
"In a few days. I am to be accompanied by your uncle's troops and I must wait for his order."
The boy nodded, tense.
"May I also visit you tomorrow? To speak with you." He asked without looking at her, filled with shame, and she nodded.
Her nephew said a polite goodbye and left her chamber, leaving her in a state of confusion.
Indeed, he came to see her the next day and every day after, clearly in a better mood.
He walked around her chamber, asking her many questions.
"Have you ever seen a dragon up close?"
"No, my Prince."
"You don't have to call me that. You are my aunt."
Her lips twitched in a mocking smile at his words.
"Very well."
"Why have you never married anyone?"
"A bastard-wife is a burden. Unless it's your sister." She replied with amusement, and he gave her a drawn-out look.
Something in her words made him uncomfortable.
"You think you're going to be a burden to your betrothed? I don't think she pays attention to that sort of thing. She seems to be a strong woman." She said softly, and he swallowed hard, looking down at his feet.
"She is. She has an overwhelmingly strong character. I'm not able to…keep up. I get tired of how fast she lives, how many things she wants." He confessed with shame, once again exposing his oversensitive, fragile nature to her.
"Sometimes people just don't fit together."
He looked at her and furrowed his brow, as if he didn't understand what she had said.
"What do you mean?"
She sighed heavily, looking away, spreading herself comfortably in the chair. She smiled involuntarily when she noticed that, despite his efforts, his gaze escaped for a moment to her full, soft breasts, hidden only beneath the material of her thin gown.
"It is impossible to change human nature. Not at its core. You can be different, but marriage, it seems to me, is about complementing each other."
He lifted his gaze back to her eyes, his lips parted as if he had run out of words. He nodded his head and grunted, walking uncertainly over to the table, sitting down in one of the chairs. He began to play with his fingers, as if he was fighting with himself.
"I don't know what I could do to change. To be what everyone expects me to be.’
"Stop killing yourself."
He looked at her and she shook her head, furrowing her brow.
"What?"
"You're killing your sensitivity. Your calmness, your thoughtfulness. Your warm nature, which is the reason for your shame. You want to be like your uncle, but you're not. Maturity is about taking responsibility for your decisions, and you are running away from it. You become a man when you confront your desires."
Prince Jacaerys seemed completely surprised by her words, simultaneously distressed and filled with hope. He lowered his gaze, looking down at his fingers, silent for a long moment.
"Fly with me to Dragonstone."
She looked at him in disbelief, for a moment not knowing what to say, shocked.
This boy completely lost his mind.
"I don't follow." She confessed.
Her nephew looked at her with a gleam in his eye, from which she felt a squeeze in her lower abdomen.
"Fly with me to Dragonstone. You are my blood. I do not want you to be the servant of a lord who will be able to use you and…" He did not finish, his cheeks red with shame.
Something in his words, in the fact that he was concerned about her fate and welfare, touched her.
She thought this boy had a really good heart.
"Your sister has ordered me to set out for the Eyrie."
"My sister wishes you to disappear from Harrenhal. I desire you to accompany me on my journey back to Dragonstone."
She laughed at his words.
"Who will I be there? Your whore?"
The boy furrowed his brow, looking at her in shock.
"My aunt."
Her smile vanished from her face, her brow furrowed in anger.
"Truly you are still a little child."
"I want this."
"You don't know what you want. Who I am."
"You are just like me. Abandoned. Alone. Marked. Without purpose, without a chance to have the dignity you deserve. I seem to have finally understood my sister. What she and my uncle have in common. I felt something immediately when I saw you for the first time. I'm not speaking of lust − I'm speaking of a feeling that I've never before met a person who could accept me as I am. Some part of me believes that I was destined to meet you."
He whispered, as if he was referring to something he was ashamed of, desperate and embarrassed, his bright eyes full of hot emotion that frightened her, overwhelmed her and moved her at the same time.
Only then did she understand.
A stone fortress reaching up to the sky, with the sound of water all around it.
The dragon on whose back she flew, which she had never seen before.
Her destiny had come for her.
#aemond targaryen#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#hotd aemond#aemond one eye#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#hotd fanfic#aemond angst#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen x female#aemond x female#aemond x wife#aemond x oc#aemond x original female character#aemond x original character#aemond targaryen x oc#hotd fanfiction#hotd fic#hotd angst#ewan mitchell fanfiction#ewan mitchell fanfic#ewan mitchell fic#ewanverse
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loser!jace velaryon with a slight older and dommy reader. she loves teasing him in public settings till he begs and then overstimming him to tears. maybe a mommy kink in there sometime. god i love jace.
18+, MDNI !!
LOSER! JACE VELARYON, to start off, has had a crush on his betrothed since he was a child. He thought he could never have a chance with such a beautiful and alluring woman, a goddess in disguise as a human being. But when it was time for him to find a wife, boy was he surprised. She had fucked him stupid before the two of them were even wed.
LOSER! JACE VELARYON had never been experienced. He had heard about the acts of sex from the men around him because of the prostitutes they took to bed. But he was raised better than that and he didn’t see a point in those sort of indulgences.
Until he met her. Then he became the neediest and most infatuated man. He even grew out the locks of his hair so she could yank on it more when he enjoyed his meal— the one between her thighs, of course.
LOSER! JACE VELARYON starts calling his wife mommy. Mummy, to be exact, because of his accent, but for the sake of the word let’s just say mommy. He doesn’t know exactly where the satisfaction from the word derived from. He thinks it may be because she’s a tad bit older than him and makes him feel nurtured and loved.
And Gods, does he sound so beautiful and sweet when he says it. It slips off his tongue in pretty, whiny words. “Mommy, can I touch you here?” “Mommy, I need you.” “Mommy, you’re so warm.” It’d be a shame if no one got to experience the desperate sound of his cracking voice when he’s just on the cusp of release.
Which is why his wife decides to tease him. LOSER! JACE VELARYON is at a wedding celebration when her palm skims over his most perfect spot. She notices the way his thighs tense up and he tries to keep composure— he’s in a seat at the dinner table, but that doesn’t mean the others around him aren’t at risk of noticing.
LOSER! JACE VELARYON tries not to sound so whiny when the men of the court ask him questions. He grabs ahold of her hand that’s squeezing him— a beg to stop this now, because this is important, mommy, because we can’t do that— but he can’t resist her for long. No, it’s a mere five minutes before he’s excusing him and his wife for a leave to one of the mostly empty corridors, his eyes on her corseted back and imagining the way she looks spread open on his fat cock. Gods, he can’t wait.
LOSER! JACE VELARYON is pushed against the stone wall of the corridor, eyes rolling and mouth falling open when his wife drops to her knees. She looks beautiful, a true Targaryen beauty. He’s never seen someone so perfect. His hand finds its way into her hair— it isn’t done up like usual. She must’ve been expecting this.
Her fingers deftly undo his trousers, smiling when his girthy length slaps up against his stomach. He’s all flushed pink and wet, aching for a hole to fill, and she knows it.
“What a naughty boy you are,” she teases, in that angelic lilt of hers. She trails a finger up his length, and he lets out a groan. “Getting all worked up in front of all those people. Tell me, husband. What do you think they’d do if they knew their little Velaryon prince was whining like a girl for his beloved’s mouth?”
He bites his lip, eyes scrunching closed.
“They would think…” he breathes out a sigh when her tongue laps at him teasingly. “They would think im a whore, mommy.”
“That’s right, sweet one. Because that’s what you are, isn’t it?”
He nods, because he knows it’s the truth. Her hand wraps around him and lightly tugs. His hips move against the sensation, and his wrist moves up to be bitten by his teeth. She notices, and grabs his elbow. His arm is back at his side in a second, clutching onto the cool surface of the stone wall.
“No,” she says. “Let them all hear you, little prince. Let them hear you when I taste this sweet cock.”
He lets out a whine, watching as she takes his glittering, pink head into your soft mouth. She suckles him gently, playfully, and hums like a kitten at the taste of his precum. He’s delicious. She could eat him up for hours.
LOSER! JACE VELARYON is soon crying, tears streaming down his cheeks as she works her hand over him still, her fingers dripping with his first—second?— release. He can still hear the ongoing party as he shakes against the wall. He doesn’t know how long it’s been.
“Mommy. Mommy, it’s too much, please..”
“Don’t be difficult, Jace. Don’t you want to make me proud?”
Fuck, he wants it so bad he can’t breathe. He nods, plump lip quivering. He wonders when the party will be over…
LOSER! JACE VELARYON lets out a tiny whimper of fear when he hears the sounds of footsteps moving down the corridor. He comes to his senses for a mere moment, regardless of the fact that his wife’s hand is still pumping his cock. But she’s clever and she’s calm— she presses her hand to his shoulder and uses the leverage to push him against the corner of the corridor, a corner that has an extra wall built onto it and makes a tiny nook of secrecy and disretion. Jace hears the voices of his relative Alicent Hightower and her traitor knight, Sir Criston. Vastly approaching still, while his beloved’s hand works his dick, she speaks in a hushed whisper.
“Filthy, naughty boy. Cock out and covered in cum. You just couldn’t wait, could you?”
He can’t help it. LOSER! JACE VELARYON cries out his wife’s name, face twisted into carnal pleasure, and cums. Creamy white squirting all over her wrist and dress, balls drawn up tighter than a rubber band. He thinks she might’ve put a spell on him, this woman.
She smiles, listening to the awkward and rushed sound of Alicent and Sir Criston leaving the corridor when they realize the adultery occurring. Jace’s wife brings her fingers up to her mouth and gently sucks the spend off her thumb.
“You’re doing so good for mommy. I think you can handle one more. Don’t you think, little prince?”
:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz
#Turning this into a lil list of headcanons bcs HIM IN THE NEW TRAILER >>#if anyone wants modern! Jace tho I’m willing#jacerys velaryon#Jace Velaryon#Jacerys Velaryon x reader#Jacerys Velaryon x fem! reader#Jacerys Velaryon smut#Jacerys velaryon fanfic#Jacerys Velaryon Drabble#Jacerys Velaryon blurb#Jacerys velaryon oneshot#Jacerys velaryon headcanons#Jace Velaryon x reader#Jace Velaryon x fem! reader#Jace Velaryon smut#Jace Velaryon fanfic#Jace Velaryon Drabble#Jace velaryon oneshot#Jace velaryon headcannons#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon fanfic
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FORBIDDEN TEMPTATION.
Aemond Targaryen x niece!Reader
WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; canon typical incest/targcest (uncle married niece), menstrual sex, p in v, fingering, lactation kink
WORDS: 2.1 K
NOTES: Thank you to @lady-phasma and the rest of our little group for this period smut collaboration 😝 and extra thanks to @zaldritzosrose for the moodboard!! I love you guys sm 💕 It was so much fun working with this request. Cheers to the dragon friends🤍
✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
A poking ache in your stomach is what pulls you out of your sleep, like a sharp, stinging tug that makes you curl into a bundle, clutching your belly. With your husband still sound asleep right next to you, his snores filling the room, you’re determined to not moan out in pain too loudly, though you’re close to failing.
“By the Seven,” you whisper, a clear strain to your voice, and when you bring your hand down between your legs, the stickiness you're welcomed with makes you sigh. There’s hardly any light of the moon falling into the room, which makes it difficult for you to make out the source of the wetness that coats your fingers, yet the smell lets you know it’s familiar. Your moonblood.
“Oh, this can not…” you trail off, moaning through gritted teeth as another jolt of pain runs through your belly.
Next to you, your husband has been roused from sleep by your stirring and moaning, blinking against the darkness and blearily into the night as he tries to understand what is going on. Propping himself up on one elbow, his groggy voice is laced with worry as he speaks, “what is the matter?”
You shift to lie on your back again, leaning up against the headboard. “I… my moonblood has come,” you say. The realization that it’s just your monthly bleeding does bring you some sense of relief, meaning your husband has not yet managed to put another child in you, but it also concerns you. “It feels like someone is clawing at my belly from the inside out… and I can not remember for it to be so painful before the pregnancy.”
It’s an instinct he’s developed over the course of your pregnancy, something you still catch him doing every now and then, but Aemond‘s hand immediately goes to your belly, rubbing small, soothing circles to somewhat ease the pain. And for someone possessing the blood of the dragon, his body certainly emanates a lot of heat. You’re immediately drawn towards him, melting against his frame, warmth radiating off of his bare chest.
Aemond brings his lips to the crown of your head, wrapping his arms around you. “That was to be expected, was it not?” he asks.
“Yes, but it is quite severe.” You flinch again at the stinging pain, though it is not as sharp with his warm hand splayed over your stomach. “Could you fetch me the maester to ease the pain?”
Your husband’s mind, however, quickly comes up with a different solution. “Well, I have heard and read that there’s another way to ease that kind of pain, my love,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice. “A more… pleasurable alternative that may not completely rid you of the pain, but certainly takes your mind off of it.”
His words and the innuendo don’t surprise you at all. Ever since he truly has learned what it meant to indulge in the pleasures of flesh with you, he’s turned into a starved beast, desperate to get his fill of you every night until your little Baelon was born, and determined to get you round with his seed as quickly as possible again. The few weeks of rest that had been prescribed by the maester were the most difficult for him, struggling to keep his hands off of you. It was the complete opposite to the way he was while you grew up together; your usually quiet and observing uncle turned into a beast, similar to the one he claimed when he turned ten.
Aemond’s hand slowly drifts lower, and a small gasp escapes your lips, his fingers dancing lightly over the damp linen of your smallclothes. You look at him, your eyes half-lidded with a mix of pain and desire. “Do you really think… it would help?” you murmur softly, instinctively arching into his touch. The throbbing ache in your belly is temporarily replaced by a pleasant warmth spreading through your core.
“Oh, I very much believe it will,” he whispers in your ear, his voice low and gravelly.
A sly smile is on his lips as his thumb brushes over your pearl, making your breath hitch in your throat. Your head tips back into the pillows with a moan slipping past your lips. “Aemond…” you whisper, his name coming out in a mere breath, “please.”
He is quick to bow his head forward, capturing your lips for a kiss. As he tugs on your smallclothes, you wrap your arms around his neck for support, using the leverage to shimmy out of the damp linen.
You gasp against his lips as his nimble digits ease into your cunt, and Aemond presses his forehead against yours. Feeling you writhe beneath his touch, he lets out a low groan, a small shiver running down his spine at the wanton sight of his wife on the cusp of pleasure. “Relax, my love,” he rasps. “Let me take care of you.”
His fingers continue their ministrations, his touch gentle yet insistent, never slowing down, and your hips buck into his touch. There’s no denying your desire for him, your need for him. And while he focuses on easing your pain, your focus solely lies on him – or rather his cock. It’s always the same, for his fingers are never enough for you.
Aemond has pushed his sleeping trousers down to the point he was able to free his cock, thick, hard, and the tip glistening with a few beds of his arousal, indicating just how badly he wants to take care of you. Feeling his knuckles brush your thigh as his fist slides up and down his length, you whimper in anticipation while a strained grunt leaves his lips.
Without another word, Aemond positions himself between your legs, the motion fluid and practiced. His hands glide over the smooth skin of your thighs, pushing them further apart to accommodate him.
There is some impatience evident in his movements as he drags the tip of his cock through your soaked folds, causing you to gasp each time it presses against your sensitive pearl.
“Stop teasing me, Aemond,” you whine, your nerves on fire.
His lips curve into a smug smirk at your desperate whine. “What’s the rush, my love?”
Tilting his head forwards, he watches as he circles your entrance with his cock, repeatedly pushing just the tip inside… only to pull out mere moments later. While it drives you insane with lust, it also makes you aware of how slick you are for him – knowing it’s not just your arousal he’s coated in now.
That realization makes you feel shy, and you momentarily try to squeeze your thighs together to escape his hungry gaze – but to no avail. Tsking, Aemond is quick to pry your thighs apart again, raising a brow. “Do not shy away now,” he warns. “A little blood does not repel me.”
Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nod meekly at his words, and your husband takes that as his cue to continue. Where he usually sheathes him inside you in one, swift thrust, he’s slow and careful to enter you now, making sure you feel every vein and ridge of him on his way inside. You both moan in unison, never getting enough of each other.
Despite you being quite tense from the sharp pain tugging at your belly, Aemond buries himself inside of you with ease, your moonsblood adding to your slickness. It feels different than usual – you feel different than usual, more sensitive – yet the pleasure it brings is heightened and coaxes you to melt around him.
Your head tips back into the pillows, but Aemond is quick to bring a hand to the side of your neck, applying a bit of pressure to your chin with his thumb to force you to meet his gaze. There is a slight stutter in his hips as he sets up his slow pace, settling only once he’s found the perfect rhythm. With expert precision, he rolls his hips against yours. Your heels dig into his rear, encouraging him to go even deeper.
The dull, continuous ache in your belly grows weaker with every thrust, replaced by a warmth that spreads all the way to your limbs, fueled by the squelching sounds of his cock repeatedly disappearing into your soaked cunt.
Aemond has one hand on your neck and the other positioned on the mattress right next to your head, careful not to put all of his weight on your sensitive body. You take it upon yourself to tug on the low neckline of your nightgown, pulling it even lower to free your heavy breasts from their confines.
Your body is still providing enough milk to feed an army of children, despite you merely birthing one, and while they are heavy and hard to the touch, wearing clothes has always been a far worse agony. The creamish silk has been damp even before Aemond has touched you, and so it’s no surprise droplets of milk trickle from your darkened buds as soon as your fingers touch them.
And that is the moment he stops being careful, bowing down to capture one bud with his lips and press his body against yours. It’s a mix between a gasp and moan that slips past your lips, yet it’s enough to make clear the relief you feel.
The position all but forces him to roll his hips against yours languidly, but neither of you mind for it seems to bring you both enough pleasure. You can feel him suckle on your breast in the rhythm your cunt clenches around his cock. His cheeks dimpled from the suction; he’s propped up on one elbow, using his hand to pinch and roll the other bud between his fingers.
He alternates between licking and sucking, not keen on wasting just one drop of your precious milk. “Gods, Aemond,” you whine, arching your back against him. You feel him throb inside of you at the despair audible in your voice, spurring him on.
Your hips move on their own accord now, grinding against his and matching his movements, the pain in your belly and breasts long forgotten as you chase your pleasure.
A couple of moments pass until you feel Aemond’s breath growing labored, his chest almost heaving with more and more muffled grunts and groans escaping his throat. He is loud – much to your surprise – but your body seems keen at that, the pressure inside of your belly tightening at a rapid pace.
As his lips wrap around your other bud, the knot in your belly snaps. It’s either gripping the sheets or his hair to keep yourself grounded, and you opt for the latter, burying your hands inside of his silver strands. You use the grip to pull him closer to your breasts, more out of instinct than of clear will.
The sheets below you are soaked with a blend of your arousal and moonblood, trickling out of your cunt and coating Aemond’s cock and the sac of his stones. It’s the tightness of your peak’s contractions that eventually forces the seed from your husband, milking him for every last drop of his spent. His muscles go rigid, yet he hardly withdraws from your bud to release grunts and groans, too drunk on what’s supposed to be for your son.
He bites down as he spills inside of you, harder than you like considering your whole body is a sensitive mess at this point, but you do not begrudge him – it’s well deserved with how caring and careful he’s been to tend to your needs.
He buries his face between your now soft and tender breasts as you leisurely ride out your peaks, both your movements slowly, but surely, coming to a stop. You tug on his hair, and the sight of his half-lidded eye and his swollen lips makes you clench around him once more.
While Aemond swallows a groan, you urge his face towards yours for a kiss, moaning at the taste of your milk on his tongue. Labored breaths fan across each other’s faces as his mouth leaves yours, and you take a moment to stare at each other silently.
“Is the pain… has it eased?” Aemond’s voice is a hoarse whisper. Panting softly, he sits back on his haunches.
A small, bashful smile curves your lips, the haze of desire beginning to lift. Your body still thrums with the aftereffects of his endeavors. “I am quite alright,” you reply. “But perhaps we should indulge in a bath. I do believe a soak in hot water may alleviate my discomfort even more, and it seems we have both made quite the mess.”
You notice the mischievous gleam in his good eye. “If that is what my love desires, then consider it done. I shall have hot water brought to our chambers, and then I shall ensure that every bit of your discomfort is soothed.”
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ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ
ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ
"ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʙᴜɪʟᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴀʟʟ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ…"
Word count: 4000.
Fandom: House of the Dragon.
Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.
HOLDING — 5. Her.
In the turbulent landscape of her mind, revelations unfurled like a shadow play, eclipsing all other thoughts, making it impossible for her to consider the idea of claiming a dragon. The cruel and harsh circumstances of the moment left no room for such a notion. Even in a different world, she would not have felt ready. Her respect for family transcended her own desires.
She could see the urgency in every word Aemond spoke, the need shining in his eyes. She felt immense gratitude toward him for his consideration, but this gratitude was accompanied by an unexpected anger, for now she had a new fear to face. A fear that grew with each of his insistences, a fear of not measuring up, of not being good enough.
The disappointment on Aemond's face as he headed for the door wounded her deeply. Her mouth twisted in a gesture of frustration, regretting not only having disappointed him but also herself. She had always believed in her courage, in her capability, until the moment came to prove it.
"I won't sit idly by" Aemond declared before leaving, his words echoing in the emptiness of the room. Her stomach sank, a knot of anxiety forming within as she recalled Helaena's words.
Quickly, she threw her cloak over her shoulders, not caring that it barely covered her nightgown. There was no time to dress properly. She rushed out of the room, her hurried steps filling the dark and silent corridors. The night's chill seeped through the castle windows, she could hear the murmur of waves crashing against the shore, and the echo of her steps resonated against the stone walls, heightening her sense of urgency and desperation.
Upon reaching the balcony, she spotted Otto and Aegon entering the castle, although their gaze was fixed elsewhere. As she was about to step outside, with her eyes on Aemond's back, Diana, her mother's lady-in-waiting, appeared carrying Joffrey in her arms. At the sight of her, Diana frowned.
"My princess, what are you doing out of your quarters at this hour?" Diana asked, concerned.
"I need to..." she began.
"You cannot leave your quarters dressed like this, so inappropriately, princess, come with me" Diana insisted, shifting Joffrey to one arm and taking her by the shoulder with the other, guiding her back.
"I need to find Aemond" she explained, her words falling on deaf ears as Diana led her further into the castle.
"You can look for him tomorrow, my princess" Diana concluded, opening the door to the room she had left just minutes before.
"Diana, please, listen to me" she begged, feeling the desperation in her chest and a bitter taste filling her mouth. Both entered the room, and seeing her urgency, Diana put Joffrey on the bed and knelt to be at her level. Diana had been like a mother to her, and she had never seen her so upset, so her distress made the lady-in-waiting pay more attention.
"I have a bad feeling, Diana, please, I need to go" she pleaded, nervousness evident in every word. Diana took her trembling hands, trying to calm her.
"Princess, tell me, what is happening?"
"I feel that something bad is going to happen, Diana, let me go to him."
"Princess, I cannot let you leave at this hour, your mother would not approve. I assure you that nothing will happen, we are all safe here, yes?"
Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she realized it was futile; the woman did not understand. Joffrey began to cry, demanding attention. Diana moved away to console him, picking him up again and casting a worried glance at her.
"What if I call your mother, princess, would that be better?" Diana proposed. She nodded, knowing that her mother might comprehend her better. "Very well, but wait for her here, princess, please." Although she still wanted to go after Aemond, she agreed.
She grappled with an unfamiliar sensation, something she didn’t know how to describe, like a tightening grip around her ribs that boded ill, and she knew it could not mean anything good. Seated upon the bed, she endeavored to steady her breath, yet with each passing moment void of news from her mother, the task proved more arduous. Rising to her feet, she commenced pacing, impatience fueling her, her mind besieged by an unyielding tempest.
Then she felt it, as if the ground trembled beneath her soles. She hastened to her window, and there she beheld it. From her elevated position, she had a clear view of where Vhagar lay, her giant dark silhouette standing out against the golden sand. Though unable to discern Aemond's diminutive form, she watched as the dragon turned its gaze in his direction and opened her mouth. A chill ran down her spine as she witnessed the scene, her heart racing wildly.
A deep roar, vibrating through her very core, thundered forth from Vhagar's throat, enveloping the night in its imposing echo. Admiration and fear danced a precarious duet within her, emotions entwined in conflict as she beheld the majestic creature ascend from its resting ground. Helaena's cautionary words reverberated still in her mind, stirring a burgeoning anxiety within her.
She bit her lower lip, her trembling hands gripping the window sill. The tension was unbearable. She wanted to scream, run to him, stop him, but she was paralyzed by fear and worry.
The scene unfolded like a dream. Aemond mounted the dragon, and for a moment that seemed eternal, both remained still, as if time itself had stopped to witness that momentous instant. Then, with another thunderous roar, Vhagar spread her colossal wings and, with a powerful flap, majestically lifted off the ground. The wind generated by the takeoff shook the window glass, making it tremble.
She could not look away, her eyes filled with tears. It was a sight both awe-inspiring and terrifying at the same time. She felt pride, but also a deep and visceral fear for Aemond's safety. Vhagar was a formidable battle dragon, and only the most capable and daring individuals could hope to claim her. The dragon ascended higher and higher, her powerful wings slicing through the air with lethal grace. Soon, they became a shadow, fading into the distance and the darkness of the sky, joining their fates in a defiant flight and leaving her with a sense of emptiness and an unanswered question: Could Helaena have been wrong, or did her prophecy still await?
After an agonizing wait full of uncertainty, the moment she waited for finally arrived. From her position at the window, she saw the great figure of Vhagar soaring through the night sky. Her heart leapt with relief at the sight of Aemond's familiar silhouette, unscathed and returning safely from his daring flight. With her heart in her throat, she watched as he descended from the dragon's back with grace and determination. Every stride he made towards the castle was a melody of triumph and bravery. Illuminated by the moon, his figure glowed with a quiet radiance.
She could barely contain her excitement when she saw him disappear below. Each step Aemond took towards her echoed the victory in her chest, like it was her own.
She ran to her door, her sweaty hand on the knob, ready to open it before he even knocked. A smile adorned her face, her lower lip between her teeth as she waited, expectant. She could not wait to see his sweet look, revealing exhaustion and satisfaction from his feat, when they were face to face. She was about to go out in search of him again when she noticed how long it was taking him to return, but at that moment, she heard a deafening noise coming from the beach and stood rooted in place. It was a roar from Vhagar, a raw and primal cry of pure agony.
Everything had gone too well considering the luck they both had, and she knew Helaena was never wrong.
Her lady-in-waiting, Lyra, had rushed in some time later, her face appeared ghostly pale, as if every drop of blood had been drained from it, terrified, and when she saw her, there was no need to ask any questions. She approached, sitting beside her, and she simply rested her head on Lyra's lap, curling into a ball. Lyra covered her with blankets, feeling the chill of her cold body, and gently stroked her hair, humming a sweet melody, while madness reigned in the hallways. The clinking of metal armor could be heard as guards ran, frightened and condemning whispers from everyone present in the castle, yet she remained in place, pinned, unable to react. She was not ready to face whatever was happening, but there was only one thing she needed to know.
"Is he okay?"
Lyra did not ask who she meant, for she had seen her princess's face soften every time she saw him pass by, she simply replied, "He will be, my princess."
The sun barely hinted at itself behind a shroud of gray clouds that darkened the dawn. Throughout the long night, she had been unable to close her eyes, despite Lyra's careful attempts to tuck her in. Lyra had stayed by her side, fulfilling the order Diana brought from Rhaenyra, and her presence had been a small but insufficient source of comfort.
With the first light of day, the gravity of the events became apparent. Lyra had gone to fetch breakfast a few minutes ago, and she, unable to keep waiting, decided to step out. The castle hallways buzzed with frenetic activity, guards stationed at the door of Aemond and Aegon's room, and servants hurrying by with luggage. When she tried to enter to see Aemond, the guards stopped her. Only a maester, carrying a tray full of instruments and herbs, was granted entry. The door closed swiftly, and she only managed to glimpse a silhouette resting on the bed in the dim light.
Desperate, she headed to her brother’s room, finding it empty. She decided to go to her mother's chambers, where the guards immediately let her pass. Inside, she found her brothers with bowed heads and Laenor with loose dreadlocks, disheveled and with swollen eyes. Rhaenyra maintained a grave expression, despite her serene face.
"Mother" she called, running to her side. Rhaenyra took her into her lap and kissed her forehead. Luke looked up, revealing a swollen nose and traces of blood, while Jace remained unscathed except for his reddened knuckles. He seemed uninjured otherwise. She opened her mouth to question what had happened, but her mother spoke first.
"Leave us. You've already caused enough trouble today" Rhaenyra commanded. Her brothers left without protest, leaving her searching for answers.
"Prince Aemond was… injured last night" Rhaenyra began softly, a tremendous weight settling on her shoulders, crushing her in place. "He has lost an eye."
Her world crumbled at that instant. Tears began to well up as she backed away, bringing her hands to her mouth. Rhaenyra hurried to take her by the shoulders, trying to calm her.
"He will be fine, he was attended to quickly" her mother assured.
"How...?" The question died on her lips, terrified and confused.
"It was a... regrettable accident. They did not wish him such harm."
"They?" she asked, feeling a knot in her stomach as she recalled Luke's injured face and pieced it together. "How could they..."
"Your brothers were forced to defend themselves" Rhaenyra firmly said.
How had things escalated so far? Had she misjudged the situation? It seemed that the jokes, taunts, and blows were the result of something much deeper.
She felt the breath escape her, her mind swirling with guilt and fear. Guilt gnawed at her conscience for failing to intercept Aemond before his departure from her chamber, for not standing by to shield him, for delaying her departure from the solace of her quarters, and for not being by his side at that pivotal moment, holding his hand.
"Defend themselves from what?" she asked, desperate to understand.
"Aemond insulted them, and by extension, us." The pain stabbed her as she understood. Aemond, her dear Aemond, had said terrible things. Surely there was some explanation, he would never say such things just to hurt. And still, nothing justified him losing an eye. Shaking her head, she tried to move towards the door, but her mother's hands stopped her.
"They won't let you near him, not after last night."
"But I did not do anything."
"They won't care." Frustrated, tears streamed from her eyes. Defending their honor had been what drove Harwin away from them, and now it was keeping her from her sweet prince, her best friend.
Her mother's voice cut through the mental cacophony with a statement: "His family will soon sail back to King's Landing, and we will go to Dragonstone, like it was planned."
"He is our family too, we can't leave him alone after this, mother, please, we can't go to Dragonstone" she said, suspended in a liminal space between incomprehension and denial.
"We are not living in a castle where we are not welcome anymore. There is no discussion."
"I need to be with him," she pleaded, "he will need me by his side. I need to take care of him."
"He will have the best maesters at his disposal, ensuring his safety, I promise you that, my child" Rhaenyra said, in an effort to soothe her distress.
"That is not enough!" she replied angrily. "Please, let me stay with him."
"I cannot leave you alone with them" her mother’s voice began to rise.
"Why not?"
"What if something happens to you? I could never forgive myself."
"Nothing could ever happen to me in the Red Keep. They will continue to look after me, I am part of the family."
"You are part of our family."
"It is just one family, Mother, I beg you" she said, taking her mother's hands in hers and looking her in the eyes. "Do not separate me from him."
"Let her" Laenor intervened, surprising both of them. Rhaenyra looked at him, uncertain.
"I cannot leave her alone."
"I will have Aemond, Helaena, and my grandsire" she insisted.
"And I will ensure the best men guard her doors day and night" Laenor added.
"She belongs at our side, I can't..."
"Then let her return to you" Laenor said gently. Rhaenyra sought more reasons to refuse, but she interrupted her.
"Please, Mother" she begged. "At least until he heals, please."
Rhaenyra finally relented, her nod almost unnoticeable. "Only until he heals."
Tears streamed down her cheeks, a blend of joy and sorrow as she enveloped her mother in a tight embrace. They wept in unison, their tears mingling as they shared their burdens. With a turn towards Laenor, she found his outstretched arms, welcoming him into their embrace. Grateful for the familial warmth, for the embrace she had lost.
Days at sea dragged on with the patience of a shadow that refuses to move, passing with an awful and annoying slowness. She waited patiently by the door of Aemond's cabin, where the maester and Queen Alicent seemed to weave a cloak of excuses to keep denying her the access. Nevertheless, she remained there, waiting, clinging to the hope that her presence, perhaps even separated by the wood between them, might bring some comfort to the prince.
Occasionally, a specter slipped into her thoughts, whispering questions. Had it been a mistake not to travel to Dragonstone? Was Aemond choosing not to see her, holding her responsible for her brother’s actions? She couldn’t blame him if that was the case.
In those moments of uncertainty, her heart found solace in the smiles of Lyra and Helaena. Saying goodbye to her family turned out to be an even more heartbreaking experience than she could have ever foreseen. The only thing that kept her upright was the intense fury she still felt towards her brothers. Luke, with tears streaming down his eyes, hugged her with palpable desperation, and though she tried to remain impassive, she couldn’t stop a few tears from slipping down her cheeks, especially upon seeing the wound that scarred her brother's face. On the other hand, Jace showed a clear reluctance to a farewell. He only appeared due to Rhaenyra's insistence, but even that pressure wasn’t enough to elicit a genuine hug.
Returning to King’s Landing brought a glimmer of relief, a fresh breeze that caressed her face with the promise of the safety and comfort in her own room. She dedicated that first day on solid ground to rest, to clear the fog that had clouded her mind and made her body seasick during the days of the voyage. And although she allowed herself to enjoy the momentary peace, her mind remained anchored at the prince’s door.
The following days flowed in a serene routine, marked by Lyra’s warm voice announcing the dawn. Amid laughter and trivial conversations, she avoided mentioning her family, afraid that the echo of nostalgia would turn into an insurmountable abyss. Then, she attended her classes, engaging in relaxed conversations with the septa and Helaena while they embroidered. While Helaena embroidered an impressive spider, she made circles in different shades of blue and violet, or tried to. Later, in the sanctuary of her room, after a warm bath with rose oils, she immersed herself in reading, as the prince's absence had stolen the shine from all the words in the books inside the library.
Until one night, tired of the guard’s persistent refusals, and determined to defy the prohibition that tormented her, she locked her door with determination. With a flickering candle illuminating her face, she ventured through the corridors toward Aemond's chamber, ready to challenge any obstacle that stood between them.
A dim light in the middle of the hallway, like a tiny star in the dark, guided her path to the room. The slightly open door seemed to whisper a silent call, inviting her to cross the threshold into Aemond's refuge.
As she entered, her gaze met the prince's figure, bathed in the silvery moonlight streaming through the window. He lay in bed, wrapped in sheets with his arms outstretched over the covers. With barely perceptible steps, she approached, afraid of disturbing his sleep, but urged by the need to be near him. Closing the door behind her and placing the candle on the bedside table, her eyes settled on the prince's face. One side covered in white linen bandages, and the other marked by bruises, a painful contradiction of wounds and scars on his silk like skin. When their gazes met, a flicker of complicity lit up the darkness, though tears threatened to blur her vision.
"I thought you wouldn’t come" Aemond whispered, a trembling smile curving his lips as his sapphire eye met hers, now clouded. She wanted to return it but couldn’t. "Do not fret, I’m better now" he tried to console her, but she gave in to the emotional storm she had kept at bay for so long. Tears flowed freely as she collapsed onto the bed next to the prince, messing up the sheets. Her hands found his, a contrast between the violence of her tears and the softness of her touch.
"I’m so sorry" she murmured between sobs, overwhelmed by the weight of guilt that had consumed her since that fateful day.
Aemond gently squeezed her hands, whispers of comfort escaping his lips in an attempt to calm her inner turmoil. "Quiet, there are guards at the door, they must not hear you or they will come."
She nodded and began to inhale and exhale, trying to relax. "I’m so sorry" she repeated in a lower voice, a litany of regret that threatened to drown her.
"You must stop apologizing for things you did not do" he interrupted her, his voice soft, yet firm.
"I should have been there, I tried to follow you, but Diana took me back to my chambers and-and" her words were cut off, caught in a whirlwind of uncontrollable emotions. "I tried to visit you every day, Aemond, I swear this to you, but they would not let me see you."
"I’m glad you’re here now" his voice was barely a whisper, but it resonated with a tenderness that melted the walls of pain inside them. An unexpected request broke the silence between them, a gesture of vulnerability that transcended all barriers. "Could you come to the other side?"
A blush of embarrassment tinted her cheeks as she realized her mistake, but her response was a gesture of silent obedience as she circled the bed to take her place on the right side. Her tears continued to fall.
"Could you pass me my tea?" Without saying a word, she reached for the adjacent table and took the small golden cup filled with liquid. Carefully, she brought it to the prince's lips, who drank slowly, seeking relief in the bitter and now cold brew. When he finally set the cup aside, his words once again stirred the torrent of feelings within her. "It helps with the pain."
A heart-wrenching impulse flooded her at Aemond's exposedness, silently struggling against the torment consuming him from within. "Does it hurt terribly?" she asked, though she knew the answer lay beyond mere expressions. However, the prince responded with nothing more than a press of his lips, a silent refusal to lie to her, and also to tell her the truth, which spoke more than a thousand words.
"I wish I could take all your pain and bear it myself instead" she whispered, longing to feel the weight of his suffering crush her heart if it meant giving him a respite.
Aemond looked at her, his face full of gratitude and determination. "I would never allow that" he assured her, with the firmness of one who has made an irrevocable decision. And she knew that it was true, he held a sincerity that moved her heart, and was like a balm for her wounded soul. The prince's next request flowed in the air, laden with longing and need. "Could you stay with me? The maester won’t come until the sun is up." She nodded, relieved that her presence was welcome. She shed the cloak that covered her and slid under the sheets, feeling the comforting warmth of the prince’s closeness. "Would you hold me?" he requested, setting aside shame thanks to the effects of the poppy milk beginning to take hold.
With tenderness and care, she moved closer, seeking refuge in his chest while her arm wrapped around his waist in a gesture of mutual comfort. In that embrace, they found a haven of peace, an oasis of calm amidst the storm, where pain dissolved in the warmth of their shared love. Her heart beat in unison with Aemond’s, united in an indissoluble bond that transcended the wounds of the past and the uncertainties of the future, while her tears continued her lament, reflecting the pain that had taken root in her heart not only for the prince but also for the acts perpetrated by her own brothers. The disappointment and anger intertwined, tearing the veil of trust she had once placed in them. That darkness, deceitful and treacherous acts seemed alien to the image she had built of them, even in the darkest corners of her imagination.
It was the prince’s caress among her scattered curls that brought her out of that abyss of murky thoughts, reminding her that, despite everything, there was still light and comfort in the middle of the night. "I’m glad Helaena told you. For a moment I thought that she hadn't heard me" he confessed, a hint of relief in his voice.
"Told me what?" she asked, confused by Helaena's mention.
"To stay" Aemond replied, as if it were obvious. However, her response came in the form of a profound silence full of meaning. She knew it wasn’t necessary for Helaena to ask, for her commitment to remain steadfastly by his side was unwavering.
@callsignwidow @helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @fics-i-love-and-recommend @scarletbedlam @squidscottjeans @woodlandwrites ♥
#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond one eye#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#ewan mitchell#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#hotd aemond#hotd fanfic
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SING FOR ME (part one) | REVISED
dark!aemond x septa!tyrell!reader 🌹
summary: a once princess from a noble house took sworn oath for the Faith of the Seven blossomed into a septa with immaculate reputation due to her gift and preserving her virtue until the fate encounters with the one-eyed prince. (Also inspired by Phantom of the Opera).
warning: stalking, r*pe, unprotected sex, non-con, dubcon, dark aemond, manipulation, obsessive, kidnapping, aemond being delulu
a/n: I'm so sorry--I had to revise this. I didn't think it's good enough, so I had to make some changes, even the title--it feels off. Please forgive me.
Chapter One
The Pious Rose
The most beautiful rose was hidden away from the gardens.
The rose meant to blossom, not wither. She wasn’t meant to be tucked in the rest of her life. (Y/n) wasn’t meant to be tucked in the shadows. She belonged in the golden daylight, surrounded with flowers and her companions, her servitude in the Faith of the Seven, a lady with a driven purpose for the greater good to the Gods in the Sept. Her fate is supposed to be hers and hers alone.
Her dignity, her honor, her virtue and morals, one that inspires love and peace.
Within this darkness, how will the bask of sun shine her with comfort—living in suffocation. How will she live?
Rigid walls greeted her when her eyes were open. Where is she? Her stomach ached with a sharp jab. What has transpired for your fate to be trapped in a lonesome room with no sunlight, no candles, no sound and touch of breeze gliding through the windows? The windows were shut—no, you were confined.
Like the light, her hope has dimmed, and the shadows of her qualms and debate within her outlive. In this darkness, no one was present to succor her distress. The tattered clothing on your sleeves dampened from tears she shed.
No mother or father or sisters to guide her back home.
No servant or subject would come to her aid.
No guard to escort her out of the darkened room that has confined her to flee.
No sound of laughter, or talk amongst folks and lively music she had grown accustomed to.
The air is vacant. No one is to hear the voice but hers and the walls. And the door is locked. No way of escape.
The world felt so small and cramped, you weren’t sure if your life has been meaningful. Surely the Gods were testing you in this challenge.
The peace didn’t last when a heavy oak door boomed with long croak shattered the silence, flames pierced onto your sleepy eyes, until you met the eye of a certain shadow looming over her.
Several Months Ago….
It is said that the Gods had given grace to someone holy and pious. But you were the most holy and pious of all.
But it wasn't pious and holiest reputation.
With a gift you possessed, you managed to capture everyone's hearts, even the look of your beauty. But a song is what entranced every noble and ladies and children alike--at every occasion--namesdays, feasts and tourneys, and at every private and bond between families. Lords and ladies in every kingdom requested for you to commemorate on their special day.
Your song was a gift of light. A song in your voice is a gift of your heart and feast for the soul. A heart so pure and ethereal, that even men would swoon with tears.
You sang an eternal hymn, a hymn of love. A stellar performance like yours is not like any other--light and airy and amongst the heavens.
Since the days of wisdom, you are the most beautiful princess in all of Westeros, titled as ‘Golden Rose—the Rose In Winter and Sun’, ‘A Rose Never Wilted’—as you were born under a chilled winter under a golden sun, hence the given title. You’re the youngest of all Tyrell daughters.
Guests and family members of the court showered you with gifts, jewels, dresses and dolls that is twice as heavy and shiny with importance. Since when you were a child, you are cheery and bright; cheeks flush with health, as you grew older, your mind is constant with wit and daydream.
You have it all.
A gifted wit such as you shouldn’t be cast aside for a nobleman—whether handsome or hideous, young or old, sick or healthy—and to decay as a mother and a widow. And with your wit, you were also pious. Pious and cautious. For a young woman such as yourself, you’re wiser than others.
With every letter the suitors have sent have been casted into the hearth. Sometimes when suitors visited the kingdom, they would often asked of your presence, which you turned a blind eye.
Men.
Men are close to define as a unhinged beast.
Men are vile—filthy as if men are created from Seven Hells. Men are creatures that are made of fire and lust. Marriage is the death sentence to women as men being dutiful as killers and swordsmen at Night’s Watch, with their cocks gelded and their flesh smeared in sin. A woman’s body is as holy as the Sept, must be preserved and clean and mustn’t be driven with temporary hunger. The thought of your virtue being soiled by a man disgusts you, almost a phantom pain summoned between your legs, jab like a sharp knife. You shall never be clean again—overripe and tainted.
Undesirable, one which you can’t undo, with a child born in a mother’s belly was a monstrous and vile thing to give from an unmarried and unfaithful man—a beast hungered and scorched, burnt into the ashes of regret, unable to reverse the damage has been done. Frightened of a soiled reputation, as to avoid death, you must remain healthy with vigor.
You witness to all noble ladies, to whoever they consummate or shared pleasure with they’ve spent in secret upon a high nightfall, with their pleasurable sighs and moans, coming on their high, neglecting their noble duties, or how they gave a painful birth, you tend to avoid converse your peers and stayed inside, wandering in the gardens with flowers blooming just for you, as the canary birds chirped you’ve found yourself with reading or sewing or tending the birds in your pass time.
Most noble folks mistook you as shy, but in your heart, its grimace and resentment. At this rate, the noble ladies will likely to gain bastards than those with natural birthright.
No, it was never your destiny to tarnish.
You must remain pure.
With a life like yours, it’s perfect.
Almost.
House Tyrell has thrived since the dawn of time—the Age of Heroes and survived through fiery battles and clashing swords and broken oaths, traitor after traitor. Vows reformed and ruined by the likes of men’s lusty thoughts from their lusty cocks. House Tyrell went through all. How Tyrells became resilience is all thanks to lessons from experience—had been passed down generations to newcomers that breathed their first air.
Through beauty, through grace. Tyrells are clever and winsome and sly. Flower among flowers. But with flower with thorns are all the more dangerous.
It is said that your beauty is the fairest of all fairs. The day when you’re born, it is said you are bestowed by the Gods of Old and New. Since you were a child, all families brought together in peace. With you as a babe in a cradle, you are precious that when you were a child, you tend with animals and planted seed in the garden for flowers to blossom, for the grass become greener and brighter and clearer in the air. Sometimes you even sang hymns to the injured--animals, more particularly, to ease the frantic emotion that has been emulating.
But those are the days of past.
For years, you have not experienced duty, but all is thrive with a command with a snap of your fingers or whines in your voice to command. For someone young, courtship and marriage is not your intention. Your intentions are made clear to all with prying ears: you would never soil yourself to be bind by dutiful marriage and loveless vows.
But you, as of now, you are made to forge your own destiny. With beauty and grace, you remained to use cleverness for greater good. When you have been informed of the lords’ son wanted your hand, you declined his offer—an offer of negligence and ignorant bliss. That is when your mother resented you.
"Selfish," they all said.
"Cold and calculating," others concluded.
"A conceited bitch," the other men--who have once looked at you with admiration, muttered in between gossip.
Like flowers, beauty and life of love never lasts.
"She mustn't do this," your mother objected. "A young girl like her doesn't know what she wants. She preserve her status as a princess until she gives birth to children and cherish--remain loyal to her husband. That is her future accomplishment. Her reputation amongst men will be tarnish for eternity if she does this. Some men are turning away from her. There's still a chance to remedy this! We must remedy, we must!"
"We have other daughters, my love," your father said with a tender smile. "They have potential to be married off to the suitors. All of our daughters are kind and diligent."
"But all are not as pretty and useful at their talents as she," your mother remarked, as the father's smile died. "She can't be spending her days in the Sept for the rest of her life. I have confiscated all of the books, locked them away so she wouldn't suggest or spark an idea. A woman's mind is as clear as a man's mind. One must give as a future mother and wife. What good are the other daughters for, if they cannot be as achievable as she?"
"This is the fate I choose," you reasoned your father, in determinable rage. "I must do this."
And so, you cast aside the crown, the future prospects of awaiting suitors, who constantly want your hand in marriage of great alliances, and transformed as a septa. Like your mother, few other members of the Tyrell family objected, but your father had the last say and committed to a subjugation of your apply for a challenging task. Although your father and older sisters and brothers shared their support, your mother's intentions are quite clear as it did everyone else's.
As the matter has settled, your mother stopped you midway. "You will regret, for that there are many dangers beyond the threshold. You shall die alone, and no one to love you. The knowledge in books meant nothing to a woman. Books will only give you delusions of idea and that inspires no love but the selfish dreams that you're meant to fail," she hissed.
She's no rose, but a serpent that leeches the flesh.
"I always knew that you're an insipid witch who inspires no love but resentment, as of others. I must remain clean and pious, ever virtuous and benign. I hope you remain bitter and ugly, so that you die alone in your bed, no one to love you. You have killed the love from my father and my siblings, for I want no part with the likes of you," you told her, and barged out at the doors.
Perhaps your thorns are sharper than theirs.
And so, the raven sent a word from the capital, and by dawn—days later—your status is disposed and born anew as Septa (Y/N), and said your farewells and head off, afar from Highgarden with a single tear dropped on your face, as you recalled your grandmother’s words.
Growing strong.
"Farewell, my family, my home, my life, my garden, my comfort..." is all you uttered.
~*~
In King’s Landing, the capital since the dawn of time—has reconstructed and instructed under Aegon I, the most well-known infamous dragonlord that one day overshadow Westeros with a dragon and fury, as well as Visenya with her stubborn grit, and Rhaenys with her peace and wit. Once upon a time, King’s Landing used to be called Aegon’s Fort, but before Aegon’s Fort, it simply used to be a giant forest. Until all three of the dragonlords’ combination of their superb qualities and giant beasts, they’re unstoppable. Therefore, it’d be wise to bow down and surrender, if not, you’d be burn with dragon flame.
Rumor has it when living in King’s Landing, you can afford all the things and wealth and status you desire, even for being a prostitute in one of the inns at Street of Silk, but you intended to avoid filthy things altogether.
Other whispers you’ve heard is the Green Queen, Alicent Hightower, often visited in the Sept. Queen Alicent shed her blood through heretics on praying to her gods for salvation, whatever it may be, prayers to Gods are as sacred as a woman’s maidenhead. Somehow you felt it was out of duty to remain clean, or rebuke the filth to remain clean.
Since the days you have resided in a newfound residence within a glorified kingdom, you immersed your time on tending the orphans and the sick, you tend to your prayers and studies, sometimes tutoring the commoners and bastards and nobles alike—sunrise until sunset. Sometimes the children liked it when you sang them to keep them distract in daytime, or when you sang to them in sleep, for they have no parents to guide them in the land of sin.
In your private quarters, you summoned the belongings you treasured in your luggage—several books, a ring and a doll. There are times where you have missed your family dearly in your heart. Dresses exchanged with robes, your shining hair draped and tucked by veil.
Every once in a while, in your sleep, when an overwhelmed perception intruded in your blank state of mind, you pressed the porcelain glass doll in between your breasts, stroking it’s stringed hair and embraced it tightly.
Somehow, you felt the doll is alive each time you spoke to it, sometimes sang, pretending to be as your family member. You are alone in the capital, but you will outlive the loneliness. But that feeling of loneliness spread, tears dropped, your heart hitched and clenched as if someone’s fingers pressured onto the bleeding organ in your chest after ripping your ribcage open.
"Please stay close to me, stay close to me, my beloved, for the garden has grown cold without you," as you sang to the doll.
Each time your heart beats, the bell tolled in your ears and head on a slumbering nocturnal hour. In an otherworldly place, on the vast side afar from your former homeland, the bells reminded that King’s Landing is your new home.
Every now and then, you sent letters to your family. Every letter they sent gave you a sense of pride and joy--mostly your father, but only to be address as "Your Lord" instead of "Your Father". And every letter, there was a trinket of love that your father shared. And each time you lay on your bedside, you read their letters repeatedly until you lulled to slumber.
But as of late, you gained no response from them. For whatever reason, you kept on writing letters to them.
To think of a good and peaceful life, think of prosperity and glory to your prayers, guidance to a fulfilled wisdom and grace and flourish as the purest soul to fly within Seven Heavens above is the only way after passing on from a life of blood and lust and wretched souls that are beyond saving.
Days had been busied, and days had been hectic and tedious. Shutting your eyes in prayer in front of a grand statue, mouthing prayers in your mouth that you knew by heart. Each time you utter another thought, tears threatened to spill once more.
But you hardened your consciousness and pressed on.
~*~
One day, when dismissed from duties, you ought to find time a seclusion away from books and scriptures—lessons you have dealt with rambunctious children and spiteful elderly on the other side of city. You attended there, tending needs and care for animals, as well. Tending to endless hours seems forever, no way of escape for isolation.
But alas, you found solace under a spare time on a new night--and you have done this several times in several night previously. The area is empty but the walls adorned in fresh red roses and outgrown vines, reminded you of your garden. It was perfect. Surrounded in a garden, light of moonlight pooled behind the tree. On a marbled bench you sat, you resumed with your stitching of a canary, and sang a song from a book you've last read.
The birds chirped alongside yours, as it remain peace, but melancholy. But with the company of feathered friends, you remain your heart steady and true. You have chosen this life.
But as of late, you grew self-conscious, wondering if anyone was spying on you, in case you didn't do your duty to serve the Gods. Therefore, the passing hour has grown dark and departed from a secluded area.
~*~
The underground tunnels of King's Landing was all but darkness. But with a torch placed upon the walls stirred a bit ease to your liking. You ought to company other sisters back to the main ground.
As of now, you didn't like walking alone, as your thoughts remained at the last converse with your mother.
"You will regret, for that there are many dangers beyond the threshold. You shall die alone, and no one to love you. The knowledge in books meant nothing to a woman. Books will only give you delusions of idea and that inspires no love but the selfish dreams that you're meant to fail."
Immediately snapping out of your dreary thoughts, you marched onward with a sewing fabric clutched to your chest. Tunnels rumbled and echoed from your footsteps, as you saw a glimpse of small light above you.
You were almost there.
The air in your breath held in as you felt a large hand grasp your mouth and waist, dragging you back in the dark part of the tunnel. Struggle you as fought your way out, your needlework dropped, dragging and trapping you, wedged between the rustic bars. Biting off his fingers, you scurried off, but caught in between his hands again. You bit again and again until he yanked the veil back, released a sharp wail as the scalp on your golden brown hair has tugged in brute force.
As you attempted to turn around, but a lithe and large retaliated by you turning back around. Behind you, the shadow of someone's trousers dropped, and bent you forward. With large hands gripped tight on your waist, felt a hot tip, his hips grinding you, and plunged it all the way in, blood trailing down on your legs.
You cried aloud as the cock jabbing in your slick cunt.
No, no--not my virtue. Anything but my virtue.
A man groaned in satisfaction as he plunged into you, positioned your wrists behind you, hearing the wet splat as his hips snapped harshly to your entrance.
"Please...no..." you begged, cried.
But the man ignored you, a guttural moan pressed onto your ear, a man’s breath panted.
As he reached his high, hot semen spilled, leaving you breathless and beaten. Bruises on your skin swollen with numbness and your hair--the veil undone, your tucked hair loosened with tangle. Leaning forward with your shaken hands support from fall, you didn't spare a moment to shed your tears, as your final thoughts head straight to the culprit. Your eyes dazed in confusion and hurt. Why would someone hurt the person who was trying to heal the weak, and to preserve a restoring peace?
In your last moments of awake, your eyes glimpsed of a shadow strutting down at your direction, and passed out before a chance for you glimpse and run away.
Heavy footsteps caved in.
And the breath withhold loosened as a pair of hands reached you.
Like every flower, they wither.
~*~
In the next hour, you woke up, surrounded by darkness on cold bedside. You trudged at the door, finding out it was locked. Your fists banged against the door, screaming, "LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!"
Each time you screamed, your tears formed and stuck between your lashes. The tight, cold air caved into your chest, breathing harshly as your hands reached its exhaustion.
Then a pain between your legs had swollen each time you stride vastly back and forth, unsure to grasp the circumstances. It was then you realized one conclusion. Therefore, you tried to find another path, but how could you when you don't know its secrets to where you're standing now? Everything is dark and you're buried with stoned walls, nowhere to run to, or to hide or to tell someone to help you escape and flee from a wretched prison.
Leaning upon the wall, relying on a dimmest light of candle flame, you rested as your back slid downward, pressed against the wall, cuddled your knees to your chest and wept.
Weeping went on, but your hope wasn't lost.
But months went by, as the consciousness in your heart was trying to cooperate, to survive at least for tomorrow and the upcoming of days. You've been fed and clothed and sheltered. But it's not to your content; you yearned for more. There are times where you have sang to yourself, but still ended in tears with no one to hear but your own.
Oh the Gods have been cruel, but the god in your heart sets alight of hope for freedom, finding its way, but you must find a way within a perfect time.
Until one day, in your confined chambers, the dark room lit up until you faced the tall shadow casted before you with a sapphire glinted under the heavy cloak.
A shiver ran down on your neck, knowing who it was.
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A Star P2
Media - House Of The Dragon
Character - Aegon Targaryen
Couple - Aegon X Reader
Reader - Y/n
Rating - Sweet
Word Count - 748
As the night deepened, Aegon kept a watchful eye over Orion any time he so much as wiggled Aegon was there looming over the crib. Although his own eyes were tired and heavy, he diligently remained by the baby's side. When it reached the hour of the wolf, Aegon gently picked up Orion and carried him into the bedroom and gently began to awake Y/n, just as promised. He knew she must be feeling exhausted and did feel bad for waking her but he didn’t want to call the milk maid in to feed baby Orion without at least asking Y/n how she felt about it given Orion had only been at Y/n’s breast since birth. "Y/n, it's time... Orion is hungry," he said gently, his voice soft but determined.
She yawned and sat up in bed a little she rubbed her eyes and opened her arms for the baby almost as instinct,
Aegon nodded and carefully placed Orion in her arms. The baby let out soft mewling noises, clearly hungry. As she took Orion into her embrace, Aegon positioned a pillow behind her back to provide some additional support. He knew that feeding time could be physically demanding, especially after giving birth and he sat himself down on the bed ready to help out any more if needed,
she sighed and pulled down her dress, it took a good few attempts to get Orion to latch to her breast but finally the baby began to drink and she sat trying to relax but her eyes squeezed tight from the pain
Aegon watched as she struggled to nurse Orion. He could see the pain etched on her face as the baby latched on. It was evident that the process was not easy, and he felt a pang of guilt for not being able to fully understand the pain she was going through. He gently rubs her back and trying to provide some comfort. "Is there anything I can do to help, or anything you need?" He asked softly, genuinely,
"you could grow breasts that would help," she joked in her tried state,
Aegon chuckled softly, "Ah, I'm afraid that's not in my power. If I could grow breasts and feed our son, I would do so in a heartbeat." He continued to gently rub her back, offering what little solace he could provide during this moment. "I wish I could take some of this pain away from you."
"It's alright it shall only get easier," she said, "Could you fetch me a drink I should really drink when he feeds so it has time before the next feeding I don't want little boy to find the teats are tapped out,"
Aegon chuckled lightly at the request, nodding in agreement. "Of course, I'll fetch you a drink. Do you have any preferences or should I just bring you something sweet and warm?" He carefully rose from his seat, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder before making his way out of the room to fetch you the desired beverage.
"Whatever you have… but wine would be nice. Strong wine"
Aegon smiled at her request for strong wine, appreciating the straightforwardness. He quickly made his way to the nearby table and made a goblet up of strong wine. As he walked back to the room, he couldn't help but chuckle a little at the sight. His wife sitting there nursing a small infant, so he hands the goblet over, "There you go... strong and intoxicating just as you wanted."
“Thank you, Your Grace,” She nodded immediately drinking about half of the goblet,
“You don’t have to call me that, you’re my wife, mother of our child,” He told her,
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, just Aegon,”
“Yes, you- Aegon.” She nodded, “Ohh all done, he wasn’t as hungry as he thought he was,” she said taking Orion away,
“I’ll take him,” he smiled happily taking little Orion again and wiping the milk from his mouth, “oh look at you, milk all down yourself,” He chuckled, “he really is like a little drunk,”
“Umm he’ll be milk drunk now, needs burping and a nap,”
“Alright, I’ll burp him and put him down. You get some more rest,”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure, you rest I’ll handle him.” he smiled kissing her cheek before he puts Orion on his shoulder and behind to burp the baby on his way back to the main part of their chamber,
“Aegon?”
“Yeah?” He turned,
“Be gentle,”
“I will I promise,”
“And… thank you,”
“You’re very welcome Y/n,” He blew her a kiss before closing the bedroom door,
#hotd smut#hotd fanfiction#hotd fandom#hotd fanfic#hotd#hotd aegon#hotd imagine#hotd season 2#house of the dragon#aegon smut#aegon ii targaryen#king aegon#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader#aegon the second#aegon ii#aegon targaryen#house targaryen#house of targaryen#house of the dragon season 2#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon aemond#house of the dragon aegon#aegon fanfic#Aegon imagine#house of the dragon aegon targaryen
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Of Dragons and Maelstroms
Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Chapter Eighty-Two
The next few weeks at Harrenhall were marked by an eerie emptiness that permeated every corner of Maera's life. All signs of Aemond had vanished from their once shared rooms. His weapons, which had always hung neatly on the walls, were gone. His books, once neatly piled across tables and shelves, were no longer there to be stumbled upon. His clothes, that had intermingled with hers in the wardrobe, had disappeared as if they had never existed. The room, and especially her bed, no longer smelled like him. The familiar scent of leather, smoke, and the faintest hint of dragon clung only to her memories now.
Their marriage, which had been a tumultuous blend of passion and conflict, now felt like a distant dream. Most evenings, Maera spent crying herself to sleep. Her tears soaked the pillow as she reached out to the empty side of the bed, her hand yearning to touch her husband who was no longer there. The ache of his absence was a heavy weight in her chest, a constant reminder of the love that had been lost. She thanked the Gods for the child growing in her belly, for it was this new life that gave her the strength to keep going. Every kick, every movement, was a reassurance that she had a reason to endure the pain.
Maera knew that this was for the best. She understood that by distancing herself from Aemond, she was shielding herself from further harm. The wounds on her heart needed time to heal, free from the tumultuous influence of her husband's presence. And yet, it was so painful. The emptiness in her room mirrored the emptiness in her heart, a void that Aemond had once filled. The knowledge that this was necessary did little to ease the sting of loneliness and the sorrow of what could have been.
She had meticulously avoided all attempts by Aemond to contact her. She ignored the persistent knocks on her door, the sound of his voice calling her name in the corridors. She counteracted these intrusions by avoiding leaving her chambers altogether, creating a sanctuary of solitude where she could shield herself from his presence.
The only reason she left her chambers was for council meetings. Knowing this, Aemond exploited her sense of duty by requesting these meetings daily. It was in his nature to be manipulative and bitter, and though he had physically kept his distance, he cloaked his cunning idea in a guise of necessity. The council meetings were his way of maintaining a connection, no matter how strained, ensuring that he could see her, even if they did not directly speak to each other.
Each day, Maera would enter the council chamber with the grace of a true princess, her head held high and her demeanor calm. She moved with a fluidity that belied the turmoil within her, each step measured and purposeful. Taking her seat next to her husband, the one-eyed Prince, she barely spared him a glance as the meeting commenced. The air between them was thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension.
Aemond, clad in his usual dark attire with the now-familiar green accents, would sit with a rigid posture, his single eye often flickering to her in moments of distraction. Each meeting was a silent battle of wills. He masked his intentions behind a facade of professionalism, his gaze often lingering on her with a mixture of longing and frustration.
Despite her awareness, there was little she could do. Her duty demanded her presence at these gatherings, and Aemond had skillfully used that to his advantage. The council, oblivious to the personal conflict playing out between the prince and princess, continued their work under the watchful eyes of their superiors, unaware of the silent war waging just beneath the surface.
However it quickly became apparent that the council shared Maera’s thoughts about the unnecessary frequency of the daily meetings. Though none of the members openly voiced their opinions, Maera noticed their exasperated sighs and the rolling of their eyes. These silent gestures mirrored her own frustrations every time she was summoned. The initial few meetings, however, were not as burdensome as Aemond had substantial updates to share with the council.
With his brother Aegon and the dragon Sunfyre gone, Kings Landing had become significantly more vulnerable. Aemond’s strategic mind had been hard at work addressing these newfound weaknesses. He had doubled the number of men in the City Watch, ensuring that the capital would be well-protected despite its losses.
Furthermore, Aemond had made decisive moves to bolster their overall military strength. He had divided the remaining army from Rook’s Rest into three parts. One third was sent to Oldtown to strengthen their defenses there, another third was allocated to reinforce the Capital, and the final third, including Ser Criston Cole, was dispatched to Harrenhal. These actions demonstrated Aemond’s keen understanding of military strategy and his commitment to securing their holdings.
These early meetings were indeed productive. The Prince’s plans were meticulously detailed and well-received by the council. Even Maera, despite her personal grievances, had to acknowledge the necessity and effectiveness of these measures.Yet, as the days passed, the meetings began to lose their substance. With fewer pressing updates and strategic decisions to be made, they started to feel more like a charade, a pretext for Aemond to be in her presence.
It was embarrassing to watch the attending lords attempt to fill the void of conversation during the later daily meetings. They resorted to discussing minor updates regarding the Westerlands army, detailing their victories and defeats over the Rivermen. The black and green pieces on the map moved ever so slightly with each passing day, each shift more perfunctory than strategic.
Maera had effectively switched off during these sessions. She found herself drumming her fingers against the arm of her chair or rubbing her swollen belly as a distraction from Aemond’s burning gaze. His intense stare was a constant presence, and she did her best to ignore it. The proceedings became a blur of mundane details and forced conversations, with Maera only half-listening.
Yet, despite her detachment, she did pick up on one significant change: Harrenhal’s guards were undergoing a restructure. Ser Willard and the other guards Maera had previously reprimanded, including her ally Lord Unwin’s nephew, were gone. The stiffness in Lord Vance’s posture and the disdain on Lord Unwin’s face were unmistakable. Maera knew that Aemond had done away with the knights. Be it by the sword, as he had originally slaughtered the people of Harrenhal, or by the flame of his dragon, the men were gone.
She couldn't help but shake her head to herself, knowing that her husband’s temper had overtaken his reason. It meant that now four capable, skilled soldiers, could not be put to use in the war effort. And thanks to Aemond’s impulsive decision, it would further strain the political alliances with the men on their council. No house would take kindly to their kin being killed. Maera’s heart ached with frustration and a sense of foreboding as she considered the ramifications of her husband’s choices, and how, undoubtedly, she would once again have to pick up the pieces after him.
Apart from the restructuring of Harrenhal's guards, there were no new updates, and thus no need for the meetings to continue. That was until one day, a piece of news arrived that changed everything. The message that reached Harrenhal was both momentous and grim: Prince Jacaerys, Rhaenyra Targaryen’s eldest son and heir, was dead. The details of what had transpired were scarce, but the council took it as a significant victory. The room buzzed with restrained triumph, but Maera felt no such emotion.
Glancing toward Aemond when the news was revealed, Maera saw a slight twitch in the corner of his lips as he attempted to hide a pleased smile. His satisfaction was palpable, but Maera? She found no joy in it. The Blacks were indeed their enemies, yet this escalation only heightened the stakes of the war, putting herself and her unborn child in even greater peril.
Empathy welled up within her once again for her half-sister-in-law. Rhaenyra had now lost another child, making it three in total. Maera could not fathom the depth of such grief; it would surely consume her if she were in Rhaenyra's place. How the woman still stood and fought was beyond Maera's comprehension. The sorrow that would have shattered Maera seemed only to fuel Rhaenyra’s resolve. There was no doubt that revenge would follow this loss. The thought chilled Maera to her core, for she knew that Rhaenyra’s retaliation would be swift and merciless. This was what Maera feared most—the inevitable cycle of vengeance that would drag them all deeper into the abyss of war.
The week following the news of Prince Jacaerys’s death, the skies around Harrenhal were littered with ravens, their wings a dark, ceaseless flurry against the gray expanse. They carried scrolls reinforcing oaths to the Greens, as well as missives from Black factions turning cloak. The old River King’s castle seemed like an aviary, the constant fluttering and cawing of ravens creating a somber symphony.
Maera observed the ravens' arrivals from various vantage points. She sat on the grass outside the castle walls, Ēbrion by her side, her eyes following each bird's descent with a mixture of curiosity and dread. She also watched from her window, her gaze distant as she wondered what news each raven brought. The scrolls they carried bore the weight of lives and loyalties, each message a fragment of the shifting allegiances in this bloody conflict of the Dance of the Dragons.
Even though most of the letters were addressed to the Prince Regent, the title Aemond was now styling himself with, one early morning, Maera received one addressed to her. Recognizing the Essosi seal, she broke it eagerly, her heart quickening with anticipation.
Sister
I hope you and the babe you carry are faring well. I pray I do not sound like father in my writings, but I hope you are listening to the advice of the Maesters and keeping yourself and the child healthy.
Maera smiled as she recognised the familiar penmanship as Dermot’s. Though she hadn’t seen her brother in years, their bond had remained strong. Growing up, they had been inseparable, and since Dermot left for his travels, they had always kept in touch through letters.
I decided to join the Essosi fleet when they ventured towards the gullet, alongside my friend, Admiral Sharako. By chance we saw another ship crossing our path. Although Pentoshi, it was guarded heavily by accompanying Velaryon ships. A touch suspicious for a mere trade ship, would you not agree?
Her brows furrowed. Concern for his safety gnawed at her. She hoped he was keeping himself out of harm’s way. And the mention of a Pentoshi ship puzzled her, prompting her to read further.
Battle ensued and we managed to board the trade ship, the Gay Abandon. To our surprise, we found two little silver-haired boys. One immediately clung to the neck of his small dragon and got away. The other only clutched a dragon egg and was terrified. The poor boy warmed to me, and revealed his name is Viserys, Princess Rhaenyra’s youngest son.
The Princess’s green eyes widened in shock and fear. It appeared that the council update from a few months prior had been true; Rhaenyra was indeed sending her youngest children to be warded. Unfortunately, by chance, the Essosi fleet had intercepted them. The realization struck her with a mix of dread and sorrow, knowing the peril these innocent children now faced in the brutal game of thrones.
It seemed though that the little Prince would not be given to us without fuss. A few days into the voyage back home, we were attacked by a green and orange winged beast, who set most of the fleet ablaze.
Oh fuck. Vermax. Maera knew the description of the beast well. Aemond spoke often about the dragon, verbalising how he should have had the beast hatch to him in his crib instead of that unworthy Strong bastard, Jacaerys. Jacaerys? Wait…
Salvation came on boats sporting a deep blue flag with a grey anchor surrounded by mist.
The fleet of Morne.
The beast flew too low, hitting one of the masts before crashing into one of the already burning galleys. The young rider leapt free, but the bowman on our ship shot him before he could be retrieved.
Gods be good, this cannot be happening.
I am sorry to inform you of such gory details via raven, Maera. I know it is grim and improper, but I thought, given your position, it was best you knew everything. I shall leave it to you to inform House Targaryen of this information.
Maera froze as she read the letter, her eyes scanning over the devastating news. Her fleet, inherited from her beloved aunt and uncle who had perished due to Aemond’s actions, was responsible for the death of Prince Jacaerys and his dragon. The realization was a heavy blow, leaving her feeling monstrous and indirectly culpable.
Panic surged through her. Her chest heaved with rapid breaths, her hands trembled as they clutched the parchment. She knew war was filled with gruesome deaths, but to be so directly linked to one left her feeling tainted and overwhelmed by guilt.
We have taken the young Prince back to Myr with us, and although technically he is a hostage of the Greens, we will treat him with the upmost kindness and respect. Unless, of course, you and your husband request…something else. But I know you, sister, and you are not so ruthless.
By the time I receive your next letter, you might have made me an uncle once more, another niece or nephew to send gifts to. I pray for a safe birth and I await your reply.
Your Brother, Dermot
As she finished, Maera tried to steady herself. She knew that Prince Viserys would be safe with her brother, that no harm would come to the boy. Yet the question Dermot posed about the potential of ending the little prince’s life stunned her. He assumed, based on knowing her well, that Maera would want no harm to come to Viserys. Still, it was horrible to think that Dermot even felt the need to ask.
Is this what war did to people? Did it turn them into monsters willing to harm children for the sake of a crown? Maera knew the answer, having seen the evidence around her. Yet she also knew that, no matter the stakes or the cost, she would never resort to such horror. Her heart ached, torn between the horror of what had happened and the resolve to protect the innocent, even in the midst of a brutal war.
Maera knew she would need to inform the council of the shocking contents of Dermot's letter. The thought weighed heavily on her, but she steadied herself and prepared to leave her chambers. As she shut the door behind her, she noticed Aemond emerging from his room across the corridor, a piece of parchment in his own hand.
For a moment, the couple paused, their eyes meeting. There was a brief flash of unspoken understanding and shared burden between them, a recognition of the gravity of their respective news. Maera's face was set in a determined expression, while Aemond's was marked by the usual sternness, tinged with a hint of something unreadable.
Without exchanging a word, they fell into step beside each other, walking side by side toward the council chambers. The silence between them was thick with tension and unspoken emotions, their footsteps echoing through the dimly lit hallways of Harrenhal. The castle's cold, grey stone walls seemed to close in around them as they walked, the distant sound of ravens and the occasional clank of armor from passing guards the only interruptions to their shared silence.
Maera's mind raced with the implications of Dermot's letter. She could feel the parchment crinkling slightly in her hand as she gripped it tightly, the weight of its contents pressing down on her. Aemond's presence beside her was both a comfort and a reminder of the fractured state of their relationship. Despite the distance between them, their fates remained intertwined.
“Is there a reason a meeting has been called so early this morning?” Lord Butterwell groaned, rubbing his face in an attempt to hide a yawn. “Some of us have not even had time to break our fast.”
The early morning light bathed the council chamber in a soft, rosy glow, the sky outside still displaying the pink hues of dawn. Though Lord Butterwell had grumbled about the early hour, it was clear the day had barely begun. The chamber itself was an imposing space, its high ceilings and stone walls giving it a grand, almost austere atmosphere.
The Lords and the Maester sat around the table, their faces etched with curiosity and mild concern. Scrolls and maps were spread across the table, remnants of previous discussions. Each man seemed to be silently questioning the necessity of this meeting, their eyes darting towards the door every few moments.
“Yes, I-“
“I have received-“
Both Aemond and Maera moved to speak at the same time, their voices overlapping awkwardly. They stopped, turning to look at each other. The moment was heavy with unspoken tension, a silent battle of wills playing out in their gazes. After a beat, Aemond gestured for Maera to speak first, his gesture a reluctant acquiescence. She nodded in thanks, though the strain between them was evident to all.
“My brother Dermot has written once more. He has provided more information regarding the death of Prince Jacaerys,” she declared as she stepped forward, her movements deliberate as she handed the piece of parchment to Lord Unwin.
“The Essosi fleet chanced upon a ship containing the young Princes, Aegon and Viserys. Aegon escaped but Viserys was taken hostage,” the Princess explained as she watched the letter be passed from hand to hand, each Lord’s expression shifting from curiosity to grim satisfaction as they read its contents. The news was clearly pleasing to them, despite its grim nature.
“Jacaerys attempted to rescue his brother but his dragon flew into one ships of my fleet.” Maera’s gaze drifted to the map of Westeros that occupied the center of the table. The map was dotted with green and black figurines, representing their forces and those of their enemies. She reached out, her fingers hovering over one of the black dragon figurines. Taking a deep breath, she picked it up, feeling the weight of its symbolism. With a solemn expression, she placed it into a wooden box containing other discarded figures.
“To then be finished off by the Essosi bowman.”
The room remained silent for a moment, the weight of the news settling over them. The Lords seemed pleased with the grim update, their faces reflecting a shared sense of grim determination. Maera, however, felt a mix of sorrow and dread. The loss of another Prince, even if it was on the enemy’s side, marked another tragic chapter in the ongoing conflict, and the stakes continued to rise with each passing day. The war was far from over, and its toll weighed heavily on her heart.
“This is an advantageous prospect,” stated Lord Unwin, granting Maera a kind smile as if knowing she was feeling conflicted about the news. “With Rhaenyra’s son being held by the Greens, we can bend her to our will.” Maera smiled back at him, only to be distracted by a scoff from Lord Vance.
“Mayhaps sending her a finger or two via raven will sway her,” he said with a cynical smirk.
Maera scowled at the aged lord, her eyes narrowing. “I needn’t remind you, my Lord, that a hostage is more valuable alive and unharmed rather than at risk of threat when it comes to negotiating with our enemies.” The room fell into an awkward silence, and Maera glanced up to see Aemond staring at her, his single violet eye showing respect and something else.
She sighed deeply and settled into her chair, placing a protective hand on her bump. She took a deep breath to steady herself, knowing Aemond also had news to share. “My Prince?” she prompted.
Aemond rose from his chair beside Maera, his movements deliberate and controlled. Reaching into the pocket of his black and green leather doublet, he pulled out a small piece of parchment. With a gesture, he offered it to Maera.
Maera stared up at him for a moment, taking in his appearance. His silver hair, straight and gleaming like moonlight, framed his sharp-featured face. The lines etched across his skin spoke of both determination and weariness. His single eye, keen and focused, bore into her with an intensity that was both familiar and unsettling.
As she reached out and took the piece of parchment, her soft fingertips brushed against his calloused palm, sending that familiar spark through her. The brief contact reignited a mix of emotions she had been trying to suppress. Shaking her head to herself, Maera unfurled it with a frown, her concern deepening as she read its contents.
Nephew,
I must congratulate you on your promotion to Prince Regent. It is the closest thing you will ever experience to being King.
If you fancy yourself a man, if you truly believe you are more than just a boy playing at war, then prove it. Come to Dragonstone and face me in single combat. Bring your sword, if you think you can manage to wield it without trembling.
I will wait for you everyday on the western shoreline, though I half expect you to shy away, as a coward would. Show the realm who you truly are, Aemond. Face me if you dare.
Daemon Targaryen, King consort.
The words were stark and direct, carrying the weight of inevitable confrontation. She immediately flicked her gaze up to her husband, who stared right back at her, his expression inscrutable. The usual fire in his eye was no longer tempered, controlled, his iris a blazing and furious violet. She did not break eye contact as she passed the letter to Lord Unwin, searching her husband’s eye for any sign of hesitation, but finding none.
“You cannot seriously be considering this?” Maera stated with a deep frown, her eyes locking onto Aemond’s.
“My uncle is a challenge I welcome,” Aemond replied coolly, his tone unwavering. “If he dares face me.”
She scoffed at Aemond’s reaction to Daemon’s challenge. The insulting letter had struck its mark, stoking Aemond’s fury and clouding his judgment. She could see the simmering rage beneath his composed exterior, the anger that threatened to boil over and drive him to rash decisions.
“And what if this is a trap?” Maera asked angrily, her voice rising slightly.
“Vhagar will see to it,” her husband replied with a shrug, casting his gaze onto the other council members. “It will be a chance to end things, once and for all.”
He approached the table with deliberate steps, looking at the map of the known world. “And since we have heard nothing from Ser Arryk, we can assume he has failed his mission.” He glanced back at Maera for a moment, his expression firm. “I will now take matters into my own hands.”
Upon hearing Ser Arryk’s name mentioned, Maera’s heart clenched painfully. It was true that no news had come, and she dreaded the possibility that her loyal protector had met his end. The pointed tone in Aemond’s words felt almost accusatory, as if he blamed her for sending Ser Arryk on the mission in the first place.
Maera fumed at Aemond, her fists clenching, but she remained composed. “What are your thoughts, my Lords?” she asked, glancing around the room. “This should be a council decision after all.”
The room fell into an awkward silence. The Lords exchanged hesitant glances, their reluctance to speak palpable in the tense atmosphere between husband and wife. No one dared to voice their thoughts on the matter, not while the undercurrent of conflict between the couple hung so heavily in the air. Maera’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table, her frustration mounting as she struggled to keep her composure
Lord Unwin broke the silence first, clearing his throat. “The Rogue Prince is hardly trustworthy,” he said, his voice steady. Maera bid him a small smile, relieved to hear someone thinking clearly.
Lord Unwin continued, his gaze shifting between Maera and Aemond. “Should any harm come to you, Prince Aemond, the line of succession would be even further at risk.”
Maester Cain nodded in agreement, his brows furrowing in concern. “I would agree. You have a dragon at your disposal, yes, but if you are ambushed, I am certain young Prince Daeron would bend the knee to Rhaenyra to save his life and that of his family.”
The Princess felt a wave of relief wash over her as her allies, Maester Cain and Lord Unwin Peake, voiced their logical reasons against Aemond accepting Daemon’s challenge. Their arguments were grounded in reason, emphasizing the broader implications of such a duel and the unnecessary risk it posed. She clung to their support, hoping their sensible advice would penetrate Aemond’s stubborn resolve.
She watched as Aemond furrowed his brow, considering the councilmen’s points. His expression was a mix of frustration and contemplation, the tension in his features revealing the internal struggle between his desire for vengeance and the practical counsel being offered.
Despite this, Maera couldn’t shake her disbelief at Aemond’s recklessness, provoked by a mere letter from Daemon. His thoughts were consumed by his own pride and the need to prove himself. He wasn’t considering his younger brother Daeron or his two-year-old nephew Maelor.
Most painfully, he wasn’t thinking about the impact this would have on Maera and the child she carried. It was selfish, and the realization stung deeply. Maera’s heart ached as she silently implored Aemond to see reason, to think beyond his own vendetta and recognize the wider consequences of his actions.
“And yet,” Lord Butterwell’s voice cut through the room, causing everyone to look at him. “Without Daemon by her side, Rhaenyra would bend the knee to the Greens and recognize Prince Maelor as the rightful heir to the throne.”
Aemond nodded along, and Maera clenched her jaw, silently praying that one of the Gods would come down from the heavens and clamp a hand over the old goat’s mouth. Her husband needed no further pushing in this dangerous direction, yet the bloodthirst amongst the men seemed difficult to match with reason.
“It is a risk, of course, my Prince,” the older Lord Vance agreed, his expression grave. “But is it one you’re willing to take?”
Maera watched Aemond’s gaze sweep around the room, taking in the supportive nods and murmurs of approval from the other Lords. His eye finally landed on her. Maera met his gaze with her forest green eyes, silently pleading with him to reconsider. Her heart pounded in her chest as she hoped against hope that her husband would heed her unspoken plea. Yet he remained unswayed.
“It is,” Aemond declared with finality in his tone. Feeling her heart sink, Maera slumped further into her seat, a wave of despair washing over her. Aemond was indeed a skilled swordsman, but he was about to venture into enemy territory and face a seasoned warrior in Daemon. She struggled to maintain her composure, knowing that her husband’s recklessness could cost them everything.
Aemond moved his hand over one of the green dragon figurines at Harrenhall, representing himself and Vhagar, and placed it on Dragonstone on the map, a finality to the movement. The room was silent as the council watched, the gesture confirming his resolve to face Daemon. “I will make my preparations at once.”
Frustrated, Maera rose from her seat, her black and golden skirts swaying as she approached the map, standing beside her husband. She felt defeated but knew there was nothing she could do to change her stubborn husband’s mind. With a resigned sigh, she acquiesced to the plan.
“Fine,” Maera said through gritted teeth. “To Dragonstone then.”
Aemond’s single violet eye met hers, a flicker of surprise and something else passing through his gaze. The room fell silent, the tension palpable as the council members exchanged uncertain glances.
Maera looked at the map and saw another green dragon figurine at Harrenhall, representing herself and Ēbrion. If Aemond thought Maera would simply wait for her husband to be slain and then have Daemon and Rhaenyra come to kill her and her child, then Aemond truly did not know her. She picked up the black figurine and placed it beside Aemond’s dragon figurine on Dragonstone.
“Both of us.”
Notes: Shiiiiiiiiiittt 👀 also it’s my birthday next week and then the first episode of S2 drops and I’m growing very impatient 😤
Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9
Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤
#maera wylde#aemond targaryen#aemond fanfiction#aemond x oc#house targaryen#chapters#hotd aemond#hotd fanfic#house wylde#hotd helaena#ewan nation#ewan mitchell#house of the dragon season 2#house of the dragon#house of the dragon imagine#hotd season 2#hotd x reader#hotd#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond x original character
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Sorry but I can't stop thinking about this
Sea Dragon and Larys taking the kids to the beaches of Driftmark because the little ones love swimming just like you. Larys is always a little worried because he can't accompany them beyond the seashore because of his foot, so you stay next to him while you hold his hand and intertwine your fingers, trying to calm him down.
Still he watches every little movement attentively, ready to tell Alyn and Aethan not to play too rough with Jocelyn or yell at the kids to back off if they're going too deep.
Little Jocelyn takes pity on him so she just swims for a while before asking Larys to help her look for shells from the sea or build some sand castles together so he stops looking so tense.
Bonus:
When Baela and Rhaena join you. You and Larys have to be even more attentive because Baela and Alyn don't stop competing over who can swim even deeper or who can hold their breath underwater the longest. But eventually he stops stressing out so much and you notice it when you see the warmth in his eyes as he watches Aethan, Jocelyn and Rhaena laugh after your niece, who climbed onto Aethan's shoulders to play fight with Baela and Alyn managed to take them down.
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#lu speaks#the sea dragon the clubfoot and the green queen#larys x reader#larys strong x reader#hotd fic#larys strong#hotd x reader#hotd fanfic#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#hotd fluff#hotd headcanon#hotd imagine#dad!larys#oc: aethan strong#oc: jocelyn strong#oc: alyn strong#rhaena targaryen#rhaena of pentos#baela targaryen#baela the brave#baela and rhaena#hotd baela#hotd rhaena#hotd#hotd fanfiction
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ānogar
Summary: Your husband helps comfort you.
Paring: Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader
Word Count: 2k+
Warnings: Reader AFAB, menstrual mentions, there will be blood, fingering, oral (f receiving), edging?, unprotected p in v
Author’s Note: Thank you @schniiipsel and @sylasthegrim for being my beloved beta readers and making sure Daemon was Daemon-y enough. Thank you to the wonderful @zaldritzosrose for this banner! And thank you @lady-phasma! Your return to Tumblr and your anons inspired this depravity. 🖤
Valyrian translations: ānogar means blood, sȳz riña is good girl.
While the king only sought to sate the hold that the house of the dragon held within the Seven Kingdoms, the Lord Hand wished to find a wife to preoccupy the king’s brother. You were carefully chosen with this intention, the embodiment of what they both searched for, with the echo, “A sound match,” following your footsteps.
Before you had left for King’s Landing, your mother made it painfully aware of the weight of the reputation belonging to the Rogue Prince. “You must satiate his appetite, at whatever cost,” came her hot whisper in your ear, pinching your upper arm to hold your attention, “and make sure it results in a babe.”
Her words left a fluttering trepidation that accompanied your heavy steps, a hesitation that was twisting in the pit of your stomach as you entered the Council Chamber. Inside you could see that the king and his Hand were already seated, as well as Prince Daemon.
The silence was thick around you, and it seemed the prince was almost amused with your apparent discomfort. His steely gaze washed over you before falling to your fidgeting hands; a smirk played at his mouth.
“Well done, Otto,” he announced loudly, emphatically, and you burned from his informality. The king grimaced and Ser Hightower pursed his lips, but Daemon continued, unabashed: “Ābrazȳrys mazōrīnna.”
I accept my wife.
Though you were wary of the marital obligations that your mother frightened into you, the prince quickly soothed them away. He was as insatiable as rumored, but not in the way you had been warned. Instead, there was an unseen kindness that was reserved for you alone. Daemon took care to show you consideration and the first month of wedded bliss was a heady haze, an entanglement of bare limbs and open-mouthed kisses that boldly bruised your skin.
Though despite all this, you failed to produce an heir, and your shame came hot and slick between your legs.
“Imagine my hurt to learn that my wife does not wish for my company.”
Your maids had just left you alone after helping you change into a sheer chemise and wrapping the heated stones to place on your lower abdomen, something to help soothe your cramps. You look up to see Daemon leaning against your doorframe, waiting.
“I have been unwell today, husband,” you said, unable to hold his eyes.
His brow knots with his concern and he glides across the cobblestone to your bedside, his hand reaching to touch your face. “You are flushed, but not warm,” he observes, his eyes trailing to your tight grip on the bed linen. His large hands are gentle to unfurl your hold, pulling away the layers until he sees the wrapped stones laying on your stomach.
You squirm under his scrutiny, all too aware of how your body presses against the fabric you wore, all too aware of the crimson stain. Daemon dips his head to capture your eyes, his own showing a flicker of amusement while yours were wet with your embarrassment. “And this was reason enough for you to deny my company?” His voice was soft, but his cheeky undertone remained.
You struggle to put the words together. “But I am unclean.”
His eyes darkened with your admission, a grin spreading across his face. “What’s a little blood to a dragon?” He teases, looming closer to capture your lips.
You gasp, your body already yearning to touch him. Your fingers follow along his jaw and drop to pull at his collar, to pull him closer. He growls against your skin, a low rumble that reverberates through you; his hand moves to cup the nape of your neck and he bites into your lip.
You whine softly, a pulse of pleasure that is quickly crushed beneath the stones. You pull away. “Daemon, we shouldn’t…” but your protest is weak. Your body is already moving, spreading your legs to welcome him.
And Daemon knows this. He smirks, his hands pulling away the stones. “If you truly believe that I fuck you for the sole purpose of a silver haired babe, then perhaps I have not done my part right.” He shifts between your thighs, his hands just as warm as the rocks removed, skimming across your flesh and pushing up your chemise until you are able to pull it over your head. “Allow me to rectify that, ābrazȳrys.”
You fall back onto the bed, bare for your husband and already burning under his potent stare. His chin falls to his chest, watching his fingers flit to your patch of hair, trailing lower and pressing to spread your folds. A cooper scent fills the air, mixing with your own arousal, and he lets out an appreciative hum. His palms press to your thighs to lower himself between, placing a kiss on the inside of your knee with a tickling touch that you squirm against.
His hands tighten his hold on you, dimpling into the softness of your thighs. “Paghagon, sweet wife.” Breathe. The exhale with his command was a cool contrast to your heat building, your blood mixing with your passion that was thrumming to the surface. He pushes closer. “Allow me.”
You melt from the intimate kiss he places, your head tucking to see the glint of red to his wicked grin. He watches you as his other hand moves to touch and your mouth falls open with the wet squelch of his fingers curling within you–the same that have learned you so well. You feel the stretch of your velvet walls as Daemon searches carefully, delicately, until you finally emit the softest sound.
Daemon returns his attention to you, victorious, watching the gooseflesh ripple over you and your nipples pebbling from his touch. His fingers continue to curl upwards to that sweet spot, slow and deliberate. His other hand grips into your hip, pulling himself closer to place another kiss to your pearl that trills up your spine. “That’s it,” he murmurs against you. “Let me hear you.”
Your body is aflame from his ministrations; the come-hither pace of his fingers have your moans falling with abandon from your lips, from the buddying warmth that spreads and begins to brim on overwhelming. “Yes,” he growls, his grip now anchoring you to this pleasure building, almost bursting. You whine, your hips bucking. “Sȳz riña, just like that.”
It erupts from you with a fiery passion, your blood searing through your veins and muscles contracting, twisting the air from your lungs. You arch your back against the mattress, your fists knotting in the sheets as Daemon continues to pull this pleasure until you see spots of light dizzying in front of your eyes.
You are panting from this euphoria, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes before he finally withdraws his hand from you and wipes it onto the bed, a crimson red bold against the cream color. “Sȳz riña,” he repeats, and you feel something stir in your core again, sparked by the little bit of Valyrian he has taught you thus far: good girl.
“Daemon, please.” You push to your elbows, your eyes glassy. “Jaelan tolī.”
I want more.
He glows with a sense of pride with how it rolls off of your tongue and the bed dips with his weight, leaning over for his lips to trail towards your stomach. It tingles with the mixture of his mouth and the billow of his tunic, dotted with red. “Who am I,” his each deliberate word spills as his fingers dimple into your skin, pulling himself up and closer, “to deny my wife of what she wants?”
Your writhe beneath his weight and he moves to claim your mouth again. His lips are soft and warm with the taste of iron; when you sigh sweetly, he swallows it.
“You did so well for me.” His voice is velvet, a sultry praise you cherish. He shifts his body on top of you, pulling himself from his breeches and settling into the cradle of your hips. “One more for me, my sweet wife,” but he says it more as a statement than a request.
You are already willing, already canting your hips towards him. His arm reaches between to guide his length until you feel his swollen cockhead lining with your entrance with a slick, dull pressure that jolts through you.
He begins to move with gentle thrusts to fill you until he is sheathed deep within; Daemon stills when his hips are flushed to your own. He watches as you gasp for air, clenching to adjust, and his grin returns in tandem as he continues the slow roll of his hips, pressing even deeper.
Your moans mix with your cry, and the sound only spurs your husband to pull upright, reaching behind your knees and pushing until the tops of your thighs touch your chest, folding you and hovering above to set a brutal pace. Each thrust sparks something smoldering through your veins and pouring into your core.
Your cunt suctions greedily, a sticky mess. “I am close,” you gasp with the flutter of your walls. Daemon pulls away and you let out a sound.
“Not. Yet.” His large hands grab you with force, twisting you onto your stomach. You feel his palms kneed into your lower back, a firm touch that follows up your spine, massaging your aching muscles, and you moan but in a different way. You relax into his touch, and the bed shifts again as he leans over to press his lips to your spine.
“Daemon,” you are breathless, a different ache you are begging him to soothe. “Please.”
He tsks, still grinning, still pressing his palms to your skin, and you cannot help but savor the warmth of his tongue. “Sylugon arlī.” He says. Try again.
You lick your lips. “Daemon.” You are desperate. “Kostilus.”
“Please what,” he taunts, but you can feel his biting grip into your hips, pulling your arse upwards. You gasp as he sinks into you again, stretching you from a new angle. You bury your face into the bed, muffling your moan, a wet spot forming from your spit.
His fingers curl into the nape of your neck, pulling you up to meet with his merciless rhythm. He pounds into you, deeper and harder, and your pleasure begins to brim to the surface again. Your fingers curl into the linen as it splits you in half, a returning ecstasy with full force; Daemon allows you to fall forward, a sobbed release into the linen and its tangy mix of sex and blood. He bends over until his brow presses between your shoulder blades, a low groan as he hotly empties himself inside of you.
There is a quiet moment that follows, the sweet exchange as you both gather your breath, the returning tenderness reserved for you alone. You feel another kiss on your backside and your skin ripples in response. Daemon pulls away, a sticky mess in his wake, and you lazily roll over to watch as he tucks himself back into his slacks, unbothered by the red stains that now adorn his clothes.
He moves towards the door, but stops. “I will call for your handmaidens to draw you a hot bath,” his eyes flicker over towards you, “and to heat up new stones.”
You curl into the sheets, allowing ample skin to show for your husband. “Shall you join me for the bath?” Your tone is purposefully coy.
Daemon turns fully to look at you, his eyes raking over you and color still staining his cheeks. His heavy steps pull him back towards you, using one arm on the bed edge as the other reaches to grab you. You meet with him, hungry to kiss your husband again, and his tongue craftily rekindles the warmth you can still feel pulsing in your core.
He stops and pulls himself upright. Your eyes are wide, watching his signature smirk, his arrogant strut that takes him from the room. He leaves you with a fluttering warmth from his kiss, and though he said nothing, you trust that he and his insatiable appetite will return to you.
general taglist: @gemini-mama @fan-goddess @abecerra611 @myfandomprompts @dixie-elocin
@darkenchantress @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent @namelesslosers @itbmojojoejo @multyfangirl
arcie's navi || house of the dragon masterlist
period smut collab
#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#hotd fanfiction#daemon targaryen#daemon x reader#daemon x you#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen x you#daemon targaryen x wife!reader
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Relax, and let go
Alicent Hightower x GN! Reader
Summary: When the duties of the realm take their toll on her, her sworn sword takes care of their Queen.
or: the one where reader fucks Alicent in a bathtub :)
Word count: ~3K
Warnings: Soft smut (Alicent deserves some love), top!reader obv, yearning hehe MDNI!!!!!
a/n: Im back! sort of lol. Trying to get back into writing, and what better way to get back into it then with a little Alicent content right before season two?? Hope you all enjoy, and let me know if you all would like to see more Alicent content. Anywayssss....#teamgreen
✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷
Her footsteps were heavy on the cold stone floor of the halls. The Council meeting had been a long one, the sun had already been set for a while now, the castle quiet since most staff and royals had retreated to their own chambers. The Queen made her way to her bedchambers at the very end of the hall, escorted by her sworn sword. You both walked in silence, you could see the weight of her duties dragging her down. Her shoulders were slumped, but still she walked with purpose. She hadn’t been sleeping, you knew that, because every night you stood outside her room to stand guard, you saw the light slip underneath her door and heard shuffling inside the room.
You open the big wooden doors that lead to her quarters, so she can step inside. You follow right behind her, lighting some candles to light up her room a bit. Before you announce your departure to the queen, now standing facing the balcony, you decide to speak for the first time in what felt like hours.
“Your Grace?”, you ask softly. She doesn't answer, seeming to be lost in her own thoughts, so you try again.
“Alicent?”
The use of her name instead of her title makes her wake from her thoughts. She turns around and looks at you. It takes your breath away every single time. You knew it wasn't right, she was your boss, the queen of the seven kingdoms, but you couldn’t help it. Every time you laid eyes on the Dowager queen, you couldn’t help but admire her beauty.
“Yes?” she responded curtly, though there was kindness in the way she spoke to you.
You decide to speak, all might it be out of line. “You should get some rest”
“Rest...” Alicent echoed, her voice tinged with frustration. "I wish I could, but duty does not pause for the queen's exhaustion." The weight of duty was immense, and the thought of rest seemed like a luxury she could not afford in times like these. Yet, the truth was that her body was beginning to buckle under the strain. Her husband, the king, was very ill, and his duties had become hers.
"But... I suppose you are right," she added, acknowledging the wisdom in her guard's words. "I cannot lead if I am weakened."
“Ill draw a bath for you, your grace” you propose. It was so late when the two of you came back from the council that her handmaidens had already retreated back to their homes.
“Alright,” Alicent answered quietly, a hint of relief creeping into her voice, “Thank you.”
Without another word, you remove the heavy layers of your armor to be able to help her out. Making your way to the bronze tub in the corner of the room, you start by heating up the water. Filling the water with oils, the sweet fumes of which filling the room with a relaxing smell.
"I... I will need some help removing my dress." Alicent spoke up. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but her words were tinged with an underlying fatigue.
“Of course, your grace”, you say, as you try not to think about the proximity in which you will be to the queen. The two of you have been close before, of course, you were her sworn sword, her protector. But never like this. Never just the two of you, confined in her bedchambers, nonetheless.
Alicent nodded her appreciation, thankful that she would not have to struggle alone with the intricate laces and ribbons of her dress. As she stood by the tub, the scent of rose oil wafted through the air, a soft fragrance to soothe her stress.
“I do not wish to burden you with my... personal matters." Despite trying to keep her composure as queen, at that moment Alicent felt a sense of vulnerability, as if the queen’s facade of regal authority had slipped away.
“You do not burden me, your grace”, you say softly. “I'm happy to help.”
“Can I?”, you ask her softly for permission to start untying the laces of her intricate green dress. It was absolutely breathtaking. A deep dark green, decorated with lace and stones. It must have cost a fortune. The contrast of her green dress and the brown of her eyes, that shimmered in the light of the candles around the room and made it look like flowing honey, made your head feel foggy.
Alicent nodded, “Yes, you may,” she replied politely. It was almost a whisper. She was slightly taken aback by your question. It seemed so simple, but to the queen it wasn’t. Her body was never hers, she had never been asked to be touched before, and your simple question of permission made her heart warm. The two of you always had this sort of tension. The air feeling thicker when you got close. You spend a lot of time together, since you were her personal guard, but somewhere along the way you created a special bond. The two of you didn't speak a lot, but Alicent knew you were loyal to her family, but mostly to her, and always stood by her, no matter what. You made the Queen feel things she hadn’t felt since Rhaenyra and her were young.
As you approached, Alicent presented her back to you, the laces of her emerald green gown flowing down her waist like intricate strands of thread. The Queen's breath hitched slightly as her guard gently removed the complex knots, the feeling of your strong hands touching her being strangely soothing to her.
And as you worked on undoing the laces, Alicent's breath grew softer as the tension from her dress lessened. The queen's back was bared for you to see, you gulped when you saw the smooth skin of her back being presented to you. The room being filled by the smell of rose petals and the steam from the bath, representing the growing tension between the two of you.
Your fingertips brush slightly against the queen's back as you remove the last of the laces. Taking a step back, you allow Alicent her space to undress further.
Alicent gracefully let her dress fall down, pooling on the stone floor like cascading waves. The queen's pale skin contrasted against the deep emerald-colored fabric, and as she stood in her smallclothes, the queen felt a strange sense of vulnerability.
She could feel her guard's gaze upon her back, but there was something strangely comforting by the presence of someone who didn't seek to take advantage of her body or her power, but simply to serve and protect.
Letting out a quick cough, you turn around with your cheeks reddening, so she can rid herself of the last layer and get into the bath.
With her guard's eyes turned away, Alicent slipped out of her smallclothes and stepped into the awaiting bathtub. The warm water enveloped her body, and some of the day's exhaustion melted away in its embrace. As she settled into the bath, the queen sighed softly, relishing in the feeling of clean, warm water against her skin.
The moment you turn back around, your breath hitches. Although the cloudy water hides most of her body, you have never seen her like this, and your imagination runs wild about what hides beneath the rippling service of the water. You quickly shake your head to get rid of the inappropriate thoughts about the queen.
“Ehm, ill leave you to it then, your grace”, you say as you try to look away from her naked figure. Once you pick up you armor and leave for the door, a soft voice stops you in your tracks.
“Wait,” Alicent's voice interrupts you, “stay.” There is a flicker of longing in her eyes as she speaks out to you.
You feel like you are in a dream right now. “Excuse me, your grace?”, you ask to make sure you heard the Queen correctly.
Alicent repeats her words, her voice tinged with a subtle plea. "Stay. Please... stay with me."
The queen's gaze remains fixed on you, and the vulnerability in her eyes is a sharp contrast to the regal composure that she so often wears around the castle.
You drop your stuff to the floor, your gaze never leaving hers. “Where do you want me?”
She points to an antique stool next to the bathtub. “Just keep me company for a while.”
The queen's voice is laced with sincerity and a touch of exhaustion, her gaze meeting yours with a hint of tenderness and longing.
Without another word, you walk over to the stool next to the bath and take a seat, arm resting on the side of the tub. Alicent leans back against the bathtub, relishing the warmth and comfort it provides.
“Thank you,” she whispers softly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
As you sit in silence for a moment, you try not to let your eyes wander to her barely covered body. Alicent remains quiet, her gaze drifting to the surface of the water, which slightly shifts and ripples along with the movements of her body. The heat from the water and the rose-scented steam fills the air, creating a calming atmosphere. The queen's body is mostly hidden, and yet the gentle swell of her curves are visible through the water, adding an air of mystery and intrigue to her presence.
When you catch yourself looking at her body, you quickly look up, only to be met with her brown eyes already on yours. Alicent notices your gaze upon her, and a soft blush tints her cheeks. Neither of you look away, and for a moment, the tension in the air thickens.
“I'm sorry your grace, that was inappropriate”, you say as you go to stand up, but she grabs your sleeve as not to let you leave her side
"It's alright, please... stay." Alicent's voice is a tender whisper, and as she grasps the sleeve of your shirt, her touch is gentle but insistent. Her eyes hold a faint hint of vulnerability. Without breaking their eye contact, Alicent gently tugs on your sleeve, a silent plea for you to stay. Her touch makes your breath hitch, and you sit back down, not leaving her gaze
Alicent's eyes continue to hold yours with a mix of vulnerability and comfort. The heat of the water, the scent of the oils, and the quiet intimacy shared between the two of you create a sense of closeness that goes beyond mere companionship.
Alicent's hand remains gently resting on the edge of the tub, within your reach. So you decide to make the first move. “Tell me if you want me to stop, your grace”, you say, before letting your fingertips softly touch her hand, slowly dragging them up the length of her arm.
Alicent's heart skips a beat as she feels your touch, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Her breath catches in her throat, and her eyes follow the movement of your hand with a mix of anticipation and eagerness. After a moment of excruciating silence, she finally whispers, "Keep going," in a low, enticing voice. The queen felt like her skin is set ablaze, and she leans into your touch ever so slightly.
When you suddenly stand up, Alicent wants to protest, but before she can speak up, you move the stool behind her and sit back down. Your hands make contact with her shoulders, massaging away the tension of the day. A soft sigh of contentment escapes Alicent's lips as she feels the firm yet gentle pressure of your hands on her shoulders and neck. The queen's body relaxes under your touch, the tension, and stress of the day melting away as you work out the knots and kinks in her muscles. Your touch is soothing, and the queen closes her eyes, savouring in the sensations.
As you keep massaging her body you move your head closer to her ear. "Would you like me to keep going your grace?" you speak in a hushed tone.
At your quiet whisper, a shiver runs down Alicent's spine, and her response comes in a low and breathless voice. "Yes," she whispers, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "Keep going...please.."
As your fingertips work their magic, the queen leans further back into your embrace, her body surrendering to the sensations you create. Sliding one of your hands over her shoulder, you move it towards the water. The queen's body responds to your ministrations, her chest rising and falling slightly as she lets out a soft gasp. The mixture of pleasure and excitement is undeniable as your fingers graze against her soft skin.
Alicent's breath hitches as your hands make contact with her breast, the sudden intimacy and sensation sending a jolt of desire through her body, towards her core. Her back arches slightly at your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.
"Just relax, Alicent." you speak up. "I've got you."
Your other hand mirrors the one on already on her breast and you begin to massage her chest, teasing her by sliding your hands across her nipples. When her breathing becomes more ragged, your movement become bolder. Playing with her nipples makes the Queen moan and mewl softly. You decide these sounds might be the holliest of things you have ever experienced. Kissing her neck, you can feel her pulse quicken. Never had Alicent felt such pleassure as she did now. Never had she been taken care of like this, being pleassured without being demanded something in return.
Alicent sits up more, exposing her chest to you. The top of her back that wasnt against the tub, now pressed against your front. One of your hands abandons her nipple and traverses lower under the water. When you reach her intimacy, the Queen holds in her breath. Cupping her pussy, you can feel how wet she is, even while she is submerged in the tub.
As Alicent turns her head back and to the side, you stare into her big doe eyes. Her mouth hangs open slightly as your palm slowely starts rubbing her clit. The Queen's soft sighs turn into moans and curses as the friction increases.
The hand that was still playing with her nipples, moved to her face, pulling her closer so you lips were mere inches apart. You press your lips to hers in a seering kiss, and at the same time you push a single diget inside of her. Alicent moans into the kiss, but returns it feverishly, her hand tugging at your shirt, pulling you closer. You have to try not to fall into the tub with her.
The moment you start pumping you finger inside of her, she loses it. God, if you knew the Queen of Westeros would be this loud in bed, you would have made the first move ages ago.
"Please, please, please, please..." she says over and over again, the words spilling from her lips like a prayer.
"Shhh, ive got you." you reply, adding a second finger into her, slowly picking up the pace with which you fucked her. Some of the water violently splashing over the tub by now.
You could practically hear the seams of your shirt ripping, with the force Alicent was clawing at you. Your tounge explored her mouth as your fingers kept working their magic underneath the water.
"I- Im gonna..."
"Cum for me, your Alicent" you interupt her.
And like clockwork, Alicent came undone all over your fingers. Her back arching out of the water, a loud moan of your name filling the empty space. And as you let her ride out her orgasm on your fingers, you litered her skin with kisses. Showing her your love and loyalty. Not to her family, but to her and only her.
She shuddered when you pulled your fingers out of her. Pulling them out of the water and straight into your mouth, cleaning your hand of her juices, moaning at the sweet taste. The Queen just stared at you with wide eyes.
"Thank you...for that." Alicent spoke first after she had regained her breath. A rosy tint spreading across her cheeks.
"It was my pleasure, your grace." you anwer with a slight smirk. "The water is getting cold, let me help you out."
Alicent stood up in the tub, slightly emberassed to show her body to you, even after the activities the two of you just did. She never found herself quite attractive, her body in particular. It was made to bare children, nothing more. Thats the thought she had grown up with. But now, standing naked in that tub, with you staring at her like she was the most beautifull woman that had ever set foot on the earth, she felt like she wasnt just a tool for men to use and abuse. She felt seen and loved.
You lifted her out of the tub like she weighed nothing and pulled a large towel around her naked frame. Rubbing you hands over her arms to help her dry off. You let her dry herself off fully as you go over to blow out most of the candles, letting just a few lit for when she sleeps.
Standing back infront of her, Alicent had now dressed herself in her nightgown. You push a strand of hair behind her ear and cup her face, before kissing her one last time. For all you knew, this moment would be a once in a lifetime. Where the two of you would not speak of this ever, or you would wake up tomorrow to guards dragging you infront of a dragon to be its breakfast for what you just did to the Queen of Westeros. The kiss was short, but her lips felt heavenly on your own.
Alicent leans into the kiss. She felt like a teenager again. Deep down she knew this was wrong, but right now she had never felt this good.
"You should get some sleep" you say. "its late and you have a long day tomorrow."
"You are right" she says before kissing your cheek and climbing into bed.
"You can't stay, can you?" she asks. She knows the answer, but still sounds hopefull.
"I can't, but i will be right outside your door." you answer as you put your armor back on to stand guard at the Queens door all night.
As you go to leave, she stops you one last time.
"y/n?"
You turn around and see her all cozy in her bed. "Yes?"
"Thank you" she says in the most sincere way possible.
"Anytime." you answer, before leaving her room and closing the door behind you. You didnt know what would happen between the two of you now, but you meant it. You would be there for her, always, no matter what. You had told her many times but after tonight, Alicent might truly believed that.
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd fanfic#alicent my beloved#alicent hightower x reader#alicent hightower#alicent hightower smut#wlw#wlw fanfictions#olivia cooke#game of thrones#olivia cooke x reader#team green
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