Hola! I don't have any posting schedule, so you can use this post to know what I just posted and what's coming soon, and my masterlist. Although what is written below only reflects one-shots and does not cover imagines and blurbs.
Here: The answer to my maybe
– aaron hotchner x neighbor! female reader
Next: Untitled
– andy barber x childhood friend! female reader
– still writing
Ideas
– jake seresin x coworker! female reader
– bucky barnes x fuck buddy! female reader
– aemond targaryen x mormont! female reader / jacaerys velaryon x mormont! female reader
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: VERY DARK ELEMENTS, noncon, extremely rough smut, daddy kink, slight dd/lg undertones, captain kink, age gap (Steve is very into the age gap), MAJOR size kink, no seriously Steve is HUGE, physical violence, injuries, descriptions of injuries of a sexual nature, misogyny, heavy mentions of blood, possibly inaccurate medical information, mean Steve (seriously, he has no soul and is very mean, honestly unhinged), rough oral (m receiving), innocence kink, naive reader, 18+ ONLY, NO MINORS. MINORS DNI.
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve plays the part of Captain America to perfection. But behind closed doors, he unleashes all his darkness on you.
𝐀/𝐍: This is a sequel to The Captain's Reward. Reminder to PLEASE read the warnings very very carefully. This is a VERY dark story. Dead dove don't eat. Please consider this a warning. If this isn't your cup of tea, just scroll. To everyone else, enjoy.
Steve doesn’t think there’s another girl in this entire universe who’s as beautiful as you. As sweet, innocent and pretty as you. And, he thinks as he licks as lips hungrily, there’s certainly no one else in this world as fragile and weak and helpless as you are at this very moment. All because of him.
He watches you attempt to hobble your way to the bathroom, his face concealed of any emotion. But he feels a pang of amusement when you grab his dresser to try and balance yourself. It’s cute, that look of determination on your face, the hope you undoubtedly have inside you that you could possibly reach the bathroom on your own two feet. Of course, you couldn’t. Steve had made sure of that.
An entire night of relentless fucking. And Steve hadn’t broken a single sweat. You, on the other hand, had screamed, cried, fought and passed out – and that had all been within the first hour. After that, you’d grown more docile. A broken look had settled behind your eyes as you’d been powerless against him whilst he’d defiled your body in almost every way imaginable. There had been moments where your fire had returned and you’d started fighting back again – and Steve had taken great pleasure in putting you back in your place each time you did that.
Now, you wail in frustration, falling back down on the king-sized bed with a cute thump. Steve almost smirks. He knows you’re in no condition to walk – not when your legs won’t stop shaking and you’re still bleeding. And sure, maybe he should’ve called the physician about twelve hours ago, but you were way too delectable to neglect for even a second. He wanted to savour your loveliness some more, ruin you a little more, break you down just a little more before the doctor examines you.
And then he’d do it all over again because he deserved to.
“Two agents will be here shortly to help you get ready.” Steve says finally.
Your head whips over in his direction, and he loves how your entire body jumps when he speaks to you. He knows he still holds that authority over you, that special importance that only a man of Steve’s calibre could possess. Despite the fact that he’s undoubtedly the villain in your eyes, which he doesn’t give a single fuck about. He knows deep down you still hold him in high regard – after all, he was an important, respected government figure. A hero. Your saviour. And you? You were just a dumb little girl.
“G-Get ready?” You squeak.
Steve feels his dick harden again – not that it had ever gone fully soft to begin with. He doubts he’ll ever not be hard in your presence ever again. Not when you were so deliciously sweet and broken and cute right in front of him.
“Your family has sent a bag of your belongings. The agents will help you get ready so the physician can see you.” Steve says, keeping his voice level and emotionless.
He can practically see your heart lurch up to your throat as you sit up even straighter.
“My family? They know I’m here? A-Are they coming to get me?”
This time, Steve allows himself to smirk freely, ever-amused by the tiny bit of hope in your voice.
“They know. And they happily provided my agents a bag of your belongings once they were informed that you were under my care, and will be for the foreseeable future.” His tone is smooth and calculated, knowing this information will hurt you. Of course, being Captain America had its perks – including the undying love and adoration that regular civilians like your parents had for him. They’d been happy that Steve had plucked you up and wanted to keep you. As they should be, because they knew what was best for you.
Your face crumples like a piece of paper, and the now familiar sight of your sweet tears as they glisten down your cheeks gets Steve even harder. Fuck, all he really wants to do is grab you, push you back down on his bed and fuck the living daylights out of you again. You were such a goddamned baby, crying your eyes out like a little fucking girl because your mommy and daddy didn’t give enough of a fuck about you to save you from the big bad wolf.
Well, you were young after all. At some point during the previous night, in between the animalistic fucking and the touching, he’d had you beneath him. Kissing the life out of you because he couldn’t get enough of your salty sweet lips, and the taste of your pure submission. “How old are you?” He’d asked.
You’d told him, in that sexy breathless whisper of yours, the one that let him know that you were half scared, and half overwhelmed with the pleasure he was drawing out of your body. Between pretty gasps and some more kisses, his tongue probing your mouth whilst he’d lazily fingered you (a short reprieve for you both before he’d inevitably fuck you again, over and over again all night). You’d told him you had one year left of college, how you were so close to graduating.
And that was exactly why you were so perfect for Steve – someone young and pretty and innocent like a little flower, someone he could defile over and over again. Someone with which he could let his inner darkness take over, and then watch while you cried your little baby tears as he put you through everything he deserved to put you through.
“Th-They don’t care?” You sputter now, hiccupping and crying like it’s the end of the goddamned world that your parents hadn’t given more of a fuck about you, and Steve relishes every second of it.
“They know what’s best for you.” He rises to his feet and fixes his tie. He’d woken up and gotten ready hours before you, as he’d had a press conference to attend. Of course, the first thing he’d done in the morning was fuck your sleeping body, nestling his fat dick between your peachy-warm ass and taking your tight, broken little pussy one last time before he had to go. You’d woken up with a start, crying and trying to fight him off with renewed vigour, but he’d had you settled down on his dick soon enough. Clearly, since he’d gotten you off three times before he’d unloaded inside you, revelling in the sound of your sobs.
He'd gone on to stand on a podium at the press conference and give a speech about HYDRA’s attack at your university yesterday. How, thanks to him and the Avengers, there had been no casualties. Not a single life lost. He’d received a hero’s welcome from the general public, with reporters scrambling to ask him question after question on how brave he’d been, how countless students now owed their lives to him. As he always did, he’d painted a gracious smile on his face – the perfect poster boy of bravery and humility. And then he’d come home to precious, little you. Stirring on his king-sized bed after a night of ruthless fucking.
Now, he had a meeting to attend, which meant he didn’t need you or your body for the next few hours. Therefore, the doctor could check up on you.
But, before Steve leaves, a thought enters his mind. In two long strides, he crosses the room. You gape as he nears you, cringe away from him when his thumb and forefinger grab your chin roughly, making you look up at him. And fuck, you look so innocent and sweet, so afraid of him. It makes him want to ditch his meeting and get back into bed with you. Show you and teach you everything about sex that your innocent mind undoubtedly didn’t know. Hell, he’d popped your cherry last night but he’d been so preoccupied with your cute little pussy that he’s still yet to use your mouth or your other hole.
But he needs to set something straight first.
“You are my property.” He says it plainly, matter-of-factly. Long ago, Steve had mastered the art of keeping his face neutral, and he knows you’re intimidated by him. He can see you, feel you, shaking under his grip. “That means you do not speak to any other man without my permission, or without me there with you.”
You suck in your breath, but you don’t say anything. Not that you could even if you wanted to, since he’s holding your jaw so tightly. One little jerk of his wrist and it would all be over for you. Sweet little girl. Life over before it even began. Of course, Steve has no intention of killing you, but he wants you to believe that he could, and he knows that you, sweet naïve little you, will believe it.
“No talking unnecessarily with the doctor or any other men you may encounter whilst I’m gone today.” Steve continues. Of course, he has a lot of other rules for you too but he’d let you know them in due course. “As my personal property, I expect you to obey what I am telling you right now. If the doctor has any questions for you, you are allowed to answer him but nothing more than that. Just know that I have eyes and ears everywhere, and I’ll know if you disobey me in any shape or form.”
He lets go of you roughly, pushing you down till you’re lying on your side. He takes one last look at you, a long, lingering look filled with lust and want. You look scared out of your mind, and he wouldn’t have you any other way. He exhales slowly, before beginning to make his way out of the room once more.
“I’ll tell him you raped me.”
Your voice carries across his bedroom like a whisper, and Steve probably wouldn’t have even heard it had it not been for his enhanced hearing. His jaw tightens, a wave of irritation rumbling inside him at your choice of word. Expressionless, he turns back around. You’ve pulled yourself up into a sitting position, and you look so tiny on his huge bed. So tiny and scared and shaking – like a little baby who has no idea who she’s up against. He meets your sad, accusatory eyes, his dick hardening even more when he sees the fire’s back within them. But all he does is look at you, daring you to say more.
You swallow, as if trying to harness all the strength you possibly can from within you. “I-I’ll tell him you kidnapped me and raped me. And he’ll see for himself once he looks at me, anyone would!” Your voice breaks as you glance down at yourself, at your bruised and bloodied body. You sniffle, “You’re a rapist and everyone’s gonna know!”
This time, Steve takes his time, leisurely making his way back in your direction. And it’s comical, how quickly your bravado dissipates. You cringe back again, crawling to the edge of the bed in a bid to get away from him. But where would you go? You could hardly take a single step without falling over your shaking legs. It makes Steve’s lip curl in amusement, watching how you start to scramble, terror evident in your eyes. Along with the immediate regret for what you’ve just said to him.
“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Captain, please, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t–”
Your breathing sounds laboured once Steve finally reaches you, and you look like you’re about to pass out. Scared out of your mind like the stupid little girl you are. A rapist. Who the fuck did you think you were, calling Steve that? Comparing him to the vermin who prowled the streets and took advantage of women, the very same low-lives who Steve himself had personally put behind bars numerous times. He’d never be like them. No, this was different. He deserved this. He deserved you and your body. You were his. He could do whatever he wanted with your body, after everything he’d done to save you, to save the world.
You look up at him, swallowing harshly as if expecting the worst. But all Steve does is stroke your cheek softly. His fingers trail the smooth expanse of your face, your cheekbones, your temple, your forehead, your jaw. He strokes your face like you’re his little pet, and predictably, you start to relax. He can feel the goosebumps he’s leaving against your skin, and he knows the effect he has on you no matter how much you fight against him, or how much you accuse him of wronging you.
That’s when he draws his hand back and slaps you hard across the face.
The shock of the blow has you opening your mouth in a silent cry, but nothing comes out except for a pathetic squeak. You fall back down on his bed, clutching your face as tears of pain stream down your cheeks.
“Tell him.” Steve says softly, “Tell anyone you want. Let’s see what they do about it.”
***
Steve is hard throughout his meeting. All he can think about is you, his perfect little secret locked away in his room. None of the others could ever even dream of having a girl as lovely, soft and sweet as you.
Bucky’s girl was unruly and wild – he’d found her at a nightclub of all places, which meant her pussy was probably as used as the toilets in the dinky joint he’d met her at. And no matter how happy Bucky seemed now, Steve knew it was all a farce. That unkempt slut would never truly be the right fit for Bucky, and Steve knows his best friend deserves better. Steve would never settle like that; he would never be like him.
Tony’s wife – Pepper – was a vapid fool whom her husband had just made VP of Stark Industries. A woman in such a high-ranking position meant clearly for a man? Steve still feels revulsion when he thinks about it. No wonder Tony was a raging alcoholic – allowing his wife to wear the pants in their relationship had clearly chipped away at the old man’s sanity. Steve would never be like him.
Then there was Bruce. He had Natasha but he didn’t know how to control someone like her. He was too busy locked up in his laboratory, doing countless experiments per day. Tinkering with machines and chemicals and whatnot. All while Natasha ran roughshod all over town. Steve had heard stories of the redhead’s promiscuity. Bruce was a fool not to keep her in check. Steve would never be like him.
Thor still pined over Jane, the woman he’d claimed was the love of his life. But she’d gone and died on him. Steve doesn’t believe in love, but Thor’s situation reminds him of Peggy. What a fool he’d been back in the day, allowing himself to fall for someone as rotten as Peggy. She’d played him, danced circles around him and laughed while he’d scrambled after her. Made sacrifice after sacrifice for her. Then he’d woken up one day and realised she, like most women, was an airheaded whore. Steve didn’t think about Peggy at all anymore. In fact, he was happy she was dead now. And unlike Thor, Steve never pined over his past. He’d never be like that.
Clint and Sam, thankfully, had their heads screwed on the right way. Both of them had nice little housewives tucked away in their homes. A baby on their hip, an apron over their dress. Barefoot and pregnant, hidden away from anyone else. Steve could respect that. Sure, Sam partied a lot and stepped out on his wife more often than not. But he was a man and men had needs, and Steve could understand that.
Although neither Clint’s wife nor Sam’s wife were half as beautiful or innocent as you. No, Steve had won in the end, picked the best of the litter, the cream of the crop. And soon, you’d be his little wife, too. Tucked away in one of his suburban properties, hidden from the public eye. And, of course, he’d knock you up too. If he hasn’t already, that is.
That’s all Steve can think about throughout the whole meeting. Not that it’s anything important, anyways. Tony is droning on about something or the other – Steve doubts anyone is listening. Tony was a fucking fool, and everyone knew the true leader of the Avengers was Steve. He was the one everyone listened to, the one everyone reported to and responded to. Steve knows he holds all the power in the world. Presidents, kings, world leaders, they all practically bowed down to him. Tony was nothing but a shrivelled up, coked up, alcoholic that Steve chose to keep around out of pity.
He makes a few pleasantries once the meeting is over. Bucky invites him over for lunch with him and his girl, but Steve declines. He knows Bucky just wants his best friend and his girlfriend to get along, but Steve doesn’t view women as equals to get along with. That’s why, if he had his way, Natasha wouldn’t be a part of the Avengers at all. Anyways, he knows Bucky’s girl is temporary – nobody kept whores around for too long. Sure, Bucky was infatuated right now, but soon his best friend would want to settle down – and it wouldn’t be with a slut like his current girlfriend was. No, Bucky needed a nice, quiet, bookish, innocent, young girl. Like how Steve had you.
And with that thought, he quickly makes his way back to his apartment, back to you. The physician is leaving as soon as Steve arrives, ready with a full report.
“She’s hurt bad, Captain.” The doctor says, his face not revealing a single emotion, which Steve prefers. It’s not the first time Steve has sent a girl to be checked up by him, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “Her pelvic region is in a very vulnerable state. Sprained in many areas, and she’s lucky she didn’t break anything down there.”
Steve feels nothing. He knew you were injured, that much was expected. How could you not be? What with how small you were and how big he was? There was bound to be some type of damage. No surprise there.
The doctor continues: “She needs time to heal, Captain. Apart from her sprains, she is also suffering from some tearing and bleeding. It will heal, but only with time. I have prescribed her medicine for the pain, but in order for her to heal properly and fully, she cannot be subjected to any vaginal sex or penetration of any kind for at least two weeks.”
Steve’s mood sours immediately. Not being able to enter your heavenly little snatch for two weeks sounded completely absurd to him. Now that he’d had your tight little pussy for one night, he expected free access to it whenever he wanted. But to be barred from what he surely owned? It was insane torture. Half of him wants to throttle the doctor right then and there.
But all he does is nod, and waits till the doctor shows himself out.
Quietly, Steve makes his way through his apartment, heading straight for his bedroom. He tries to formulate a plan of action in his head. How was he to navigate these next two weeks? Of course, he’d still keep you in his room, even if he couldn’t use you sexually. You were his property after all, and two weeks wasn’t forever. It was a long time to not fuck, however, and Steve makes a mental note to inform his agents to have a few girls sent up to one of his other apartments for the time being. They wouldn’t compare to you, but they’d have to do.
He opens the door to his bedroom and immediately pauses. There you are, sat in the middle of his bed. You’ve changed into a pair of pyjamas; a silk button up top and matching shorts with little hearts printed on them. Steve doesn’t think he’s seen anything more girlish and cute – they must have been sent along with your other stuff from back home.
Sure enough, you have a pink backpack open in front of you, and you’re sifting through it like it’s a treasure chest and not some cheap piece of luggage that looks like it’s been through several rounds of tug-of-war. Pulling out clothes and holding them close, as if he’s fucking smuggled you out of the country or something, and you’ve finally gotten a care package from home.
But then you shriek in delight, grabbing what looks to be a stuffed animal from inside your bag and hugging it close.
“Chester, you’re here!” You squeal happily – the happiest Steve has ever seen you in the short time that he’s known you. And fuck, the blood rushes straight down to his dick as he watches you hug the teddy bear close to your chest, nuzzling its fur against your nose. And you’re so preoccupied by the dumb toy that you still haven’t noticed that you’re not alone in the bedroom. “I missed you so much! I’m so glad Mom and Dad sent you!”
It’s the rawest, fucking sweetest sight of innocence Steve has ever fucking seen. You, all soft and tiny on his huge bed, in your silky pyjamas, all freshly showered and looking like a goddamned angel. As if that wasn’t enough to get Steve all riled up, that sheer juxtaposition between your softness and naivete compared to Steve’s own roughness. But you had to get your goddamned childish toy out, hugging it like it was your lifeline, looking like the sweetest, most corruptible baby girl he’s seen in his entire goddamned life. Fuck, it’s like you were begging for it.
With a guttural growl, Steve lunges for you. He feels something animalistic take over his entire body. And he’s always prided himself in being disciplined, trained his body and mind to show restraint, self-control. But all that goes out the fucking window when he sees you sitting so pretty on his bed with your goddamned teddy bear. The sight goes straight to his fucking dick and now he feels like a fucking animal.
You realise a second too late that you’re not alone, and you scream bloody murder as Steve grabs you. But even if you’d had a head start, you wouldn’t have been able to escape him. Even if your body was a hundred percent healthy, even if you were in an open field or somewhere public instead of the closed quarters of Steve’s bedroom. Even then, you wouldn’t have stood a single chance. Steve feels lust like how he’s never felt it before. Lust like fire, catching all over his body, searing his fucking soul.
For a moment, he feels incensed to the point of madness. How dare you be so fucking perfect? Like a fucking doll laid out to tempt him. Looking all heavenly and sweet, youthful wonder in your eyes that had been scared away the moment you’d noticed him there.
He grabs your calf, savagely dragging you to the edge of the bed. And you look so fucking terrified, shaking like a goddamned leaf just like how you were last night when he’d first ravaged you. And it feels like the first time again, in some ways. Except now that he knows exactly how your tight cunt feels around his big dick, he’s even more incensed to have you as you continually fight against him.
“The doctor said no!” You cry out desperately, kicking at him in a bid to get away except you’re so fucking weak, it’s like fighting with a goddamned ant for all the good it’s doing. “C-Captain, please don’t! Please don’t, the doctor said no!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Steve seethes through clenched teeth. He straddles you quickly, a knee on either side of your waist, his palm plastering over your mouth to silence you. “I know what he fucking said.”
And yet all he can think about is how you smell like strawberries and fucking cream. The female agents must’ve bathed you – your face and body all look scrubbed clean and glowing. No longer looking like how he’d left you this morning – covered in your own virginal blood. Part of him is completely enamoured by your sweet-smelling innocence, but the larger, darker part of him wants to corrupt you once more, leave you bruised and bloodied once more just how he had last night. He always wants you like that, because you’re his and he can do it.
He knows he shouldn’t, he knows it’s a danger to your health and wellbeing. But goddamit, Steve deserves this! He deserves your body whenever the fuck he wants it. He’d fucking saved you from HYDRA, saved your entire university and you were his forever reward. Fuck the doctor’s orders, you were his. He’d do with you exactly what he wanted, when he wanted to do it.
You wail as he rips your silky pyjama shorts in half. And it only takes Steve half a second until he’s forcing himself deep inside your tight cunt once more. And it feels like fucking heaven, entering back into what was now and always would be his property. Your tight, pulsating softness strangles his fat cock like a goddamned vice, choking it. And it’s like the past twenty-four hours of him ravaging you hasn’t made a single difference because you’re just as virgin-tight as you were last night.
“STOP, PLEASE! IT HURTS!”
You instantly start crying and screaming, flailing underneath him just like you had last night. And you bring that goddamned stuffed animal up to your nose, cuddling it and nuzzling it as you cry into its fur. All that does is incense Steve further – you’re such a fucking baby – and he lets out a low growl.
“Call me daddy,” he commands you, holding you down with one hand whilst his other grabs for the lube once more. He’s inside you, but he wants to go in deep, go in all the way like how he had last night. And you’re not wet, so the lube is a necessity. He pulls out and squirts it all over his dick, jacking off as he looks down at you. All crying and pathetic with your teddy bear and your silky pyjama top with the hearts on it. “Say it. Right fucking now.”
“Daddy,” you cry, sounding like a dejected fucking baby, “Daddy, please! Please no more! Th-The doctor said no more!”
“I don’t care,” he breathes, drinking in how hot you look when you cry. How hot you look with your legs splayed open, lying underneath him like you’re nothing more than a worthless little doll. A part of him is so turned on by the fact that he went against the doctor’s orders, the fact that the animal inside him just couldn’t wait to get inside you again. “You’re mine. I can use your body whenever the fuck I want.”
“B-But it hurts!”
You’re a pouty little mess, hugging your teddy bear close like it’s your only form of comfort. Which it is, because Steve wasn’t about to comfort you ever. Not now or any time in the future. But he’s just so fucking enamoured by how sexy you look – like an innocent angel sent down from heaven just to seduce him. Physically, you’re everything he wants, craves, dreams about. Like a pretty little doll, so innocent and cute yet beautiful like a fucking vixen. Like it’s written in your stars to be owned by him, to be ruined by him, over and over and over again till he consumes you entirely.
Once upon a time, Steve thought it was written in his stars that Peggy was the love of his life. Well, he didn’t believe in love anymore, but the sight of you beneath him right now, teary eyes glistening as you look up at him with an almost revered expression… The power trip it gives him almost knocks the wind out of him. It wasn’t love, it could never be love… But it’s a strong feeling that practically consumes him in this moment.
Overcome with something he can’t quite explain, Steve kisses you hard. Driven by possession or perhaps something else, but he presses his lips against yours like he’s fucking parched and you’re the only one who could ever quench his thirst.
You cry as you kiss him back, and he wonders if it’s muscle memory or if you’re only responding because you’re scared. Either way, it excites him. And he’s too busy making out with you that for a second, he forgets to press his cock back inside you after coating it with the lube. But then he does, and fuck, you’re wet now. Wet from just a little kissing. Fuck, you were so perfect for him. He couldn’t wait to marry you.
“Call me daddy again,” he says against your lips as he pushes his cock deeper inside you. With your wetness and the aid of the lube, he fits into your pussy like a snug fucking glove. He holds your hip with one hand in a bid to keep you in place, and his other hand finds its way up to your face. He cups your cheek, “Tell daddy how good it feels to get fucked like this.”
You shake your head desperately, “I hate you! I hate you so fucking much!”
Steve frowns, a new darkness spreading across his chest like a spilled vial of poison. His hand hardens, gripping your face harshly as he bucks his hips, pistoning his dick inside you with renewed force. You squeal in pain, your tiny fists hitting against his chest and grabbing the lapels of his suit which he hadn’t even bothered to take off.
“I don’t fucking care if you hate me,” he hisses, his face inches from yours. “Your feelings don’t matter, and they never will. But you better fucking listen to me and do what I say, or else I could make this a lot more painful for you.”
The threat has your eyes round as saucers, and your lips pursed, wet from his saliva and your own mixed with your salty tears. Then he feels the tenseness leave your body, sees your limbs stop thrashing as you finally go limp in his arms. As if you’ve given up and accepted your fate.
“Good girl.” He smirks, granting you one single praise because you didn’t need more than that, lest it built up your confidence. “Now, tell me exactly how daddy’s cock feels right now.”
You scrunch your eyes shut, either from embarrassment at his dirty talk or just from the sheer hate you’re feeling for him. Again, Steve doesn’t give a fuck. He gives you one extremely hard thrust that jolts your eyes back open, as if warning you he’d go even harder if you didn’t comply.
“B-Big,” you breathe out softly, shyly, “It feels big, Captain. I mean daddy.”
“Yeah? You ever thought you’d get fucked by a cock as big as this?” Steve asks, pulling out and admiring how his huge length is covered in your juices. And your blood, because of course, despite not going as hard as he had last night, he’s made you bleed once more. God, you were such a goddamned baby.
You shake your head, only earning a slap to your face and a menacing look that has you crying out: “No!”
“No, what?” He knows he has a sick gleam in his eyes, because he wants to hear you say it. “
“No, I never thought I’d get fucked by a cock as big as yours!” You cry out, your sentence ending in a piercing scream as he slams into you once more. The teddy – fucking Chester – slips out of your grip because of the force of which you’re being fucked. But Steve won’t have that, he shoves it back into your arms, wanting to watch you hold it and cuddle against it. Use your little toy as the only source of solace while your daddy ravaged you.
“That’s right,” Steve says lowly, drinking in the sight of you crying into Chester’s fur, “Cuddle your fucking toy like the little baby you are. Getting fucked by a man more than twice your age,” he licks his lips when your pussy clenches around his cock at his words, “And you like it, don’t you baby girl? You like how much older I am than you.”
“No, I don’t!” And yet you moan desperately, rutting against him now, clutching at your teddy bear yet at the same time thrusting your hips upwards to meet his animalistic thrusts.
Steve smirks, “Your cunt likes it.”
He ruts into you with wild abandon. And the whole time, he’s wondering how you’ve just walked into his life and awoken a wild beast inside him, this innate animalistic need to fuck your little body over and over again like he was put on this Earth to do so. With others, he’s always showed restraint. But you? Restraint went out the window with you.
And you squeak so fucking cutely when you cum. And Steve knows you’re in pain, what with all your bruises and injuries, and yet your hips meet upwards with his thrusts, riding out your orgasm as your hands clutch at his suit which he has yet to take off. Like you can’t help but accept the pleasure he gives you, because it feels so fucking good and he knows you’ve never felt pleasure like this before. Not before him.
“Feels good, huh?” He hears himself say, “Thank me for making you feel good.”
“Nngh, thank you, daddy!” Now, you don’t even hesitate, don’t even fight back. Your head’s thrown back and you’ve got that dazed look in your eye, forever lost in the throes of pleasure as he mauls your body to his liking.
Tamed once again.
He makes you orgasm twice more before he unloads inside you, holding your hips upwards with your legs bent back against your chest to make sure it sticks. He wants you pregnant by at least the end of the month. Hell, between last night and now, there was no way you weren’t pregnant already. And you look so fucking dazed, your fists grabbing his suit jacket so tightly, your face contorting in pleasure as you cum over and over again, and your little pussy eagerly swallows up his cum.
It's only once he’s stood back up, once he’s buckling his belt again that you seem to come out of whatever sex-crazed stupor he’d reduced you to. That’s when you start crying once more, your lips curling in anger and that fire returning to your eyes as you look up at him in absolute contempt. But he revels at the sight of you; Chester still clutched to your chest, your hair dishevelled, your eyes red, your legs shaking, his cum dripping from between your thighs. And the fresh white sheets once more stained with dark, scarlet blood.
***
“Wow, Steve. I’m really happy you found someone. I can’t wait to meet her.” Bucky says earnestly.
It’s been two days since the last time Steve fucked you directly after the doctor had advised him not to. Knowing he has no restraint when it comes to you, he’s deliberately kept well away for the time being. He’d temporarily moved to one of his other apartments, quietly making arrangements for the future whilst also making sure his agents kept you well fed and taken care of in his room. He’d left you in such a bloodied state, he supposed you deserved the brief retrieve. But in the coming few days, he planned to move you to his house in the suburbs. But he had to go public with you before he did that.
Steve nods smoothly, “Yes. She’s extremely shy, which is why I kept our relationship a secret for so long. We’ve been together six months, but I’m certain I want to marry her.”
Lying always came easily to Steve. Just another mask to slip on, just like how he did every single day when he donned his suit and a smile on his face. His words painting a rich tapestry of lies while the darkness behind his eyes remained at bay and nobody was any wiser.
“Well, that’s great. I can’t wait to meet her!” Bucky slaps Steve on the back, a wide grin on his face.
“Yes, Steve. I’d love to meet her too. It would be nice to have another girl around here.” Bucky’s girl – Kira or Kiara or something like that – pipes up.
Steve nods at her, feeling a wave of irritation build up inside him. Couldn’t she see that the men were talking? Stupid, insubordinate little bitch. Clearly, Bucky didn’t plan to keep her around for long as he hadn’t even bothered to teach her basic manners. In Steve’s ideal world, women were to remain silent unless spoken to, especially in public. Under the arms or on the laps of their husbands like pretty ornaments, made to be admired, not heard. Clearly, Kira, like most females of the twenty-first century – had no idea what it meant to be an ideal woman. Unlike you.
“Yes. Buck, as I said, she’s very shy and suffers from strong bouts of social anxiety. But I’ve been working on it with her, and I think she’ll be ready to meet the team soon, at the very least. I’d like to propose to her soon.”
Kira claps her hands together excitedly, “Oh, how exciting!”
Steve does his best to ignore her and keep his face impassive.
“I’m really happy for you, man,” Bucky says, “Me and Kira would love to meet her. When do you plan on proposing?”
“Soon,” Steve says vaguely, plans of a big, public proposal clouding his thoughts. Little did Bucky know; Steve had already privately proposed to you. He’d done it the very same night he’d met you, between your wanton moans and his heavy thrusts, when he’d demanded that you marry him, and you, in your soft breathy voice, had agreed to do just that. Not that he even needed your agreement, it’s not like you had a say in the matter either way. And a public proposal would be just for show, so every single person on his team and in his country would know that you were Steve Rogers’ property. Yes, his plans would come together soon. Very, very soon.
***
“I-I want to see my parents!” You demand shakily the moment Steve enters his bedroom. He licks his lips at the sight of you, sat on his desk wearing what looked to be a pair of embroidered jeans and a cute pink top. More clothes that your parents had packed for you. And you look just as sweet as he remembers from two days ago, and he feels his cock twitch to life in an instant. But he knows he can’t fuck you now, if he did then he’d risk even more damage to your body. Permanent damage.
“Greet me properly.” Steve says, keeping his voice level and impassive. “It’s about time we went over certain rules that you need to follow now that you are mine.”
“I need to see my parents!” You repeat, “You’ve kept me locked up here for days, and I know they’d be worried about me.” Clearly, spending two days away from him has given you some sort of amnesia with the way you’re acting so brave all of a sudden. Well, Steve has no problem reminding you what exactly he was capable of.
He crosses the room quickly, smirking at how you shrink back in fear. That was more like it. Grabbing you by the neck, he easily lifts you up off his desk chair and throws you not-so-gently onto his bed.
“Captain, please!” Your face crumples in desperation, “I’ve been here almost three days now, and I just don’t understand why you won’t just let me go! You’ve used me countless times, but why can’t you just be done with me now? Why do you have to keep on torturing me like this!?”
Steve wants to roll his eyes. Women.
“Did you not hear me? I asked you to greet me properly,” Steve says softly, completely ignoring your impassioned plea. He grabs you by the chin. Hard. “Rule number one, as stated before, is that I own you. This means you must greet me any time I enter this room, or any other. You stand up,” he yanks you to your feet, and you yelp in pain, “and you approach me with your gaze lowered in respect,” he pushes your head down like you’re a dog, till your eyes are looking straight down at his shoes, “and you greet me whilst properly addressing me. Now do it.”
You don’t do anything, and the insubordination bristles Steve. He’d have you tamed soon enough. Quickly, he grabs your chin again, squeezing it hard till it hurts and you cry out in pain. “You and I both know the pain I am capable of inflicting upon you, sweetheart. Don’t make me do it now.”
“H-Hello, Captain,” you speak through angry tears, teeth gritted and eyes downcast, “Good morning – uh – sir.”
He would have preferred you to call him daddy now, but that would come with due course. He wanted you to call him that outside of sex but he knew it would take time for you to not be mortified enough to do that.
“Good girl,” he praises, before pushing you back on the bed. Throwing your tiny body around was very easy, and he liked exerting that power over you. “You will see your parents soon enough, but we need to go over some things first.”
You open your mouth to speak but Steve quickly raises his hand as if to silence you, also giving you a look menacing enough to make you shrink back again.
“Next week, we will make our first public appearance together.”
Your jaw drops open “But–”
“There will be a party in our honour, and I will introduce you to my colleagues and the general public. You will be on your best behaviour as there will also be press there.”
You start shaking your head, a dazed look on your face as if you can’t quite believe the words coming out of his mouth. Steve doesn’t give a fuck, and continues to speak as if your reactions don’t even matter. Which they do not.
“It will also be where I propose to you in front of everyone, and you will graciously and quietly accept, or else.”
“WHAT!?” You blurt out loudly, a horrified look spreading across your features, “P-Propose? What do you mean? C-Captain, no. No, no, no, that can’t be right. You can’t propose, there must be some kind of mistake–”
Steve’s jaw twitches, but expressionlessly he waits for you to stop stuttering like a goddamned fool. Your eyes look wide as saucers, shocked beyond belief as if you couldn’t wrap your head around the very idea of being married to him. Well, it hardly mattered as you were a woman and women had no say in matters such as these.
“You will be on my arm and under my supervision for the entirety of the event. Your behaviour will reflect my values, which means you will be polite and demure. Only speak when spoken to, and remain silent when it comes to worldly or political matters that do not concern you or women in general.”
“I’m not going to– Captain, this is a mistake–”
“Your parents will be present at the event. You will not talk negatively about me to them or anyone else, nor talk in detail about the circumstances under which we met. I will do all the talking, and you will nod and agree to whatever I say.”
Fire blazes in your eyes, your incredulity forgotten for a second. “You can’t stop me from telling my parents what you did to me!”
Quietly, Steve nods. He sits down next to you on the bed, making you jump in fear. You try to shuffle away from him but almost too easily, he picks you up and places you in his lap. Your back to his front, just how he had held you the night he’d first had you. It makes his cock harden immediately, but he knows he can’t fuck you. Not for another week and a half. Instead, he places his hand in front of you, almost in your lap, where it looks so goddamned big compared to your own tiny hands.
“Do you see my hands?” He prods you when you don’t reply, “Answer me.”
“Y-Yes.”
He watches you grudgingly look at his hands, take in all the roughness, all the callouses. His bruised knuckles, the burns and scars that would heal and fade away over the next few days. Hands that had seen everything, hands that were capable of acts that your tiny, girlish mind could hardly comprehend. Horror for you was submitting your homework late. The horrors his hands had seen and committed would make the hairs on the back of your neck rise in trepidation. You were lovely and sweet, and had no idea the evils and gore he had witness and contributed to. All to keep the world safe. To keep you, his beautiful little bride to be, safe.
“The night I met you, these hands choked three grown men to death.” Steve says tonelessly.
Your tiny gasp makes his dick harden even more, and you jump in his lap, his statement catching you so off-guard.
“I wrapped my hands around their throats, and I watched the life drain out of their eyes,” He continues, revelling in how you’ve begun to shake in his arms. “And it meant nothing to me. They were evil. Vermin. Disposable. I could have killed ten more of them and it wouldn’t have mattered. Killing them meant nothing to me. Ending a life no longer damages my psyche.”
Slowly, almost tenderly, Steve cups your face. He angles it sideways till you’re facing him, and he can see the beginnings of your delicious tears well up in your eyes. Your beautiful, wet eyes that glisten in total horror. You’re frozen, paralysed in fear. Breathing erratically in his lap while he holds you, holds you like you’re a little doll. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, taking his time in inhaling your sweet, beautiful scent. Another kiss, this time your hairline, and he can feel you shuddering underneath him.
He moves down to your cheek, kissing you there too. And the same with your other cheek, and he hears you whimper softly, your body on high alert, as if you don’t trust his gentle demeanour. Finally, Steve presses a soft kiss to your lips, sucking gently as if to savour your taste. He kisses the corner of your mouth, down your jaw; he peppers kisses up your neck before returning to your lips. Now, you’re quivering on top of him, unsure and nervous and scared. That’s when he opens his mouth and utters his next words.
“Would you like me to kill your parents, sweetheart?”
A broken noise falls from your mouth at his nonchalant question. A mix between a whimper and a cry, and you gape at him in total fear.
“You could tell them the truth about everything, just like I know you’re thinking of doing,” He casually tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, “You could cause a scene at our engagement party, too. Cry for help and run your mouth to whomever you think will listen. And then when all’s said and done, you’d find that no one would believe you. And you’d turn to your parents for comfort, thinking surely, if anyone would take your word, it would be them, right?”
You say nothing, and Steve pinches your side cruelly, making you cry out and nod your head out of pure fear.
Steve smirks, “Sweetheart, I’d have your parents out of the room before you’d even know what’s happening. I could make them disappear in a heartbeat, and no one would know any better.” He starts kissing your neck again, marvelling at how soft and sweet-smelling you are. “I could choke them out with my bare hands just like I did those HYDRA bastards. And in their last moments, as they try to hang on to their pathetic lives and take their dying breaths, I’d tell them it was all because of you. Their own daughter’s insubordination would be the reason for their demise. And when that’s all said and done, you’d still be mine. Dead parents and a guilty conscious, but my property all the same.”
He finishes his speech with a final kiss to your lips, before turning you around fully to face him.
“So tell me, sweet girl. Are you going to be on your best behaviour at our party?”
He wishes he could capture that delicious horror in your eyes, and keep it in a jar as proof of your innocence and subordination to him. You take a few gulping, shuddering breaths, as if trying to calm your own self down, as if trying your hardest not to cry. Finally, with your wet eyes downcast, you nod, and in a breathy whisper you answer him:
“Yes. I’ll be on my best behaviour.”
***
“Bruce, I’m glad you were able to tear yourself away from your lab long enough to attend my party,” Steve says good-naturedly, a mask of friendliness on his face as he elbows the scientist jokingly.
“Of course, Steve. This is a great event.” Bruce looks forever like his dishevelled and distracted self, as if he’d just blindly stumbled out of his laboratory and put on a sports jacket before arriving here. “Nat and I couldn’t wait to meet this secret girlfriend of yours.”
He’s got Natasha on his arm and all Steve can think about is how pathetic Bruce is for allowing his girlfriend to attend a public event dressed in such an indecently cut gown. Steve himself would never allow you to wear anything indecent where other men would be able to lay their eyes on you. Of course, in the privacy of his room, he’d have you wearing all types of scantily-clad, vintage lingerie. But in public? You were Captain America’s soon-to-be wife, the picture of modest femininity and demure innocence. Which was why tonight he’d personally chosen your dress – a beautiful baby blue gown with a respectable neckline.
Steve would never be like Bruce.
“You must be the lucky lady who finally managed to capture Steve Rogers’ heart,” Natasha shoots you a friendly smile.
Steve feels you stiffen next to him, and he knows you’re scared because someone has directly addressed you. Since the party started half an hour ago, he’s had you snugly tucked by his side, his arm around you and hand firmly pressing against the small of your back lest you try to slip away. Although he doubts you’re capable of that at all, since you look like you’re scared shitless. Undoubtedly, his threats from earlier are still looming over your head, as they should.
“She is,” Steve answers for you, making sure to keep his voice light and good-natured. “She’s had me head over heels for her since the moment we met in front of that local art exhibition late last year, right sweetheart?”
He pinches you lightly, nobody else would’ve even seen it. But you jump, swallowing hard as your stupid little mind tries to keep up with his smooth lies. “Y-Yes,” you answer shakily, “I was volunteering at the art exhibit and that’s how we met.”
A flimsily executed lie, but Steve supposes you haven’t had half as much practice as he’s had with being dishonest. Hell, his whole life revolved around dishonesty and facades, so much so that he’s perfected the art of putting on mask after mask. His agents had coached you on what to say so your story would match Steve’s, and they’d made sure all the details lined up before the false story was leaked to the press. Besides, Natasha was too much of an airhead and Bruce was too distracted to question your less than stellar lie.
“Well, welcome to the family,” Natasha leans in to give you a warm hug which you return after glancing up and receiving an approving nod of permission from Steve. And then the redhead looks up at him, “And Steve, I can’t believe you hid her from us for six whole months! You didn’t even tell me, and I thought I was more special than that!”
Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes. Natasha had always been under the impression that her and him were exponentially close. As if Steve would ever be close friends with a woman. Everything he did, he did for his image – and that included having the world think him and Nat were some sort of crime-fighting duo. When the reality couldn’t be further from the truth – if Steve had his way, a woman wouldn’t be part of the Avengers at all.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to jinx a good thing,” Steve answers good-naturedly, giving you a warm squeeze. He can feel your breath hitch, feel your eyes dart over to him warily before you look down at the floor again. He can sense that you’re nervous, scared of breaking the façade of picture-perfect happiness you’re supposed to be presenting, wary of the consequences if you were to break said facade. You’re also jittery and skittish, holding on to his arm with your tiny hands like the naïve little girl you are, a little girl forced into the spotlight of his world. On the arm of the most important person in the room. No, the most important person in the world.
“Nat, Bruce, if you’ll excuse us. We’ve got to make the rounds and greet everyone before this one gets too tired.” He says, and it’s not even a lie; as you’re still healing from all the injuries he’s inflicted on your body after that first night of fucking. In fact, it’s one of the reasons why your weak little body is clinging on to him so tightly – he’s sure your legs would give out if he wasn’t there to keep you up. And that thought, the fact that you’re relying solely on him, gets his dick hardening in his pants.
Steve leans over and softly kisses your temple, letting his lips linger for a second. His nose twitches, taking in your sweet scent. Two female agents had bathed you in rosewater and rubbed and lathered all sorts of sweet-smelling oils and creams on your skin, till you were glowing and smelling sweet like a flower. Then they’d slipped you into the dress he’d chosen, and applied light makeup to your face (as well as heavy makeup on your body to conceal any bruises) as per his instructions. And so when he’d seen you for the first time earlier tonight, standing there in the middle of his bedroom like a girl straight out of his wettest dreams, all he’d wanted was to shove you down on his dick and use you as a goddamned fleshlight, ruin you for daring to look like such a sweet little angel, for daring to seduce him like that, all while you stared up at him with fresh tears in your eyes and a naïve indignance in your face. Fuck, he’d been hard ever since.
He waits for you to croak out a goodbye to Natasha and Bruce before leading you away. And he hears them whispering to each other as the two of you leave:
“Gosh, isn’t he so gentle with her, Bruce? I’m so happy Steve finally found someone to settle down with!”
“Mmhm,” Bruce agrees, “I didn’t even know he was dating anyone. He always seems so busy, putting everyone else’s needs over his own. He deserves this.”
Everywhere Steve goes, he’s used to people worshipping him. Praising him, his bravery, his selflessness, his good looks. Tonight is no different, as he parades you around the banquet hall, introducing you to everyone in the circles he hangs around in. Not that he enjoys the company of any of these people – but they think he does. Just another part to play.
And he knows how jealous every man in this room is right now, how their hungry, pathetic gazes follow you around as you cling to him. Because you’re so lovely, so pure, so soft. Unhardened by the hardships of life, your face brimming with innocence and that delicious fear because of the control Steve has over you. And he knows that every other man wants you like how he has you, but they never would. He’d kill them if they tried.
He feels you stiffen, and he follows your gaze to the edge of the ballroom where the engagement party is being held. Right in the corner by the entrance, sticking out like two sore thumbs, intimidated and out of place, are your parents. Not that he’d even bothered to find out what your parents looked like from the background checks his agents had done on you in the past week, but he can tell it’s them now. And he smirks and makes a beeline straight for them, with you in tow beside him.
They’re immediately in awe of him, just like he knew they would be. Most people are in awe of Steve, and he’s used to the way they look up at him as if he’s some kind of God. Like he’s the epitome of what every other man strives to be, both physically and otherwise.
He shakes your father’s hand, gives your mother his warmest hug. Smiles and holds you close, apologises to them for keeping his “relationship” with you a secret all these months. Tells them how in love with you he is, how the two of you have so much in common, how he’s never felt like this about anyone else in his life. How he vows to take care of you and keep you safe for as long as he lives. How he’d love it if he could have their blessing as he asks for their daughter’s hand in marriage.
That last line has your parents practically falling apart. Your mother starts crying, thanking him for being so kind and generous. Telling him that she knows he’ll take good care of you. Your father is similarly affected, although he clears his throat and nods and claims the two of you make a beautiful couple, and of course you have his blessing. And it’s laughable almost, how the two of them don’t even spare you a glance. Because if they did, they’d see your face crumple in dismay, your body go stiff, your tiny little hands forming fists by your sides.
“M-Mom, please, we need to talk–”
Steve drags you away before you can croak out another word, and swiftly leads you to the centre of the banquet hall, a bone-crushing grip on your hand.
“Remember what I told you,” He warns, and he doesn’t have to say anything else. The memory of the threat he’d made earlier settles on your pretty face like a ghost, your delicate features etched in pure fear of him. And fuck, it gets him so hard how completely at his mercy you are in this moment. So tiny, fresh like a fucking flower, soft and feminine and perfectly afraid of him, clinging on to his arm while every other man looks at him in awe, and you in desire.
“I-I just wanna talk to my mother!” You squeak out softly, and it’s the first full sentence you’ve spoken to him all night. And of course, Steve could answer you. He could tell you that you’d have the opportunity to talk to her later (if you behaved). But he says nothing, because nothing you say is important, nor would it ever be.
One by one he goes over to each guest in the banquet hall, your little body firmly pressed to his side. And it turns him on so fucking much, how small you feel against him. Like a quivering little mouse. It reminds him of the fear he’d seen the night he’d first had you, and it thrills him how you’re still just as scared of him as you were then. In fact, even more so.
But he dons the mask he always does, the mask of the happy, humble Steve Rogers, as he makes his rounds, acts like the perfect host. Thanks every single person personally for coming, and for meeting his beautiful girlfriend.
“Bucky, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend.”
As Steve introduces you to his oldest and closest friend, he regards Bucky’s face carefully. He wants him to see how lovely, soft and feminine you are. See how Steve has chosen the perfect girl and Bucky should discard Kira and closely follow his example with someone who was more like you.
Instead, his enhanced hearing picks up the slight hitch in your throat and the sharp intake of your breath as Bucky shakes your hand. He notices how you swallow hard, almost like a gulp, and a different kind of nervousness takes over your being, your eyes glistening like stars as you look up at the Winter Soldier.
“H-Hi,” You utter softly, and it’s the first time all night where Steve hasn’t had to prompt you to speak.
“It’s great to finally meet you,” Bucky straightens after letting go of your hand, and Steve makes it a point to yank you up against his side, keeping his arm firmly around your waist. “Steve did an amazing job of keeping you a secret all this time, but he hasn’t been able to shut up about you now that we all know.”
You laugh shyly, and it’s the cutest little laugh Steve has ever heard. But it also incenses him, to hear you laugh at something another man has said. Even if that man is his best friend.
“She’s not used to big events like this,” Steve rubs your hip, eyeing Bucky carefully. “I think I’ll take her home soon.”
“Remember how much we hated these kinds of events back in the day, Steve?” Bucky elbows him before his gaze settles on you again. “Don’t worry, you get used to them. Well, Steve certainly did since he’s a pro with people now. Me on the other hand? I get shy too, so you’re not alone.”
Steve feels you perk up, feels your whole energy shit. Those stars in your eyes, he can practically see them. They make him want to crush Bucky’s head into the ground.
“R-Really?” You sound all breathy and cute, all innocent and hope-filled, your pathetic little heart no doubt thinking you’ve found an ally of some sort. It’s almost comical, and yet Steve does not feel like laughing.
“Of course. But it gets easier over time.” Bucky straightens his suit and looks around, “I wish my girlfriend was here - she’s been dying to meet you, but I have no idea where she ran off.”
You wilt like a flower in slow-motion, your cute little mouth down-turning and your gaze retreating to the floor. Steve’s heightened senses notice all of it, and it sears him from the inside out.
“Girlfriend?” You echo softly, pathetically shrinking into yourself.
“Yes, my girlfriend Kira – you’d love her! Steve, have you seen her around?”
“No, but we better get moving. Lots of people to meet,” Steve tugs you along, watching as your eyes trail back to Bucky, a roaring fire in his heart igniting like something he’s never quite felt before. He pushes it back down quickly, extinguishing it before it affects his mask. But not before digging his fingers into your hip hard enough for you to whimper.
He guides you over to the remaining groups of people he has yet to greet. But you’re a million miles away, despite the fact that he’s physically holding you up and prompting you to speak every now and again. More than once, he catches you looking across the ballroom with a pathetic, yearning look in your eye. He follows your gaze to find it fixated on Bucky, who’s now embracing Kira in the corner of the crowd.
“Eyes on the ground or on me,” Steve mutters lowly. Of course, up until a few moments ago, he was not the least bit bothered by where or who you looked at. But those stars in your eyes when Bucky had spoken to you, and that twinkling laughter that Steve had never heard before now? His fists curl at his sides, and he wonders if he hasn’t made it clear enough who exactly you belonged to. Perhaps the brief retrieve you’d gotten when he’d been barred from fucking you these past few days had caused you to forget.
He finds he doesn’t have a problem with reminding you, even if it means going against the doctor’s orders again.
After a handful of more wooden hellos and fake pleasantries, he decides it’s time. Everything has been set up meticulously, and he leads you up to the centre of the small stage. He doesn’t even have to clear his throat to get everyone’s attention, he knows every single pair of eyes in this ballroom is plastered on him now, as he finally, officially makes you his property and brands you as his. He clears his throat.
“I know you’re not a huge fan of public declarations of love and whatnot. Quite frankly, neither am I and you know this. But I just… I always felt so out of place and,” he makes himself chuckle charmingly as he takes both your hands in his, “pardon the pun, like a man out of time. Until I met you.” He utters your name softly, slowly. Playing a part like he always does while you look up at him like a deer caught in headlights. You look uncomfortable, shy, nervous, caught-of-guard despite his agents drilling tonight’s plan into your dumb little head like how they’d been ordered to.
He squeezes your hands, hearing sighs and simpers all around him. But all he can focus on is you, looking so breathtakingly beautiful and innocent in the intimate candlelight of the ballroom. Like you’ve stepped straight out of his dreams and into his arms. Like his very own dream-girl that he’s hunted down and caught, and will now keep forever caged as his.
“You taught me that there’s more to life than just work, you taught me how to enjoy things without feeling guilty about it…” he pauses, and as if on cue he hears more sighs erupt from the crowd of guests. “You came into my life when I least expected it, and for so long, I wanted to keep you a secret from the world because I wanted to keep you safe and,” again, he makes himself laugh softly, “And I guess a part of me just wanted to keep you all to myself. But now, I want nothing more than for everyone to know just how much I love you…”
Steve would be bored by the whole thing if it weren’t for your innocuously animated facial expressions, your eyes shining with bewilderment, your luscious lips forming the shape of an o. He’s memorised speeches like this more times before than he can count. As an avenger, it’s something that’s become second nature to him – playing a character, smiling for crowds of people he couldn’t care less about, spewing out line after line that he no longer believed in. It was all in a day’s work for him.
But you… You look like you want to break into a run as you stare up at him, too scared to look away. And he’s so infatuated by that look of yours, that deliciously pure look of fear for him, he almost wants to take you into his arms there and then, shield you from everyone else because they don’t deserve to look at you. You’re like a pure little flower, delicate against the forces of nature, and despite his primal need to ruin you, there’s a part of him that wants nothing more than to protect you.
He gets down on one knee, earning many a gasp from the audience. Everyone’s waiting with baited breath, and that’s when he sees it. A lone tear meandering its way down your cheek, almost like a final plea for him to rethink his proposal. Your lips purse slightly, as if silently begging him not to go through with this. It almost makes him want to laugh. God, how great it would feel to snuff the hope right out of your eyes. Stupid little girl.
“Baby, will you marry me?”
He’s got the box open between his thumb and forefinger, the ring sparkling brightly against the velvet interior. He watches you carefully, not a doubt in his mind what your answer would be. You know the consequences were you to defy him now, or at any point. But it’s mildly amusing to watch you all the same, watch a plethora of different emotions flit through your face. Fear. Helplessness. Anger. Defiance. Sadness. Resignation.
“I-I…uh…” your eyes blink back tears, and you look past him, undoubtedly at your parents. Your plump lips part, and Steve’s itching to kiss them in front of every single person here as he claims you as his. But instead, he waits, wearing a mask of charming patience as he looks up at you expectantly. And when he finally catches your eye, all he has to do is blink, as if to say: see what happens to them if you disobey me.
“I do.” You whisper. A tidal wave of applause and exclamations follow. Mindless people crying, screaming, whooping, hollering, clapping and snapping pictures as if they had a personal stake in this proposal. But they don’t matter. The only thing that matters is that he’s made you his in front of all of them.
Slowly, he slips the ring on your dainty finger. There’s no sentimental value to it; his agents had picked it out. But it’s a mark of his ownership over you, with his initials delicately inscribed on the inside slightly protruding outwards so they’d brand your skin when you put it on. A taken woman, a kept woman. His forever reward. All his. And nobody else’s.
“He deserves this,” a woman in the audience says, “oh, he’s given so much to our country, hasn’t he? All he does is give, and make unselfish sacrifices for us.”
“Yes,” the man next to her agrees as they both clap, “Steve Rogers deserves this happiness more than anyone else in the world.”
Delicately, Steve gathers you in his arms. You’re so small and trembling, half in a state of shock over what’s just happened, over the weight of the sparkling rock now on your finger. But it doesn’t matter how you feel, not when he’s got the most beautiful girl in the world on his arm, now when he’s just marked his ownership over you. And fuck, he can feel himself harden in his pants at how small you are against him. How weak and helpless and in shock after agreeing your life away to a man you’d only just met a week ago.
“Good girl,” he praises as he hugs you close, the two of you being showered by applause and yet all he can focus on is you.
“I…I…” you can’t speak, can’t stop stuttering, and so all you do is rest your cheek against his chest, and let him hold you, and hug you, and rock you against him. Before he dips your head back and kisses you all sweet and gentle, when all he wants to do is ravish you. Kiss you like a damn caveman and taste your blood simply because he owns you and he can.
He presses his hard crotch against your midriff till he feels you gasp, looking up at him with pleading, wet eyes. And it gets him even harder. You’re his. He’s essentially bought you from your parents, and now he owns you. Your sole caretaker, he’s the one you answer to, cater to, listen to, worship.
God fucking damn… Fuck the doctor’s orders. He wants to shove his cock inside you now, even if it means he’ll permanently break you.
He kisses your forehead, looking beyond you for a moment. Thor’s clapping at the back but he’s got a sad, forlorn look in his eye. Undoubtedly thinking about that bitch Jane who had died. And Bruce and Natasha, hugging each other as they look on happily. As if their sham of a relationship could ever compare to what Steve has with you. Bucky’s there too, arm in arm with his girl, a look of pride on his face.
And right at the back, in the very corner of the ballroom leaning against the wall, is Tony Stark. Nursing a brown bottle of liquor, hair unkempt, face hollow and unshaven since God knows when. And yet his eyes are alert, and he looks straight at him in a way that makes Steve bristle.
“W-Will I get to go home? For a little while? J-Just until the…the wedding?” You ask softly, and Steve looks down at you, the sound of your breathy, quiet little voice going straight down to his cock. There’s something about you asking him that, because he’s who you’d have to seek permission for anything from now on. And it incenses him all over again, and the thought of Tony is wiped completely out of his mind.
He doesn’t even bother answering your pathetic question, instead leaning down to kiss you again. You taste sweet, beautiful and salty with tears. He doesn’t mind. You don’t kiss him back. He doesn’t care about that either. You were completely and irrevocably his, and there was no reversing it. A sudden carnal need has him biting down on your lip. Hard. You whimper. Fuck.
He wants you. Suddenly, he can’t wait anymore. Grabbing your wrist in a crushing grip, he yanks you down the stage. Like the red sea, the crowd parts for him. Clapping, congratulations, more applause. He doesn’t care about any of it. You whimper beside him, the shock of the proposal clearly having yet to wear off because your feet drag against the floor. He huffs in impatience, scooping you up bridal style in one quick, fluid motion. The crowd erupts with more simpers and applause, none the wiser to the dark, carnal thoughts swirling in his head.
He carries you down the side of the ballroom, out into the hallway and towards the bathroom. He can’t wait. He shouldn’t have to wait. You were his bride to be. His little fiancé. His to do with as he pleases. Nobody could stop him. He was Captain fucking America. He’d kill anyone who stopped him. Crush their fucking skulls and paint the hallway with their worthless blood.
It’s like a wild animal has taken over Steve’s mind and soul as he pushes past the bathroom door and all but throws you inside. You wail weakly, and it gets him even harder how fragile you are, how easily he’s able to toss you from one corner to another without even using one percent of his strength.
“Y-You can’t–” You gasp weakly, that delicious pleading look still in your big, wet eyes as you realise his intentions, “The doctor, h-he said–”
Steve can’t get his eyes off your dainty little hand as you hold it in front of you, as if trying to shield yourself from him as you back away till your back is against the wall. The glimmer of your engagement ring as it brands you as his forever. Fuck, he doesn’t think he’s ever been harder than he is right now. A large part of him wishes he’d ended his proposal by fucking you in front of every single guest, letting them watch as he deflowered you and took ownership of your body again and again and again till he’d fucked you into unconsciousness just like he had that first night.
Because now you were forever his. Branded by the ring on your finger, forever tethered to him in every single way possible. Every single person now knew you were the sole property of Steve Rogers. Hell, your own parents had signed you away to him, and now he was your God, your saviour, your caretaker, your everything.
He wraps one hand around your tiny, delicate little throat, lifting you up off your feet in a crushing grip before he kisses you. Really kisses you. Forcing his tongue into your mouth in a display of total dominance and ownership, licking and exploring every part of you. Biting at your lip till he knows you’re crying against him, your little fists pounding on his chest as he kisses you. Your breathless little gasps against his mouth because he knows he’s depriving you of oxygen, choking you while he kisses you, knowing there’s not a damn thing you can do about it because of how weak and little you are.
Abruptly, he puts you down. Undoes his fly, grabs his rock-hard dick and pumps it as he watches you cower, gasping for breath and trying hard not to look at his crotch.
“N-No, Captain, no, please not here. Please, please, please–”
“Get on your knees.”
Steve loves the look of earnest confusion on your face. You’re so pure, so innocent, you truly don’t know what he’s ordering of you. Your pouty little mouth purses, your brows furrow, but Steve’s so fucking hard, that animal inside him roaring at the chance to feel your warm, wet, virgin mouth on his dick. And he’d rather be balls deep in your tight snatch but he knows he can’t, not when you’re so close to healing, not when he’s already abstained for so long.
He shoves you down onto your knees, and it’s the realisation on your face that does it for him. That sweet realisation of what’s about to happen, and the image of you in your pretty little dress, face done up all sweet, not knowing just how ruined he plans to make you look by the end of this. That’s what makes him grab his hard, fat, throbbing cock and smack you across the face with it. Hard.
You cry out in pain, and Steve does it again. Slaps your poor cheek with his fat cock just so you know what’s about to go down your fucking throat with zero mercy.
“Tell me how happy you are to be my wife,” he orders, tracing your lips with the tip of his dick. His precum paints your face, mixes with your tears and makes your cheeks shine.
“I-I’m not, I don’t want this – Captain, please don’t!”
SMACK.
Another smack to your face, and you burst into baby tears as if you can’t take it anymore. As if you’ve been holding them in for this whole function and now you’re really letting it all go. Crying for everything you’ve lost – not that Steve gives a single fuck.
“Say it.”
“I-I’m happy to be your wife, okay?! Please, I can’t do this here, Captain, please don’t make me!”
He grabs your hair and yanks it, and it’s when you scream in agonising pain that he shoves his huge cock down your throat. And again you scream, but this time it feels like fucking heaven – feels like vibrations on his cock as he holds your head down, shoving as much of his huge member as he can fit inside that tiny, tight fucking virgin mouth of yours.
“God fuck,” he hisses, tapping your cheek hard with his palm, “Daddy needed this, sweetheart.”
He can’t help the pet-name, not when you look so sweet and ruined already. On your knees on the bathroom floor in front of him, his huge dick in your mouth, his balls in your face. Tears streaming down your cheeks, your pretty dress spread like flower petals around you. He wonders if you’re wet from how rough he’s being, and the thought sends him into a frenzy, and he bucks his hips against your mouth, making you scream around his dick again.
“You should get used to this,” he hisses, “This is your life from now on, baby girl. This is what you were meant for. You’ll serve me like this every fucking day if I want you to. On your knees like a goddamned whore wife for your husband.”
Except you’re not a whore. No, you’re his innocent little bride. The epitome of elegance and class, of feminine purity. Except for when he’s got you behind closed doors, where he can reduce you to a sniffling, slutty little mess because you’re his and he can and he deserves this.
His cock is so big, you’ve barely taken a quarter of it in your mouth and you’re already struggling to breathe. Choking on his fat cock while you start to panic, your tiny fists pushing and shoving at his abs through his three-piece suit. He takes no heed, instead reaching down to rip your dress down its front, wanting to see your pretty breasts bounce as he truly begins to fuck your face.
You whine and cry on his cock, and that’s when he grabs fistfuls your hair from either side and truly begins to fuck your face. Your eyes widen like saucers with dread pooling in them. You punch him with all your might, try to push him off you but there’s no hope. The bathroom echoes with sounds of struggle, your gasps and screams against his dick that he pushes further and further down your throat with each thrust.
“You like that, don’t you?” As suddenly as he’d started fucking your face, he pulls out of your mouth. You gasp for breath, ready to fall into a heap on the gleaming, tiled floor had he not had a strong grip on you holding you upright.
He spits on your face, taking his time spreading his saliva across your forehead, cheeks, lips, nose. But even that isn’t enough, and he takes his heavy dick, covering in your spit and his precum, and rubs it all over your face. And it gets him so fucking hard, almost like he’s scenting you. Ruining you for anyone else despite the fact that there never would be anyone else.
“Say you like daddy’s dick in your mouth,” he orders you.
“Captain, ple–”
“Say it or I’ll drag you out in front of everyone and fuck you like the bitch in heat I know can be.”
You cry and cry, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look up at him with a mix of fear and revulsion. Your spunk kept coming back, no matter how many times he tamed and broke you. No matter how much he threatened you, hurt you, pushed you around. And it makes you so much fucking sexier to him that he almost can’t stand it. You’re everything he’s dreamed of and more, and it thrills him how scared you are of him, and yet how at the same time you push your luck and keep trying to fight back against him.
“Say it, or I’ll fuck you in front of your parents before I kill them.”
A gasp dies in your throat, and you look up at him with a peculiar kind of hatred. Like almost a revered kind of hatred. Like you’ve never seen anyone so powerful in your life, and he knows how helpless he’s making you feel. And it gives him the biggest fucking power trip he’s ever had.
“I–I like daddy’s dick in my mouth,” you try to downcast your eyes but he’s holding your face in a death-grip, and holding your gaze too.
“I know you do,” Steve sighs, pressing his fat, throbbing cock back into your mouth with such force, he almost knocks you backwards. But with a steel grip in your hair, he begins to move your head up and down. Using your mouth like a goddamned fleshlight as he fucks it. His tip hitting the back of your throat and making you gag around him and he still doesn’t let off.
You’re his pretty little mess, on your knees serving him like he’s your fucking God. Face ruined, dress ripped, your tits bouncing for him. Fuck, he wants to take your nipples in his mouth. Suck and bite them till they’re bruised and sore. He’d take you home and do just that, because you were his. His girl. His fiancé. His bride to be. His little toy. His forever reward.
Now, he takes his dick out from your mouth once more, resting it on your face as he roughly guides your tired, chapped lips to his heavy balls.
“Suck,” he orders, slapping your face lest you pass out on him again. This time, you don’t question him or even protest. Your lips wrap around his balls, sucking like you’re a goddamned pornstar, a half angel, half seductress put on this Earth especially and only to service him.
It doesn’t take long after that for him to blow his load. Not when you’d been teasing him all night, dressed up in your innocent blue dress like you were seducing him. Pressing your little body against his all night because of how weak you were from how hard he’d last fucked you. And it turns him on so fucking much, your physical weakness compared to his brute strength. He could kill you if he wasn’t careful. But he was always careful. He couldn’t lose you now. Not when you were the girl of his dreams and he’d finally made you his.
He cums on your face, wanting to brand you even more. And you blink up at him in delicious confusion, you lashes sticky with his seed, your pouty lips shining and downturned. It gets him hard all over again, and roughly he yanks you up to your feet. Holding you up with just one arm, he drags you to the bathroom mirror, grabbing your chin to get you to look at your reflection.
He drags his finger across your cheek, gathering his cum on it before prodding it against your lips. Your eyes widen, that delicious innocence shining through once more as you gape up at him.
“Lick it off.”
You’re too weak, too scared, to worn out to argue this time. And Steve almost blows another load when you suck on his finger, tasting his cum for the first time. And he takes his time, feeding you his seed till your face shines clean. And he suddenly has this wild urge to fill you up with his cum. Blow a load down your throat, then flip you over and fuck your pussy so savagely before filling you up, and then, when you’re on the verge of passing out again, he’d force his cock straight up your virgin ass and cum in there too.
It excites him, knowing he has the rest of his life – and yours – to subject you to whatever he wants to. And as his wife, it would be your duty to just take it. Sweet little girl, your life was his now. He’d make your decisions, decide what you wore, when you slept, who you spoke to, what you did. And he’d use your body how he deemed fit because it was his, and you were his.
He takes his jacket off and drapes it over your front to protect your modesty before hoisting you up bridal style once more. You’ve practically passed out again, but he doesn’t care. He carries you out of the bathroom and down the hallway. There’s a back elevator that takes him down to a private parking lot underground. His agents have the black car waiting, and he lays you across the backseat.
“I almost forgot you prefer ‘em barely concious.”
Steve blinks, his lip curling at the familiar voice.
Tony Stark steps out of the shadows. Or staggers, rather; his suit creased, and liquor bottle in hand. Steve keeps his face impassive, shutting the door of the car behind him.
“What, you’re leaving so soon? Got tired of dragging that poor thing around like she’s some kind of toy?”
Steve smirks, signalling for his agent to start the car, “Go back inside, Tony.”
“Is she one of the ones you get delivered to your apartment after missions? I’ve seen a fair few of them being carried out once you’re done with them.” Tony downs his drink, “Poor girls. Never knew what hit ‘em, huh?”
Jaw tensing, Steve crosses his arms over his chest, “Take it easy on the drinks tonight, Tony. I think they’re making you hallucinate.”
“She’s too young for your PR circus bullshit, Rogers.”
Of course. Tony was jealous.
“I’ll have one of my agents escort you back upstairs if you’re unable to find your own way.”
“She looked terrified up there. What did you do, threaten to kill her family?” Tony brings his bottle to his lips again, only to realise it’s empty.
Steve only watches him quietly. Studies him, like how he often does. Old, unkempt, borderline crazy old man. A once great leader turned into a punchline. The butt of every joke. Forced to drink himself into a stupor in the shadows whilst Steve was worshipped and revered by the masses like how Tony once was.
Steve smiles easily, “Go to bed, Tony. You’re drunk.”
“I see you, Steve,” Tony slurs, shrugging off an agent who attempts to grab his arm, “I see the real you. At least what you’ve become. And you’re riding this high now, but soon they’ll all see what you really are. Hell, her face will give it away each time you bring her out in public.”
The conversation is hardly stimulating, and Steve finds himself growing bored. He opens the car door, getting a flash of your smooth, pretty legs as you lie unconscious in the backseat.
“Shout it from the rooftops, Tony. Nobody wants to believe a drunk. Nobody wants to take orders from one either.”
Tony sneers, “You’re not taking my spot, pal.”
Steve doesn’t bother answering him. He gets into the car, draping your legs over his lap before shutting the door. Tony was never someone Steve took seriously enough to waste any more energy on him than he really had to. Nor did he think of the man as a serious threat. Steve had already taken Tony’s spot. That fact was as plain as day.
Now, he strokes your bare calf, and watches as you lie in the car. Deathly still, blinking up into the darkness. Morose as you stared out the window, so ruined and deliciously used. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to seeing you like this, seeing you so utterly ravished and broken. He traces shapes against your smooth, supple skin, before pressing a soft kiss to your calf. It’s oddly gentle, especially after the animalist display he’d put on in the bathroom. But you’re like an angel in the backseat of his car, an angel with a sparkling rock on her finger, an angel that was all his. His forever reward.
He has the female agents bathe you once he’s carried you back up to his apartment. He has some things to attend to in his office, and by the time he comes back to his bedroom, they’ve laid you out on his bed in a pretty pink negligee. Fresh and pure like a flower, eyes blinking up like a deer caught in headlights the moment he walks in.
He’d ordered the agents to give you something to knock you out for the night, and it’s clear the drug has yet to take its full effect. Perhaps that’s why you’re not your usual skittish self as he sits on his side of the bed. In fact, he can feel you watching him, your breathing shallow and slow. He was supposed to go back to his other apartment after dropping you off, but he feels an inexplicable need to stay.
“I…I wish you were nice,” you croak out softly, so soft he barely hears it, and yet it surprises him, because you’ve all he’s heard from you up until this point is begging, cries and insubordinate accusations. The drug has you slurring your words slightly, and yet you’re perfectly clear, “It would be so much easier if you were just a little bit nice.”
He doesn’t say anything. Your words are stupid, foolish, childish. To Steve, it doesn’t matter what you think of him. It doesn’t matter what’ll make things easier for you. Instead, he lies down, dragging you till your body’s flush against his. Tiny and peachy warm, smelling like strawberries and cream, the negligee silky soft, your bare skin even softer. It gives him that animalistic urge where he wants to just consume you.
Instead, he holds you closer, till your cheek rests on his chest and your body’s practically on top of his. And he doesn’t quite understand why he requires this closeness right now, only that he just does, and you’re his bride and therefore there to provide him with whatever he wants.
And right now, he wants to hold you. Feel your body against his. Remind himself how small you are, how much power he yields over you. As your husband, your provider, the man you look up to, the man who owns you. He was rough with you in the bathroom after the proposal, but now it’s like the animal is sated, and all that’s left is this almost strange, alien need to have you close.
He lifts you up and presses a kiss to your lips. A soft peck at first, then another one before he deepens it. He wants to feel you kiss him back, just like how you’ve done in the past despite pretending not to want him. But your soft lips remain lax against his, and he draws back to see you sniffle.
“Would it hurt you to be nice?” Your voice comes out so small, so beautifully weak. “Just a little bit nice? Like how you are on TV. I wish… Oh, I wish you’d just…”
You’re babbling, the drug pulsing through your system. And Steve knows better than to respond to your wistful, girlish, drugged up chatter. And yet…
“Niceness gets you nowhere,” he answers quietly, his large hand running up and down your back, his pointer finger tracing against the smooth skin of your arm. “Now go to sleep. That’s an order.”
“He was nice,” you say it so faintly that if it wasn’t for Steve’s advanced hearing, he wouldn’t have heard you. And there’s a certain dreamlike quality to your tone that incenses him to his very core. “He made me feel like a person, and his eyes were kind. I couldn’t stop thinking about them. He… he…”
You pass out, the drug finally kicking in. And you lie there in his arms, all soft and small and asleep. All while Steve remains deathly still, a certain darkness that he’s never quite felt before coursing through his veins.
A darkness that makes him want to choke his best and oldest friend to death.
Whew! Did you make it till the end? I sure hope so! I'd really love to know what you guys think! I am so nervous about this. I know that The Captain's Reward is probably my most popular story, so the sequel has big boots to fill. I really, really hope you guys enjoyed it. Please please do let me know what you think! Feedback, likes and reblogs would mean the whole world to me!
I've also come up with a few questions. But as always, you guys don't have to answer these! They're just for fun hehe. Any type of feedback would be amazing!
What did you think of Steve's proposal? LMAO.
Do you think Steve will grow softer towards reader? Or will he remain how he always is?
What do you think Steve will do to Bucky?
Anyways, I'm so scared to post this I feel like throwing up! I hope you guys enjoy it, thanks so much for being so patient! Love you, bye :)
You’re smiling as you leave work in a hurry, your boyfriend of a year had just called you, almost frantic with excitement,
“Come home, Y/N, I’m taking you away for the weekend, it’s a surprise though so don’t ask me questions.”
Obviously you were excited, Lloyd had been so depressed recently, this was going to be a great get away for the both of you, it was just what you needed. Your dreams of a cozy cabin and lots of sex died when you opened the door to a nightmare, however.
“See, the problem is, Y/N, that your boy here owed me a lot of money, and because he can’t get it, he offered me you.”
Your shoulders are screaming in pain from where your arms are wrenched behind your back, and your throat hurts from where Steve Rogers goon was holding you against him. It hadn’t made sense at first, your couch was cream, not red… the shirt Lloyd was wearing when you left hours earlier had been a pristine white, not this splotchy burgundy colour…
By the time your brain had processed that what you were looking at was blood, and that Lloyd’s face was swollen and bruised, it was too late. Hands had seized you, one levelled a slap at your face that cut your scream off and sent your ears ringing, and you came face to face with the man that now held Lloyd’s life in his hands.
“Me?”
“Yeah… Well, technically I made him offer you as collateral,” Steve motioned to his thug to let you go and they did, leaving you to fall against Steve who pulled you against him, before taking a seat on your spare seat and pulling you into his lap. You struggle briefly, but Steve just nods his head at yet another thug, and Lloyd yelps in pain when they hit him again, “another move from you, sweetheart, and I’ll cut his fingers off, okay?”
You go still, and Steve laughs,
“Yeah, anyway, long story short, your boy here owed me ten grand. I was going to take him out back and shoot him, then come here and take whatever I could, but this lucky guy was smart enough to have a picture of you on his phone. One look and I was a goner. I said to him that I would forgive his debt if he gave me you, and well…”
Lloyd groaned when another kick was levelled at his ribs.
“This dumbass thought he could get you away from me and avoid paying me my money, so here we are. You, sweetheart, belong to me now, and Lloyd is going to get free swimming lessons in the Hudson.”
“Wait-!”
It was too late, Lloyd was heaved to his feet, and dragged out of the door. You tried to get up to run to him, but Steve just held you back,
“Get your beauty sleep, sweetheart, I’ll be back in the morning for you.”
They leave, and you cry yourself to sleep, only to wake to the noise of your front door opening, and Steve walking in like he owned the place with a crew of men behind him,
“So I own this place now, Y/N,” you blink at that, but he ignores you, “I got it for a bargain, don’t worry, I won’t add it to your tab. The locks are being changed, and I got the spare. You’re going to be working for me now, you’ll start at my club tonight, so you’re coming with me to get something hot to wear, my guys are going to clean up and make this place presentable again,”
“I don’t-”
“I didn’t ask, come on,” Steve takes your wrist and tugs you forward, swatting your ass lightly, then keeps his palm there for a moment, “Lloyd had good taste, damn…” you pull away, a complaint on your lips, but it doesn’t come out, not when Steve drapes his arm over your shoulders like it belongs there, and not when he takes you to his car, a beautiful gun metal grey machine, and slides in the backseat next to you. His palm is warm on your knee, firm enough you don’t try to move away. His blue eyes meet yours as the car pulls away, “Don’t look so scared, I won’t bite. Well, unless you ask, of course,” his palm travels a little higher on your leg, and you shift in the leather seat,
“Where’s Lloyd?”
“I’m sitting here thinking about how hot you’ll look in this designer dress I got picked out for you, and you’re wondering about your ex? Wow, talk about grateful,” He still doesn’t take his hand away though, instead it drifts higher,
“He’s not my ex-”
“Well, he is an ex person, so unless you’re into dead guys…” Steve shrugs, finally removing his hand from your leg as you shake your head in disbelief, “Come on now, you didn’t think I was lying about the Hudson, did you? The man got what he deserved. Only a coward uses his girl as a way to get out of a debt.”
A tear drops from your eye as the car slows down in front of Bloomingdales, “What did I do to deserve this?”
“Sweetheart, you’re getting a shopping spree, a cushy job, and free rent. This is the kind of life pretty women like you cream yourselves over, no responsibility, no worries, just living the good life with a big bad protector looking over your shoulder,” Steve brings his hand to your cheek, gently wiping the tear away and tilting your face so he can meet your eyes, “you should be thanking me.”
“You killed my boyfriend.”
“He had it coming. Now,” Steve leaves you when the door is opened, and holds his hand out for you. You quickly wipe at your face, and take his hand with your own trembling one, “good girl. Let’s make you presentable.”
“So what work will I be doing?” You’re in a large dressing room, surrounded by beautiful designer dresses and shoes. Your hand picked makeup and skin care had already been packed up and sent to your apartment, now Steve wanted to see what outfits looked good on you. You weren’t trembling anymore, I’m fact you’d almost been lulled into some sense of security as you’d been guided through the department store.
You still didn’t know exactly what it was that Steve did, just that he was rich - incredibly so - and that he owned at least one club he wanted you to work at. You’d been terrified that this “club” was a euphemism for sex work, but listening to him talk to the personal shoppers and managers, it really did seem like a legitimate private club. There were strippers and drugs and very high end escorts of course, but that’s not what he wanted you to do. You were pulling the straps of the beautifully made dress over your shoulders when you finally asked the question about your new job, Steve on the other side of the curtain,
“Front of house, hostess, kind of gig.”
“Like showing people to their tables?”
“Pretty much. You have the kind of face that will keep people coming back to spend their money.”
You ignored the compliment, turning to look at yourself in the mirror instead, “I’ve never done that before.”
“Doesn’t matter. I want you there where I can see you.”
The way he said those words sent a shiver through you, you’d let your guard down and forgotten that this man was an admitted murderer, “I’m not going to run anywhere,”
“I know that, sweetheart,” the menace in his voice had disappeared, he even sounded warm, “what dress are you wearing?”
“Oh, umm-”
“Come out here and show me,” You stared at the shadow shaped like Steve through the curtain, and stepped back when it moved. He was imposing even when you couldn’t see him, “is it that strappy one?”
“Y-yes-”
“Are you wearing panties? You’re going to have to give them to me if you are, sweetheart. I don’t want you wearing them anymore, I should’ve told you that before we left, that’s my bad,”
“What?! You can’t just- oh!” You step back rapidly, your back hits the mirror behind you as Steve flings the curtain to one side and pushes through into the cubicle. It’s a private space for the wealthy so it wasn’t small, but he made the space shrink around you until all you saw was him in front of you, blue eyes blazing,
“Did you just tell me what I can’t do?”
“I d-didn’t-”
“Hand over your underwear, now. Good girl,” you shimmy your panties down your legs, heart pounding, face burning, eyes stinging with tears you refuse to shed. Steve takes the underwear and calmly pockets them, a smirk playing dangerously on his face as he places his hands on your shoulders and toys with the straps of the dress, “now let’s go over the rules, shall we?”
You nod, it’s the only movement you’re capable of at that moment.
“You live in my apartment, you spend my money, and you work at my club-”
“I didn’t-”
“So you owe me, but you already knew that, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Steve carefully pushes the strap on your left shoulder down so it hangs on your upper arm, “I was given you in good faith by that gambling asshole, and I intend to have you for a long time coming. You’re in my bed, under my care, and under my protection, which means I can pick out what you can wear, and what you can’t, including your panties, is that understood?”
“B-but-”
Steve ignores you and tugs down the next strap on your right shoulder, his eyes are firmly on your cleavage, heaving with your panting. Fear, lust, hatred, anger, a chaos of emotions seized you more firmly than chains could’ve done, and you’re helpless as Steve pulls both straps down further, firmly enough that the dress pools at your waist.
“I want access to you, at all times, so if I want you in my office, your tits in my hands, or my cock in your mouth whilst I’m on a phone call or doing paperwork or even talking with my men, you come running, understood?” You barely feel it, but you see how your body reacts when his index finger traces gently over your nipple, “You’re a responsive thing, aren’t you, sweetheart? I wonder if you’re wet yet…”
Your legs push together at his murmur, and he chuckles. Your eyes close when you feel the fabric of the skirt being pulled up, cool air tickles at the top of your thighs,
“Look at me, sweetheart. Now.”
You open your eyes on a gasp, your palms sting from how hard you’re clenching your fists, nails digging in hard enough to hurt… but you can’t bring yourself to stop him as he pulls the skirt high enough that you’re exposed from the waist down,
“Open your legs for me,” he holds eye contact as you haltingly do as he asks, but he tuts and shakes his head, “wider. There. Good girl.” Your legs are now open shoulder width apart, and still he doesn’t look down, or move away from you. Your chest brushes against his, breathing in the same air, scented heavily by his cologne. It’s overwhelming… intoxicating…
“I want to know I can find you, pull you into a corner, and do this whenever I want,” Steve pushes his right hand between your legs and strokes carefully over your cunt, his own eyes fluttering closed when yours do, “God, you’re soft down here. Perfect.” He cups you, and before you can even think to protest, his middle finger slides inside you easily, “You’re soaking. And you’re tight, Lloyd must’ve had a tiny little cock- hey!”
You’d tried to jerk away when Lloyd’s name was brought up, your movement halted when Steve grabs you by the neck and holds you still as he pushes his index finger inside you as well,
“Didn’t I say you belong to me now, sweetheart? Repeat it after me. I. Belong. To. Steve.”
A groan comes from you instead when his thumb touches your clit, going in little circles that drive you crazy… but then they stop, and you force the words from your throat,
“I belong to you, Steve,”
“My tight little cunt, my tight little ass, my pretty tits and my perfect mouth… all belong to Steve. Say it.” You repeat what he instructs, a tear falls from your eye which Steve wipes away, “Don’t cry, sweetheart, I know it’s a lot, but you’ll love being with me. I knew it from the moment I saw you…” Steve pulls his fingers out then, leaving you whining but he ignores you, instead he goes to his knees and uses his thumbs to open you wide to his gaze, “So fucking pretty. You’re going to be a tight fit for my cock, but I’ll go slow, I promise.” He places a quick kiss to your clit, his tongue cold fire as he dips it inside your entrance to get a taste of you.
It’s like you’re caught in a trap as he stands up, unable to move as he opens his pants methodically, his eyes still firmly on your cunt. He pulls his cock out but you force yourself to look away, meeting his blue eyes instead. He smirks as he closes the final few inches between you, and takes your left leg and hooks it around his waist, “I’m not gonna wear protection when I fuck you. I want to feel every inch of you gripping me like a vice, morning noon and night,” His hand goes back to your throat as he starts to push inside, “look at me when I fuck you, sweetheart, I want to see how hard I ruin you in your eyes,”
His grip tightens slowly as he bottoms out, then releases as he pulls back, tightens as he thrusts again…
You’re caught in his gaze as he slowly fucks you, almost lost to everything until you hear the door to the dressing room open and hear the heels of your personal shopper on the marble floor,
“Mr Rogers?”
You freeze completely, but Steve just smirks, “Hey Bridget, just helping my girl with her straps, we’ll be out soon,” his hand leaves your throat long enough so he can hold a finger to his lips in a ‘shhh’ gesture, then he quickly sticks his thumb in his mouth, sucking it until it’s wet before bringing it back down between your bodies and pressing against your clit. You jerk against the wall at the sensation, a squeak leaving your lips, but Steve talks over you,
“I think we’ll take everything, Bridget, Y/N is going to wear this dress out of here so ring it up too, okay?”
“Absolutely, Mr Rogers-” Steve thrusts twice inside you, the sensation drowns out what the nice lady says next, but you hear her words falter, “is- is everything okay?”
“Fantastic. This… dress… it’s just real tight,” Steve circles your clit relentlessly, and your eyes flutter close for a moment, sensation taking over, but Steve stops suddenly and you open your eyes up on a gasp, “we’re okay here, Bridget, I just need to get this… dress… under my control.”
There was a pause. Steve still quietly fucks you, almost absentmindedly, a steady pace that drives you insane, your clits torture is resumed, and he holds your gaze, a silent threat not needed to be spoken that if you make a sound he’ll punish you. You can almost hear Bridget dithering. It must be obvious that you’re having sex in here, but if she says anything there’s every chance that Steve will just carry on anyway, he’ll leave with no consequences, without the shopping undoubtedly worth thousands, and Bridget won’t make any commission.
Finally, Bridget coughs, and you hear her leaving, the door to the dressing room closing firmly. The silence is deafening for two heartbeats, and then Steve pulls out,
“Turn around, put your palms on the wall, and stick your ass out for me,” you do it because why fight it at this point, your life is now his within the space of less than twenty four hours, you don’t even flinch when you feel Steve pull your cheeks apart, or when his index finger grazes lightly over your asshole, “you’re pretty back here too, I’ll have to take a night off soon so I can prep you to fuck back there,” he pulls your hips towards him and pushes back inside on a grunt, your mouth drops open on a silent gasp. It’s not really pleasure, but it’s not quite painful either as he fills you back to the brim and ruts into you furiously, chasing his release. Your own pleasure comes and goes in waves, but before you can reach it Steve pulls out, spins you around and pushes you roughly to your knees,
“Open your mouth,” You do as you’re told, and you just manage to take a breath before he pushes himself past your lips and attempts to fill your throat, “swallow what I give you, go on, good girl…” You try to, he tastes sweeter than Lloyd did, but you gag and some of Steve’s spend dribbles from your mouth to land on your chest. Steve stands over you as you recover from your coughing fit, a smirk on his face as he zips back up and runs a hand through his now dishevelled hair,
“You better not have got any on that dress. Stand up.” You do so on shaking legs, meeting his eyes quickly before dropping your gaze again. You can feel his cum on your neck and at the top of your breasts, hoping against hope that none landed on the expensive dress… Steve hums, his fingers gently catch what you’d spilled and bring it down to your nipples, rolling them between his fingers and rubbing it into your skin until you’re dry again, “Now you’re going to smell like me all day. I don’t want you showering until after your shift.” Steve pulls your dress back down, and lifts the straps back over your arms as he talks, “And if you ever choke on what I give you again, I’ll spank your ass raw, do you understand me?”
You nod silently, and then gasp when you’re spun around roughly, your dress is pulled up again, and Steve lands two hard smacks against your ass. You almost cry out, more in shock than any real pain, but he pulls you back against him, his left hand wrapping immediately around your throat and making you look at him,
“When I ask you a question, you answer with ‘yes, sir’. No nodding quietly, and no sass, or next time I’ll use my belt. Now, let’s try again. Do you understand the instructions I just gave you?”
You glare for half a second, but you nod, whispering the words that Steve wanted to hear, and he smiled, his grip loosened to a caress, “Good girl.”
You tug the dress down again, only slightly wincing as the material goes over the stinging flesh of your ass, and allow Steve to take your hand and lead you out of the dressing room and back into the store. You know you look exactly how you feel, thoroughly fucked and despondent, but no one will meet your eyes so you’re able to ignore them. The air is cold on your skin when Steve finally leads you out of the store and to the car that waited for you both, he held the door open for you and once again followed you into the back seat. The windows are tinted, but you can see the city lights beyond the dark screen, your eyes fixated on all that pretty twinkling, even when Steve pulled you to his side and angled your face to his for a kiss. You responded without thinking, you were trapped in a moving car with a man who’d just fucked you in a public space and threatened you with a belt, what else could you do?
“I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart, I promise.”
You smile as well as you could with his arms holding you tight to his side, your mind already occupied with thoughts of how you could escape him.
synopsis: One could easily forget that behind all of Hangman's bravado and the cocky smirk there is an actual human with a beating heart. But Javy has been the one Jake ranted to. How he wished for women to see him, not the pretty face or the GQ body and the uniform. At Javy's suggestion that maybe Jake is looking for love in the wrong places he just throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes.
That's when Coyote decides that it's about time for things to change. Sitting down with the rest of the dagger squad they create a profile on a dating website. One where the goal is finding a committed relationship. The general response to Jake's profile is overwhelmingly positive so now all they need to do is hand the account over and let Hangman do the rest...
note: This is 100% self-indulgent writing. I was looking for something very particular and since I couldn't find anything to scratch that itch I had to write it myself. It's kinda wild to me that I got so much done (I am currently at 10.000 words for this and counting and I haven't written this much in the past year combined tbh). Since I was looking for it I thought maybe others could enjoy this too, so I decided to share and make it an x reader. Therefore I tried to keep physical descriptors to a minimum. If I missed something then I would greatly appreciate a nice pointer to rectify my mistake. But ultimately the reader is going to be very heavily inspired by my lived experience as a plus-size, late-diagnosed AuDHDer, so please take that into consideration.
Depending on your feedback I will continue with the story as x reader or if the consensus is that it's too much detail/specific traits for an x reader, then I'll turn it into an OC story.
Feedback would be greatly appreciated in general. If you are interest in part two where we meet thechaoticlibrarian for the first time, let me know ;)
!Important side note!
If you know one AuDHDer, you know exactly one presentation of AuDHD (the same goes for Autism and ADHD separately and pretty much every form of neurodiversity). Just because the description is not matching the presentation in you/someone you know, doesn't mean mine is any less valid. Also due to language differences, I am used to different terminology, so please be patient and kind if I mix stuff up.
Trigger Warning (for the entire series. Things can be added over time. If I forgot something or you want me to add to the list, my inbox is wide open. You are responsible for your media consumption, proceed with caution, you know the drill):
kind of arranged date situation, talk of mental illness and disability, disabled!reader, service dog, accessibility issues, body shaming (self and others), self-deprecation, cursing, non-canon (not even sure if this is canon compliant so, take that as you will), nsfw/smut (later chapters. We'll get there), written by a non-native speaker, not beta read, reader is addressed by her nickname Belle (she's got the books, she's got the beast and she's got the kind heart)
!!!Minors do not interact!!!
Chapter 1 || Previous Chapter || Masterlist || Next Chapter
It's late when the dagger squad is gathering around the kitchen table in the common area. Well, not the entire dagger squad. One of them already called in for the night, but that's playing into Coyote's cards. After setting up Hangman's dating profile the initial response was great, so now they have to decide how to proceed.
"We should just give him the account as is. He's a grown-ass man, he can handle it from here", Phoenix states, slightly annoyed at the fact that she got even roped into this whole mess in the first place. She cares about Hangman, yes. They are comrades, even if he left her out to dry more than once, but she doesn't want him to be unhappy. That doesn't mean she thinks it's fair what they are doing right now either. Not to Jake and not to the women writing 'him'.
"A grown-ass man who didn't have a serious relationship since before we were in the academy. He'll see all those messages and his brain will short circuit", Coyote retorts.
"But what if we sort someone out and she would be the one for him? Isn't that completely counterproductive to this whole endeavour?", Bob asks when the door flies open and a very furious Hangman barges in.
"What the fuck did you clowns do?", he growls, his gaze wandering around the rest of his squad who are all suspiciously avoiding his gaze, and then his eyes dart over to Coyote's hand that attempts to stealthily close the laptop that they had in the middle of the table. Throw some maps and dossiers on there and this would look like a fucking official briefing and he already has an idea what topic they discussed.
"What are you talking about?", Payback asks, trying to look as innocent as humanly possible
"Three of my exes flooded my mailbox asking me why I lied to them. That they'd been totally down for something stable and serious if I had just asked. So what did you buffoons do?"
"Buffoons. Someone had a dictionary for dinner...", Phoenix murmured quietly, but not quiet enough for Hangman not to hear. His gaze burns into her before he lets it wander again, green hues searching for the weak link in the group and finding it.
"We set up a dating profile for you", Bob barely gets out, shrinking under Jake's intense gaze.
"But in our defence, it was Coyote's idea. We were only the support", Fanboy adds and then the focus of his murderous stare moves to the man he considered his best friend. A choice he might be forced to reevaluate.
"Did the lack of oxygen damage your brain or what the bloody fucking hell were you thinking?"
"Hey, you were the one who was whining about wanting love but never finding it. How you dream of something stable. Someone to come home to. Someone who'd view you as a partner not a fucktoy"
"I never fucking said..."
"Yes, you did! More than once. And since you are strictly against blind dates..."
"Because you tried to set me up with a woman who didn't say a word", he points over at Fanboy, "Or a woman who only talked about quarterly figures, the stock market and her next promotion", he pointed at Phoenix.
"Said the man who can only talk about bargames, football statistics and fight jets", she retorts rolling her eyes.
"And that's why I thought this would be your best option. A website full of people looking for commitment. You can apply numerous filters to narrow down the options and you get a first impression of them before you invest time and energy into a date", Coyote jumps in, knowing that Phoenix and Hangman might get at each other's throats if they were allowed to continue their fight.
With a simple move, he spins the laptop around for his best friend to see.
"You already got a bunch of messages", he tries to sound encouraging, seeing the fight on his buddy's face.
Is Jake fucking Hangman Seresin really desperate enough for a dating website his friends signed him up for?
"Take your time. Here is the password", Coyote leans over the table and scribbles it down on a piece of paper, pushing it over to his friend with the laptop.
"Same as for the e-mail I made for the account. You can change the passwords later"
"Sure as fuck I will. As if I need you hull heads snooping around in my shit more than you already do", he grumbles, but the heat behind his words is gone.
As messy as this might be, deep down he is touched. His friends saw him in pain, so they banded together and made an effort to help him, however misguided that attempt might have been.
"Good. We leave you to it", Rooster says, a sign for the rest to usher out of the common room to leave their friend a little space.
When Coyote thinks he's off the hook, he feels Hangman blocking his way with his arm, stopping him in his tracks while his eyes are still glued to the profile.
"Looks like you at least picked some nice photos, Javy", he says and Coyote knows that this is probably the closest thing to a 'thank you man' he'll get from his best friend.
"That was easy. You are pretty photogenic, Hangman", he says, chuckling as he makes his way over to the door, "Answering the questions was the hard part. I needed Bob's help to make sure you don't sound like a complete douchebag", he added seeing how Jake leaned over to the kitchen counter, grabbing a wet rag and throwing it his way. Javy's laugh echoed through the room before the soft click of the lock indicated that he had closed the door behind him.
A low chuckle rumbled in Jake's chest before his gaze returned to the screen. He first checked out the profile his friends had set up and as much as he hated the whole situation, his friends had done an excellent job. They managed to highlight his strengths while at the very same time not shying away from openly communicating his weaknesses. Their choice of words was sometimes a little less diplomatic than he would have liked them to be, but at least that didn't leave anything up for misunderstandings.
Then his eyes drifted into the right corner of the screen. Before his friends had left there were 20 unread messages, now there were 25 and yes he knew he was hot, but the fact that he seemed to be in such high demand was something that both petted his ego and frightened him.
The mouse hovered over the inbox symbol for a while as his heart pounded in his chest. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck to get rid of some of the nervous energy before he focused back on the screen.
He was a naval aviator, for fuck's sake. The only one in active duty with a confirmed air-to-air kill. He tackled the monsters of the world head-on, so he should be able to read some flirty messages from a bunch of single women looking for the same things he wanted, right?
When the inbox of the website mailing system loaded on the screen there were 28 unread messages.
Hovering over the icons gave you the short version of their profile and their picture in a larger size. Hangman had quite an illustrious inbox. The first three messages were from a detective, a surgeon and an architect.
His head was already spinning, but he was the kind of guy to do things right or not at all, so he worked his way through the messages, checking out the corresponding profiles, writing a courteous but short reply to the nos and making a priority list in his mind for the yes and maybes. The longer he went through the messages the more the feeling that all of these messages were pretty generic crept up on him. Some were lengthy and waxing poetics, others shorter and some just asked directly for his phone number, but still.
There was barely anything real personal about them in there and none of the messages gave him an indication of why they chose his profile to contact. It made him wonder if this was something they sent almost like spam, only changing the name at the top, or if it was a defence mechanism to figure out whether he was interested at all before they'd reveal more of themselves.
He managed to work his way through to message number ten before he was completely overwhelmed, closing the messenger and staring at the ceiling for a while, wondering how people were seriously doing this.
When he looked back down the front page of the dating website had loaded. It was sorted by categories, showing a bunch of profiles for each. He allowed his gaze to wander until one icon in particular caught his eye. It was listed in New Signups from Your Neighbourhood. The photo showed a scenery rather than the usual portrait most people used. Only when you hovered over the picture you could see a woman sitting on the beach, the shadowy figure of a dog right next to her as they both gazed at the sunset. This picture conveyed more emotion and personality to him than any profile, let alone picture he had seen today.
Her profile was loading on his screen before he even realised he had clicked on it.
She went by 'thechaoticlibrarian' and he couldn't help the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Whenever he thought of a chaotic librarian he thought of Evelyn Carnahan, his first crush ever.
He scrolled down her profile and with every tiny detail he learned about her he was more intrigued.
The three words she picked to describe her positive attributes were patient, caring and curious. A great foundation for a relationship and the negative ones made him chuckle. Nitpicker, low bullshit tolerance and chaotic.
And then he came to the part that had honestly scared him off from most women in his inbox.
Where do you see yourself in five years?
They had all made these elaborate plans for a grand wedding, a house and a minimum of three kids. Not that he was generally opposed to the idea, but there was so much certainty and conviction in the way those women wrote about all of it that made it sound to him like their future partners would be more relegated to the role of extra than an actual protagonist in their story.
What Jake wanted was an equal. Someone he could build a future with rather than be pushed into the cookie-cutter form of an already decided-upon script.
Her five-year plans on the other hand felt so much more relatable, like something he could actually get behind.
Content with my life, doing the job I love and having a partner by my side I can share all of it with. The good, the bad and the ugly.
So he took the leap and clicked on the contact button on her profile...
◤✘BUCKY BARNES COLUMN | Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
NOTES:
↳ You want some tissues with this fic?
WARNINGS!
↳ Angst — insecure reader and depictions of negative thoughts and fear of sexual intimacy — profanity — SMUT 18+ mdni — virgin!reader/loss of virginity — unprotected sex — hurt/comfort — oral (female receiving) — le dasha of body worship —cream pie — mafia bucky being a huge softy for his wife — I think that's it
SUMMARY:
↳ A beautiful bride marrying the man of your dreams. But when faced with what comes after the vows and first dance as Mr. and Mrs Barnes, you suggest that a particular arrangement be made.
It’s not so much of a grand show once the curtain falls. There hangs a greed of mischief and ominous silence. He looks at you, blue eyes piercing the exposed skin of your back, the white gown hangs an elegant silhouette on you. Its embroidered sculpts become melded into the fabricated folds as you stop midst the gate of your saunter forwards, each step a reminder drawing nearer as you do to the bed.
Did you really have to do this?
It was an era of change after all. But his seniors were old school, and so you expected him to be as well in the matters of the marriage bed. It is expected of you — the both of you. Your hands fish through the elaborate style of your hair, musing it loose and gaining a comforted scalp as you turn away from the bed and walk over to the large windows that extend from top to bottom, overlooking the twinkling space of stars fallen to earth.
Being far away from it means you are torn from it. Once you step foot back in that place, you are no longer the girl you once were.
You are now Mrs. Barnes. A wolf among sheep. The queen of the Bratva. A cooperation of mobsters who have bought police eyes and silenced officials of the government. But was this status and power worth what is intended to follow?
You didn’t have a real choice in the matter. Well, maybe you did. You fell for him, you won’t deny it, and you fell hard for him. Other pickings were not as savoury, nor did they explode with the chemistry you shared with him. But this wasn’t the only factor.
It’d been clear that your hearts were set on one another. With the subtle whispers into the other’s ear, hugging and kissing, fingers entwined, or the more assuring hand on the low of your back. This intimacy had been a flavour sweet – loving – and you came to embrace these softer textures of your life at his side. His proposal was impossibly expected but even then, you couldn’t contain your surprise and eagerly said yes.
You never gave the thought of what came next exactly. The very intimate aftermath. Until his mother pulled you aside, a smile on her painted ruby lips as she guided you to walk with her through the hedged gardens. That conversation is one you will never forget. Her love is shocking, her devotion to her husband and family, you can hardly stand the thought of not loving her in return.
But that talk shocked you.
Half of it because of the gory details she regaled, but the other half because of your own mind. Your poisoned mind that festers with anxious insecurities.
Of course it’s expected. Your virginity doesn’t exactly wave you as an expert, no matter what talks of womanhood you are subjected to. But by the standard of Mr. Bucky Barnes, his former bachelor days had given him what you lack: experience.
What if I’m so bad that he’s repulsed by me?
He’ll only need to take one look at me and that’ll be enough.
What if I can’t make him cum?
What exactly am I supposed to do— I don’t think I’m ready.
You continue on in your panicked, internal reverie, hand raised to rest your lips against your knuckles, the shine of diamonds catching in the dark reflection, a momentary blindness befalls you that then causes your stomach to writhe with unease.
“Hey,” your husband whispers, breath warm over the shell of your ear and his lips tease the curve of your exposed neck with light kisses. Your body flinches at the suddenness of his appearance right behind you, his chest to your back; you feel tears deep into the corner of your eyes, hot and wet and annoying. The stronghold of air chokes you in the back of your throat.
“Mm, hi…”
Your forced smile is quick to fade, just barely passing back a glance at him before looking away. He catches this falter. His expression is shadowed by a troubled frown. He noticed the way you flinched before him. And that glistening of tears is hard to miss when it comes to you.
“Talk to me,” he presses gently, “you okay?”
His hands are strong and sure as he holds you, turns you to face him directly now, putting the window to your back. Your ring bound hand massages over your face with a breath hollowing out in a deep sigh.
“Yeah. I’m good, I think we should get some rest. It’s been a big day.”
Before you can step around him, his hand circles the entirety around your forearm, holding you in place.
“You don’t want to…” At the trailing end of his words with his blue eyes alluding to his meaning, the sting of tears prick your vision again and a flush paints your cheeks and neck red. He lets you walk away with the train of your dress flowing behind you like a silken shadow.
“I don’t think tonight.”
Or any other night…
Bucky’s throat bobs with a thick swallow, nodding as he watches you. Always a man who knows what to do, how to maintain composure — his power — he feels that confidence wane like the fading moon. Powerless.
The words brewing on your tongue are tart, poisonous and unpleasant. Not the sort you would ever want to say to your husband, no less on your wedding night.
You’d ventured over to the vanity by now, you say beneath a shaken exhale, “I’ll look to hire a mistress.”
“Excuse me?” He gasps sharply.
Your reply, voice short of anything joking or playful. You sit before the vanity and bend forward, unfastening the golden clasps on your heels before you set them aside.
“I’ll have a mistress contracted for you. We’ll do everything else together but she will… provide the sexual affairs.”
“And you?” His question makes you pause midway of turning fully towards the mirror, only barely do you see him trail the outskirts of the room, just only in focus of your view. With a sigh, you pluck your earrings out, saying more so to your own reflection than him, “I’ve gone this long without sex, Bucky. I’m sure I can go on the rest of my life without it.”
“No, no, we’re not doing things like that. I married you — I want you.” Why is that just too hard to believe? You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes in the mirror, so you look away, anywhere that doesn’t meet his gaze. “Honey, where the fuck did this come from?”
You don’t answer. The man is practically brought to his knees before you like a servant ready to obey you like a goddess. Treatment he committed to you, though you don’t feel deserving of. He spins you slowly on your stool until you face him, knelt before you, he tries to find the stunning awe of your eyes only to find you hiding away from him.
“Did somebody say something to you? Who was it?”
Quick to spare someone needless bloodshed, you stand abruptly, almost knocking him back and storm away from him by some feet, putting distance between you both, your voice carries over your shoulder, “Nobody said anything. I just think this arrangement will be better for us.”
You’re blinking back a curtain of tears that threaten to unleash. A wave rises high like a tsunami in your soul with these stupid, incessant thoughts.
You’re imperfect.
You’re ugly.
Let another woman – a beautiful woman – please him.
He’ll regret marrying you once he sees you.
Fingers ringing the course of massaging your temples, you are slowly being drowned by many, many thoughts like these. They're endless. They’re relentless and they are loveless. Not once do you give yourself the internal piece of mind that maybe, just maybe, there is hope in this relationship. That they are wrong. That he won’t judge or run from you. But who can say for sure?
It’s best to play it safe and keep what dignity you have left. Despite the spitefulness of seeing him become satisfied by another woman, it would be better than depriving him for the rest of his life. And you care more for his own happiness. It’s all you want for him.
He speaks up again, his voice going stern in his verbal study. “So, let me get this straight: I marry the love of my life, the very essence I love and breath for, only to… fuck another woman. After I swore a vow to you.”
“Bucky, you’re making it sound—”
“I’ll go without sex for the rest of my life than have some whore in our bed.”
You spin on your heel, mouth agape. Finally you look at him long enough as he works to slowly approach you and he sees just how badly you’re hurting on the inside. “Bucky—”
How quick he is to cut you off before you can even utter another heinous thing, now reaching you. “I wouldn’t stand at the altar for just anyone. I gave up that bachelor life to have you. I chose you. I want to have all of you.”
You mutter, mumble off-centred excuses that come out as broken noises on a record, and then you let out a shaken breath, chest feeling like it's being cleaved and ripped apart to the point your body trembles. You try your hardest to suppress your quiet sniffles as the flow of tears begin, fingers hastefully dapping away as to not smear your makeup; your only means of perfection that you’ve felt in a while.
When you saw yourself in the white dress every little girl dreams of for the first time in a bridal shop far too expensive for the average, then again in the dressing room with hair and makeup done to the nines, it all almost made you forget about the gut-wrenching aftermath once the reception concluded. That you were walking down that aisle with a purpose you would never come to regret.
Was it all a foolish fairytale to idolise this facade of beauty?
The hand bearing his ring uses a force so gentle you think it’s the end, that when you look up, he will be gone. That your wedding dress will fade into your everyday jeans and grandmother’s patchy sweater you treasure too much to throw away, her scent still lingering there to inhale on a bad day.
He drives your focus upwards until your eyes meet, your vision hindered behind a blur that wets your lashes as you blink. A vibrant colour of blue that once intimidated you now attends to assure you, to quiet your riled fears, but there is a reluctance to let your guard down this time.
His hands cradle your jaw in his hold with a promise to never let you go. To never let you know this fear again.
“I won’t judge. I won’t run in disgust or whatever you think I’m gonna do. I think my vows can be credited to that, yeah?”
Your bottom lip sinks inward slightly, teeth biting down hard on the plump of flesh, muttering a softly broken, “I-I guess.”
“You’re scared.”
It is shame that brings your eyes to falter, chin wobbling until it crinkles. “Yes…”
It’s like he could read you, knowing that your next move is to shove him off – push him away – he leans down and presses his lips to your own. Warm, a little roughened yet still retaining a softened plush of texture, he breathes some sort of cooling flame that soothes you if not for a short while. A rattled, sharpened gasp teeters on the edge of your voice and he parts from the kiss with a low and silky drawl. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, love. We can take our time with this.”
You’re hoisted into his arms, strength unyielding as he carries you over to the bed and sets you atop the mattress like porcelain. For him, he’s scared how easily it is to break you, no matter how hard you hide this fragility. You use the outside of your hand to wipe at your nose and exhale loudly, mind prattling on with your swirling thoughts.
Pathetic.
He’ll definitely need a mistress after that display.
And all you’re better off getting is a toy.
His family will ridicule you. He’s going to tell everyone that his little wife refused to have sex with him on his wedding night.
Poisonous thoughts. They aren’t going away. With a sniffle, you watch Bucky begin to strip himself down, leaving himself to his boxers. However much you admire the act in itself, it’s far too intimate than anything else. The idea of you doing that for him sickens you. You become repulsed by yourself.
Your mind is a hideous beast.
Like you.
Shut up!
You make this wedding dress look ugly.
“Come on, doll,” Bucky’s voice breaks through the hazardous cloud like a lighthouse awaiting for you ashore, guiding you to safety. He offers you a smile you try to match only to feel your lips twitch, muscles cringing as you keep the well of tears and cries inside. He invites you to join him and you move up the bed. You can’t bear to shed the second skin of your dress to reveal the lavish, risque lace and frilly lingerie you’d picked out at the encouragement of your bridesmaids.
You never really gave it much thought before until it was too late. This culture of intimacy you perceive as a threat.
Your husband doesn’t question you. Instead he lays beside you, arms stretched out to invite you into his embrace. An invite you half-heartedly indulge in, inching yourself awkwardly to his side but remaining to keep some inches from him.
Head laid on the tucked shelf of your arms, hair mused to fall over your features, you intend to wallow in silence until exhaustion overtakes you into sleep.
You’ve ruined his day.
“What are you thinking in that pretty head of yours?” The question is directed to you, you’re sure. But it also sounds like he’s asking himself for the answer to a riddle he cannot begin to understand.
“I’m sorry I ruined your day…”
The contortion of his features almost has your body locking up into a tightly wound position, the form of his dark brows bevelling in the middle, eyes widening until the blackened pupils shrink into tiny dots.
“What?” he sputters, “No– no, honey. This is our day.”
Our day?
There is a storm of emotion battling in his own eyes, however, he is just as quick to hide it from you. He trails again to caress the line of your jaw, his thumb strokes along your bottom lip. “Love, I will never force you into anything. Not your first time, not your hundredth. You hear me, yeah?”
Your eyes only look to stare at him with a stillness, before you absently nod. Then you turn, putting your back to him. You cannot bring yourself to look at him out of sheer guilt that no matter what, he cannot silence the honest and cruel torment of voices in your head. Not forever. They will find something to pick out and gnaw at to send you into this spiral.
If you could do so without the judgement of your husband, you would cry and howl into your pillow for hours until the perfect mirage of your makeup fell apart, you’d spare the dress from being a ridiculed taint by being on you any longer. You’d be on the phone to your sister pleading for her to keep you company and distract you from this pain, you’d cry into her chest as she held you with all the strength she possessed. You’d ask your parents to call you beautiful, even though it’s a lie.
But you keep it all in. And it breaks you so harshly on the inside that it cuts you like thousands of shards shredding you apart.
You’re not sure exactly how much time has passed between the void of silence. You can’t sleep. The tyrannical storm of emotion swarming inside you makes it impossible to even try lest you break and let it all out, letting it show.
“B-Bucky?” you squeak, clearing your throat and you hear him hum immediately in response, the weight of him rolling over until his body is a ghost along your back. “Can I… uhm, can I ask you something?”
Aside from the odd hiccup and sniffle here and there, you hold firm to sounding as you were before, the bubbly and playful girl Bucky couldn’t help but tease until you were a flustering mess, the girl who attempted to flirt back only to fumble over your words and proceed conversation with a shy smile. The girl he fell in love with. The one he gladly stood at the altar for. Before the voices.
“Of course, doll. Anything.”
Nervously your fingers flex and wind together, thumbing the fabric over your breasts, the enclosed circlet of cleavage pressed closely together. You wish you could giggle at the way you caught Bucky gawking numerous times in supposed awe of you throughout the day. He often is like that every time he sees you though, now that you come to think about it.
Supposedly.
Not likely real…
I’m going to regret asking this, aren’t I?
With a heavy swallow coated heavily in your hesitance, you take a breath in hope that proves to fail to settle your nerves. “You’ve been with plenty of girls before me… you know how to please them, what did…” you pause upon a whimper, “were they all the same?”
The amount of strain behind your vocal cords makes you cringe in disgust. You sound like—
“No, they were all different. Unique to each girl.” You can almost sense the way his head props up to look at you. His eyes staring a cool layer of heat into your back. “Just like you.”
“How can you say that?” Your voice betrays the toxins of a heart and mind poisoned together over far too long. Bucky hears the loathe of self in your words, dry and cynical, unbelieving in his words and your own image. “You’ve never even seen what I look like… you don’t know how I’ll be, I’ve never—”
Your hands press over your eyes in hope to suppress the tears glassing over your vision.
“Hey,” Bucky admonishes with a low drawl, tutting you, “hey. I’m not expecting the fucking grandios of perfect sex. I’m expecting you and only you. I want what makes you and your body unique.”
You turn your head to see him, chin wobbling slightly. How he’d crawl through hot coals and glass for you, seeing the beauty of what you see are flaws. He then grins and for a moment, it disturbs you how he could smile when you’re like this.
“I wasn’t the best for my first time. In fact, I’m telling you–”
“Bucky, no, you don’t have to,” you interject with a stifled cough. You shoot to sit up and your husband follows, chuckling.
“No, I will tell you I was shit at sex. Horrible. My first time—”
Your hands paw and pat at his mouth to silence him to no avail, your chorus of hiccups and sniffles turn into shy giggles.
“I–couldn’t–”
You giggle a little louder this time. “Shush, Bucky! No-ho!”
“Couldn’t even– find the cl—”
Your fingers are a heavenly pillar even as they hold his lips prisoner from speaking aloud. He smirks behind them and plants delicate kisses to them, enamoured by the faint smile on your face and the softness of your eyes. Seeing you cry and be tied to these human emotions makes a fire burn in his chest. Like for the longest time, he’s finally found someone who can make him feel whole. If only he could help you feel the same. In the make of those blue, puppy dog eyes, you crack and scoff out a snort. “New York’s infamous Mob Lord…”
He beams from ear to ear at the unfinished implication, taking the time to fall so hard in love with you all over again. He leans his forehead against yours with a rumbled, “Mhm.”
Mascara smudged under the barrage of wet lashes and tears, your lips part with a shaky breath. “Bucky?”
He hums again, so you press on, throat suddenly tight. “Do you think you could make me feel that way?”
His response is instant, deep voice trailing along the bridge of your neck, much like it had done earlier as his arms circle the lower curve of your arse and hoist you until you balance atop his thighs, keeping his weight on his haunches. “Moya zvezda, that and more.”
Your arms drape over the burly muscle of his shoulders, breath mingling with his in hot gusts laboured with anticipation, you hear him groan as you ever so slightly lower your hips against his and he pushes you that little higher on the pedestal he holds you on, it’s height greater than any earthly accomplishments men can dream of.
It’s why you’re his star.
I love this man.
With all my heart.
His front presses fully into you, he works to weave one hand beneath the shower of your gown and feeling along the sheer stocking attached to your garter; he groans again, more feral sounding in his sensational marvel of how perfect you are. How blessed he is to be the one to touch you like this. To hold and have you so intimately.
At his touch, your body erupts with a shudder, momentarily staggered by the electric push and pull and thriving buzz between your legs; though the stir of arousal isn’t foreign to you, it certainly is a stark contrast with his attentive action.
His lips smother the embers of your trembling gasps with a kiss, passion tasting as a fine wine on his tongue. The kiss is paced slowly to attend to your cautious nature, an utter surety that he won’t make any move against you. You take no part in stopping him as he pushes aside the obstructive barrier of your panties.
The way his fingers are gentle to stroke your core has you keening, teetering on a choked whine, his work deliberate in focusing on the pearl of your sensitive clit and the slickened beginnings of your folds. His hands that have sinned many times now amend themselves with the purity of worshipping every inch, exploring you with the intent to please. His thumb rolls in drawn circles, eliciting from you mewls and heated pants of air too heavy to stay in your lungs, cooing at your slow induction.
“Atta girl.”
I’m alright.
“You’re doing amazing.”
I’m safe.
His two fingers run along your entrance, causing your spine to arch slightly and he smirks, pulling from the kiss.
“You like that, doll? Yeah?” he asks smoothly, seeing you nod shakily with eyes half lidded.
Your hands entangle themselves to the bedded roots of his hair, tender as you can to pull with each spark that has your stomach tying knots and your muscles tensing, his thumb begins to roll a little harder and faster. At hearing the apparition of a moan escape you, he applauds you with his encouragement despite the way your hand covers over your mouth to silence these noises.
“Fuck, please again, zvezda. Please.”
“I want to hear you.”
“Please… fuck you sound so beautiful…”
In your stun over his pleas, your hand lowers away and you continue to let your moans lull him, hips moving at a slow crawl against his fingers that press to your core and with a single look you let him know you’re willing. He fights the tantalising grip of your fingers to reach your lips as he pushes two fingers past your folds. Your gasp is a sharp sound to his ears, one of alert that he seeks to comfort you through the kiss.
The trajectory to pull your hips away stabilises and you begin to find that rhythm with each grind and thrust onto his fingers, the waves of pleasure coming from your clit has your stomach tightening.
“B-Bucky…” you whisper and he swallows your words with a deep moan. Your walls clench around the intrusion of his fingers, moreso when he adds a third, curling them as if to beckon your body furthermore to his touch, to yield your fears and let him set alight that bloom inside your core and unto your bliss.
You pant harder, “B–ngh… Bucky… th-there.”
“Right there?” He asks with a sultry grin. Your voice comes out in a strangled response. “M—mhm.”
The voice of your whine is his commandment. He installs a level of dedication at gently fucking you with his fingers right where you needed him – wanted him. That swell inside you grows and grows, furthering into a maelstrom that leaves your body shivering, unexpected of where this sudden burst will implode.
“Good girl, you’re doing so well, doll,” he praises with a low timbre, groaning with a prided grin when you tug a little harder at his hair, your softer nature betraying to act out this darker side of yourself; this almost forbidden wanton.
I feel…
Your hips move to become greedy and much to Bucky’s approval, feeling the swollen bulge of his cock straining against his boxers has you weak and some instinct to move against it drives you, a louder moan slipping past your lips. Bucky’s mouth leaves a heated trail of passionate nips and teasing flutters of kisses against your neck, spoiling you.
You gasp and your hands fly to his shoulders to hold you at bay, the sudden shockwave a prelude to ride as your orgasm ascends upon you, he hears the feverish whimpers you make and he purrs, pumping his fingers, “That’s it, love, let go. C’mon, let me feel you cum for me. I’ve got you.”
The suppression of a scream hides in your chest, leaving only a choked sob to rack through you as you thrust and claim your first release, a hot flush of white behind your eyes blinds you, your muscles convulse in tensing and relaxing as you ride out your high.
Your arms that wound around his shoulders squeeze a little tighter in your recovery, your breath timed to slow down after a few minutes but your body remains to quiver against him. The form of his aroused cock clear and unhidden has your core weeping for more.
“There you go, that’s it,” he coaxes softly with a smile while he eases a kiss to the corner of your lips, “how’re you feeling?”
“G-good… really like… wow.” The words come out jumbled to you, as if you were still influenced by the strong wine at the reception, having made you reserve your consumption to a very limited amount.
Bucky hums and withdraws his fingers, leaving you to mewl at the loss. The sight before you has you in some chokehold, a crimson heat flushes into your cheeks and down your neck, rendering your blood into fiery rivers beneath your skin, a sudden jerk picking up in your heartbeat as Bucky cleans the slick of your release from his fingers, the crystalised shade of blue dimming with a certain darkness as the taste of you rolls over his taste buds.
He’s tasting me…
He moans with a thunderous growl. “Fuck… you taste amazing,” he grins, teeth gleaming with that cute, charming esteem.
I do?
The warmth in your cheeks glows ten fold, bringing a sight for Bucky to admire. That cute girl who’s face becomes rosy with embarrassment. It’s like he could read your mind and the way he says your name has you at a loss of breath, drawing your attention back to the shine of his eyes.
“You are exquisite…”
Following in action as the continuation of his proclamation, his hand finds the spine of your dress and upon reaching the apex between your shoulders. He seeks to pause and his eyes seek out your permission, brows slight to bevel. “May I, Mrs. Barnes?”
The crescents of your palms brush the exterior of his stubble, every inch of your hands covered by the sensational prickling that leaves you like putty. How he stares at you with this amass of love and fondness that feels overwhelming at times.
He’s just so… perfect.
The return of tears glasses over your eyes and you smile, brightly and toothy and nod, cupping his jaw in your hands before you press a softened kiss to his lips. You feel it in unison with him; it steals the breath from you both.
“You may, Mr. Barnes.”
With your approval, he draws the zip undone. Anticipation lines your nerves like a trail of gunpowder ready to be set ablaze. He’s testing the waters, ensuring that this is what you want and when you give no indication of refusal, he glides the dress from your shoulders, revelling in the delicate sculpt of your body; the warm, ambient light hitting the surface creates a heavenly glow upon your skin. With the overhanging light above, it frames a golden halo around you as his sights steer upwards.
Your gown drapes a sultry form over you, accentuating the mounds of your breasts pushed close together and the nakedness of your shoulders and neck. Bucky growls under a vice of hunger. But something lays in the glassy waver of his stare.
“Please be real?”
His voice barely rises above a near shattered whisper. A man who fears losing you just much as you fear losing him. His voice pleads with you. Your lips part, jaw coming to drop slightly as your eyes widen.
Please be real for me?
“I-I am, Bucky. I’m real…”
The man before you exhales loudly, gasping for breath to keep himself drowning. “Good. Because I want this to be real.”
He doesn’t waste another moment. His mouth clashes against yours, hunger succumbing as he ravishes you with the heated intensity of his kiss, tongue running a pleaful line along your bottom lip. You part them and he awakens the stir of arousal flooding through your veins, tongues dancing in an artistic battle for dominance he undeniably wins. You moan a muffled song and he drinks every lyric of it, intoxicated by it.
His hands are wild in their exploration, peeling your dress lower to reveal the laces and frills of your lingerie, not permitting you to shy away and hide from him this time, his hands feel every inch of it, mesmerised by the way it fits to you so beautifully that even the most talented of sculptures would struggle to capture your raw and enticing beauty to its complete and apex design.
Your hands scour to claim the roots of his hair again. This time, you hold no restraint and he loves it. He loves the radiance of confidence you find in every following second. You are claiming what is rightfully yours as his wife. As his one love that he will kill and die for without question. Though time and mortal breath dares to intrude and part you, you find ways around the schemes, momentarily gasping for air within the clash of your lips, too far entranced to pull away.
His hands glide up your sides until his thumbs are able to tease your stiffened nipples through the thin fabric, groaning at the noises you create from it, his touch sending those blissful tingles throughout your body. When time comes to see you both departed from your kiss, you each still remain to linger, tasting one another in the inch spared between you, chests heaving madly and brushing together. Dress pooled to a rolled belt over your waist, Bucky drinks in every detail of your body.
Why does he look at me like that?
His nose buries into you, nestling into the warmth and softness of your body as he utters phrases of praise to your skin, a trail of his devotion painted upon your skin with the invisible ink of his love and adoration for you.
“You feel what you do to me?” he asks, strong hands guiding your hips down to roll in unison with his, the swollen mound of his erect cock still suffering in confinement has you hiccuping in your stun.
Though your voice is light, you nod as you answer. “Yes.”
“That’s how fucking hot you are,” he says with a deep, velvety drawl, his words slightly muffled by the way his mouth caresses you. “You have me so hard right now, fuck, the things I wanna do to you, doll.”
His confession has you blushing.
He can’t possibly mean that…
He can’t help himself. He’s a man enslaved at your whim. Though you try to bring this madman to his senses with an embarrassed huff of his name, he only leans in to claim your lips with his, the melding of hunger brings you both into that feverish haze again. Tongues entangled with one another, Bucky’s hands paw and pluck the garments of your lingerie from your form, peeling away the details of floral patterns and lacy sheer to feel the heat of skin below, the way your muscles twitched under his touch.
You moan between the kiss and allow your hands to feel the soft tresses of his hair between your fingers, carefully weaving through the darkened locks and nails scratching at the roots against his scalp, a rumbling purr escaping him.
The rock of your hips move together, a desiring fire burning in your core to the point it borders on a painful ache between your legs. Your dress is discarded, left aside with your undressed garments to be reclaimed at a later time. He lays you on your back, your head nested atop the plush cushion of the pillows, bodies flush together without leaving so much as a morsel of space apart.
Entrapped by his lustful kiss, you thrust and grind your heated sex against him with shocking eager, a whine is tugged from your throat, unsure.
Bucky is quick to assure you of your arousal, that its intoxication is a vice wanted. He uses one arm to support his weight above, caging you, as his other takes hold of your thigh and gropes at it fervently while somewhere in the mixture haze his boxers are tossed aside. His swollen tip oozes with glistening, droplet streams, his size heavy and long that has a gasp escaping you.
W–will he fit?
Such worrisome thoughts are snuffed out like speckled embers as he deepens the kiss, tongues gliding together and moans and limbs entangle. His tip brushes over the sensitive spot of your clit and your hips take languid actions against his practised thrusts.
“It’s going to hurt at first,” he mutters across the skin of your jaw, “but it won’t for long. I’m right here, moya zvezda, I promise.”
A crystalline glint appears on the waterline of your eyes, a tender smile on your lips as your lips connect with a chaste kiss.
“I’m ready, Bucky…”
His blue eyes take the time to carefully read your expression. For a man so immersed in being so gentle and caring with you, you have come to know that with the very same hands he caresses you with – he has broken jaws, bloodied and bruised noses and strangled the very life of more than one person. He can tell when a man is lying just by looking into his eyes.
He sees you’re telling the truth. That you want this with him. You want him. Cock nudging at your folds, you push your legs a little wider to better accommodate his size after hearing him chuckle at the crimson blush creeping into your face, flustered at the thought of his entire cock sheathing inside you.
“Gonna fit all of me, my sexy little wife?” he’d teased with a wink.
His eyes retain their focus with yours as he pushes the head of his cock into your cunt, meeting the slight of resistance and surged forward, a sigh heavily laced on his breath that has his head bowing to press his forehead to yours, eyes scrunched tightly.
A hitched note on your throat is silenced, cut out with a high pitched whine as he sinks deeper and deeper, breaching past the wall of your hymen. Your nails mark their bite into his shoulders and down his back with angry red scars, tracing over the blackened inks already imprinted there.
Your walls constrict around the intrusion of him with a searing pierce that brings your tears to streak down your temples, chin slightly trembling, you feel Bucky’s lips hover over yours.
“O-ow,” you mewl, “It hurts…”
“I’ve got you, zvezda, I’m here.”
Your chest feels tight, suffocated, but his words comfort you. You cling to him tighter, thighs trembling at his sides and you feel his hand resume its place there, gentle to knead and rub soothing circles as he coaxes you through the blight of your pain.
“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he whispers to your lips, the crinkle of a smile forming on his features. Just as quickly as it had come, the pain subsides and you feel so full at the point where your bodies meet, you finally nod for him to continue.
He goes slowly.
He sets a rhythm paced to ease you into the forcing motion of his cock gliding through your hot, velvety walls that clamp and shudder with each movement he makes. Your gasps turn to softly sung moans as you begin to grind your hips to meet his and he smiles down at you. “There you go, love. That’s it, you’re taking me so well.”
“This body… so perfect, so beautiful… I love it, I love you.”
Another moan escapes you. He heaves a deep breath with every thrust, still focusing hard to keep this steadiness, until you moan for him,
“Bucky… please, I-I need…”
“What do you need, love? Tell me.”
“I– need more– please.”
He groans, the thought of ruthlessly fucking you with abandon crosses his mind in flashes, the way you’d look spread out while being pummeled by his cock that ruts into your pretty pussy until you’re stuffed full of his cum that it overspills as a creamy ring around his girthy base.
To fuck you the way of a mafia lord.
“You want that, sugar?” he asks, his voice sudden to drop lower into a silken, deepened purr with a darkened smirk. “You want to be fucked the way a mafia queen should be? H–hmph, you want it harder? Faster?”
You choke on the release of your words, sounding breathless, “Y-yes!”
Your walls clench tight around him, a series of moans spilling from your parted lips as he then picks up his pace, the incentive of your permission driving him to thrust harder, his hand fists and squeezes the flesh of your thigh within his grasp, holding you fast to him as he strikes deeply into your pussy. His muscles bend, curve and tense and your hands greedily explore every single portion of him, granting you this chance to be upheld by the prison of your thoughts that may hold you back later.
You howl, whine and cry – all for more, for him to keep going, to not stop. His body arches over yours, hands now ahold of you at the hips he uses the advantage of his strength and position to forcefully piston himself back and forth, back and forth until you’re writhing beneath him Your hands attach themselves to the veiny reins of his wrists, your hips arched up until your lower half is lifted for his leisure to fuck into that spot that has you seeing an galaxy of stars.
“Bucky– Bucky, oh Bucky!” you cry out.
“Fuck— yeah baby, fuck you sound beautiful, shit— baby, keep screaming my name, I want to hear you.” Each word is intensely laced with an exerted breath or guttural groan. “Fucking hell, zvezda, you look fucking amazing like that—”
“You’re taking my cock so well.”
“I’m never getting over the sight of this.”
His eyes burn with lust at the sight of your breasts bouncing without restraint, the shudder of your body with each clash of your thrusts, how your face contorts so beautifully with pleasure and the holstered grip of your legs hooking around his waist repeatedly only to falter each time after several pumps, only kept upright by his hold. A knot coils inside you, a tidal wave of pleasure coursing through your veins that sets your nerves aflame and your vocal cords to strain with every sound you make. The more and more he slams his cock into you, your neck is forced to arch back against the pillows with a pleasured shriek.
You call out to him, “Bucky, I— I’m gonna… ah!”
“Cum for me, doll, I wanna feel how tight your pretty pussy is around me.” Your back arches further as his tip continues to hit that spot and the sensational toying of his thumb rolls on your clit, eliciting a flourish of sparks to ignite until you’re suddenly overcome with a flush of white, that euphoric hit crashing over you while heat pours into every inch of your skin with your eyes rolling back.
You chant his name like a sacred prayer, the meaning of your vows imbued within your slurred, intoxicated mantra. He pants, hot and heavy in your ear,
“Shit, shit— fuuuck, baby— ‘mgonna cum, gonna cum for you. I want my seed in you, I want it in you so bad.”
His thrusts increase, the sound of skin slapping skin is erotically loud. You don’t want it to stop. You don’t want him to stop and so you beg him to keep going.
You continue to whine, low and cooing, walls stretching and clenching around him, milking him of his release that sweeps over him with a long, baritone and throaty moan. His head presses into the crook of your neck to suck at the skin of your collarbone, marking you with dark bruises of his love and possession as he paints your pussy with his seed. The air is faintly filled by the sound of oozing slick of your combined orgasms that leak and drip around his still thrusting cock.
The erratic pace in which his rhythm held eventually wanes, instead he moves to a slow-crawling grind to ease you off your combined highs. His chest rises and falls and you allow your eyes to admire his form above you, A balance of skin and ink layered in a thin coating of sweat, as is your own, the muscles of his body rippling with each motion he makes.
His hands release from your hips after he’s lowered you back down to the bed, allowing your body to succumb to the exhaustion undoubtedly taking hold of you. Your gaze meets his own, the colour of them haloed by the shine of tears and his heart yearns for you.
He fears he’s done something wrong and his hands quickly raise to caress your face, thumbs stroke over your cheeks.
“Moya zvezda, are you—”
“I’m…” you trail off, blinking rapidly to see him through the watery veil and you grin up at him and nod. He’s relieved to see that smile, coming to mirror it himself.
She’s okay. My girl’s okay.
You reach your hand up, the warmth of your palm contrasted by the cool adornment of your ring. Bucky leans his face into your touch. “You stayed… you didn’t—” Though your words fail you, Bucky sees what you mean to say in your eyes.
“Of course. You’re everything I ever wanted…” Your brows furrow, touched by the sincerity in his words. Before you is a man whose heart is held in your very hands. And his heart is one you wish to cherish, hold dear and never break. To think you almost bargained him off to another woman—
“Have me again tonight, zvezda. Have me any other night. I promise, I will be there every time, every moment.”
He doesn’t want a mistress. He wants me.
Those voices are gone, replaced by newer, kinder ones.
You’re perfect.
You’re beautiful.
I’m not scared anymore. Not with him.
You now realise that intimacy was never the threat. The voices in your head were.
Warnings: Angst, smut, incest, mention of non-con, violence, blood.
The sunrise on the garden balcony was a spectacle of light and color. The sky bathed in shades of pink and lavender, reflecting its warm glow over the colorful petals of the flowers and the cool fountains surrounding them. They were in that corner of tranquility, enjoying one of those rare moments when time seemed to stand still.
Away from the exhausting bustle of the palace and the endless boring lessons that usually occupied them, they were seated on a marble bench. Lucerys gazed at the horizon, where the sun was slowly rising, while she looked at the small piece in her hands, a little sky-blue horse that belonged to him, her best friend, who always carried it. Her mind was at peace, enjoying a restorative calm, complemented by the sound of the leaves rustling and the gentle waves caressing the sand.
Suddenly, he broke the silence, rising above the murmur of the garden. He cleared his throat, a sign that announced the importance of his forthcoming words. His eyes sparkled with a light that was more than just the sun’s.
“Have you heard the news?” he inquired, his tone soft and gentle as he regarded her. Though his tone was casual, the faintest hint of a smile revealed his restrained excitement.
Intrigued, she turned her head toward the sound of his sweet voice, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her eyes met his. “What is it about?” she asked, filled with genuine interest.
Lucerys leaned forward slightly, an air of mystery about him. There was a palpable warmth in his anticipation, akin to the whisper of a breeze through the clouds. “It appears that a proposal has been made,” he began, pausing dramatically for effect before adding, “between the two of us.”
A wave of emotions washed over her, a mixture of surprise, relief, and an uncontainable glee. Her brows arched in astonishment as her mouth fell slightly open.
In an instant, her lips broke into a smile, accompanied by a small laugh. “I am pleased it is you” she said. “We will be together for all time.”
Seeing her reaction, he returned the smile with one that illuminated his entire face. His cheeks took on a rosy hue, and his eyes reflected a happiness that seemed to mirror her own.
The promise of a shared life, now formally announced, felt as natural as the descending sun. Their friendship had been a constant source of joy and stability, from their childhood games to their conversations filled with dreams and confidences, and in that moment, the bond was evident.
As the day melded into morning, they dreamt aloud of all they would do when the time came. They would live in Driftmark, sail the open sea every day they could, and the others would fly on Arrax's back, exploring every realm and enjoying adventures far, far from King’s Landing.
She moved hastily toward her brother. Each stride, each heavy step seemed to echo in her mind, a reverberation of the anguish she felt as she traversed the silent corridors of the palace. Her face, impassive and devoid of expression, could not reflect the emotional storm that tormented her.
Upon reaching the door, her hands trembled slightly as she turned the knob. The maester, who was in the midst of his work, offered a respectful bow before withdrawing, leaving them alone in the deep gloom, barely interrupted by the faint rays of light filtering through the window.
The room was enveloped in a dense atmosphere, and the air was thick with a penetrating smell of blood and medicinal ointments, a constant reminder of the suffering manifesting within.
The tense friction between the children of Rhaenyra and their own siblings had always been present, but what occurred that night surpassed any expectations of enmity, turning the journey to Driftmark into an explosion of chaos, destruction, and despair, marking a turning point for all. And now, Aemond lay mutilated, wounded inside and out beyond repair, his body marked by the traces of brutality.
The bond between them had never been one of great closeness; she respected and valued him, of course, but always felt they aimed at very different things. He had a powerful, dominant presence, determined to protect her from what she perceived as invisible enemies and to educate her on intricate politics from which she only longed to escape.
Despite all this, he was her brother, and the sight struck her with unrelenting force, tearing at her from within, and the blood tie was felt immediately, throwing her toward him with urgency. His face was bruised, with traces of dried blood scattered across his skin, and his left side was completely bandaged.
She approached the bed cautiously, as if afraid to disrupt the fragile balance of the situation. She sat beside him, taking his hand in hers. The coldness of his skin and the sharp pain reflected in his features made her feel as though the world was crumbling around her. Tears began to flow down her cheeks uncontrollably.
The silence of the room was broken by a fractured whisper. “Let me take care of you now” she said, almost like a plea, the weight of regret and sincerity in her promise resonating in her voice, clinging to the hope that she could offer some comfort.
She felt lost, trapped between the piercing pain of seeing Aemond suffer and the cruel disbelief that Lucerys was the cause.
He nodded slightly, squeezing her hand and showing a small smile with the remaining strength he had.
Over the following moons, she stayed by his side, reading aloud fragments of books he used to enjoy, trying to distract him from the pain and make him feel he was not alone.
One time, while they were in his chambers, the weight of her questions prevented her from thinking about anything else. Her family had preferred to keep the details from her ears, but she needed the full, raw, and unadorned truth to face her own pain and sense of betrayal.
“May I ask you something?” she murmured with cautious hesitation. Aemond looked at her, his uncovered face showing his wound, which, although it had not diminished his beauty, bore testament to the deep suffering he had endured. He nodded, granting her permission to continue. “What precisely happened that night?”
His expression darkened with anguish as he began to recount the events in detail, sparing no harsh truth. He described how he had been ambushed, how ruthless insults and merciless blows had rained down on him just because, and how the violence he had suffered had left an indelible mark not only on his face but also on his spirit. His narration was laced with a sharp sense of injustice and humiliation.
Lucerys had brought a dagger and his siblings and cousins, under the assurance that Aemond would be isolated, and it seemed that the conflict had left a bitter sense of dissatisfaction.
Each word and revelation felt like direct strikes to her gut, leaving her paralyzed, her hands quivering as she struggled to grasp the gravity of what she had heard.
Her dearest and closest friend, the one with whom she had shared laughter and secrets, the one with whom she had dreamed of building a life, turned out to be the perpetrator of such indescribably atrocious violence that she could hardly believe it. The actions of that boy, in whom she had placed all her trust, felt like a treachery that cut to the very essence of her being, shattering her deepest convictions.
She recalled all those times Aemond had told her about the callous jokes he faced and the dangers of associating with cold, ambitious people, and how she had thought he was exaggerating. Now, she understood the truth with terrifying clarity: he had always sought to shield her from the darkness of their world, and his warnings had materialized in him.
“They will not be satisfied with this” he intoned gravely. “They will not rest until they have eradicated all who pose a threat to their rise — Aegon, Daeron… me.” Fear enveloped her strongly, realizing that unity was more crucial than ever, and recognizing that she had lost the one she loved most in the world.
“And to think we were to be married” she whispered later, more to herself than to Aemond. The acceptance that the future she had once envisioned was no longer hers shattered the heavy silence, leaving behind a sound of broken dreams.
He regarded her with an intensity that was both earnest and fierce, his gaze reflecting deep sincerity.
“I would never have allowed it” he declared firmly, charged with a fervor that made clear how much his love and desire to protect her meant. Tears welled in her eyes as she faced him. “He is a bastard, and every bastard is a monster by nature” he added with disdain.
She had always abhorred such notions; she knew Lucerys for who he truly was and had never believed he fit such descriptions. Yet now, she found herself doubting.
She nodded, relieved to have avoided what seemed like it could have been a curse, and grateful to have Aemond by her side, who seemed to be her only refuge amidst the storm that her world had become.
As the years went by, her feelings began to transform in ways she had not anticipated. At first, her heart was flooded with excruciating pain. Seeing her brother suffer was a torment, every lament, every sign of ache, cut deep into her, creating a sense of helplessness that seemed inexhaustible. It also hurt her to adopt a new image of Lucerys, with a completely different light.
That pain gradually dissipated, replaced by something more intense, a relentless fury towards Lucerys and blind devotion towards Aemond. His resilience and bravery which he showed without complaining, were worthy of worship, and fascinated and inspired her in ways she had never imagined.
Her life began to revolve around him, at a pace that seemed synchronized with his needs. While he dedicated most of his time to training, challenging his physical limits, she became a constant and discreet presence, a faithful shadow moving through his surroundings. She took it upon herself to nurse him back to health, and she manifested in every small gesture, from carefully bringing his meals to delicately cleaning his wounds and changing the bandages with loving precision.
Each night, when sleep eluded him, he would call for her, and she would come, ready to provide a refuge of comfort and support, trying to make the hours of wakefulness a bit more bearable.
Amidst all this, something withered while something else bloomed, an emotion that overflowed and transformed into something much more mature. The first sign of change was the blush that would take over her cheeks every time he whispered his sweet thoughts to her.
He told her that her care was the greatest comfort he had received, that her love was the greatest blessing in his life, that she was everything he had always wanted, and that he hoped to have her by his side forever, forever. These, filled with genuine affection and a fragility he did not share with anyone else, began to penetrate her vulnerable heart.
Aemond, who had grown into a man of imposing beauty, now occupied a special place in her heart. Every feature of his, every gesture, every look seemed to be wrapped in a strength that captivated her completely. The way he moved, the way his eye shone with an intensity that only she seemed to grasp, made her pulse quicken, as if every beat of her heart was an ode to his existence.
As the sun began to sink below the horizon, painting the sky with golden and orange hues, she sat on the edge of the window, her gaze lost in the vast expanse of the sea, which reminded her of what once was, while listening to the restless waves crashing on the shore.
Her mother entered with a resolute step. “I wished to speak with you, my dear” she said with a voice trying to remain calm and her face marked with tense lines. She turned to her, a faint smile on her lips at recognizing her presence, and nodded softly.
Alicent gently took her hand and guided her to the nearby settee. They both sat down, and the silence that followed was laden with a heavy anticipation, palpable as the pressure before lightning splits the darkness.
Feeling the weight of unspoken words, she looked at her with concern. “What troubles you, mother?” she asked, intertwining her hands in an attempt to share the emotional burden as the sadness in her mother’s eyes did not go unnoticed, even though the reasons behind it were not clear.
Alicent sighed deeply before murmuring, her voice breaking. “I am worried about you.”
She looked at her, her curiosity growing with each passing second. “Worried about me? Why?”
Her mother paused, looking at her with apprehension. Finally, she gathered her resolve to speak. “Your relationship with Aemond…” She cleared her throat and licked her lower lip before continuing, carefully choosing her words. “Your brother… he is not the same since the events that befell him. And I wonder whether it is wise for you to remain so close to someone like him” she said cautiously.
Her eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. “Someone like him?” she asked, her tone reflecting her unease.
“You know what he is” her mother replied in a whisper, as if fearing the consequences of voicing her thoughts.
“He is just hurt, rightfully so,” she defended, “and I can help him” she added urgently, trying to make her mother see the determination on her face.
“No, you cannot.” That was an unexpected blow. “Besides, do you not think that what you are feeling may not be entirely genuine? You lost Lucerys, and you needed someone to fill that void.”
Her mother’s words struck a sensitive chord. She looked at her with seriousness, her expression shifting from confusion to profound sadness. “That is not true” she whispered firmly, her voice trembling. “And do not say that again.”
“You may view matters from a different perspective than I, from where you stand” Alicent continued, still gentle, attempting not to alarm her further. “And you have seen how your sister has been since she got married” she said, tears beginning to pool and her lips pressing together to stifle them. “I wish not to condemn you to the same fate”
Exasperation took hold as she defended their relationship, knowing that not all could comprehend. “Their love is not the same as ours” she said, her voice rising with a mix of frustration and desperation. “Aemond is not as you believe.”
“Perhaps it would be wise for you to distance yourself from him” Alicent finally suggested. “A change of scenery, some distance, might offer you clarity.”
Suddenly, she stood up, pulling her hand away sharply. “What are you trying to do?” she demanded, her eyes blazing.
“I am going to send you to Old Town. There, you may meet new people and choose the husband you desire.”
“I want Aemond!” she retorted, shouting as she neared a breaking point. “Do not do this to me” she pleaded, her face reddened by the tears that finally began to fall as she clutched her chest, which seemed to be closing up.
“I merely wish to care for you” her mother said through tears, rising to follow her as she began to pace around the room. “I seek what is best for you” she added, her hands reaching out in an attempt to touch her.
“He is what is best for me,” she countered, “and I am what is best for him.”
“No, he is not” Alicent said, her voice rising into a cry filled with anguish. “He will ultimately tear you apart.”
With a heavy heart, she faced her mother. “Attempt to keep me from him if you must” she threatened, her voice full of defiance. “Send me to the ends of the earth if you want, he shall always find me upon Vhagar.”
Alicent reached her side, cradling her face in her hands with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of the moment, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a love that contradicted her words. They stayed like that for a few minutes, their foreheads touching, both trying to steady their breathing and meet halfway.
“If you will not do it for yourself, at least do it for me” she pleaded, a call to empathy that made her waver. She finally pulled away, stepping back. “It is decided, then” she said with a trembling voice before retreating, shaking her head, her face soaked with resignation.
The rest of the day dragged slowly as she remained locked in her chambers. She had leaned against the wall, seeking solace in the cold of the stone and the salty air that seemed to try to dry every tear that rolled down her cheeks. Shadows lengthened as the light began to fade.
She couldn’t get out of her mind the vision of another future that had collapsed before her eyes. The image of a destiny that once seemed promising and full of hope had now turned desolate, again.
She would be bound to an unknown lord, forced to accept a marriage she did not want, raising children fathered by a man she did not desire, facing a life that offered no freedom or happiness. The weight of an existence with no option to choose her own path pressed on her little by little, like sinking into water.
The door creaked open almost imperceptibly, and Aemond appeared in the doorway, his figure marked by exhaustion. He walked towards her with silent steps, calling her softly, but she was so immersed in her thoughts that she barely heard him. Only the warmth of his proximity pulled her out of her reverie.
When she slowly turned to look at him, the sadness in her face, with swollen eyes and tears still filling them, made his expression shift to one of alarm. “What is it?” he asked, his voice thick with worry as his brows furrowed.
She endeavored to speak with resolve, but her voice betrayed her struggle to remain composed. “Mother is going to send me away,” she said, her voice cracking, “to find a husband.” Aemond’s reaction was immediate. His eye widened, and his jaw tightened, indignation clear in his demeanor.
“She dares to take you away from me?” he exclaimed, his tone rising. One hand encircled her waist with a strength that was both tender and firm, while the other rested on her neck, ensuring she felt his sincerity. “I will not allow it” he declared with fervor. “I will not allow you to be wed to some mere lord.”
She bit her lower lip, the effort to contain her sobs making her tremble. “It is decided, she said” she whispered, the sorrow in her words intensifying his grip.
“She has no word in this” he asserted with a voice seething with fury. For a moment, he allowed her tears to flow freely as he held her, her forehead resting against his chest.
After a few moments of finding comfort in his embrace, he gently pulled her away, taking her by the roots of her hair and compelling her to look up. “To whom do you belong?” he asked with a firmness that left no room for doubt.
She met his face, her devotion undeniable in her eyes. “To you” she whispered, her voice soft.
He nodded slowly, a small, approving smile curling the corner of his lips, casting a soft light over his stern features. Despite the roughness of the skin of his hands, calloused from the sword, his thumbs softly traced hearts on her blushing face as their gazes interlocked in a silent dance.
“Then prove it” he whispered, his voice low and laden with deep meaning, a glint in his eye. “Let no tongue dare question it.”
Her pulse began to race with a nearly painful speed, each beat pounding in her chest, marking the rhythm of an uncontrollable desire, and her breath grew labored. She looked at him with a mixture of expectation, her eyes shining. Then, her lips parted, a gesture that sealed a tacit pact.
She had imagined this moment countless times, each scenario more vivid than the last, but she had never felt brave enough to act on those desires. Excitement enveloped her like a surging tide, threatening to sweep her away into uncharted waters.
Without warning, he leaned in, and their lips met in a tentative kiss, igniting like the first flicker of a flame. She responded with a relieved sigh, the initial caution melting away into a deeper surrender. Their breaths intertwined, ragged and heated, as the kiss grew fiercely.
Although their mouths had joined before, never with such haste. The tip of his tongue gently slid over her lips, seeking to pave the way for a more intimate exploration, while her hands gripped him tightly, feeling the powerful beat of his heart.
Her fingers glided over his chest, ascended his neck, and finally tangled in his soft hair, pulling him toward her with an uncontrollable need.
In that moment, she was aware that she was transgressing established rules, breaking from the expected, and that her mother would undoubtedly feel a profound disappointment, but for once, she allowed herself to be swept away by the force of impulse, yielding to him without reservations.
Her lips, red and moist from the kiss, were slightly parted, gasping for air as their eager hands hurried to undress one another. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the bed with a sense of urgency.
With her back pressed against the cool sheets and him dominating above her, she couldn't help the jolt of nerves that coursed through her stomach. She delicately removed his eyepatch, placing it on the nightstand as if shedding the last remnants of restraint.
As he kissed her fervently, she felt his hardness pressing against her entrance, intensifying her longing. She moved her hips toward him, seeking the union.
When the need for another breath became imminent, without uttering a single word, he began to trace a path of kisses that glided softly down her neck, where each touch made her skin prickle, awakening sensations she had never experienced.
As his lips descended, warmth grew within her, and the air became hotter. He reached her breasts, where he placed his hand over one, provoking a shiver that coursed through her body. Gently, he caressed it with his long fingers, while with the other, he dedicated himself to leaving wet kisses that marked her skin with desire. When his mouth settled on her nipple and began to suck, the slight contact of his teeth left her breathless.
To her dismay, he stopped, looking at her with an eye full of promises, the intensity of his sapphire shining under the moonlight as he continued his descent, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
He buried his face between her thighs, and she gasped as she felt his tongue on her puffy folds, exploring her sensitive flesh. Her cries grew louder as he licked the length of her wetness, drinking deep from her core.
Then, as his tongue flicked against her bud, he inserted one of his long fingers inside her. One of her hands went to his hair, desperate to hold onto something as she felt him savoring every drop of her, in perfect synchronization with his fingers sliding in and out of her.
She threw her head back while pulling his closer, and uncontrollable moans began to escape her lips, each deeper and more filled with surprise than the last. She felt her body begin to tremble under his power, a pressure building inside her, her back arched and her hips pressed against the mattress.
"I feel like... I feel like" she cried, her brows slightly furrowed and her mouth open.
"Yes, my love" he whispered, his thumb expertly attending to her most sensitive spot while his fingers kept working wonders inside of her. “Let go for me” he said, and she felt herself slipping over the edge, her body convulsing and her legs quivering as the ecstasy washed over.
As the waves receded, she lay there, breathing heavily, her body still pulsing. He rose from between her legs, his eyes fixed on hers, and as he kissed her, she could taste herself.
He loomed over her, his arm planted firmly on one side of her body while the other went around her neck, taking her hair and pulling her back again. "Open your eyes," he commanded, his voice a whisper thick with desire, “see who is taking you."
She obeyed, still breathless as he aligned himself with her center, and her legs locked tightly around his waist as he sank agonizingly slowly into her welcoming warmth. A delicious burning sensation settled within her as he stretched and filled her so, so right.
A loud moan escaped her kiss-swollen lips, a symphony of pain and pleasure flooding her every sense. When she brought one of her trembling hands to her mouth to stifle the sounds, he firmly pulled it away.
"Let everyone hear that you are mine" he declared, increasing the speed of his movements, drawing forth more whimpers, resonating in the room while her body writhed, responding to every harder thrust of his hips. “And mine alone.”
After the simple wedding ceremony, held before the eyes of the seven to avoid "upset them any further" her life seemed to have been ripped away from a dream.
Days passed in a constant sway on Vhagar's back, as he showered her with gifts and spent nearly every moment of the day making love to her at every hour and place, sealing their affection in a nearly oppressive manner.
But time, like an unrelenting moon, began to shift the waters. The maester confirmed her suspicions, that a life was growing inside her, and everything changed abruptly. When she revealed this to Aemond, she had anticipated several reactions: surprise, joy, gratitude, but she never imagined the stoic expression on his face, marked by a veil of displeasure, as if the baby, instead of being a pure blessing, had become an imminent threat to their exclusive bond.
"How can this be?" he erupted, his expression laden with disbelief. "I never allowed any of my seed to remain in you, and" he stammered, shaking his head, “and you, you have drinked the tea, have you not?”
She remained composed, her voice steady as she explained. "The maesters said that, even with our precautions, it is possible. It is not that surprising, given the frequency with which..." She smiled wryly, trying to ease the tension in the air and lighten the mood, but it faded when she saw he was not convinced.
One evening, as she looked at herself in the mirror, the curve of her pregnancy prominent, she saw Aemond enter with his usual gravity. The baby, already making its presence felt, began to move—a small reminder of the life they shared. She smiled and called him, eager for his reaction.
"My love, come here" she beckoned, hoping to draw him near. He approached with an impassive face, deliberately avoiding her gaze. She placed his hand on her rounded belly, but he brushed it away with a slight brusqueness. "Why do you pull away?" she inquired, her voice trembling with hurt.
Then, though wounded, she lifted her hand to caress his face. "I like to think I shall have a little version of you" she commented tenderly, trying to infuse hope into a situation that seemed to be crumbling. However, rather than sharing in her enthusiasm, he appeared troubled.
Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "What is it that troubles you, my love?" she asked, concern lacing her tone.
"I cannot help it" he replied. "The baby... it changes everything. It used to be so simple, just you and me."
"But it is a natural part of our life together" she attempted to explain, filled with a desperate calm. "It is merely a new phase."
"One I did not ask for" he retorted sarcastically. "Every time I look at you, I feel as if I am losing you. How can you expect me not to feel threatened by this?"
She frowned, her frustration growing. "And what would you have me do?" she asked, with annoyance. When he looked at her, his gaze indicated something deeper. "Aemond" she reproached, her hurt more apparent.
"Do you not understand what this means? It will draw your attention from what truly matters."
She looked at him, still struggling to grasp his anguish. “You are being unreasonable.”
"Do you believe that?" he asked, his voice filled with desperation. "Because I am not so sure. The baby will require all your attention, and I... how can I compete with that?"
She took a step back, shaking her head slowly. “Compete?” she murmured, a note of sorrow in her voice.
"Yes" he admitted, and seeing her reaction, he sought her gaze almost pleadingly. "I never imagined I would have to share you so soon. It is just that..." He hesitated, struggling with his emotions, his eyes drifting to her belly. "The baby... it will separate us once it is born; I will be lost in the change."
Her voice quivered as she responded, desperate to bridge the distance. “No, he will not.”
"The idea that another might possess a part of you... is unbearable" he said, breaking down, frustrated, unable to accept her words.
"But, my love, what we share will not fade. This love we hold for one another does not divide; it only grows" she countered, striving to offer comfort.
"It is hard to trust when everything I know seems to be changing" he confessed, his voice revealing his vulnerability.
She sighed, with a growing ache in her chest, and embraced him softly. "You are not losing me, you never will" she assured him with a conviction that tried to counterbalance his growing unease.
"No matter what?" he insisted, his tone carrying an intensity that felt more like a demand than a mere question. His embrace was a blend of desperation and control, as if he needed her promise to calm his inner turmoil. “Promise me.”
"I promise" she sweetened her words even further. "Just be good and let me help you, do not shut me out, yes?" she said, planting a small kiss on his furrowed brows.
However, promises and caresses were not enough to fill the void that had opened between them. In the weeks that followed, his attempts to reconnect with her through gestures, though well-intentioned, did not align with what she was willing to receive or give at that time. It often resulted in awkward and mismatched moments, as his efforts did not meet her current needs. Frustrated, he began to spend more time away under various pretexts and excuses.
"What if it turns out to be twins, as I had?" asked her sister with a playful smile. The scene was serene, with both of them in the room while Helaena meticulously embroidered blankets for the cradle, each stitch an act of anticipatory love. She remained silent while her heart raced. Aemond's concern for their child was already overwhelming; the idea of facing that anxiety doubled terrified her.
Unable to respond, Aemond entered the room bearing a bouquet of flowers. "I thought these might brighten your day" he said, offering them.
She regarded the carnations, her eyes reflecting surprise and a hint of sadness. "They are quite beautiful" she murmured, accepting them with a grateful smile. "Thank you."
Seeing that he was about to leave, she stepped towards him, her eyes conveying a silent plea for more. "Perhaps you might stay with us for a while. I was thinking we could choose the babe’s name together" she suggested, her tone gentle but laden with hope.
He casted a fleeting glance at the door with an inscrutable expression, and replied, "I shall leave you both to it.”
She felt a pang of disappointment, and with a resigned sigh, returned to her place. Helaena, witnessing the exchange, gave a gentle caress to her belly, trying to offer comfort. "What troubles you?" she asked after a few moments.
"I am worried" she confessed, trying to contain her sadness. "I fear Aemond is not entirely happy about this." Noticing her sister's concerned face, she quickly added, trying to downplay the severity of her feelings. "He simply has not yet come to terms with it."
"It is only natural to feel overwhelmed, but it is not fair for you to bear all the burden" Helaena gently said.
She sought to soothe her, her voice a whisper full of justifications. "It is just that everything has unfolded so quickly for him. At times, I believe he fears losing me more than confronting what lies ahead."
Helaena, clearly preoccupied, took her hands. "Once the babe arrives, you will need to devote a lot of time to him. He must adjust to that reality now" she advised.
"Perhaps when he sees the babe, he will come to understand" she said, though her tone betrayed a lack of conviction. "Did you experience something similar with Aegon?"
Helaena shrugged, her expression showing sadness and frustration. "Aegon was always a devoted father, always happy" she whispered. "I only fear that I was not the mother he had wished for his children."
Although the distance hurt, she faced the pregnancy with the support of her siblings and her mother, hoping that he would overcome his insecurities and find his way back to her. But when the babe was born, the situation did not improve, it only worsened.
As she dined with her sister and mother, the conversation revolved around the latest court topics and the children. It was at that moment that Alicent, with a touch of nervousness, announced:
“On the morrow Rhaenyra’s family shall visit us.”
The words hung in the air, and both Helaena and she looked up from their plates. Her pulse quickened immediately. Although she had maintained a steady anger towards Lucerys, the mere fact that he would be nearby again stirred a whirlwind of emotions. The thought of seeing him, of confronting the past, filled her with a crushing anxiety.
During the court session, Aemond instructed her to remain in her quarters, claiming that she should not concern herself with trivialities. She had suspected a more hidden motivation behind his decision but accepted his command without questioning too much, she would learn the details through Helaena after.
Hours later, she found herself on the balcony of the gardens, her gaze lost in the sea, a place where she used to seek comfort and clarity. Enjoying the breeze on her skin, she felt a presence behind her and knew, without even looking, who was there. Despite everything, she couldn’t resist the urge to see him, to ask the questions that had remained unanswered.
“It is a lovely day” he said, approaching her side. His voice was more deep and mature, but just as sweet as she remembered.
“Indeed” she replied softly, almost as if Aemond could hear her from a distance.
“It has been a long time” he continued, his words heavy with regret, gazing at her instead of the landscape.
“Yes, it has.”
“Things got out of control.”
She almost laughed at his understatement. “You took my brother’s eye” she exclaimed, her voice laced with indignation.
“And I regret it every day” he confessed, his tone genuinely sorrowful
“Of course you do” she retorted, the sarcasm unmistakable. “It is not easy to forget such a heinous act.”
“I am aware” he said, heavy.
After a few minutes of charged silence, she broke it, her voice reflecting years of resentment and longing. “You ruined everything.”
“I had to act” Lucerys said, defensively.
“Act about what?” She demanded. “Because he claimed a dragon?” She looked at him, incredulous and disturbed. “You brought a dagger to an ambush, you meant to kill him, just because of that?”
“No,” he interrupted quickly, “because he was going to kill Joffrey” he said, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Did he ever tell you that?” he inquired, his voice mingling with frustration and anger. “About how he was about to kill Joffrey, calling him a bastard, when I intervened.” She shook her head, recalling what Aemond had said.
“Do not deceive me” she said, her disbelief evident. “He would never do something like that.”
“I would never have done something so grave without a serious reason” he insisted.
“Speak not ill of him” she warned, her voice rising in a defensive shout. “You were always unkind to him, always.”
“Unkind, yes” he said, his expression torn. “Do you truly consider me a monster?” he asked, his eyes filling with tears.
“I did not until that day” she replied firmly.
Lucerys gazed at her with an intensity that seemed to pierce her very soul. “You knew me better than any other” he whispered, making her tremble. “Do you truly believe I could be capable of that?”
She was left speechless, feeling her carefully constructed world beginning to crumble. She turned away, desiring to process what she had just heard. When she noticed that Lucerys was trying to follow her, she raised a hand in a gesture of plea, asking for space.
Upon reaching her room, she collapsed onto the bed, her legs feeling like water. Her breathing became erratic, and doubts seemed endless, pulling her deeper into a sea of anguish.
Minutes later, Aemond burst in, and upon seeing her in such a state, he approached quickly, his face overflowing with concern.
“What happened?” he asked urgently, searching her gaze.
“What happened that night?”
He frowned in confusion. “What night?”
“The night you lost your eye” she said, her voice breaking as she sought answers.
“Do you wish me to recount the events of that night?” he inquired. “Besided, I have already told you.”
She gazed at him intently, silently pleading for the truth. Seeing her resolve, he began to recount. “When I entered the castle, after claiming Vhagar, they were waiting for me. The five of them began to attack me without cause, and Lucerys took my dagger and...”
“Lucerys took your dagger?” she interrupted. “I thought he had brought the dagger.”
He stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. “I must have made a mistake. It was many years ago” he simply said. Then, his face began to harden, his expression shifting from confusion to irritation. He stood up, visibly agitated. “Have you spoken to him?” he asked, his tone edged with irritation.
“Then answer me” she demanded, her voice steely. “Which version is it?”
He remained silent, his gaze revealing anger and disappointment. Finally, he shook his head with an attitude that seemed more mocking than sincere.
“I am at a loss” she said, her voice quavering with confusion and anguish, her insecurity filling every word as she rose from the bed, pacing nervously around the room. She placed a hand on her abdomen, grasping at the air as if it were slipping through her fingers.
“Do you now side with him?” he asked, low. “With the one who took my eye?”
The pain pierced her. Despite witnessing Aemond’s vulnerability, the doubts she had tried to suppress began to resurface.
“I have always listened to you alone, I have placed my faith in you,” she said, her voice breaking. “But now…” The version of events he had told her seemed increasingly fragile.
“I wish to be left alone” she asked, feeling hopeless.
But he, with determined steps, his expression tense and eyes fixed on her, stood in front of her. He took her by the jaw with one hand, forcing her to look at him. His eye, reddened by distress, could no longer conceal what was hidden behind it.
“Please, let go of me” she begged, frightened. She felt that the man before her was no longer the one she knew and trusted.
“No” he said, with a terrifying firmness. “Everything I have done has always been to protect what is mine.” His hands gripped her skin with a force that promised to leave marks. “But if you wish for me to be the villain” he whispered with icy intensity, “perhaps I should be.”
She frowned, struggling beneath his grip, but he held her immovably with an unyielding strength. Every attempt to free herself seemed futile against his determination.
“You have casted me aside, and now you doubt my word?” he asked rhetorically, his voice taut and sharp. “It is time for me to impose order” he said, jaw clenched, taking her by the hair and dragging her towards the bed.
“Let go of me” she pleaded again through tears. Desperation and pain were reflected in every movement as she tried to escape the embrace that was no longer comforting and warm.
He held her, and her scalp ached from his grip. "You have forgotten who you belong to" he told her, his voice threatening and his hot breath against her ear, while with the other hand he lowered his pants and then began to lift her dress.
In the bathtub, the cold water had already chilled her wrinkled skin, and her vacant stare remained fixed on nothingness. With the tea Aemond had sent and half a jug of wine in her system, she tried to numb the pain.
Helaena found her there and, without a word, helped her up, then chose a blue dress for her—one she had embroidered long ago and had never had the chance to wear.
As her sister worked on her hair, her voice cracked with a whisper full of desolation. “Do you ever imagine what it would have been like?” she asked.
Helaena hesitated for a moment before asking, as if she didn’t already know. “What do you mean?”
“How it would all be if mother had married us to them” she replied, her eyes dry, devoid of any remaining tears.
Helaena paused, feeling the weight of the words. “Every day” with a long sigh, she admitted.
“I wish I knew what it would have been like” she murmured. They remained silent for a few minutes, embraced by the pain, until their mother called them to supper
When their king arrived, carried in a chair by guards, it marked the beginning of the other part of the evening. Aemond, sitting beside her, did not utter a word. Her gaze remained fixed on her cup, as if the drink was merely a distraction in an environment that no longer made sense.
“How good it is to see you all tonight, together” he said, his gaze sweeping over the table with sadness. “This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” he continued, “my grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses.”
The news broke her heart, and the pain was evident in the exchanged glances between her and Luke. The rest exchanged smiles, but for her, the moment was one of deep mourning. “A toast to the young princes and their betrothed.”
The glasses were raised in a general toast, and she drank from her glass in one gulp, seeking the comfort she couldn’t find. Then she hurriedly refilled her glass.
“Let us toast as well to Prince Lucerys, the future Lord of the Tides” he added, and everyone raised their glasses again. “Hear, hear” they said in unison, while Rhaena congratulated Lucerys with a cheerful whisper. She emptied her glass again, feeling the warm liquid course down her throat.
When he stood up to make a toast, the room fell into anticipation. Every movement he made seemed painful, and this only intensified her sense of sadness. Although her relationship with him had never been particularly close, the proximity of his departure put everything into perspective, and her heart ached at the impending reality.
With a raspy tone reflecting his weariness, the king said “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.”
He attempted to smile, but his effort only highlighted the frailty the years had left in him. “My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was, but tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just as a king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire,” he continued, “who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.”
“Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts” he pleaded, his voice choked with emotion. “The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly” he begged, his sorrow evident as he sat down and Alicent helped him adjust his mask once more.
Jace suddenly stood up after a few toasts, drawing everyone’s attention. She was absorbed in her thoughts, her eyes fixed on the empty glass, and the abrupt change at the table jolted her. Aegon returned to his seat, casting curious glances at Jace, while Aemond stood up, his presence imposing silence and attention. She huffed in annoyance as she poured more wine.
When Jacacerys raised his glass, his gaze fixed on Aemond, Helaena listened intently. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond” her nephew said with a smile that seemed more a formality than a genuine celebration.
“We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles” with a final sip, he ended his toast, and she watched as the tension mounted.
“To you as well” said Aegon, his tone an indifference that did nothing to ease the atmosphere. Helaena fidgeted nervously, a small tremor on her lips, and she refilled her glass, much to Aemond’s displeasure, who was burning her with his gaze and asking her to stop.
With an unexpected impulse, she abruptly stood up, surprising him and immediately catching Lucerys’s concerned glance. Her glass trembled slightly in her hands, and her gaze settled on Rhaena and Baela, who were radiant with a hope she envied deeply.
“I would like to toast to Rhaena and Baela” she said firmly, raising her glass with a smile that failed to hide the sadness in her eyes. “They will be married soon.”
The young woman's smiles were a glimmer of happiness amidst the gloom that enveloped her. The sight intensified her pain. She felt overwhelmed; the life they will have is a fantasy she had let go, full of promise and hope, and her reality seemed even darker in contrast.
“It is not so bad, mostly he just ignores you” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. “Except sometimes when he is mad” she added, her voice breaking slightly at the end of the sentence, and with one last long sip from her glass and a poor attempt at a smile, she sat back down. Tears pooled in her eyes, heavy and treacherous, but she managed to hold them back, though her heart ached seeing the concern, sadness, and anger on Lucerys’s face.
“Or when he is drunk” Helaena added with an equally harsh truth. Aegon was clearly irritated, and Aemond, beside her, visibly tensed. Otto looked at them, his lips slightly turned down as he sighed.
“Let us have some music” Viserys suggested, as a momentary truce, an invitation to disconnect. When the melodies began to fill the space and more wine flowed freely, the atmosphere gradually relaxed.
She was holding Helaena’s hand when they looked up and saw Jace and Lucerys extending their hands with a silent but clear invitation. Her heart skipped a beat seeing Lucerys, and in her broken gaze, there was a trace of hope.
They accepted the invitation with a trembling smile, avoiding the gaze of the men beside them. Nervous laughter escaped her lips as the four of them moved toward the cleared area.
Though they were not experts in the art of dancing, the joy of the moment became evident. Their movements were awkward but filled with a fleeting happiness. The contrast between the joy of the dance and the internal sadness was hurtful, yet also sweet, like a taste of what could have been.
As they twirled and changed partners, time seemed to stand still, the melody offering them a respite. Helaena and she found themselves holding hands, and her sister whispered with gentle melancholy: “This is how it would have been.” She smiled. For a brief moment, the pain faded.
Applause and laughter filled the room, and Otto and Alicent watched them with smiles, perhaps pleased to see the two enjoying their brief escape, while Aemond and Aegon’s scorching stares were fixed on their backs.
After a few more minutes of laughter, everyone stood up. Realizing what was happening, they also stopped, catching their breath while watching their father, understanding that this might be the last time. They held each other's hands tightly, and when he disappeared through the door, they decided to continue dancing, honoring his final wish.
When Luke extended his hand again, with a nostalgic smile that reminded her of the one he used to give her as a child, a loud thud resonated from the table, startling them. Turning to face the table, they saw Aemond with his glass raised toward them.
“Final tribute” he said, looking at her. She sensed what was coming as she glanced at her mother, who in turn looked at Aemond with alarm. Suddenly, he shifted his gaze to Luke. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey” he said, the tone subtly changing with the second name. “Each of them handsome, wise…” he paused, a small smile curving his lips, “strong” he concluded.
“Come” he said, raising his glass higher, just like Aegon. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”
“I dare you to say that again” Jace challenged, chin lifted.
“Why? It was only a compliment” Aemond said as he approached. “Do you not think yourself strong?” he taunted.
Luke landed a solid blow on Aemond, making his face turn sideways, though not a drop was spilled from his glass. Aegon, in turn, went after Jace.
“Enough” Alicent shouted, standing up from the table.
Aemond looked at Luke with a sneering smile as he pushed him to the ground. Seeing Luke on the floor made him smile even more, and then he turned his gaze to her for a brief moment. Alicent tried to reach Aemond, attempting to grab him, but he brushed her off with indifference.
“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother” he said, turning back to them. Both Luke and Jace were being held by the guards, struggling to break free. “Though it seems my nephews are not quite as proud of theirs.”
She watched him from a distance, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Daemon's intervention, standing firm and stepping in, made Aemond uninterested in continuing the confrontation. He walked with measured steps toward her, grabbing her by the wrist, and dragged her out of the hall, ignoring her protests. She turned her head one last time to look at Lucerys, a trace of desperation in his eyes as the guards kept him apart.
Nights passed since the coronation of her brother, and the silence of her mother's missives had become a deafening echo, a void. No letters, no attempts at negotiation had received a response.
Just before leaving for Storm's End to seek Lord Baratheon's support and his army, Aemond found her staring out at the sea, the sky darkening into shades of gray and deep blue, with clouds threatening to obscure every star.
“I know I have erred” he confessed, his voice carrying a depth of vulnerability. “I should not have treated you in such a manner. You have been my heart’s desire since our youth, always” he whispered, the weight of his confession reflected in the melancholy of his words. “You stood by me in my darkest hours. When everything seemed to be falling apart around me, you were there. Yet, seeing you turn to him… it tore me apart” his voice cracked, and his words flowed like a torrent of anguish, each syllable imbued with deep sorrow.
“I have never known such pain, such abandonment” he continued, as if the wounded child he once was had returned, now with a heart full of desperation, pleading for forgiveness and filled with remorse.
She felt a tug in her soul, as if the child who once yearned to soothe his pain was listening. Yet she resisted the urge to look at him; she knew that if she did, she would succumb.
“You are aware of their nature, of what they are capable of. You have witnessed it, even if you allow them to sweeten your ears against the truth” he added, his voice heavy with helplessness. “Perhaps you still hold love for our enemy, a love that clouds your ability to see my perspective.”
“But I can remedy that” he said, like a solemn oath, pointing to his chest with a painful resolve. “You have always been meant for me, and me alone. No matter what, you said” he declared, with an oppressive anticipation, palpable like the fury of a storm about to break.
She, still agitated, kept her gaze fixed on the sea, where the water continued its chaotic dance.
The rest of the day slipped by in restless thoughts. Although anger consumed her and sadness bound her, there was something unbreakable that kept her alert: Aemond remained her brother, the father of her child, her husband. This complexity kept her on edge, and her concern grew when he did not return at the expected time.
Night fell like a dark cloak, and the thunder of Vhagar’s wings echoed through the sky as the waves crashed against the rocks with a rage that seemed to shake the very earth. The night chill seeped into her bones, and her breath condensed into clouds of vapor that floated in the icy air, a cruel irony compared to the warm calm of previous nights.
The sound of the door opening startled her. She turned slowly, but the darkness made it hard to discern his figure looming in the doorway.
“You are awake” his voice resonated between the stone walls.
“I needed to make sure you were well” she replied, straining to see through the gloom.
“Did you?” he questioned, skeptical.
“Yes” she answered. “Come here” she requested softly. He began to move slowly toward her, the dim light of the moon revealing him bit by bit. He was drenched, the rain had plastered his clothes to his body, and he had his arms crossed over his back, as if trying to hide himself from something other than the cold.
“Shall I prepare you a hot bath?” she offered, noticing his disheveled state. He continued to regard her with an unyielding expression.
“No” he replied firmly, approaching.
As he drew nearer, and she could finally see him clearly, her heart raced even faster. She frowned upon noticing traces of blood on his face and moved closer, her concern taking over. “Aemond, speak to me” she urged, her voice trembling with desperation. “Are you hurt?”
“Are you worried about me?” he asked, with a glimmer of hope.
“Of course I am, Aemond” she said, gently cupping his face in her hands. He allowed her to examine him in silence. “Are you hurt?” she repeated, fear tightening her chest. “Please, tell me, what happened?” she implored, looking at him intently, her heart pounding wildly.
He gave her a faint smile, resting his right hand on the hilt of his dagger, the blood still fresh, staining the steel like a bad omen, while his left remained clenched at his side. Confusion twisted in her gut as she looked at him, desperately searching for visible wounds, but finding only the sinister glint of his blade.
Then, with a deliberate slowness, he opened his left hand, and an eye fell from his palm, rolling to the floor with a sickening thud. The reality crashed over her like a cascade of icy water, freezing her in place. She stepped back, retreating slowly, her heart pounding in her chest as he watched her with a predatory intensity. “What have you done?” she asked, horror and accusation in her shaky voice.
“Only what was necessary” he whispered, deceptively soft. “I have always asked for you, only you, all for myself” he said, taking a deliberate step toward her. “I thought I had succeeded” he continued, moving closer, the shadows in the room deepening and twisting around him like hungry serpents. “But then he came back, and I realized… I remained a second.” His voice turned bitter, poison seeping into every word.
“Always the second. The second son, then the second love, then your second priority” he said, frowning, tilting his head to one side, his gaze burning with resentment that felt like a knife against her sanity.
A twisted smile curled his lips. “Clearly, I am powerless with the child; that opportunity has passed” he remarked, as if savoring his own despair. “But now, now I am your only love” he declared with satisfaction dripping from his words like blood from his hands. She found herself cornered against the cold, the very walls seeming to close in around her, suffocating her with their oppressive weight. “And I shall not rest until I have the crown on my head” he whispered in a low growl, absorbing the dim light and plunging the room into an abyss of dread. Outside, the storm finally raged.
pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader
summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare
word count: 8.8k
a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!
i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅
The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away.
The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk.
It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.
There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in.
In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on.
All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.
In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away.
There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway.
You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure.
But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit.
By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove.
You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders.
Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice.
Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with.
When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.
On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become.
Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.
Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home.
But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.
Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.
The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.
Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.
Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized.
Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.
It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.
But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last.
Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.
“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all.
“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.
You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life.
The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down.
Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore.
You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears.
“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.
It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.
You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.
“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”
“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.
The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.
Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.
“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee.
A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat.
“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else.
You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.
Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.
Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger.
You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.
Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes.
You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.
With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans.
As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone.
“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing.
You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine.
“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.
Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore.
Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time.
So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it.
“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions.
You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.
But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder.
For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun.
“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.
It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes.
Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.
Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.
Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.
Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.
Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.
The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line.
For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say?
But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye.
Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well.
With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs.
But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup.
It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.
Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.
“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove.
His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.
Huh, you really were staring at Steve.
Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps.
You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk.
It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists.
You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor.
It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions.
Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.
“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.
“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.”
Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life.
He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you.
Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.
“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.”
You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.
“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”
You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life.
“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town.
Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet.
Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.
“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark.
“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest.
There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited.
It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”
Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.
When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?”
You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.
“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.”
Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.
“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”
“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.”
Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.
“You deserved better.”
The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.
“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.”
When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window.
The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.
“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”
Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…
“I think about you, too, buttercup.”
The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it.
You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans.
He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his.
“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”
Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.
“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.”
Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.
“You’re drunk, buttercup.”
Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.
“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper.
A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument.
“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.
A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together.
When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.
Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.
“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.
Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together.
“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”
Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.
Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.
Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer.
“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.”
Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat.
Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.
“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”
“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.
Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.
“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”
Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans.
It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.
But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning.
A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone.
You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you.
But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname.
“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself.
Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.
The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.
“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths.
But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.
“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.
“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.”
“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap.
“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.”
The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near.
“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.”
Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face.
You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.
“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand.
“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself.
“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.”
The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.
“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.
“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.
Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine.
He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”
Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.
“Can I take you home now?” he asked.
You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.
Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body.
“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.
When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door.
Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.
Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus.
“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”
For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession.
“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself.
You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
Upon returning to King’s Landing, an unexpected betrothal is arranged to make peace between Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent’s children.
Word Count: 13k
Warnings: violence, strong language, and arranged marriage. Refer to the link for detailed chapter warnings.
PART TWO: “Vows”
After the wedding, Aemond hasn’t said a word to his new wife, and she is determined to fix that.
Word Count: 7k
Warnings: smut, violence, strong language, and arranged marriage. Refer to the link for detailed chapter warnings.
PART THREE: “Little Dragon”
In a the aftermath of a fight sparked by the feud between him and her brother, Lucerys, Aemond and his wife are now trying to fix things between them.
Word Count: 10k
Warnings: smut, strong language, and implied violence. Refer to the link for detailed chapter warnings.
PART FOUR: “Stay”
With his pregnant wife with ordered to rest by the maesters until her labors begin, Aemond must find new ways of entertaining her.
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: smut, strong language, implied past violence, and pregnancy. Refer to the link for detailed chapter warnings.
PART FIVE: “The Calm Before the Storm”
With the family coming from Dragonstone to visit after the birth of Y/N’s first child, Aemond must control his impulses and be civil with the Velaryon boys for the sake of his wife.
Word Count: 9k
Warnings: smut, strong language, referenced violence, and death.
Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.
Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.
Word count: 11.5 K
Warnings: Fluffy, Aemond finally makes a friend, characters will be aged up next chapter, reader is from a made-up house
AN: This is my first time writing for HOTD and I'm excited and terrified to share this story with you. I've had this idea in my head for so long and decided to finally get it out. Hope you enjoy xx
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue
~~
He was used to playing for second best.
In his short life he became used to disinterested gazes, murmurs of his supposed cold heart and fits of rage, avoidant steps when he passed, the curse he possessed as the scarred second son.
But never from her.
She looked at him as though he put the stars in the sky. She looked at him as if he was the reason the sky bloomed with breathtaking colors in the early morning.
He felt himself unworthy of her attention and affection, something she was aware of, and she would hold him and tell him all the love she gave him was very much deserved.
It was a sentiment he always had trouble not disputing instantly.
She made his miserable heart full.
Aemond couldn’t believe his luck himself for the sun that entered his world and brightened his life.
He never believed he was worthy of her love.
And she spent her entire life trying to prove him wrong.
~~
It was a beautiful, sunny, cloudless day.
A day Aemond was dreading.
It wasn’t often their family made trips away from King’s Landing. His father was King and most visitors made the effort to come to the Capitol and spare them the effort of a visit, but a sudden trip had their entire family uproot their usual routine and he found himself hating every moment of it.
Being dragonless, he was left to endure the crashing waves of the sea that made his stomach turn.
“This place is disgusting.” Aegon said the moment they landed on solid ground.
“Aegon.” His mother admonished with a steady glare. “The Ixtal Islands are a beautiful place and they’re home to one of the most powerful houses in the seven kingdoms. You would do well to show them some respect.”
“Not like they’ll offer me anything of importance.” He muttered bitterly. Rumors had spread of his mother and father’s desire to wed him to his sister Heleana, his future already planned for him.
His mood was immediately soured at the realization that none of the beauties he saw on the Island shore were his intended, but that wouldn’t stop him from having his fun.
“Why are we even here?” Aegon whined immaturely, making his mother suppress yet another eye roll in response.
“The Lord of Ixtal is an old friend of your father.”
“I still don’t understand why that demands my presence here.” Aegon rolled his eyes.
“Our council is in need of a new Master of Coin and your father is considering his dear friend. We are here for negotiations and our family is nothing if not loyal. Your father, our King, needs us.” Alicent answered shortly.
Aemond was excited to finally see the Island he had read so much about. He knew their history, their riches and goods they traded with the entirety of the realm. The Ixtal Islands were the most plentiful and prosperous house in the realm and he was in awe to see his readings come to life before him.
It was the socialization he dreaded.
Nobles would look at Aegon with respect, respect he didn’t deserve even being the first born son of the King. Helaena would be regarded with reverence, a comparison to the Realm’s Delight.
But he was nothing more than a second son, easily brushed over.
Daeron was still just a babe, too young to understand the slight they possessed not having been born first, but Aemond understood all too well.
Their family was escorted into a grand throne room and Aemond was in awe of the intricate ornaments that decorated the hall and he briefly wondered why King’s Landing was where the most powerful man in the realm sat when this place existed.
His wide eyes eagerly took in every sight in front of him, admiring how the vast forest behind the castle casted a mystical green glow on the room from the giant window sitting behind the intricate gold throne.
“Viserys!” A cheerful voice called and for the first time in a long time, Aemond heard his father laugh, a genuinely delighted sound as he embraced his friend.
Aegon shared a brief look with him, his shock at hearing his father's laughter clear in the way he furrowed his brows in bitterness.
“It’s been too long, my friend.”
“Alicent, always a delight to see you, my dear.”
Aemond noted the blush on his mother’s cheeks as the charming lord embraced her. He shifted on his feet as his siblings were introduced. He knew what came next, the flippant dismissal was familiar yet it stung each time.
He looked up as the Lord shook hands with Aegon and gave Helaena a polite nod, her body language giving him the signal she wasn’t comfortable with anything else.
As he stepped in front of Aemond, he suddenly felt two feet tall under the man’s gaze. Until he smiled. It was a gesture filled with warmth he hadn’t been expecting.
“Aemond, a strong name for a strong lad.” The lord clapped his shoulder and Aemond felt his body straighten, his confidence reappearing the second he realized he wasn’t going to be passed over yet again.
He looked up at the Lord with a smile, feeling more respected by the stranger in front of him than he ever had from his own father.
“You remember my wife,” The Lord gestured to a finely dressed woman who smiled and bowed to them courteously.
“My son and-” The lord stopped abruptly, suddenly noticing the absence of the person who was supposed to be next in line and looked to his wife who was already wincing, having expected the abrupt drop in conversation due to their eldest daughter’s absence.
“My apologies, my daughter has lived here all her life yet still feels the need to explore.” The Lady of Ixtal explained, the lack of anger in her voice that gave way to begrudging acceptance made it obvious this was a common occurrence.
Viserys laughed and looked at his friend.
“You could not possibly think your children would give you any trouble, would you?” He chided sarcastically to the Lord who could only laugh in delight at his beloved daughter’s antics.
Aemond watched the interaction with wide eyes, intrigued by the sense of ease that surrounded everything.
If they were in King’s Landing and he was late to an event, his mother would have his hyde.
Suddenly, the great doors slammed open and an armored knight was seen running into the room, his hand latched onto someone small who was giggling in delight.
“My Lord, My Lady, I am so sorry, she wanted-”
“It’s quite alright, Ser Jerrod. I know my daughter could not have made it easy for you.” The Lord dismissed the unnecessary apology and smiled down at his daughter who smiled somewhat sheepishly as she passed by to take her place in line.
She smoothed her hands down the front of her silk dress and stood straighter, putting on the air of the perfect and primed daughter, as if they hadn’t all just seen her enter in a tizzy five minutes late.
Her mother looked down at her and leaned over her brother’s shoulder to pluck a leaf from her disheveled hair. Her eyes widened slightly, fearing retribution for her antics, but her mother only raised a teasing brow, silently admonishing her.
The girl brushed her messy hair off her shoulder and finally moved her gaze to their guests, a smile coming to her face as she met the eyes of the silver haired boy in front of her.
Aemond was rooted to his spot, his expression one of perplexed confusion. The smile she sent him, the gesture which was so simple - and usually faked by most at court - was blinding.
He was taken aback by the fact that she hadn’t looked at the powerful presence that was the King or the Queen faithfully at his side. She hadn’t looked at Aegon, Daeron or even Helaena, the only girl close to her age in the room.
She looked at him first.
She smiled at him first.
It was a gesture that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, but to him, it meant everything, it lifted the veil of neglect he was so familiar with from his shoulders, leaving him to feel lighter than before.
He listened as the Lord introduced his daughter and he ran her name over and over in his head, feeling his cheeks heat, a blush easily coming to his face as she greeted everyone, but her stare came back to him, smiling shyly.
~~
“This place is beautiful.” Helaena spoke dreamily as she took in their surroundings.
They were granted leave to look around while the servants prepared to set up the welcome feast.
Aemond couldn't take his eyes off the white sand and the crystal blue water. He breathed deeply, relieved to smell nothing but fresh flowers and ocean water and not the filth that permeated King’s Landing.
“Father should take over this place.” Aegon mused, earning looks of disdain from his siblings, which he easily shrugged off. “What? It’s much better than our shithole of a home.”
Aemond rolled his eyes at his brother’s crass nature and kept walking, praying Aegon would somehow get lost or at least get bored of his company and leave.
The sound of a loud laugh caught all of their attention and they walked their way through the lavish gardens to find it. Aemond suddenly became nervous as he saw the children of the Lord and Lady of Ixtal.
The oldest son was playing some sort of ball game with his younger brother. The youngest sibling was reading quietly with her Septa. But the eldest daughter was nowhere to be found.
As they stepped forward, the youngest son straightened and nudged his brother to stop. Catching sight of the young Targaryen princes and princess they let the ball they were playing with drop to the ground as they bowed respectfully.
“Hello.” Helaena spoke brightly and the two young boys were helpless against her sweet nature and they both smiled and greeted her warmly.
“Where’s the other one?” Aegon asked rudely, looking around for the pretty girl from earlier who was missing.
Aemond grit his teeth, praying Aegon wouldn’t drive her away before he even had the chance to speak to her.
“She’s in her tree.”
“Her tree?”
The oldest brother pointed to the enormous willow tree behind them.
He called out to his sister, alerting her to the presence of the royal children and just seconds later, Aemond watched with a slowly growing smile as a lithe form began to descend the ancient tree.
She was slightly out of breath as she jumped the last few feet to the ground, brushing her already tangled hair out of her face as she practically skipped towards them.
As if her Septa’s teachings and her mother’s scolding from that morning had finally caught up to her, the smile on her face fell slightly, remembering she was in the presence of royalty. She slowed her pace and curtsied slightly clumsily as she came before them.
“It is lovely to see you all again. I hope you are enjoying Ixtal.”
Aemond felt his face heat with a deep blush at the sound of her voice, the slight accent he heard capturing him instantly and he wished nothing more than to take the book from her young sister’s hands and demand she read it to him just so he could continue to hear the beautiful sound of her voice.
“Your home is lovely. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Helaena spoke, breaking him from his thoughts. She moved towards the girl, the two of them engaging in easy conversation.
Aegon began speaking with the two brothers, learning the rules to the ball game they were playing, the young boys instantly getting along. Which left Aemond to stand by himself.
He shifted on his feet anxiously, contemplating if he should leave and find his mother. He’d at least have someone to talk to then. The pit in his stomach that grew as the familiar feeling of loneliness settled over him broke abruptly at the sound of the beautiful voice again.
“Would you like to sit?”
He looked up, his eyes meeting hers and for a moment, he wondered if she had actually been speaking to him. His gaze found Helaena who was now kneeling to talk to the youngest of the children who was mesmerized by her lavish dress.
Which left the oldest daughter alone and her gaze on him.
He swallowed against the lump in his throat and stepped forward slowly, his heart racing as he took a seat on the bench next to her.
“What are you writing?” He asked after clearing his throat, wincing to himself at the nerves that lingered in his words.
“Drawing actually.” She corrected. “And not very well by the looks of it.” She shifted closer to him to show him the sketches in her notebook, the scent of lavender invading every one of his senses as her shoulder brushed against his.
His eyes looked over the shaky drawings of flowers and the willow tree she had been sitting in just moments ago.
“They’re beautiful.”
She smiled and the sight was enough to leave Aemond thankful that he was sitting.
“Do you draw?”
“No, nowhere near as well as you.”
“You must be shit then because these are awful.”
Aemond choked on his breath at her words, his wide eyes looking over at her in shock. She had a carelessness to her that he thought he would’ve found arrogant, it was certainly how he felt about the other ladies at court who were so brazen before him.
But he found he could only feel enamored by the girl beside him.
A quiet laugh escaped him, his stomach flipping in ways he had never felt before.
“They’re not so bad.” He spoke quietly, his nerves reverting him to his bashful nature.
“You’re quite the flatterer, Aemond.”
No words came to him, he was left to stare back at her, completely taken aback by her easy nature and blinding smile.
She continued to show him her other sketches, the conversation between them flowing easily, something that Aemond had never experienced.
Later, as their guards escorted them away to prepare for the feast, Aemond’s ears rang with the sound of her laughter, leaving him to hope he would hear it again before he had to leave.
He spent the night with a smile on his face, behaving more animatedly than he had in all his life. Alicent had looked at her second son with barely contained emotion, delighted to see him so at ease.
She was so caught up in her emotions, she hadn’t even noticed how his eyes never strayed too far from the eldest daughter of Ixtal.
~~
The mischievous island girl was known to walk around the halls of the castle at all hours. It had happened so often for so long the guards didn’t bother to stop her anymore and no one batted an eye when they saw her wandering.
She made her way to her parents chamber hours after she had been put to bed.
She couldn’t stop the thought in her head and she had to see it through.
With a smile to the guard at her parent’s door, she strolled in as if it were her own chamber. Her parents looked startled for all of a second before they sighed in resignation.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Darling?”
“I was.”
Her father huffed out a laugh. “So what brings you here, Troublemaker?”
She let out a breath, her shoulders straightening, as if portraying herself as proper would help her cause.
“I want to go with you to King’s Landing.”
Her request did not go over as easily as she wished, she spent the next hour arguing with her parents, pleading her case. She may have overstated how much her decision to learn more about court, but her parents did not need to know her desire lay purely with her need to explore what the Capitol could offer.
Her parents knew she loved to explore and the chance to see a new part of the realm was too tempting to not indulge her in. Her parents loved her more than anything, they loved and doted on all their children in ways that left Lords and Ladies from other houses to scoff and roll their eyes in disdain.
They couldn’t say no to her.
By the next morning, she stood at her father’s side as their ship sailed to King’s Landing, her arm linked through his, her head filled with the wonders of what this new place would have to offer.
A smile grew on her lips as she pictured the shy boy who had complimented her drawings and her excitement began to grow.
~~
She was more reserved than she had ever been as she sat beside the table of royals. King Viserys had planned an extravagant welcome feast for the Lord of Ixtal, his new Master of Coin and his daughter to welcome them to King’s Landing.
She had never experienced so many Lords and Ladies approaching her before, giving her their hand to shake and curtsey before them in greeting. It felt as though she had never truly existed until she made it to the Capitol, where the matters of the court actually held weight and prospect.
Her father had regaled many a knight and Lord over the course of the night, leaving her by his side to sit quietly, the overlooked daughter. She knew the power her house held, she knew the reason most Lords gave their good fortune to her father was to ensure their trade routes would continue prosperously. She knew she was nothing more than fodder at her father’s side.
She picked at her food unhappily, contemplating her decision to venture so far from her home, so far from what was comfortable. Her eyes rose from her plate, surveying the large throne room before her, catching sight of her father in talks with a large group of Lords from around the realm.
With a heavy sigh, knowing she couldn’t interrupt her father, her eyes moved to the head table where the Targaryen family sat.
The head seat where the King sat was empty, he was busy at her father’s side. She let her eyes roam over the queen, taking in her quiet servitude and demure presence. Her gaze fell to the heir, Princess Rhaenyra sat with her husband Laenor Valaryon, her brows quickly rising at the sight of the brown haired children sat beside the silver-headed wedded pair.
Her eyes fell to Queen Alicent’s children, a small smile growing as she caught the gaze of Princess Helaena, the quiet girl sparing her a wave to which she eagerly reciprocated.
She was never one to fade into the background and she eagerly took the Princess’ gesture as a sign of goodwill, standing from her seat to make her way to the head table.
Helaena beamed at the girl as she approached, oblivious to her elder brother’s lustful intrigue and her younger brother who sat up straighter as the girl approached.
“Hello, my Lady, I hope King’s Landing is treating you well.” Helaena greeted the girl happily.
“It is lovely, Princess. I am sincerely grateful to your father for allowing myself and my father to reside in your home.”
“We are delighted to have you.” Helaena assured her. She fidgeted with her hands for a moment, her face turning bashful for a moment. “The ladies of the court will be gathering tomorrow, you should join.”
“I’d love to.” She responded eagerly, relieved to know her newfound solitude would not be long held.
“You should join us for breakfast as well. I can show you my collection.” Helaena added excitedly.
“By the Gods, Helaena.” Aegon groaned beside her.
“Collection?” She asked, staunchly ignoring the prince sitting next to the blushing princess.
“My insects. I’ve collected quite a beautiful group of them. I’d love to show you.”
Helaena had a lovely innocence to her she was powerless against.
“I’d be delighted to see them.” She told the princess sincerely, hoping she had found a friend in the eccentric girl. “I’ve also heard wonderful things about your library. I’m eager to read the works about Valryian history and the Targaryen dynasty. There are only rumors where I come from.”
Aemond sat forward in his seat, his eagerness to interject himself finally coming to a head.
“I can show you to the library.” Aemond offered, finally making his presence known.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to take you from your duties.”
“You won’t.” He insisted, positive his face was blooming with a pink blush as her attention now lay on him. “There are many books that have not been translated, I would be happy to read them to you.”
He seemed to melt under her gaze that watched him curiously.
“You would do that?”
“Of course.” He insisted.
“That would be wonderful.”
He was thankful he was sitting because her smile would have knocked him off his feet.
By the next morning, as soon as the sun rose, he was sitting in the library, anxiously anticipating her arrival. He didn’t have to wait long until the door creaked open and her eager eyes took in the vast shelves around her.
She greeted him with happiness as if they were long time friends, causing his stomach to flutter in ways he had never felt before.
“This is incredible.” She mused, eyeing the many books she had to indulge in.
They spent the afternoon together, her at his side as he read the Valryian texts of their history, stopping every few minutes to answer the many intrigued questions she had.
Aemond was sure his face was on fire, he had never blushed so hard. No one had ever taken such an interest in him, no one had ever paid so much attention to him, no one had ever bothered to listen to him.
But here she was, this girl at his side, eager to know more, asking question after question, trusting him to give her the answer. As soon as he began to fear he had spoken too much, taken too much of her time she’d drawl out ‘tell me more’ or ‘what happened next’ and he was rooted to his seat, turning to the next page as he explained the history of the Targaryen dynasty to her eager ears.
He had never felt so important.
~~
King’s Landing proved to be just as wondrous as she dreamed it. Granted, it didn’t have the luxurious beaches or sprawling forests her home did, but she was just thrilled to be exploring a new corner of the world.
Aemond had quickly become her closest ally. He had taken to showing her every inch of the place he thought she would enjoy, dragging her along to the mazes of gardens, the weirwood tree, the luxurious Sept, but her favorite had to be the library. She had spent many late nights with Aemond at her side, perusing through the many ancient works of Valyrian history.
It fascinated her, but she couldn’t deny she loved to hear Aemond’s voice as he read to her, enthralled with stories of Aegon the Conqueror and his two sister-wives, stories of ancient dragons and their riders, of wars long passed.
A week into their stay, as she broke her fast with her father, she was practically bouncing in her seat, shoveling her food into her mouth as quickly as she could, eager to get the meal over with so she could meet with Aemond and Helaena, the two of them quickly becoming her closest confidants.
“Slow down, my love, you’re going to choke.” Her father warned with a chuckle at her enthusiasm.
“Sorry.” She mumbled through the food in her mouth, causing her father to grimace at her very unlady-like behavior.
“Your eagerness wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Targaryen, would it?” He asked slowly, his knowing smile teasing her clear affection for the young boy she was growing closer to each day.
“Helaena and I are good friends.” She shrugged, effectively dodging her father’s prying. He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, watching her thoughtfully. He had no idea where she had gained such a witty mouth, it certainly wasn’t from him or his sweet, quiet wife.
She finished the rest of her breakfast at record speed and hopped out of her seat, pressing a quick kiss to her father’s cheek.
“I’ll see you at dinner!” She called out over her shoulder as she skipped to the door.
“Be safe!” He called out, but she was already racing down the halls. He looked to the guard at the door pointedly who nodded and trailed after the rambunctious girl.
She slowed her pace once she reached the courtyard, suddenly very aware of the many eyes that would be on her if she was caught sprinting through the halls. She spotted a head of silver hair by the gates and she beamed, throwing all care out the window as she began to jog towards him.
“Aemond!” She called out and watched as the boy turned to her, his own smile growing at the sight of her.
“Took you long enough.” He jested playfully and reveled in the dramatic scowl she sent him.
“I’m not late. You are just an insane man that voluntarily wakes with the sun.”
It was so small, something so miniscule, but it still managed to make his heart race. Knowing she remembered a small detail about him, no matter if it was something that was so inconsequential, was something he couldn’t wrap his head around.
He hadn’t expected it to affect him the way it did.
~~~
She found herself with Helaena in the gardens, finding any bugs she could for the enigmatic
princess. Digging a jittery bug out of the dirt, her nose scrunched in distaste as the many legged creature crawled over her hand.
“What is this thing?”
Helaena peered over curiously and a wide smile beamed on her face.
“That’s a beetle.”
“They’re not poisonous, are they?”
The princess laughed in amusement at the widened eyes that met her gaze and she shook her head. “No, you’re safe.”
The girl nodded and, though still on edge, was less stressed as she held the bug in her hands.
Helaena, preoccupied with her own bugs, stole frequent looks at the girl next to her, noting the unease in her eyes. She smiled lightly and leaned in close to her.
“You don’t have to do this with me. I know not everyone likes the things I like. I can do this by myself.”
The girl looked startled by her words, a frown growing on her usually bright features and she looked down at the bug in her hands again, her eyes shifting from a look of disgust to one of determination, as if she could force herself to not feel grossed out at their existence.
“I like being here with you.” She said softly. “I don’t really have anyone else here.”
Helaena frowned, the thought of her brother immediately coming to mind and the smile that would grace his usually sullen face every time he was with the Island girl. As if she had conjured him herself, she looked over her shoulder, noticing him coming their way.
“Hello, Brother.” She smiled, though it was futile as his attention was locked onto the beauty beside her.
“Hello.” He spoke, though his eyes never left his sister’s friend. “What are you doing?”
“Finding bugs. Would you like to join?”
Helaena, having expected a ‘no’, given it was always Aemond’s answer anytime she asked him for help digging through the gardens, was shocked as he took a seat among them and dug his hands in the dirt before them without question.
The Princess watched with barely contained delight as her brother and friend immediately started conversing as if she weren’t there, the comfortable ease between them thriving.
Usually she would feel slighted by such an occurrence, but rather than feeling ignored, she was happy to see her brother, who was usually so serious, look completely unburdened. She worried about him, about how tightly wound he was, but since the Lord of Ixtal and his daughter had come to King’s Landing, she had noticed his demeanor change, as if he could finally take a deep breath and release the things that so often held him down.
Aemond looked at the dirt beneath his fingernails and mourned at what his night routine would be subjected to, but he found he didn’t care all that much. The stolen glances to the girl beside him had all sense of propriety out the window.
“Do you do this every day, Princess?” She asked the Targaryen who shrugged shyly.
“Most days. I find I prefer the company of bugs over people.”
The bark of laughter that left her had both the siblings smiling, her joyful nature contagious.
Aemond was transfixed, until he heard his name and he was forced out of his daydreams. He looked up at Aegon who was standing before them, judgment painting his features.
“What are you doing here?”
“We’re digging for bugs, Brother.” Helaena answered innocently, her eyes thankfully locked onto the caterpillar on her finger so she didn’t see how her brother rolled his eyes in disdain.
Aemond glowered at his brother, his mood dampened, his protectiveness for his sister rising involuntarily whenever he was around. He hated seeing Helaena’s eyes dim with every one of his hurtful words.
The Island girl looked between the siblings, beginning to understand just how different they were to her and her own siblings. The more time she spent with Aegon, the more she disliked him. She looked back at Aemond and frowned, noticing the dower expression grow on her friend’s face, and she called his name.
“Hmm?”
“What are these?” She asked, her dirt covered fingers trailing over the petals of the flowers in front of them, diverting his attention from Aegon.
“Marigolds.” He answered quickly, as if he wanted her to be impressed by his knowledge. “You don’t have these in Ixtal?”
“No. It’s a shame, they’re beautiful.”
Aemond bit his lip, his heart racing as she moved back to digging for bugs. He ignored the nerves that coursed through him and reached out to pluck the flower.
“Here.”
She looked up and her eyes widened, her cheeks burning as he tucked the flower behind her ear, his shy smile mirroring hers, his hesitance clear, but his bravery clearer.
Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes at the pair.
The noise caused them both to glare at the older Targaryen, their eyes narrowed in annoyance.
“You two are pathetic.”
“It’s not our fault your pea sized brain cannot comprehend the idea of caring for someone other than yourself.” She snarked easily, making Aemond’s eyes widen as he nervously looked between her and his brother whose face twisted in anger.
Thankfully, his brother was smart enough to know not to start a fight with her and he stomped away, most likely in search of more wine.
“You shouldn’t do that.” Aemond mumbled, his worried eyes lingering on his brother’s figure as he stormed off.
“Do what?”
“Antagonize him.”
“Someone needs to knock him off his high horse. Why can’t it be me?” She shrugged, perfectly content to be the antagonist in Aegon Targaryen’s life.
“Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Why would anything happen to me?”
“Because… he’s… it’s Aegon.” He stressed, as if his brother’s existence was enough explanation.
“Yes, and he’s an absolute cock.”
Aemond’s eyes widened, not expecting the vulgar word to leave her lips. Helaena giggled and leaned into the girl at her side. His shoulders slumped and he allowed himself to laugh, amazed yet not surprised at her ability to evade him of his worries.
~~
A body crashed into her as she turned the corner, almost knocking her off balance, but arms that quickly wrapped around her waist stopped her from falling to the floor.
She recognized the boy immediately.
“Aemond.” She greeted breathlessly with a smile. He pulled away from her instantly, taking a step back to create space between them, his head bowed downwards, avoiding her gaze.
But she saw the tear streaks through the stains of ash on his cheeks. Her smile fell and she stepped towards him, her hands gently lifting his chin, though he vehemently refused and harshly pulled himself away from her.
“What happened?” She asked, trying to keep the hurt from her voice at his avoidance, something she had never experienced from him.
“Nothing.”
“Aemond.” She admonished gently. She hated when he acted like this, so unlike the kind boy she knew.
He kept his head down and she sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I won’t leave you alone until you tell me what happened.”
Aemond huffed and side stepped around her to continue on his way to lock himself in his chambers and wallow, but she was too quick. She grabbed his hand to stop him and pulled him back towards her.
He spoke her name, the groaned pronunciation indicating he wasn’t in the mood.
“I just want to go to my chambers.”
“Fine. We can go together.” She said simply and linked her arm through his as they began to walk.
Aemond let out a long breath, his annoyance flaring for a second, but the moment he looked over at her it faded away into nothing. He brought his arm that was linked with hers closer to his chest, as if needing her touch to soothe his nerves.
He thought he wanted to be alone. After his mother had brushed off his tears and scolded him yet again for venturing through the dragon pit, he just wanted to wallow by himself, but with her arm in his, her steady presence at his side, he found he wanted nothing but to be with her.
Once they made it to his chambers, he reluctantly let go of her and practically slumped his way to sit on his bed, his head bowed down to his feet, his brother and nephews' latest prank ruminating in his head, causing shame and anger to cascade over every inch of him.
“Are you going to tell me what happened now or am I going to have to force it out of you?”
Aemond huffed at her words and began to fidget with his fingers, focusing on the sand that lingered on his skin rather than meeting her inquisitive gaze.
She rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to him on the bed, brushing the sand from his hair.
“Were you in the dragon pit again?”
He nodded wordlessly and she felt something inside her clench. She would never understand the hole in Aemond’s heart, how his lack of a dragon made him feel so worthless.
“They said they found a dragon for me.” He mumbled, causing her to look over at him with concern, her stomach sinking at the hurt she heard in his voice, knowing his dreams hadn’t come true that afternoon.
She knew it could only be a cruel prank at his expense.
“They gave me a pig.”
Her shoulders slumped, her hand reaching out to grab his, intertwining their fingers with an ease as though she had done it a million times before. She had only held his hand a few times and it made Aemond blush bright red every time, even now as he wallowed.
“I’m sorry. They shouldn’t be so cruel to you.”
“They’re right. It’s pathetic, a Targaryen without a dragon.”
“Aemond-”
“Maybe I’m not worthy and I’ll never get a dragon, maybe that’s why my egg never hatched. I don’t deserve it.”
“Stop it.” She spoke sternly, gripping onto both his hands in an effort to calm him down from his ranting. “You are every bit as good as any one of them, dragon or no dragon.”
Aemond sighed shakily and moved his gaze back down to his shoes, feeling as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“What if I never find one?” He asked quietly, as if afraid to speak the possibility out into existence.
“You will. I know you will.” She assured him, though it did little to release him from his sadness. “There are plenty of Targaryens that didn’t claim dragons until later in life.”
Aemond gave her a plain look, to which she just smirked. Serves him right for teaching her about his family history.
“Aemond, we’re young, we still have so much life to live. It’s not over because you don’t have a dragon yet. You have so much time to find what you’ve always wanted.”
The breath that escaped his lips left him feeling lighter, his hand finally gripping hers back, sending a bashful smile her way, hoping it was enough to convey how grateful he was for her.
He didn’t think he could ever find the words to tell her.
“You’d be with me, won’t you? For my first ride?”
“You would want me there?”
“Of course I would.”
She smiled and he was powerless but to return his own. “Then I’ll be there.”
~~
Aemond’s glare was steady on his face, his eyes locked onto the Strong bastard that twirled her around.
How dare he ask her to dance, how dare he touch her, how dare he make her smile.
His disdain for his nephews was clear, they certainly didn’t give him much reason to be cordial, but this was the last straw. Seeing Jacaerys’ hands on her made his blood boil.
Those damned nephews of his had already stolen her away from his side that afternoon. He could only watch helplessly as she played around with the bastards and spoke politely to his half sister Rhaenyra.
He almost resented how sweet his friend was. He loved her kind heart, he just hated when it extended to his elder half sister and her sons who he despised.
He hated when Jacaerys and Lucerys stole her away from his side. It was happening more and more as they became closer. He felt like he was losing her, the more times she spent breaking her fast with his eldest sister and her brood, the more he dreaded every moment away from her.
She was his only friend, the only one he felt truly understood him, or at least made the effort to. Losing her would mean losing the only shred of happiness he’d managed to find for himself.
He averted his gaze from Jace and the Ixtal girl, the sight of both their bright smiles becoming too painful.
“They seem to get along well.” His father mused, prompting Aemond to torturously follow his gaze to the pair yet again.
His heart began to race at the insinuation, at the knowing look in his father’s twinkling eyes.
“Yes, he seems to be quite taken with her.” Rhaenyra noted with a loving smile.
“They’d make a fine match.” His mother added. Aemond looked to his mother, betrayal in his gaze. His mother knew how much his friend meant to him, she knew someone so precious shouldn’t be shackled to a bastard.
He refused to hear another word. His chair screeched loudly against the floor as he abruptly stood and made his way out of the room as if there were no air left for him to breathe. They couldn’t take her away from him, they couldn’t give her to that bastard.
He raced to his chambers, hoping he was quick enough that no passing guards could see the tears forming in his eyes.
By the next day, he found himself in the gardens, his eyes locked onto the open book in his lap as he read and re-read the same sentence over and over, his racing mind not allowing him to focus on the words in front of him.
The dread he had been feeling since the night before had not dissipated in the slightest.
“Aemond!”
His heart leapt within his chest at the sound of her voice. His hopeful eyes looked around the garden before landing on her and a feeling of lead settled within him, bringing him right back down to his dour mood as he noticed Jace and Lucerys beside her.
She motioned for him to join but he just shook his head softly and moved his gaze back down to his book.
He let out a long breath, trying his hardest to ignore the bitterness that grew in his heart, one that was all too familiar from before he met her. He startled slightly as a body slumped next to him. He looked up and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of her looking at him questioningly.
“Why are you sulking?”
“I’m not sulking.”
She breathed deeply, as if disappointed by his obvious lie. “Why didn’t you join us?”
He shrugged, he couldn’t very well tell her the truth about how he despised his nephews and seeing her with them was like a dagger to the heart, how he feared losing her, his greatest friend.
“I didn’t want to intrude.” He spoke softly.
Her eyes narrowed at his words, her gaze moving to the two Velaryon boys who were talking quietly amongst each other, their curious eyes occasionally drifting to her and Aemond.
She knew there was tension among them, the way they seemed to side with Aegon and play along in the cruel pranks he would play on Aemond always made her stomach twist. She suddenly felt guilty that she had never considered how it would make Aemond feel to be forced in their vicinity after how they treated him.
She turned to her friend and shuffled closer to him.
“You could never intrude.”
Aemond looked over at her, but quickly averted his gaze, finding it just too much to look in her eyes while she sat so close to him.
“You don’t have to stay with me. If you want to be with them, I won’t stop you.” He spoke quietly. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel smothered by him.
“I’d rather be with you.”
Her answer left him using all of his willpower to keep himself from marching directly to his father and demanding a betrothal this instant.
She chose him.
No one had ever chosen him.
~~
She was bored out of her mind. With Aemond and Helaena gone to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral, she was left without her closest confidants, leaving her little to do in their absence. She wished she’d been granted leave to attend the funeral with them, but her father had never met Laena and had been tasked with extra duties while the King was gone, leaving her to stew in her loneliness.
She was curled up on the settee by her bed, her sketchbook in her lap as she scrawled out an attempt at drawing Dreamfyre, to horrible failure.
A soft knock on her door made her lift her head and she sat up straighter when her father entered. The look on his face made her stomach twist, dread falling upon her like a crashing wave.
She got to her feet quickly, feeling unsteady on her now weak legs.
“Darling, there was an… incident on Driftmark.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, her heart racing. “What happened?”
“I wasn’t privy to all the details but all I know is that Aemond has been injured.”
The breath was knocked out of her and at the first sign of her face crumbling into despair, her father crossed the room and held her tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as the first sob broke free.
“Is he alright?”
Her father let out a long breath at her hiccuped words, holding her tightly. He knew his daughter had certain affections for the young boy, but hearing her now made him realize just how deeply she cared for him.
“The Maesters say he has lost an eye.”
A shuddering breath escaped her and she suddenly felt faint. She had no idea how, what could have unfolded, who would dare to do something so barbaric to him.
The next days were spent in agony. She barely left her chambers. Every time her father came to check in on her, he found her sitting by her window, her gaze locked onto the horizon, waiting eagerly for the Targaryen family’s arrival.
On the third day of her lonely torment, she finally spotted it. Dragons on the horizon. She was on her feet in a second and racing down to the courtyard. She was out of breath and disheveled by the time she made it, but her pace only quickened when she saw Helaena with her mother.
She called out to her friend and Helaena let out a breath of relief when she saw her, her arms opening for her as she approached.
Helaena didn’t let many touch her, but she was one of the lucky few she allowed.
“Are you alright? Where’s Aemond? Will he be ok?” She fired off questions, not even able to get a breath out through her frantic words.
“It’s alright, my Darling. Aemond will be fine.” Alicent consoled her, placing her arm around the shaking girl’s shoulders.
“Where is he?”
“He’s been taken to the Maester’s solar. He’ll have to spend some time there while he heals.”
“What happened?” She asked breathlessly.
“What I told him.” Helaena interjected calmly. “He gained a dragon, but he had to close an eye.”
She looked at Helaena with shock. “He… he claimed a dragon?”
She couldn’t make sense of the despair, relief and joy she had felt all at once. Knowing Aemond and his endless plight to gain a dragon, she knew he would see it a worthy trade, but the thought of him injured, permanently maimed, made her want to crumble to the ground below her.
After bidding goodbye to Alicent and Helaena, she made her way to the Maester’s wing of the Keep. She was denied entry, but she was determined to not let it stop her. Each day, at the crack of dawn, she’d drag herself out of bed and, before even breaking her fast, would make the trek to the Maester’s wing and ask to see Aemond.
She was refused each and every day, but it did little to deter her. She kept trying.
It had been weeks since she had seen Aemond. Her heart was aching without the presence of her best friend, without the boy that made her smile like no other could.
On the fifth day of the third week, as she made the familiar walk to his door, the guard stopped her, as usual, though his words were different.
“The Prince does not wish for any visitors.”
She frowned. It always used to be the order of the Maesters or Alicent, claiming her son needed his rest, but now it was Aemond himself refusing her.
She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but she knew she had felt her heart crack in a way she had never felt before.
She walked away from the door with her head bowed in defeat.
The hurt she felt mirrored Aemond’s own. Refusing her made him ache, but the thought of her seeing him as he was and looking at him with disgust was unfathomable and he would delay that inevitable despair as long as he could.
He sulked in his bed, the dour expression on his face one that had been constant for weeks.
His mother was by his bedside as she had been for weeks. He couldn’t stand to see her wince or her teary eyes everytime she looked at his ghastly scar.
She had been trying, in no subtle terms, to get him out of the room, even going as far to bring up his friend, the one he longed to see yet dreaded ever seeing the same look on his mother’s face on hers.
“It’s been a few weeks. She’s been worrying herself sick.” His mother told him, making his already weak heart more fragile.
He stayed silent, his frown deepening in despair.
“Aegon and Helaena will be heading out tomorrow to Ixtal. You should take Vhagar and join them.”
Aemond shifted uncomfortably. He knew his friend was leaving tomorrow, to visit home for her mother’s name day. They had all been invited, but with his father’s fading health and his mother’s refusal to ride on dragonback, it left just Aegon and Helaena to join the festivities.
“Aemond.” His mother prompted again, the disappointment in her voice clear.
“I don’t want to go.” He mumbled, one of the few sentences he’d managed over the past few weeks.
His mother sighed in defeat and didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night, leaving him to his solitude as he preferred.
The next morning, Aemond lay in bed, the wound over his eye itching gratingly. He longed to claw at the wicked scar, to scream in anger, to enact his vengeance on that Strong bastard. The fury festered in him like the open wound on his face, red and flaming.
The soft sound of his door opening and closing made him stir, assuming it was his mother yet again. As he lazily turned his head, dread settled in his stomach, his remaining eye widening in horror at the sight of her, the one he longed for yet resisted.
She froze in her place at the door, her jaw falling slack, a shaking hand covering her mouth as a hitched breath escaped her at the sight of him.
Aemond’s face twisted in agony. This was exactly what he wished to avoid.
“What are you doing here?” He asked angrily, tears forming in his remaining eye.
“I just wanted- I wanted… we’re leaving soon.”
It was faint but he heard it. Fear. The stuttering of her words, the quiet, almost docile way she spoke that was so unlike her was like a hatchet to his heart. The look on her face was even worse. She could barely make eye contact with him.
“Get out.” He spoke lowly through gritted teeth.
“Aemond, I-”
“Get out! I don’t want you here!” He screamed at her, tears steadily falling down his cheeks.
Her own tears began to fall, her face twisting with agony. He hated it. He didn’t want her pity, he didn’t want to see the disgust on her face that everyone would face him with for the rest of his life.
“Leave me alone! I never want to see you again!”
She let out a sob and turned on her heel, leaving the room with haste.
Aemond slumped back in bed, placing his hands over his face, ignoring the way it made his eye ache, and he cried for what he had lost.
Not just his eye, but his love, his happiness. His everything.
~~
She stood on the balcony of the banquet hall, breathing in the fresh ocean air. She missed home. She had thought of this moment for weeks, had been eager and excited to finally visit, yet now that she was there, it was bittersweet.
The sound of the waves weren’t as peaceful as she remembered. The food she ate wasn’t as delicious as she remembered. The music and the dancing wasn’t as exciting as she remembered.
“Darling?”
She turned to see her mother approaching, concern written across her face as she moved to stand next to her daughter, her arm crossing over her shoulders, bringing her in close to her side.
“Are you alright? I thought I’d see you dancing all night.”
“I’m fine.”
The Lady of Ixtal looked to her once vibrant daughter worriedly. She was far from the girl that had left all those months ago. From all the letters she had sent, it seemed her daughter was having the time of her life in King’s Landing. The girl she saw now wasn’t the one who had gleaned nothing but happiness.
“Was it not what you expected?”
She stiffened, the need to defend her friends and her new found home rising. “No, it’s- King’s Landing is lovely.”
Her mother sighed. She had gotten a short re-telling of the last few weeks in the Capitol from her husband and she was starting to put the pieces together.
“I couldn’t help but notice your friend isn’t here.”
She looked up at her mother, her wide doe-like eyes giving everything away.
“Aemond?”
She felt her cheeks heat and she turned her attention back to the view before her, focusing on the waves of the ocean, mirroring her breathing with each crashing wave.
“He’s not my friend anymore.” She spoke quietly through the lump that grew in her throat.
“From what I’ve heard, it sounds as though he is going through an awful time, something no one, especially someone so young, should ever have to endure. People don’t exactly act rationally when they are hurt. It is easy to speak things that are untrue in that state.”
She stayed silent, taking in her mother’s words thoughtfully. It was easy enough to explain, but it didn’t lessen the hurt she felt.
“You can stay here if you wish. The Gods know I would love to keep you in my arms, but I don’t think that is truly what you want.”
She let out a shaking breath, her mind a mess as she thought of her life in King’s Landing, of what she’d be leaving behind. But, if Aemond was being truthful and he didn’t want to see her or be her friend anymore, what would her life be like there?
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Her mother assured her. “Or else we’ll have a dragon landing on our shores demanding you come back.”
The smile on her mother’s face made the hurt inside her melt away slightly. Her conviction that Aemond would forgive her for her intrusion, that he would bring her back into his life and his arms made her hopeful.
Her mother was never wrong and she prayed she wouldn’t start now.
~~
She clutched onto Helaena’s waist as they flew on Dreamfyre back to King’s Landing. No matter how thrilling it was to ride a dragon, no matter that she felt as light as a feather, that she could touch the clouds and feel as though she was in a magical, untouchable realm, it felt wrong.
Her first ride shouldn’t have belonged to Helaena, it shouldn’t have been with Dreamfyre. It wasn’t what she promised.
As they dismounted, Helaena’s hand held hers and stayed, holding tightly as they made their way from the dragonpit to the Keep, as if knowing her friend needed the comfort.
As they parted, Helaena promised she’d spend the day with her tomorrow, knowing she needed the distraction from Aemond.
She smiled, though it wasn’t as bright as usual, and with a wave, they parted. She stepped into her chambers and sighed heavily, mourning what her time in King’s Landing would hold.
She moved to her bed, content to hide under the covers for the rest of the day, but she stopped, noticing a bundle of flowers on her desk. She frowned, she certainly hadn’t put them there before she left.
She stepped closer, her fingers gently tracing along the soft petals. They were perfectly bloomed and freshly plucked, most likely just placed on her desk mere minutes before she arrived.
It suddenly struck her.
They were marigolds.
She remembered the flower Aemond had tucked behind her ear, the ones he would bring her on occasion simply because he knew she was fond of them.
Her heart began to race, her stomach flipping at the merest notion that it could’ve been from her best friend. She picked up the bundle, inhaling their fresh scent with a small smile.
She noticed the slip of parchment below them, the simple words in familiar handwriting brought tears to her eyes.
I am deeply, truly sorry.
I didn’t mean a word of what I said
Please forgive me
- Your Aemond
Her breath hitched, her chest feeling tight with sorrow.
The words he had screamed at her that day hurt her deeply, yet the thought of not having Aemond by her side, not having him as her friend, was unfathomable.
She spent the remainder of the day in her chambers, picking sparsely at the food her father had sent to her, knowing she wanted her solitude. By the next morning, having thought of nothing but Aemond all night, she was determined to see the end of their rift.
She dressed quickly and stepped out of her chambers, determined to march her way straight to Aemond, but she was stopped by her guard.
“The Prince has requested your presence in the gardens.”
The crease in her brow that signaled her determination smoothed out, leaving nothing but hopeful nervousness as she quickly made her way through the halls of the Keep. She ignored the looks of disdain from the ladies of the court as she raced past them, ignoring the whispers of her undignified behavior.
They were the last things on her mind.
Her heart was racing within her chest as she approached the gardens. She walked the familiar path, one she had taken countless times, to get to their usual meeting spot. Her feet came to an abrupt stop as she turned the last corner and saw him sitting on their bench, the one they always congregated to over the months together.
Nervous butterflies fluttered within her as she approached him.
She called out to him softly, cursing herself for how her voice shook in hopeful anticipation.
Aemond turned to face her and she was shocked to see the eyepatch across his face, covering the angry looking wound she had seen that morning in his chambers.
Her heart ached at the sight of the red scar that peeked out from the patch. It looked painful and the reminder of what he had gone through, what his own nephew had inflicted on him made her want to cry.
He spoke her name in greeting, giving her a small, weak smile. He winced slightly, the pull of his cheeks causing his scar to flair with pain.
Her chest tightened at the sight of him. He seemed smaller, as if he sat hunched over, trying hard not to take up too much space in the world.
“I’m sorry.” She blurted out before he could speak. He looked up at her incredulously, his stomach twisting at the despair he saw on her face. “I shouldn’t have just barged into your chambers. I knew you wanted privacy and I ignored your wishes and I’m sorry. I never meant-”
Aemond spoke her name breathlessly, stopping her rambling apology. He had never seen her so frantic before, it was unnerving to him, nothing at all like the lively girl he was used to. And it was his fault.
“You don’t have to apologize.” He told her softly. He looked down at his hands that fidgeted in his lap, shame overcoming him as he thought back to that day, when he had yelled at her so callously. He had replayed that moment over and over again in his head for days and it was torturous each time.
He couldn’t get the sight of her tears out of his head. To know he was the cause was his greatest shame.
“I’m sorry.” He spoke earnestly, looking her in the eyes intently, hoping she would believe him. “I never should have spoken to you that way. I’m so sorry I made you cry. I never will again, I promise.”
She let out a long breath, his words stirring something inside her she couldn’t recognize.
He frowned deeply at her lack of reaction, shuffling over and patted the space next to him on the bench, motioning for her to take a seat beside him.
She moved slowly, hesitantly taking her seat next to him.
“I’ve never seen you that angry before.” She spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper as she recalled that dreadful day.
Aemond sighed and bowed his head.
“I…” He started but soon found he had no words, no excuses for how he had treated her. Nothing would ever make it ok, never to her. “I hated to see you look at me like that.” Was the only thing he could think to say.
“Like what?”
“Like you were horrified of me.”
“I was horrified.” She said and he felt his insides turn to stone, his throat tightening with emotion. “But not of you. Never of you.” She added quickly, causing him to look over at her, his eye wide and shining with unshed tears.
“But-”
“Aemond, the thought of what happened to you, the thought of you in pain… it hurts me.”
The vice around his heart lifted instantly. His mind was spinning with the insinuation of her words.
“You… you’re not-”
She reached out, taking his hand in hers, causing words to fail him.
“I could never be afraid of you. I could never feel disgusted by you, I could never think any less of you, or whatever other horrible thing you think I feel for you now. No scar will change how I care for you.”
The weight that had been suffocating him for weeks now seemed to lift just the slightest, allowing him to feel as though he could finally take a breath.
He let out a shaking breath and tightened his hand in hers. She smiled softly and leaned in closer to his side, letting her head fall to his shoulder, letting him revel in her closeness.
He hated the stares he got from the ladies at court, he hated the winces, the horrified gasps as he passed them. He hated the worried looks he received, as if he was seconds away from collapsing like a weak mannered child.
But none of it mattered.
She still cared for him, she was still by his side, her hand in his.
Even the burning fury he held for his nephew seemed dim in the wake of the pure delight he felt in her presence.
“But, if you ever raise your voice to me like that again I will smack you.”
Her threat, that held no anger in the slightest, made him laugh and duck his head against hers as his body shook with each breath of laughter.
His first laugh since the incident.
From then, they were closer than ever. One was seldom seen without the other at their side.
The Ladies at court through the two of them were just about the most darling thing they had ever seen. Yet, not everyone was rooting for the threads of young love to flourish.
Alicent watched her son in the training yard with a frown. Her second son, so dutiful and so smart, was becoming distracted. Her eyes never strayed from him as he neglected his own lessons to play around with his friend, watching with a scowl as the two of them laughed together, as if there was no care in the world.
The sight of the young girl in the training yard was enough to leave her appalled, but her son’s willingness to indulge in such unseemly behavior was worrying.
“We cannot let this go any further.” Her father spoke from beside her.
“I can’t very well tell him he cannot be her friend. It would devastate him.”
“Let them be friends, but make it clear that is all it will ever be. Aemond can’t get any ideas about marrying this girl.”
Alicent chewed on her lower lip anxiously. The thought of tearing her son away from such happiness turned her stomach, but the thought of him marrying a girl so unpredictable was just as unfortunate.
“Would it really be so bad? We could gain leverage with her father.”
“Ixtal is a neutral house. They have never taken a stand in any war, that won’t change now. We cannot risk Aemond allying with a house that could not give us leverage for Aegon’s claim.” Otto hissed angrily.
Alicent wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes falling back to her son, taking in the sight of his smile while she still could. She doubted it would be a common sight once he was forced away from the Island girl.
But they all had a duty to perform.
~~
Her arm was looped through his as he guided her past the dragon pit.
“Where are we going?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at the structure that housed the mighty Targaryen dragons they had just passed.
“Vhagar doesn’t stay there. She doesn’t fit.” Aemond explained, a slightly smug smirk crossing his features as he subtly boasted about his newly claimed dragon.
Her smile twitched slightly, her nerves suddenly overtaking her. She’d been hesitant when Aemond offered to introduce her to his mount, but the reminder of the great beast’s sheer size had the beginnings of fear creeping through her veins.
Noticing the subtle shift in her expression, Aemond tightened his grip on her arm.
“I would never put you in danger.” He assured her. “Vhagar is bonded to me, she can feel what I feel for you and she would never hurt you.”
“If I could hear that directly from Vhagar I might be able to breathe properly.”
Aemond snickered and led her forward excitedly.
Soon, they arrived at the crest of the hill, Vhagar’s enormous form coming into view. A shuddering breath escaped her when she came face to face with the historic dragon that fought in wars long before her time.
She could barely comprehend such a beast of her size existed among them, that the sweet boy beside her commanded her or even willingly approached her.
“Relax.” Aemond told her softly, moving out of her hold so his hand could take hers, intertwining their fingers.
The pair of them stepped towards the sleeping giant. She watched, mystified, as Aemond spoke a few words of Valaryian, the dragon's eyes sleepily opening, her large head lifting towards them.
She felt her body freeze, the blood in her veins running cold as the mighty dragon looked past her rider, her curious gaze landing on her. A low rumble shook the ground, Vhagar’s protest to the stranger before her.
Aemond soothed his dragon, placing an affectionate hand on her snout as he spoke soft commands.
She doubted a few measly words would suddenly convince Vhagar that she wasn’t a tasty snack, but she could only watch, her eyes widening as the dragon became disinterested by her presence, laying her head back down on the warm grass she had been slumbering on.
Aemond looked over his shoulder at her prone form several feet back and smiled, motioning her to come closer.
She shook her head adamantly, her feet frozen in place.
He spoke her name, holding his hand out to her.
She looked to his hand and then to his dragon and back again, contemplating the risk to her life.
“Do you trust me?” Aemond asked and her tense shoulders sagged. She had no reason to doubt her best friend. With one look in his eye, she knew he would never let any harm come to her.
She took slow steps forward, her fear not allowing her to move any quicker.
She reached out and took Aemond’s hand in hers as soon as she was close enough, holding on tightly.
“It’s alright.” He assured her.
He guided her hand toward Vhagar, watching the girl beside him closely, gaging every expression that crossed her face in a matter of seconds. From fear, to doubt, to disbelief and suddenly to awe.
A shaky laugh left her lips as her hand softly rested on the rough scales of Vhagar’s side. Pure delight was etched across her face as she pet the mighty beast as if she were nothing more than a house cat. Aemond saw how excited she got when one of the many stray cats that roamed Flea Bottom ventured their way into the Keep.
The excited smile she wore now as she pet his dragon was the same one he saw when she would cradle those strays.
The thought made him laugh and he leaned in close to her, letting his head rest against hers.
Seeing her now, fearless by his mount’s side, only confirmed what he already knew.
She was meant to be with dragons. Meant to be with him.
~~
I will hopefully have the next chapter out within the next couple of days! And yes, every chapter is going to be long, I have no control. Hope you liked it xx
prompt: similar to Penelope Featherington, you overhear your best mate's choice words about you after dancing at a ball.
pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader
fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon
collection masterlist: The Truth Will Out - coming soon
collection masterlist: Clingy Baby
word count: 18.3k+
note: SLUTTY ANGST CLUB, COME GET Y'ALL JUICE!
warnings: not edited. heapings of angst, hurt and no comfort, fuck your feelings. tweaked timeline, cursing, Bridgerton influenced, Aemond's both a bestie and an outstanding, fucking asshole - so is this vilified Aemond? eavesdropping trope, nicknamed reader, insecurity, insults, betrayl, abundance of ye ol' misogyny, self destructive tendencies; a single, non-graphic line that alludes suicide as an unserious threat to convey displeasure. there's men being men, men being gossipy little bitches, and the most random Lord of the Rings quote that kinda breaks the fourth wall?
Bridgerton - available to watch on Netflix
🍒 this fic was written before season three premiered
Jacaerys Velaryon version: coming soon
Tonight was a celebration that echoed across the entire Realm. Lords and Ladies alike with their service maids, House guards, any available singletons flocked to King's Landing for the courting season. They did this annually. Three solid months for eligible singles to make a match and attempt to secure their bond in matrimony.
Ladies wore layers of multicolored fabrics.
Lords dressed in embellished tunics.
Ladies tied on tight corsets to push their breasts to their necks.
Lords shaved their facial hair, appearing "cleaned up".
Ladies smelt of exotic perfume and Lords stood in shiny boots.
All wore sparkling, gaudy jewelry.
While the Starks of Winterfell and the Umbers of Last Hearth traveled over a month to reach the capital, your family, the Tyrells from Highgarden, had a much more comfortable commute. Greyjoys and Mormonts sailed in from the Iron Islands and Bear Island, Tullys from Riverrun, Royces and Arryns from the Eyrie. Single, available, eligible Hightowers returned under Queen Alicent's sponsorship, Lannisters prowled in from Lannisport, and select few Martells arrived in gorgeous, gloriously golden carriages from Dorne.
Everyone who was anyone descended onto the Red Keep, eager to earn King Viserys' stamp of approval - being that he only granted one couple his presence at their ceremony. It was the highest of honors, a prize to be won, a chance to show off and show out; giving the two bonded families bragging rights until the next season. Plus there's a superstition that all weddings the King attended were prosperous, healthy, and long lasting marriages. There was a buzz in the air, a static of excitement and mystery; tension brewing when the members of court arrived and sized each other up for that first week. You thought they were silly for this energy, akin to strutting peacocks, treating their own like competition, treating bloodlines like currency.
You never realized how many purists there were.
While the other Houses had to travel, you were most lucky to already host residence in the Red Keep. Your uncle, Evin Tyrell, had once been in line to assume lordship over Highgarden, but after losing his son to the War of the Stepstones, Evin turned away from his inherited responsibilities; forcing it onto your father's shoulders. You had several siblings, both younger and older, and eventually got lost in your bustling, busy, arguably large family. Evin had no more children, wife long departed from this life, and was excited by the prospect of being a guardian; insisting you come with him to King's Landing, where he accepted a tutoring position for the King's children and grandchildren.
You were absolutely romanced by the idea of existing among the royal family, telling your father it was your one chance at a decent, higher education - an opportunity to study under the Targaryens being once in a lifetime. Truth be told, you're not entirely sure Lord Tyrell even processed your words, approving with a distracted grunt and a wave; gone by the next morning without even breaking your fast with your family. Evin hooked both your beloved horse and one of your father's young stallions to a wooden cart you shared, using the journey to King's Landing to prepare you for the life you were soon to live.
You had always been a little wild child, so, Evin felt it necessary to remind you of your manners; brushing up on your etiquette, quizzing you on members of the Royal Family, explaining what would be expected of you now that you were a guest to the royals.
For well over a decade, you were the single wildflower blooming through dragon fire, earning the moniker Rose of the Realm; living under Queen Alicent's good grace. She seemed to like you well enough, going as far as to invite you to family events after noticing the bond between you and her openly favorite son, Prince Aemond. Years ago, when you were fresh and new to the Capital City, your uncle brought you to attend Lady Laena Velaryon's funeral on Driftmark at the King's invitation. You already had a friendship with the young royals; keeping Helaena company, trying to sneak Aegon's chalices of wine out of his grip, and when the time came, rushed off over the sandy dunes with your best mate after he told you his plan to lay claim on Lady Laena's dragon, Vhagar.
After the King's heir, Princess Rhaenyra's (rumored) bastard son, Lucerys, slashed Aemond's eye from his socket, you became incredibly close. Impossible close. Like unbelievably close; being thick as thieves, joined at the hip, magnetically pulled towards one another before clicking into tight place. You were his pillar of support, his anchor to reality; and he was your salvation.
You realized you were in love with him when you turned ten-and-six. It was something strange, the two of you studying together in the library and when you looked up from your book to meet his eyes, you just understood. Something in your brain clicked, heart cemented in knowing, guts twisting in sudden realization, words caught in your throat and only letting out an inaudible gasp. Ever since that day, you were acutely aware of anything the Prince did; from the way he would caress the back of your head at each embrace, to his eye darting to look at your lips during conversations. From how he took almost every meal with you, to the way he insisted upon your invitation to family, public, and / or royal events. From the way he absorbed your secrets and opinions, to the way he shared his own - getting back what you put forth, forever mutual.
Being friends - best mates, even - with Aemond was easy. So easy, in fact, that nobody ever batted an eye when they saw the two of you unchaperoned. Your friendship was wholesome, endearing, supportive, enlightening, and pleasurably challenging in the sense that Aemond liked pushing your envelope; testing your boundaries. He set new standards and helped lift you to meet those goals, made you think harder, consider new points of view, expand your humanity.
What more could anyone ask for?
About half way through the current season, your uncle sent for you to join him for afternoon tea in the gardens. "Do you recognize these?" He asked when you arrived at the pavilion he sought shade under, admiring the bushes of florals surrounding the bannister.
"Of course," you smirked, hands behind your back as you stood at his shoulder, "they're honeysuckle."
"Native to only Highgarden, just like I called you in your youth," Evin added, plucking a bloom to admire. "Do you know why they're planted here?"
"I imagine through pollination?"
"A sound guess, but no," your uncle handed you the flower. "These were imported years ago, but have only bloomed now."
You nodded, sucking the bud to extract its honey-sweet taste, asking through puckered lips, "Imported by whom?"
"Do you remember your 17th nameday?"
"Oh, yeah, I guess, it was only a few years ago. You weren't here, you were on some diplomatic matter, right?"
"Inna way. After I concluded my affairs, I returned to Highgarden. You see, Prince Aemond confided in me how he wished to do something special for your birthday and knew you missed home. He asked me to bring these seeds back."
"Aemond asked you to plant honeysuckle?"
"Specifically here," Elvin grinned, "so they were within easy reach."
"So why have they only just now bloomed?" You tried to keep the jittery excitement out of your voice; baffled yet giddy from hearing about Aemond's kind gesture.
"There's an old legend," Evin gestured you to the patio table and chairs that was dressed for your social visit. "It's said, when the honeysuckle is gifted from lover to lover, they will only bloom when love surrounds them. I believe they have come to life this season as a portent to an impending match to be made."
"You spend too much time with Otto, Uncle, you're starting to sound like him - veiling your words and talking in riddles. Tell me why you called me here, Uncle, I know it's not for a botany lesson. Out with it, please, for the sake of my sanity."
Evin chuckled, watching you lean forward to pour two mugs of tea. "I was wondering, sweet niece, what the nature of your relationship is to the Prince Aemond?"
"Oh," you blinked, adding a sugar cube to your brew before stirring in a bit of milk, "well, I hate to disappoint, but I don't know what to tell you, Uncle. We're friends, nothing more or less."
"You seem real chummy."
"We're close, yes."
"Romantic?"
You scoffed, "Uncle, please - "
"Tell me the truth of it."
"Nothing inappropriate or unseemly nor nefarious has occurred between us, Uncle, I promise you. The Prince and I are just friends."
Evin sipped his tea, nodding slowly, "Well, humor me. If I asked who you would marry, who would you choose?"
"Well, as of right now, I'd choose myself since I don't know the men at court yet, only rumors and whispers."
"And if the offer of marriage presented itself, would you marry the Prince?"
"I would do my duty to our House, no matter the suitor."
Evin nodded slowly, "If I said I had struck a pact with the Queen and Hand, what would you say?"
"That despite what I've just said, if you marry me off to Aegon, I'll pitch myself from a window."
Your uncle's head tilted back as he belted short laughter. "I would never condemn you to such a fate, honey girl! Have more faith in me. I speak of Prince Aemond - it's why I asked about him."
"Uncle, speak plainly. Have you attempted to make such a match between the Prince and I?"
"Pending a few logistics, the Crown's interested in the match."
The words echoed in your mind on an obnoxious repeat for the weeks to come, surely living a dream. The longer you dwelled on the impending match, the giddier you felt; a secret smile brightening your features, small spring in your step, an air of positivity hanging around you that even the tiresome Rogue Prince wouldn't be able to taint. The One-Eyed Prince has long been your best mate for a decade, surely, this match would've been offered sooner or later; it was a smart choice, the definition of compatibility.
Some might've referred to this elation as "cloud nine", though you'd say it was cloud 10, 11, 12, 100! You were flying high, feeling good, and mistakenly allowing your hopes to heighten while imagining what marrying your best friend would be like.
You prepared for that evening's courting session with a dreamy, dazed look in your eyes. Even your ladies-maid picked up on your joyful spirit; questioning through her smile, "What's got you so distracted, my Lady? You've been staring off into nothing with that smile for an hour now."
"Huh?" You met her eyes through the vanity mirror, the woman standing behind you to intricately braid your hair. "Oh, no, no, nothing, I'm only lost in thought."
"Which thought?"
"It doesn't matter, it's just a thought. When it becomes a notion, I'll tell you, my friend."
She repeated with a grin, "'Yeah? When's that? Are you expecting good news?"
"Perhaps."
"Fine, fine, keep your secrets," she playfully tugged your hair. "Do you know which dress you'd like to wear tonight?"
"The lilac one," you answered, lips stretching your smile.
"You mean the dress that matches Prince Aemond's eye perfectly?"
You both giggled girlishly.
When you arrived at the Throne Room, there was already more than 75% of guests in attendance; getting a jump on their mingling. You greeted several familiar faces, locating your best mate standing at the side with his arms crossed and shoulder leaning on a pillar. "Well, you certainly look happy to be here," you teased when at his side, leaning on the other side of the intricate column.
"It was Mother's idea, Rosie, you know I do not dance," he frowned. "She's not given up the hunt to make me a match. She's adamant this is the year."
"Perhaps if you participate, you could organically meet your future wife."
"Hmm," his eye rolled, thin lips quirking in a smirk; gaze turned on you, watching you scan the room.
There was another 20 minutes of mingling before dinner was called, laid out on tables that stretched the entire length of the Throne Room. Naturally, like every single day, you and Aemond took side-by-side seats together at a risen table that hosted the royal family which provided an incredible view of those in attendance this eve. With your elbow, you nudged Aemond's bicep, making him lean over instantly so you could speak in his ear quietly. "Looks like Lady Fell and Lord Blackwood are gonna jump each other's bones," you mused, smirking, adding, "though I heard she's already hiding a growing belly and is trying to nab herself someone more mature in age with the intent to trick the Lord into thinking she's having his baby."
"No," he scoffed in amusement.
"Yes!"
"That's diabolical. Blackwood's the father? Truly?"
"I'm pretty sure."
"Good for him, good for Blackwood - didn't know he had it in him." He paused to take a pull from his goblet of wine, continuing, "Hm! Look, look," he grinned coyly, "do you see what I see?"
"It's packed in here, so... No, I don't see whatever you're seeing."
He snickered, "Lady Mormont looks smitten with Lord Greyjoy, looks like she wants to eat him."
"I thought he was romancing Lady Redwyne?"
Aemond hummed in amusement, "Perhaps he is considering options, courting more than one lady. Are we taking bets this season, again?"
You grinned, "Of course."
"Lay out the criteria, what're the parameters?"
After thinking a moment, you answered, "The pairing and timeline of impending weddings?"
"The stakes?"
You just shrugged, "Bragging rights?"
"Oh, c'mon, Rosie," he tisked.
"Fine, uh, how about... 10 Gold Dragons?"
"Both our families have enough money."
"Then you decide the rewards."
He lowered his voice, ensuring his family couldn't eavesdrop, "If you win, I'll go to Highgarden with you next time you visit. But if I win, you have to come flying with me on Vha - "
"No," you snapped instantly.
Aemond smirked, "Those are the terms, my Lady. Do you accept? Or will the Rose of the Realm shy away from challenge?"
Well, when you put it that way...
"Fine," you relented. "You're eager to lose so bad, let's do it. Who do you think will couple first?"
"Does it count if I get at least one correct? Such as, if I predict Lord Umber and Lady Lannister, but Umber marries Lady Tully, does it count that I still predicted Umber?"
You mulled his idea over, humming, stabbing a piece of roast goose from your plate to place in your mouth and chew thoughtfully. "Hmm, no, no, you gotta get the couple completely correct."
Aemond nodded, accepting your terms, "You really don't wish to go flying, do you?"
"What gave me away?"
Sharing a chuckle, Aemond finished, "All right, Rosie, bring it on."
When dinner concluded, once more, patrons were allowed to mix and mingle; dancing to the live band, drink spiced wine to their heart's desires. Like the common wallflowers you were, you posted at the side of the room with Aemond, content to watch the sea of vying adults trying to establish and rush courtship. It was the most comfortable you could be at these events, being anxious in judgmental crowds and seeking salvation from Aemond's domineering aura.
"Lady Tyrell," Jason Lannister purred as he approached you with his chest puffed out, "I was hoping to hold your ear tonight. Your father was telling me about your love to ride horses."
"Oh, my father said that?"
"That's who he said he was - "
"My father's in Highgarden, my Lord," you corrected, knowing for fact that Evin always described himself as your uncle.
"Ah, well, right," Jason cleared his throat in embarrassment. Did this pompous arsehole just lie about talking to your father to give the illusion he was an honorable man? That your father approved of the golden headed Lannister? "Perhaps you would honor me with a dance?"
"Perhaps not," Aemond cut in sharply, bringing the tension to focus.
"My Lord," you distracted, on behalf of Aemond's anger, "uh, thank you for asking, that's very kind of you. Though I'm afraid, I'm all, uh, danced out. I won't be on my feet much longer."
"Means fuck off, Lannister," Aemond growled, appearing positively murderous at the honey blonde's audacity.
Jason eyed Aemond, stiffly bidding, "I see. My Prince, my Lady, enjoy your evening."
You bid the older widower the same, Aemond chuckling the moment the lion was swallowed by the crowd. "As if you'd ever dance with a Lannister, let alone court him," he mused, looking down at you. "But he had the right idea, you need to dance at least once. Shouldn't waste this dress standing on the side with me."
"I'm quite comfortable here with you," you shrugged off, seeing your uncle at the royal banquet table exchanging hushed words with King Viserys and his Queen, Alicent.
"C'mon," he held his hand in offer, palm up.
"What? No, no, Aemond, I'm not dancing - I've two left feet!"
"You can break every toe on my feet and I'd still ask you. Just one dance. With me, Lady Tyrell."
"You don't dance!"
"Perhaps the mood has taken me. C'mon, petal."
Your head turned from left to right as if looking for someone spying on you. The moment your hand laid daintily in his, you melted right there on the spot, not having any coherent recollection about how you ended up in the middle of the overzealous contenders. You realized you'd follow this man anywhere.
Beating off your immense anticipation and overwhelming excitement to join The One-Eyed Prince for an intimate activity, you kept your composure amongst everyone else. But, my Gods, did you want to scream in delight the moment he placed one hand on your waist and the other clasping yours to raise in the air at your side. But in this position, you could feel the ridges of his stomach - making you briefly feel embarrassed, wondering how you must've looked to the members of court.
"You sure about this?" You whispered nervously, but you had a feeling that was due to the intense concentration he pinned you with.
"We'll be fine, Rosie, just breathe and follow my lead. I got you."
So launched your dance with Prince Aemond Trgaryen, second son of King Viserys. You couldn't divert your gaze from his porcelain, angled face to save you from overthinking your dancing skill - or lack there of. A few times, he'd smirk and whisper how good you were doing, mind flashing to an image of you and he, married, tumbling in bed sheets together while he praises you. Everything he did became sinful to you; every touch, every glance, every smile, every private studying session setting your skin on fire and heart to beat rapidly.
It was a longer song, string instruments creating a pleasant, ideal, slow-paced, soft environment. Yet you couldn't hear the music, too focused on Aemond's single piercing eye and quirked lips. It was as if the two of you existed outside of time and reality, forgetting the people packed in the stuffy room. Aemond told you softly, "See? You're not so bad at dancing - you just need the right partner."
You wanted to be partnered every single dance from now until your death with Aemond.
"I thought you couldn't dance?" You coyly questioned.
"I said I don't dance, not that I couldn't."
To your idle shock, Aemond gave you a few twirls that made your hair and dress fan around you in an angelic motion. Dare you say it, you even laughed with mirth when you found yourself enjoying the courting season more than ever before - all thanks to your best friend and hopefully, soon-to-be intended. You were acutely aware of his hot and heavy hands holding your flesh, knowing this feeling would burn into your skin to remind you of his closer-than-close proximity. To remind you of his gentleness, to remind you of this dance and the way he gave you his complete and undivided attention.
When the musicians concluded the song, you were grinning authentically while joining in the applause to show appreciation towards the artists.
"Gods," you panted, "that nearly winded me. Think I'm out of shape."
"And you said you had two left feet," he mocked with a scoff, head shaking, but the smirk on his lips told you he wasn't serious. "You're a natural, Rosie."
"You're not such a bad dancer yourself, my Prince," you complimented, the applause subsiding as a new song began. "Though you'll have to excuse me while I get a drink."
You parted way in search of two empty goblets and one of the servants carrying decanters of spiced wine. After being served, you rocked on your toes to try and gaze over the heads populating the room. You were unsuccessful, so, you backed up to the edge of the crowd and moved around the involuntary empty loop along the wall, behind the pillars. There was no reason finding the white haired prince with an eyepatch would be this difficult, yet, you got more than halfway around the room before finally locating him.
Once again, he was leaning on a column, but he wasn't alone. No, there was a gaggle of Lords around him, all exchanging chatter about the Ladies they had to choose from this season.
"Well, c'mon, what about you, Aemond?" Cregan Stark pondered. "Things with The Rose look like they're escalating - congrats. Are wedding bells on the horizon?"
Hearing your name, you quickly scurried behind the same pillar, just out of sight but able to still listen. Look, eavesdropping was highly frowned upon, you knew it was bad manners, but if you heard men gossiping about your name, you would've done the exact same!
Aemond scoffed in pure amusement, "Come off it, Stark."
"No, c'mon, mate, I saw you two," Cregan continued, "dancing together, pressed all close."
"You two make a handsome match, logistically speaking," Paxtan Florant labeled. "Could marry someone abundantly worse, I think you two are quite the pair."
"Handsome and logical as it may look, there's no possibility I'd court the Lady Tyrell, let alone marry her," Aemond declared with a chuckle, your heart stalling and brows wrinkling together. "The Tyrells only just obtained their name in court, they're still too low born for a prince to entertain. Peasants like that are uneducated, prominently not intelligent enough to be my counterpart; uncultured, unwise, unable to retain most information we study during lessons."
You blinked in shock.
If anything, you were Aemond's ONLY intellectual counterpart!
"So, she's not as smart as you, mate, so what?" Cregan cocked his head. "You don't need smart, you need fertile and capable."
Though he was attempting to defend you, Cregan's words made your skin prickle. How could they think you weren't intellectually on their level? Was it because you were a woman? You read the same books, attended the same tutoring sessions, was questioned on the same material they were and hardly ever answering incorrectly! And yet now you're reduced to your reproduction system?
The Prince scoffed, "Think about it, if I married a Tyrell, their lowly standing would taint the Targaryen bloodline."
"So, it was all an act?" Paxtan snickered, "C'mon, mate, you two looked dazed, all enamored with each other. Can't convince us there's nothing there, not after that."
Aemond chuckled, "You want the truth?"
"Lay it on us."
"I shared a single dance with her because I pity her. Don't any of you? The way she all but repels suitors? Surely, you've noted her dresses as well? They're terribly revealing, unlike anything a proper lady would don. No self respecting woman nor future princess of mine would wear something like that. It's as if she's so desperate for attention that she has to flaunt her flesh just to get a man to look at her since her personality surely doesn't reel suitors to her."
The men laughed, your mouth dropping open in offense. You're not chasing men away - look what happened with Jason Lannister! It was Aemond who told him to fuck off! After years of friendship, was this truly what Aemond thought of you? How did it come to this - the man you loved, the man you considered your best mate, slandering your name to any able ear willing to listen? How could he speak such calamities about you? Was this entire friendship a folly, just a cover for his pity? Was he only your 'friend' to entertain his own selfish boredom?
Was everything just in your head?
"I don't know, I like how she dresses," Tyler Lannister mused, the teenaged son of Tyland Lannister, Jason's twin brother.
"None the less, I find desperation unattractive in a woman," Aemond rejected, tears gathering in your eyes to silently stream down your cheeks. "Besides, Lady Tyrell isn't my type, she talks far too much. Truly, there's never a moment of silence, I cannot even hear my own thoughts when she's prattling - and it's never anything of substance, just useless nonsense. It's as I said, it was a pity dance, I felt sorry that she has little to no suitors."
"Seriously, mate, have you considered the reason she has no suitors might be because of her proximity to you? They might stay away because they feel threatened by your friendship, thinking she's spoken for - and trust me, no man here would dare compete against a prince for a lady's affection," Cregan scoffed, mildly disgusted by Aemond's choice words.
"The courts know there's no affection shared between Lady Tyrell and I. We are simply friends - no more or less - and that's as far as our relationship will ever progress."
Cregan hummed, nodding his head sarcastically. Then his curiosity questioned, "Answer this: are you attracted to her?"
"Truthfully, I just don't think she's... Attractive enough to be my wife. She's a pretty lass, I'll admit, but if she's called the Rose of the Realm, I fear to learn the appearance of other ladies from Highgarden." A few lads chuckled. "Additionally, there will be public outings I must attend, and as my wife, the people will expect to see someone alluring - someone qualified and fit for the position as a princess of the Realm. Someone stunning and worthy of the title, able to fulfill royal responsibilities."
"Gods, why're you so against this match? You're being terribly superficial, judgmental, and defensive - she's your friend, after all. Wouldn't this be a love-match? Do you know how rare those are?" Luras Arryn snarled, sounding genuinely distraught and jealous.
"And if you're so against her, why do you constantly escort her to formal events?" Arnas Blackwood tacked on. "It creates the illusion that you're courting, my Prince, surely you're aware of that."
"As I stated, her blood isn't pure, but she's also criminally clingy. She's always lingering around and I feel awkward not inviting her to royal events - since she's right there, all alone, in front of me. I only invite her out of obligation. Again, I take pity on the girl, knowing when she leaves the Red Keep, she'll never experience this life again."
"Well, if not the Rose of the Realm, who do you have your sights on?" Luras Arryn asked stiffly.
Aemond's smirk was clear as day, answering swiftly, "The Lady Floris Baratheon is appealing enough."
The lads obnoxiously cheered in supportive approval, directing the conversation in a new direction about how bloody gorgeous Floris was - one of them even mentioning she deserved the nickname, Rose of the Realm.
You heard enough, more than enough, more than you ever wanted to know in an entire lifetime; rightfully insulted past belief and violently nauseated, feeling cold and mechanical. As swiftly as you could, you rushed to set the goblets down and speed walk towards the doors, shoving past both individuals and couples; not wanting to linger where you're clearly not wanted. Where you were apparently not welcome. After making your inconspicuous getaway, tears fell faster than earlier, mind replaying Aemond's words while sprinting to your chambers.
Describing you as clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type.
Dubbing you an improper lady who lacked self respect.
Thinking you talk too much - that you prattle nonsense.
Labeling you unworthy and unqualified to be his wife or assume the title princess with all the relating responsibilities.
How he pities you and doesn't ever want to be more than your friend; thinking you're uneducated, uncultured, unwise.
Declaring House Tyrell peasants who would taint his family's pure bloodline.
How you 'have' to flaunt your flesh to attract suitors - since your personality did you no favors.
Marking you a friend out of obligation...
Were you even friends?
Did you even understand the definition of a friend?
Have you been operating in a delusion this whole time?
In the words of King Théoden: how did it come to this?
Feeling utterly humiliated, you ran away from your peers; lungs heaving, huffing and puffing, panic ready to overflow. You burst through the wooden door, fully sobbing by now, engaging the iron lock and dropping to lean your weight against it.
Most, if not all, of your insecurities were aired out like soiled bedsheets for all eligible bachelors to know. Aemond might as well have hung a painted wooden sign around your neck:
DESPERATE AND CLINGY LOSER - DO NOT ENGAGE.
Nothing about this situation felt normal, it all felt terribly impossible; absolutely heartbreaking and vile, like it was some kind of bad dream. But everyone woke up from dreams. You'd never wake up from this, you'd be forced to remember and relive it day after day. Tonight would haunt you, cast a dark shadow around you as if a thick, temperamental, torrential storm. Yet every storm eventually breaks, but tonight, there was no remedy, no shelter, no protection - you had to weather this alone.
It felt foreign, enduring anything by yourself. For years, Aemond was your partner, always at your side, level headed, insightful and wise; supportive, protective, calming, and something like a safety net when you faced trouble. Now, he's left you devastatingly alone; where after tonight, the very idea of being in the same room as him made you nauseated and anxious, fearful and small.
In that moment, your brain screamed that you were no longer welcome in the Red Keep - Uncle Evin's position be damned.
You sat on the stone cold floor for the better part of half an hour before your bottom turned painfully numb. After sluggishly hiking up your dress skirt, you removed your shoes and tossed them aside, standing to swollen feet to unhook your jewelry and place everything in their safe and proper place. Then, a particular necklace made of red rubies set in a thinly crafted Valyrian Steel chain caught your eye and mocked you. It was Aemond's gift on your ten-and-eighth nameday, laid in a plush velvet case for adequate preservation. This simple piece of jewelry was your absolute favorite in your collection, a treasure beyond words of appreciation that you greatly admired, now rusting in salty tears.
Being gifted this necklace had once convinced you Aemond might've felt the same for you as you do him. You remember even trying to rationalize it as a sign that the One-Eyed Prince was at a loss and didn't know how to confess his feelings. That he was shy, perhaps afraid to ruin your friendship if you didn't feel the same.
Angry tears of betrayal fell like acid over your cheeks, gritting your teeth, clenching your jaw as you snapped the velvet box closed and with a barbaric grunt, hurled it (with impressive strength) across the room. You felt so confused, so lost; deceived, lied to, and puppeted - and then the anger flared again when you realized what family you were angry with.
Why bother being upset, emotional, distressed? You had no right because your feelings truly didn't matter - not in the grand scheme of things. Nobody cared about your trivial feelings! You were just a Tyrell and by comparison, a peasant nobody who never deserved, earned, warranted, or was bestowed respect. In fact, to the Targaryens up on their mounted pedestals, none of you mattered - not a citizen in all Seven Kingdoms.
In fact, it was almost treated as a curse to not be a Targaryen. Some kind of punishment for daring to exist amongst the privileged royals as a lowborn - which, despite your family's newly established status in court, you were still characterized as. In their eyes, anyone NOT a Targaryen was lowborn; deemed unworthy to the white haired bloodline, being merely tolerated for the sake of politics, strategy, and reproduction. It was a sick game, and the Targaryens always won.
They do what they want, when they want, with no consideration towards other people's safety, emotions, wellbeing, stability, or comfort. The Targaryens were always stationed above everyone because, after all, they were closer to Gods than men; entire family spoiled, entitled, narcissistic, holier than thou, avoidant of any and all consequence.
They're legendary. Untouchable and worshipped.
And you? You're just a Tyrell, the tiny beetle trampled under the God's boot. Beetles were essential to any ecosystem, similar to the Tyrell's providing to the Realm productions of wheat, grain, barley, and corn. Similar to your family, beetles are also disposable - meaning the Targaryens might tolerate you, but they never need respect you. They could stomp you into the ground whenever they wanted because where one beetle died, three more takes place. Where one House might falter and fall, become doomed, eradicated, or subcomes to tragedy, others step up in an effort to establish their usefulness; prove their House's necessity to the Realm's ecosystem, attempt to diminish the threat of being razed to the ground by dragon fire.
Why be so upset with the Targaryens when they can do no wrong? What right did you have? And how could you ever think a Prince of the Realm would remotely be romantically interested in you?
You felt delusional and pathetic, crying over a man who was never in your league. Yet betrayal gutted you like a fish, a bright reminder that your friend would expose you like that; offer loud disrespect, speaking hatefully, to finally voice hidden malcontent. It felt impossible to stomach that your first friend, your favorite person, secretly hated you.
Because how could he not?
You did not love anyone you could speak so lowly of.
Sobbing harder, you yanked pins out of your hair, working at break-neck speed to strip from your gown, then freezing when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the vanity mirror. The reflection looked distraught with exhausted red eyes; glowing in defeat, in a desperate need for a long, hot soak in the washtub. With shaking hands, you tossed a spare blanket over the mirror, despising the sight of yourself as Aemond's words continued to ring on a loop in your ears.
Clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type.
Improper, lacks self respect, talks too much, lacks suitors.
Unworthy, unqualified, pitiful, never desiring to bloom past friendship - which is constructed around obligation.
Uneducated, uncultured, unwise.
Unfit, tainted, lowborn blood with a lowly personality.
Revealing, tempting dresses.
Your mind, heart, and head screamed that no matter how hard you hoped, prayed, and tried, you'd never have a place among the Targaryens.
Yelled that Aemond's right: you're ugly on the inside and out; damaged goods, undesirable - all because you were not born amongst fire and blood.
Bellowed about your lack of quality, purpose, contribution.
Reminded you that the one person you trusted unconditionally never truly wanted to be your friend; that he spoke horrendously on your name when absent, didn't value who you were - and never did.
He took every insecurity you confided in him and weaponized it; used it against you, made it into a joke with people you didn't trust nor want to know about you...
You sunk into the bath water, submerging as if to hide from your own thoughts.
The knock at your chamber door didn't surprise you. Servants and your uncle had been coming and going since you first refused to leave the morning after the ball. You figured Aemond would come around eventually, too curious for his own good and still under the impression he had to play "friend", thinking his deceit was unknown to you.
Aemond called your name through the door, asking, "You awake? Could I come in?"
You didn't answer.
He sighed, "C'mon, I know you're there. You haven't been seen in four days, you have to eat. You should get some air, feel the sunshine."
Silence.
Aemond frowned, "When you're ready, come find me, petal. I'm worried about you."
You wiped the tears off your cheeks, pulling your knees to your chest. For four days, you couldn't stomach the idea of running into the Prince, just wanting to avoid anyone or anything that would remind you of what Aemond said. You understood there were several decisions left to be settled, lost in an endless rampage of confusing emotions, maids bring you full trays of food and removing them with more than half still left.
Humiliation knotted in your chest, the harrowing thought of punishing yourself for being so stupid something you couldn't fight. All you registered was the feeling of betrayal, something that inked into every single thought you had, but with it came sinking realization that you were done. Simple as that.
On the sixth night, you sat with Uncle Evin, forking through your full plate and blurting, "Don't do it."
He paused to finish the bite in his mouth, "Do what, honey girl?"
"Don't - Don't make a match with Alicent and Otto. Don't make the arrangement with Prince Aemond."
Evin nodded slowly, washing his bite down with a mouthful of wine. "There a reason for your change of heart, love? The Queen thinks it's a handsome pairing. Just before, you seemed content with the match - dare I say, you seemed pleased?"
"Things change, Uncle," you spoke evenly, "and I can't shoulder this responsibility. In fact, I... I do not think I'm capable of making my own match. I will be stepping away from courting for the time being."
Your eyes seemed distant and dark, proving serious. So Elvin agreed easily, allowing you to withdrawal from the current season officially. He understood something was deeply amiss and didn't want to make worse whatever turmoil you teetered in. He didn't want to upset you and make things worse - you obviously had enough going on.
Aemond knocked again the next day, "Petal? You awake?" But you didn't answer. He sighed, "You've been missing lessons, love, and I just... I brought you some books. Thought maybe you'd like to catch up?" When there was no answer, he ended, "I'll just leave them here for you, petal... I'm not sure what's wrong, but I hope you're all right in there... I miss you."
You scoffed quietly, wiping your tears.
Ten days after withdrawing from the courting season, you left your chambers for the first time. But it wasn't like anything changed - it was still as if you were invisible, like a ghost. Losing your best mate turned you silent, refusing to attend lessons and since Aemond was your source for solace, had turned to seeking shelter at the Sept. It was the easiest way to avoid everyone - mostly Aemond.
He had shunned the religion the older he got, though respected his mother's devotion to it in trying times. He couldn't remember the last time he was in the Sept... So, it was perfect for you; a safe space.
You were no longer seen in the library - a once daily occurrence. If you ever wanted to read, you sent your ladies maid to collect content for you; but the drive to learn and read had abandoned you as swiftly as Aemond's loyalty. The stables grew cold in your absence, refusing to ride; something that troubled your uncle gravely. No longer did you take meals with family or Aemond, always seeking solitude to eat alone in your room or the physical kitchens; the Red Keep growing dark over your lack of sunshine - that had shone so brightly in the previous weeks. Even then, when you ate, it was in small quantities to only sustain yourself; mostly feeling nauseous when food was put on your stomach.
The first time Aemond saw you, you were returning from the Sept in a dress that reached close to your pulse point of your neck. He tried to get to you, but you slipped through the cracks of the Keep and disappeared when he dodged around a set of Kingsguard. Yet it was still a comfort to him to know you had left your room finally.
He knocked on your door about half an hour later, but like usual, you didn't answer.
"Rosie?" Aemond called, sighing. "I know you've not been feeling yourself, but, uh, tomorrow's Helaena's nameday. We're having dinner for her on the terrace..." He waisted, not hearing a single thing from within your chamber. "You're invited, as usual, petal. Your uncle said he'd attend, wanted you to know you're always welcome at our table."
But you didn't show up, you couldn't bear to see any of them.
You didn't eat that night, you were far too anxious and spiteful against yourself that you refused to allow yourself to indulge in celebrating your companion.
Despite withdrawing, you still heard rumor of all the matches being made and the courtships established through your ladies maid. A cord struck in your gut when you heard the couples you had bet upon were public and engaged, but so were Aemonds... Which meant you both won; and if things were different, would mean a flight on Vhagar to visit Highgarden. On nights of merriment, you would sit alone in the Godswood sometimes; attempting to connect to the Old Gods, but they never spoke back. They never connected with you.
Tonight, you were under the blood red leaves in earnest curiosity; quiet, just as you had been since the day you found out Aemond's betrayal and discouraged your uncle from making a match. It was there Elvin found you, frowning as he took a seat beside you in the grass.
"The Old Gods do not speak to me," Elvin offered softly.
"Nor I," you whispered.
"Yet I always feel at peace here," he nodded, sighing deeply. "I must ask you something, honey girl."
"Hmm?"
"Do you... Do you wish to depart? From King's Landing, I mean?" He questioned. "I ask because I intend to ride for Highgarden, your father's nameday nears. Your mother intends to throw him a grand celebration, since turning 50 seems such a milestone."
"You ride for home?"
"Tomorrow morning."
You paused, then answered, "I would like that... There's nothing left for me here."
Aemond's words had done irreparable damage, making you feel worthless and alone. Bitter. Damaged and unworthy of any such match; forever worrying if your best friend could harbor such ill will and hatred for you, surely, a husband would as well. Yet you were not new to being a woman; you knew the role you were to play, how marriage was strategic and calculated. Political. You could be a wife, you were so sure of it; but would you ever feel worthy of love? You feared you never would.
"We will stay a few weeks."
"I don't know if I would like to return, Uncle."
He offered a sad smile, "I figured as much. But should you want to, feel able to, you may return. You, my sweetling, are always welcome at my side."
You leaned into his shoulder, sighing softly. "I should thank you," you whispered in the wind.
"For what?"
"For taking care of me all these years," you lifted off him to meet his eyes. "You didn't have to, but you wanted to... And you've shown me a father's love when I thought it gone from my life. Thank you, Uncle."
He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, humming, "Don't tell the others but you were always my favorite. I consider it a great pleasure to raise such a gorgeous young lady - and I mean that, honey girl. Inside and out. Now," he pulled back and found his feet, offering his hand to you, "come, we've packing to complete."
"Of course."
However, while in the midst of packing, you felt a jolt in your heart. This had been your home of a decade or more; these people were who you grew and learned with. Who influenced your life in the best and worst of ways; they did not deserve to read your praise and thanks for friendship in a letter... So, you swung a cloak on and ventured out of your room.
Otto was first since he was the easiest to say goodbye to. He was gracious of your parting words of thanks; telling him how much you appreciated his wisdom and riddles.
Aegon was next. He insisted you share a last goblet of wine together - since you did not intend to delay your parting. It turned into a bit of a drinking game with his mates, but you didn't mind; far too used to the company of these debaucherous lechers. Dare you say, you enjoyed yourself.
Helaena was after, your words harder to say as your emotions strangled you. She was a sweet girl, an endearing companion, constant and dependable, albeit a bit strange and unorthodox. But you loved her all the same and cried tears of sadness when hugging her tightly as a last ditch effort to convey your gratitude for her authentic and generous friendship.
You only offered Ser Criston Cole a soft, "Farewell."
Alicent was perhaps hardest to say goodbye to.
After Aemond, you were probably closest with the matriarch and found her wisdom and lessons a privilege to learn. She was kind to you; usually with a stern hand, but that was because she could recognize the little girl you once were who missed her mother tremendously. She introduced you to religion, another common bond. She encouraged you, supportive and curious; sharing affinity for the histories, often reading to one another for moments of peace.
Saying goodbye to Alicent hurt. You both shed tears of sorrow, the Queen wishing you the very best and insisting you return for her nameday and other celebratory events. She told you to write, told you to keep in touch; insisting if and when a match was made, to invite her since she would love to attend your wedding. Truly, Alicent considered you one of her own and to know you were departing in pain wounded her.
King Viserys was last. He was already in bed, half-asleep, a Maester at his side; but still, he accepted your audience. You thanked him for his hospitality and kindness - especially to your uncle. You thanked him for hosting you, for allowing you residence at the Keep and the for the years living under royal privilege. You told him you'd not forget his generosity.
You returned to your chambers after that and finished packing. You didn't sleep.
When morning broke, you stood in the courtyard with Elvin; packing the wagon you would use, your horse tacked and waiting as you both intended to ride. Alicent and Helaena came to see you off, hugging you tightly one last time before the Queen offered you a handheld velveteen case. "Just a little something to remember us by," she smiled lightly.
"Oh, as if I'm in a hurry to forget you?" You mused. "My Queen, this is too much, I cannot accept."
"You have not opened it."
"I do not need to, I know you," you smirked. "Your leadership these years is enough gift, my Queen."
"I'm not taking it back, you might as well accept it," she insisted. "Helaena and I picked it out together..."
You lifted the case lid, blinking in shock and gasping lightly. There laid a gorgeous chain necklace of Valyrian Steel, a dragon pendant dangling from front with gems of bright emerald - surely a representation of the Hightower side.
"Thank you, Your Grace, my Princess," you breathed, closing the case and caressing it to your chest. "It's more generous than I deserve but will treasure for the decades to come."
Queen Alicent nodded and pecked your forehead, leaving you alone with Helaena to speak with Elvin. The moment her mother was gone, the Princess asked, "Did you say goodbye to Aemond? I'm surprised he's not here."
"No," you spoke softly, "I cannot, Helaena, it is too painful to even look at him - let alone share words of parting. I have nothing left to say, no more words for him."
She frowned, "You know... I don't think he meant what he said. He says things he does not mean when anxious or feeling as if he's cornered."
Your head cocked, "What? H-How do you know what's been said?"
"I saw it - in one of my dreams."
You sighed, "I know you mean well - "
"I just do not wish for you to think that is his honest opinion about you."
"If it wasn't, he would not have spoken so loudly for so many to hear. Your brother has never sounded so sure, Helaena, I do not wish to relive it."
She sighed and nodded, "Will you write?"
"Every week," you promised, the two of you meeting foreheads and breathing as one. "Take care of yourself, Helaena."
"You, too, Rosie," she smiled, letting you depart. Alicent clipped your new necklace in place and gvae you a final hug, watching you mount your horse, stare at the pair for a moment longer, then follow your Uncle Elvin out of the courtyard.
As you rode down the streets, Aemond came sprinting out of the Keep in a blind panic after running into Aegon in the hall. Normally, Aemond wouldn't have bat an eye at his hungover brother, but he had said something about you drinking him under the table and demanded to know what Aegon meant. Upon hearing you had "left", Aemond sprinted to your bed chambers and didn't even knock - just burst in.
Never before had the Prince felt such anger as when he learned you had left King's Landing without saying goodbye. Without a single word to him - as if the past decade+ hadn't meant anything! He needed to know, Aemond needed to see for himself the truth because surely, someone was mistaken. His brother, surely still drunk and misremembering because there was no possible way you could've left! Not without Aemond! Not without a word! He refused to believe it.
He panted, tears gathering in his eye, finding your room bare and stripped. Aemond's breathing picked up in panic, hands shaking as he stepped into your room; looking, desperately, for any sign of life. But there was nothing... Nothing, save for a letter addressed to him left on your table with the ruby necklace he gifted you for your 18th nameday.
Gingerly, Aemond reached out and plucked up the necklace. He frowned, petting the jewels in disbelief; noting the way a few were missing, some loose - evidence of your anger. Slowly, Aemond sunk into a chair and with the necklace still in hand and his heart hammering in his chest in a rattle, opened your letter.
Aemond ―
I know you'll be the one to find this, of that, there's no doubt. Sooner or later, you will learn of my departure and come looking, and for that, for being unable to say anything in person, I am sorry. Though this might come as a shock, it shouldn't as I would hate to give you the satisfaction of being right by burdening you with a desperate goodbye. I would hate for you to think I am clingy, even after our friendship died. So, I figure a letter is better than nothing.
Goodbye, Aemond.
Though all a lie and dedicated ruse, thank you for the years of friendship. You made time in the Red Keep pleasant enough.
― Rosie
Aemond sprinted to the courtyard, flinging open doors and shoving past patrons; desperate to find you, understanding you overheard him all those weeks ago and needing to apologize. He needed to explain himself, the confirmation now that Aemond was the cause of your pain and reclusion? His heart was about to burst. He skidded to a halt in the dirt, turning left and right and in a circle as he realized the gates were open and you were not in sight.
"Aemond?" Helaena questioned softly, Alicent taking to her side. "Brother?"
"Wh-Where is she?" He panted. "Rose - Rose - Rosie, where is she? Where is she!?"
"She's gone, Aemond," Alicent frowned, shaking her head slowly; startled by his desperate tone, "gone with her uncle back to Highgarden."
"When? When? When did they leave!?"
"She's gone, brother," Helaena snipped, sending him a look of disappointment; ears ringing from her dream, repeating what he had said to you.
Aemond swallowed harshly, asking his sister, "She heard me, didn't she? I know you know, Helaena, please, tell me. She heard me?"
The Princess nodded and walked away, the One Eyed Prince turning to his mother in desperation and for the first time in 10 years, perhaps more, he collapsed in her arms. Emotion clawed at his chest and into his throat, starting to tremble, sniffing heatedly; his mother's arms tight and comforting.
"I love her," he whispered.
"I know," Alicent answered, "but she should've been the one you told." A pause and her hand lifted to caress the back of his head, just like when he was a child. "It's too late now, Aemond. She's gone."
requesting rules and masterlist
HOTD masterlist
does this count towards the Clingy Baby collection? since Aemond technically calls her clingy amongst other things?
In a world where dragons did not dance and Rhaenyra reigns unchallenged on the Iron Throne, her legacy endures through her three valiant sons, with the Targaryens having bowed to their rightful queen. You, a traveller in this medieval tapestry, have at last discovered the opportune moment to seek solace in Essos, intending to live out your days unburdened and free. No longer are you compelled to mend the fragile bonds among feuding cousins, having already nurtured a brotherhood among the Velaryon and Targaryen youths. Freed from the duty of attending to Alicent, appeasing your father Daemon, or strategizing for the benefit of the realm and its beloved Rhaenyra, you stand on the cusp of true retirement... or do you?
warnings: typical targcest/inc*st. DARK CHARACTERS; controlling behavior, manipulation, gaslighting. cursing. reader is a modern human. dance of the dragons did not happen. canon typical violence. yandere behavior!
pairings: hotd x reader, daemon targaryen x daughter!reader (platonic)
Title: When He First Got Me
Characters/Pairings: soft!dark and rough Nomad!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader
Word Count: 2200 Summary: Prequel to It Fit Too Right and Puzzle Pieces in the Dead of Night. Steve sees you at a city festival for the Fourth of July, but he's not content with only seeing...
Content/Warnings: explicit smut, vaginal fingering, kissing, rough sex, emotional unavailability, a broken Nomad who thinks he's fine but definitely is not
Author Notes: IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO READ ANY OF THE REST OF THIS SERIES. True stand-alone prequel. A little something for Steve's birthday weekend... This will be a bit of a darker indulgence for @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar challenge: mint chocolate chip (involving a loner), sprinkles (birthday and 4th of July), cherries (meet-cute), and we'll even say some caramel (because Steve is not quite in a great headspace if we're being honest). AND I'm entering this for @witchywithwhiskey's Slasher Summer writing challenge: carnival/fair, slight stalker (but not fully), and I bolded the dialogue prompt that I used.
Steve didn’t feel like he could breathe easily, but he did feel like he could breathe here. Nothing like New York or DC. A place small enough not to be noticed but big enough to blend in without drawing attention as a stranger.
Being invisible somewhere had been easier than carving out the opportunity to do so solo over the 4th of July – less because it was America’s Birthday and more because it was his. Steve had suggested Wanda finally reconnect with Vision (they’d been on the run long enough, it should be safe for her to reach out and discreetly stay off the grid). The case he made to Sam was that he’d been on the run for over a year, and the 4th was less expected for a sentimental return to stop in on family but would still afford a holiday’s community celebrations and to give him reasonable cover to slip in and out. Nat hadn’t needed convincing. She saw, asked if he was sure, but understood without him needing to explain, and said she had things of her own that she’d take care of.
He just didn’t want any of the fuss of them trying to make him feel better on his birthday.
Steve was sitting on a shaded grassy knoll in the city park, hundreds of people around him, all weaving in and out of booths with games, vendors, and food, a vibrant temporary set up for a few days around the 4th, and on the far side of the park the sounds of carnival rides underscored it all.
He hadn’t come to this place to find someone.
But the moment he first noticed you, the plans started forming in his head before he could stop them.
And why should he stop them?
As he alternated between sketching in his notebook and people-watching, people watching turned into watching only you – you wandering this place clearly alone. Must be on your own in this city.
It would be so easy to harmlessly bump into you.
So he did.
When you recognized him, he could easily use the moment to draw you into keeping his presence in such a public place secret, getting you to trust him by him “trusting you” with his secret.
And he did.
He could easily ask if there were any good places to eat in town, then ask if you would join him.
He did, and you did.
After walking you home, it would be so easy to get you to invite him in, an afternoon and evening of conversation, compounding moments, and more and more casual touches on your arm, your shoulder, the small of your back, the back of your hand having your body attune to him.
And it worked.
You hesitated but invite him in you did.
And he tried for a moment to convince himself that being invited in had been all he wanted – to be someplace that wasn’t a stolen moment or a hotel room or a safe house that itself wasn’t very safe, just to be someplace private, someplace normal, someplace that felt like home.
But that was not the only thing he wanted.
And why shouldn’t he take the rest of what he wanted? After everything, didn’t he deserve it?
You didn’t notice that he locked the door behind him. You’d been apologizing for the state of your place, though a quick glance around and he assured you it only looked lived in, not a mess.
Not like the mess he was so eager to make you beneath him.
After insisting you didn’t need to get anything for him, he sat on your couch. He told you how nice it was just to sit there, nowhere to be, no reason to hide, how tired he was of running. You listened; you soothed him. He leaned in and kissed you.
You kissed him back.
All he did was kiss you until you leaned back on the couch and urged him along with you.
He let his chest press into your deliciously soft body. He groaned into the kiss, and you opened your mouth to his. This is grew in fervor, tongues exploring and tangling with each other. His hand ran up and down your thigh, slowly coaxing you to hitch it up around his waist. You moaned when he ground gently against your core – gentle only to test the waters. His need was mounting exponentially, and he knew the damn would break soon. He intended to let it.
He moved his lips from your mouth to your shoulder, kissing there before teasing his lips and teeth and tongue along your collar bone to the sensitive point of your neck. You sighed in bliss, and he moved his hand back up your thigh, over your hip, across your stomach, undid the top button he found there, and started to reach into your jeans.
Your breath hitched, and your hands flew to his.
“Steve, wait,” you said.
But you didn’t say stop.
He waited.
He could hear the wild racing of your heart beneath him.
The pressure of your hands on his body didn’t change, no part of you shifted to move away. Your eyes closed, the only sign of your reticence were your teeth worrying your bottom lip.
Steve slid his hand down to cup your pussy and his fingers found the wetness growing there that he expected. You let out a shuddering breath as his fingers worked your labia, but he didn’t linger there. He pulled his fingers out and then pushed them into your mouth.
“Neither of us wants to wait,” he snarled as you licked your slick from the pads of his fingers. “And it’s summer, we’re supposed to be having fun.”
Super soldier serum running through his veins, Steve picked you up with ease, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, while he held one of your thighs and pressed his other hand at the base of your spine, pinning you securely to him while he captured your lips to kiss you again.
He easily found your bedroom, and he lowered you to the bed in a kneeling position. He didn’t relent in his kissing, devouring you, demanding your supplication. He only broke off the kiss once you were breathless, moaning, and pulling at his clothes. Then he stepped back and told you to undress. Steve quicky removed all his own clothing while keeping his eyes on you. You only removed your shirt and jeans, leaving you in your underwear, but he could work with that for now. He’d have you willing to shed the rest soon enough.
Steve got up on the bed with you, pleased that he could see your eyes darkening with the lust and the want. He recognized exactly the kind of want he was dealing with – it was how he imagined he would have behaved before living the harsh life of denial he’d lived while exiled and on the run for the past year. The old him would have wanted but been hesitant, gone slow, paid attention to more of the dance before even getting into bed.
He didn’t have the luxury of time or the patience for that.
He only had an insatiable need that he’d pushed down and ignored – ignored for years even before becoming Nomad. He’d denied himself so many things, sacrificed for others, for missions, too many legitimate and imagined reasons holding him back.
He wouldn’t hold back now.
But he would coax you into needing him as much as he needed you.
You only glanced at his naked groin with a moment of hesitance as he pulled you into his lap, but you still let him. He resumed your kissing, and you were quick to continue making out with him. He allowed you take the reins to steer the kissing, letting you lap up at the pace you wanted. He let his hands roam over your back as he eased you along, seemingly unhurried. But his hands soon made their way to your hips, and he secured his grip there and began grinding you down against his hard cock. He moaned unabashedly into your mouth as he adjusted the angle of your hips and continued rocking your core against him.
He was insistent on torturing you where your most intimate parts met until, clinging to his shoulders, you threw your head back, gasped for air.
“Steve,” you keened his name, clearly in the early stages of sweet ruin that he wanted.
He smirked against your neck and laid you down on your back with deceptive sweetness. He kissed slowly down your chest, between your breasts, down over your belly button. His fingers hooked into the top of your panties just as his lips arrived at the top of that fabric, and he peeled them down and fully off your legs. Your fingers worked anxiously over the sheets beneath you as he made you wait for him to touch you more.
His hands opened your legs back up, pushing at your knees to splay you open like a butterfly beneath his attention.
He worked both of his thumbs up and down over your labia, smearing your cunt with your juices, studying what he was about to claim and ruin. Then he looked up at your face and said, “This is mine now, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” your voice was soft, nervous, but also eager.
It hadn’t actually been a question, but he wanted you to say it out loud.
The only question was how he wanted to take you first.
Since he planned on taking you in every way, he went with the most convenient first, easing his cock into you slowly, but with no apologies for how thick he was, pressing into you despite the resistance – not that of a virgin, but of a cunt that had never taken a cock so big before. You cried out – but he knew the tone of it was pain drenched with bliss, he could hear it. What’s more, when he was fully sheathed inside you, he waited, unmoving. He watched your chest rise and fall with a few breaths. When you finally shifted your hips against his, he knew he had won. You wanted more. The beast inside of him surged in satisfaction, and then he began to aggressively thrust in and out of your tight channel.
He leans forward, and your knees hitching up around his waist urge him on. You claw at his back, and when ultimately reaches between your bodies and finds your swollen clit, he rubs furious circles over it until he’s rewarded with the clenching of your cunt around him, the seizing up of every muscle in your body, as he delivers your first orgasm of the night.
He continues pumping in and out of your spasming cunt until he’s right at the edge, then pulls out and fists his cock with only two more strokes before releasing hot ribbons of cum over your stomach.
Your fingers inch hesitantly toward the mess, and he puts his hand over yours and pushes your fingers and his through the mess, pressing it into your skin. Then he moves your hands away and lowers his body down onto yours, the sticky spend between your skin and his there.
“I…” you start, but then pause.
He slips his other hand beneath your head, cradling it in his palm. “Mmm?” he hums against the spot behind your ear.
“I’m clean and have an IUD.”
He groans and nips at your neck. “You want me to continue to fuck you more. You want me to cum inside you.”
“Yes, Steve,” you simpered.
“Mmm, such a good girl,” he pressed a hot kiss against your neck, then rolled off being on top of you, and to his side next to you. “Best give you what we both want, then,” he says as he turns you onto your side, back pressed to his chest, and feels below to press his dick into your hole again.
Hours later when its far past midnight, you’ve passed out from exhaustion.
Or at least that’s what he thought.
But when he slipped back onto your bed after taking a piss, you scooted your body in next to him, put your hand on his chest, and muttered the sleepiest, “Happy birthday,” to him he’d ever heard. He almost wondered how you knew switching from the third to the fourth meant it was his day, but then he remembered the time when seemingly everyone knew it was Cap’s birthday.
While he wasn’t Cap anymore, it still struck something in him and made his chest warm.
But he didn’t feel like you would make a big deal out of it or make him feel bad and that maybe it would be nice to be with someone on his birthday, so he decided to stay. He told himself it was to be distracted chasing more bliss with your body. He ignored the other thoughts working through his mind. He only wanted – only needed – the distraction. Nothing else.
↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
I'M GLAD Steve's POV won in the poll I ran earlier this week... clearly since I made the poll my muse was leaning heavy towards it anyway, but this was certainly illuminating to see more of where Steve's head is at in this ... situationship.
In a world where dragons did not dance and Rhaenyra reigns unchallenged on the Iron Throne, her legacy endures through her three valiant sons, with the Targaryens having bowed to their rightful queen. You, a traveller in this medieval tapestry, have at last discovered the opportune moment to seek solace in Essos, intending to live out your days unburdened and free. No longer are you compelled to mend the fragile bonds among feuding cousins, having already nurtured a brotherhood among the Velaryon and Targaryen youths. Freed from the duty of attending to Alicent, appeasing your father Daemon, or strategizing for the benefit of the realm and its beloved Rhaenyra, you stand on the cusp of true retirement... or do you?
warnings: typical targcest/inc*st. DARK CHARACTERS; controlling behavior, manipulation, gaslighting. cursing. reader is a modern human. dance of the dragons did not happen. canon typical violence. yandere behavior!
pairings: hotd x reader, daemon targaryen x daughter!reader (platonic)
CHAPTER ONE: FREEDOM, SWEET FREDOM
"You look beautiful, Your Grace." Your voice is a soft utterance, the title rolling off your tongue in a smooth, familiar way despite her change in station.
Rhaenyra glances at you, a gentle reproach on her lips. "Muñnykeā, my dear daughter. How many times must I tell you?" Her voice is as gentle as the morning rays of the sun, and her smile is ever present, hinting at the countless times you’ve shared this dance.
"Old habits die hard, I suppose." You respond with an air of nostalgia, your hands placing the finishing touches on her head of silver. This was your routine; a common rhythm that had intertwined your lives through the chaos and calm alike.
Her eyes, reflecting the soft light of dawn, study you with a mixture of affection and concern. "You seem distracted today," she notes, her piercing gaze softened by the intimacy of your bond. "Is something troubling you?"
Taking a deep breath, you muster the courage for the conversation you've rehearsed in your mind so many times.
"Muñnykeā, we've discussed this before." your tone is edged with a hint of desperation, "I've done all I can here. It's time for me to leave, to find peace in Essos."
A shadow flits across her face, quickly masked by a serene smile. "Essos? But it's only been two weeks since my reign began. I need you here, by my side. The realm needs you."
"Mother," you begin, striving to keep your tone gentle yet resolute, "I've served faithfully for so long. You promised me this, remember?"
Her hand reaches out, clasping yours with an almost desperate grip. "And I meant it, truly. But the realm is still fragile. I can't afford to lose you now, not when everything is so new and uncertain." Rhaenyra voiced tersely, "You've always been my anchor, my guiding light. Please, stay a little longer."
The plea in her eyes, the silent fear of navigating the treacherous seas of politics without you, tugs at your heartstrings. Yet, you cannot ignore the growing yearning for freedom within your soul.
"Mother, you have become so strong. You no longer need me as you once did. Jacaerys has blossomed into a remarkable man, a champion of your cause and your rightful successor. Luke, steadfast and courageous, is maturing into his responsibilities. And father—Daemon, your wise counsel and formidable hand. Your need for me has diminished."
Rhaenyra’s gaze softens, yet the flicker of resistance remains. "But you underestimate your worth. You are the heart of our family, the glue that binds us all. Your presence brings peace, your wisdom guides us. Without you, we would be lost."
Her words strike a chord within you, the heavy burden of duty and affection weighing down on your soul. But you have given so much, sacrificed countless dreams and desires to ensure this very moment of her triumph. Isn't it time you sought something for yourself?
"I have given my all," you say, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "I need to find my own path now. Essos calls to me, a chance to rediscover who I am beyond the confines of this court."
Rhaenyra’s grip tightens, her eyes darkening with a mix of desperation and possessiveness. "You speak of paths and discovery, but what of the family we have built? What of the bonds we share? You are more than just a counselor, you are my heart, my confidante. Without you, this throne feels empty."
Her plea echoes in the room, a symphony of love and entrapment that tugs at the deepest corners of your heart. The weight of her reliance, the years of shared struggles and triumphs, all seem to bind you tighter to this place, this duty.
"Just a little longer," she whispers, her voice carrying a soft, almost pleading tone. "For me."
Your resolve wavers, the desire for freedom clashing with the love and duty you feel for Rhaenyra. "Alright, mother. For now," you concede, the words a reluctant promise.
Her smile returns, though a shadow of doubt lingers in your mind. "Thank you, my dear daughter," she says, her voice imbued with a mix of triumph and relief.
As you leave the room, her words echo in your mind, a reminder of the chains that still bind you. The corridors of the Red Keep seem narrower, the promise of freedom slipping further from your grasp. The weight of your duty and affection presses down on you, the bonds of your heart not easily severed.
Why is it so hard to leave? Haven’t I earned this? After all the machinations, the alliances forged and broken, the tears shed to ensure Rhaenyra's ascension? I’ve watched over her, protected her, and now I want—no, I need—to find myself again.
As the corridors stretch out before you, every step feels heavier, each echo of your footsteps a reminder of the freedom that remains just out of reach. The walls of the Red Keep seem to close in around you, the chains of duty and affection tightening, pulling you back to the heart of the throne.
Rhaenyra’s final words linger in your thoughts: "Just a little longer."
It wasn't supposed to be like this. You were merely an avid watcher of the series, a spectator of Westeros' intricate tales. Though you loved and hated the characters brought to life by actors, you never expected to be so deeply entangled in their world.
You didn't foresee when the lines of familial bonds and friendships blurred into their possessive need to control your affections.
Daemon is no different. Your father in name, his illegitimate offspring from a chance dalliance with a common whore.
At first, he was careless; indifferent to fatherhood's demands. Yet, over time, a fondness bloomed, blossoming into a fatherly love that bound you tighter than the chains of birthright.
His protectiveness, once a comforting shield, now borders on stifling obsession, each gesture a testament to his desperate need to shelter you from life's harsh realities.
His love had become a dual-edged sword, cutting deep with its intensity, weaving an intricate web of familial bond and a gripping embrace that defines your every step within the shadowed halls of power.
Daemon's love was worse than his neglect, for where his loyalty, once a sanctuary, now feels like an unyielding shackle upon your soul.
Jacaerys and Lucerys, too, have grown possessive. Their admiration has morphed into an unwavering need for your guidance and presence.
Baela and Rhaena, your sisters by Daemon, mirror this dependency, their sisterly bond entwined with an underlying possessiveness.
Aegon, in his search for affection he never received, has clung to you with a desperation that leaves you breathless.
Aemond, with his solitary nature, has found solace in your company, his rare smiles reserved only for you. And Helaena, sweet helaena, with her gentle inquiries, constantly seeks your reassurance: "Do you love me?"
The boundaries of fiction and reality have long since dissolved, leaving you ensnared in a web of duty, love, and possession that is not easily escaped.
The Red Keep, once a place of intrigue and power, now feels like a gilded cage. You tread carefully— aware that any misstep could tighten the bonds further making your escape impossible.
For now, you play the part. You smile, you reassure, you remain. You bide your time, hoping that eventually, they will change; that their grip will loosen. For now, you are their rock, their comfort, their confidante. But deep down, you nurture a quiet rebellion, a hope that one day, you will find the strength to break free.
For now, you walk the familiar path, the dream of Essos and freedom slipping further into the distance, as the bonds of your duty and love continue to hold you captive within the walls of the Red Keep. Every step a reminder of the freedom that remains just out of reach, and every glance a silent plea to stay a little longer, the weight of their desires pressing heavily on your heart.
You will wait, you will endure, and someday, you will reclaim your life.
Please also check out @bluepinkangel’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤
dark!mafia Steve Rogers x female reader
summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.
warnings: dark!Steve Rogers (really, he’s not a softie here, he dark); manipulation; blackmail; threats; power imbalance;
specific warnings will be added for each chapter separately
*yeah I know the title is long, but I like it 😜 besides, each part will have it’s own little title
Summary: You have successfully secured your marriage with aemond. But what of his reaction? what of what your family will think? Secrets are spilled, feelings are all mixed up and you are thrown into the future that you now have no clue what will happen, what will happen will only be what you make of it.
w.c: 10k
c.w: spoilers for the future of hotd mentioned, a lot of feelings, father daemon, and some smut. not proofread
a.n: sorry this took forever pls let me know what you guys think!! <3
taglist: @venmondiese @a-mexican-waffle @alwaysholymilkshake @seabasscevans @darylandbethfanforever9 @chloe-skywalker @m-riaa (if i missed anyone im sorry)
part one part three masterlist - requests are open
It takes you awhile to stand up. You sort of just sit there for a while, unable to believe what has just happened.
He had touched you.
He had kissed you.
One of your hands shakily comes up and touches your bruised lips, allowing yourself to get some semblance. It had been real, if the slick that sticks to your thighs and the pulsing ache between your legs was not enough.
Your legs wobble as you try to stand, you actually end up falling back onto the bench before you successfully stand and slowly make your way back to your room. Your mind is a muck. You can’t think. Not right now. Hopefully not ever. You don't want to think about anything. Not about what had just happened. Not about the dinner that will occur later. Not about Him. Nothing at all.
You will nap before dinner, a part of you hoping you don't wake up. You finally manage to get there after an agonizing walk, not before stopping a maid and requesting a bath drawn for you. You can't stand the sticky feeling between your legs. When you enter the room you let out a sigh of relief. You just want to mentally escape from it all so you jump when you turn around and clutch your chest.
“kepa.”
You and daemon had a different relationship than his other children. Your three birth brothers had not taken to calling him father, not that daemon was not nice to them. He treated them well and made sure they grew up to be proper men, but it had felt awkward for them. Rhaenyra and daemon married so quickly after your “fathers” death and it just had made things awkward.
To his and especially your mother's surprise you had quickly taken to calling him father which he enjoyed. He ended up showering you with affections he would normally only save for his dragon. You had no issue with him, not feeling the awkwardness your brothers had, you had no clue why but it just had become a habit to calling him father. You tried to ignore the guilt you felt whenever you would look at rhaena, knowing of her now strained relationship with him yet you would always get to spend time with him.
The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he motions to the chair next to him and pats the cushion. You cannot deny him, he had made his way to your room and was sitting at your table. You sit down next to him, fiddling with your hands in your lap as you look anywhere but him. You have yet to speak to him since yesterday morning, making an effort to avoid him at all costs. You know he would question you, swiftly interrogated you.
“Kepa-” “Let me speak first.” You swiftly close your mouth and tense. He crosses his arms and leans back into his card, his gaze doesn't leave your face. “You will tell me why you have been acting so strangely.” “I have not-” “You will not lie to me girl.” You stay silent for a while, your world feels like it's closing in around you. You close your eyes tightly, hoping the world will open up and suck you in, that a bolt of lightning will come and strike you.
Suddenly a hand is places on your leg and your head shoots up, his face has changed into a softer one, only reserved for you. “Skoros iksos ziry ao issa zaldrīzes?” (what is it you my dragon?)
You look down at your lap and your whirlwind of emotions comes spilling out. You tell him everything. From lucerys death to blood and cheese to rooks rest and to your death. Your plans of what you are doing now, why you are trying to do this. Everything. Though you admittedly leave out some details like what had just occurred this afternoon... It feels good to finally tell someone whats been going through your head.
You don't know how long you had been talking but once you stop the room is dead silent. He says nothing for a while, putting his hand on his chin and he looks as of he’s in deep thought. You anxious watch his face, your hands pick and prodded at the fabric of your dress, pulling on loose threads. You must sound insane and he will tell you as such.
“I believe you.”
Your mouth opens in shock. He taps his fingers on the table as he speaks, “Of course those fucking hightower cunts would do that. i should go slit their throats right now.”
You shake your head as you try not to think about how your stomach churns at the thought of aemond dying.
“That would be a terrible idea.”
“And you would rather lucerys die?”
“My plan will work kepa i am certain of it plus you would be hung for treason.”
“Is it truly treason if i have good reason? nobody likes them anyway i would be deemed a hero.”
“You do not like them kepa you do not speak for everyone.”
“Are you saying you like them? You like aemond?”
You don't know anymore.
These last couple months you had hated him. You despise him. Wished him dead every moment. But when you were kids you thought he was sweet. He never did anything truly wrong to you personally though you understand your siblings distain for him. You would always reprimand your brothers for following with aegon’s schemes and usually got them to apologize to him.
Maybe you had affections for him you kept locked up for a long long time. When you had come back to the keep for the first time you had thought he was handsome and tried not to think any deeper than that. It was easy when you were so distracted by your brothers trial and he had pissed you off when he called you all bastards during the dinner.
This reminds you of something you had forgotten. Did he still call you a bastard? Would he mumble it under his breath as you walk away from him?
You are probably the most clueless person in the whole keep.
“Does it matter if i do?”
“Were you with him just now?”
You nod, a confused look gracing you face as he laughs to himself. “What?”
“I could tell you like him very much.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“It is very obvious to tell when a lady has been fooling around with a man. You are lucky i am the only one who wished to see you this afternoon.”
You flush as his hand comes up and fiddles around with your hair. Was it truly that obvious? You had been sitting here this whole time and he knew?
“kepa-”
“i will not question you on your affairs. You are free to do as you wish,” He holds up his hand to stop you from speaking, “and i truly do not wish to think about that hightower cunt putting his hands on you. and hopefully it was just his hands.”
“Daemon!”
“So im just daemon now? im hurt.”
You lean back in your chair and a silence befalls you two once more. The door opens and you two turn your heads to the maid. “Your bath is ready princess.” You nod and wave her away, stating you wished to bath yourself this afternoon, because you would be embarrassed about how messy you must be but request someone sent in to help you get dressed. She nods and leaves swiftly.
You turn to daemon who stands and you follow suit. He grabs your arms and stares at you. “if you truly believe your plan will work i will advise you to try and put a wedge between himself and the rest of his family. He will choose them over you in a heartbeat. You must swiftly put in the effort and attempt to make him not trust them. However you see fit.”
He places a kiss on your forehead but before he can walk off you grab his arm, “You are not going to do anything stupid right?”
He merely smirks at you and that tells you all you need to know, letting go of his arm and not even bothering to watch him leave as you quickly make your way to the tub before undresses and submerging yourself to the steaming hot water.
You scrub and your scrub at any exposed skin you can reach hoping to scrub off whatever infectious potion he has laced into your skin. You can’t help but think about him, and attempt to ignore the way a heated pit forms in your stomach as you recall his words, his actions, what he had done to you.
You don’t know how to feel, you wish someone would come down and give you the answers you seek. Why did feelings have to be so complicated? You scrub until your skin turns red before throwing your head back against the tub and closing your eyes. He seemed rather eager to engage in your ‘affections’ you cant tell if it stems from him being able to tell you are trying to trick him or if he is genuine and wants you.
You had apparently fallen asleep and are woken to a maid shaking your shoulder concerned urging you out of the bath quickly as you had been in there far too long, your hands and feet had pruned. You look to the window and see the sun had set, were you truly in the tub for that long?
The maid holds the dress you had been wearing the last time you were at the dinner and an idea pops up into your head. “I wish to wear the newer dress.” She looks at you shocked, “Something big is happening tonight i should like to look my best.” You know this will cause the maids and the squires to talk and that's exactly what you want, you want them to be on edge this whole dinner, waiting for the bomb that will inevitably drop and by the look on the maids face as you grin happily you can tell this will be the talk of the keep halls.
You see the look of shock when you open your door on jacaerys face as he looks upon your outfit, “You,, look beautiful sister.” You smile and grab his arm, “and you look as proper as ever brother.” “Do not humor me.” “I am merely stating the truth.” You say with a laugh that has him glaring at you and pinching your arm causing you to yelp and slap his chest.
You soon enough walk into the dinning hall with lucerys and the dragon twins trailing behind you and immediately look to aemond who stands in front of aegon with a bored look. You freeze as you see him look at you and a light smirk befalls his face, you decide to be brave and keep your eyes on him as he stares for another long moment before he looks back. Aegon turns his head and looks at you with a tilt of his head before back to his brother and quickly back to you before turning once more and the two seemingly begun to be in a heated discussion.
You eyes however wonder off to otto who stands in a far, dark corner of the room a squire speaking into his ear before his eyes lock onto you and he looks worriedly back at otto before he bows and walks off. Otto looks over at you with what can only be interpreted as annoyance and curiosity, you merely wiggle your fingers at him in a little wave before you walk over to a seat. You choose to sit near lucerys in the hopes to keep his attention off of aemond though when you look at aemond as he sits you see that he does not look pleased.
You cannot worry about it now as viserys is brought in and alicent starts with a prayer. You look at aemond whos lost in prayer his hands folded neatly in front of him with his eye closed. He looks like a painting, like if someone had hand painted or a statue that someone had hand carved. It is rare to see a man as handsome as he is. Your eyes widen as he opens his eye to look at you before it closes again and you swiftly turn away from his direction to lucerys who is eyeing his plate but looks up at you and smiles.
Soon enough the food is brought and the on slot of speeches occur. It’s jarring to hear the same phrases and the same sentences heard over and over and over again. You merely continue to conversate with lucerys in the hopes aemond will not get irritated as he did last time. Something out of the ordinary does happen as viserys taps on his glass and everyone turns to look at him.
“In light of this beautiful day i would like to give one last final announcement.” You hold your breath and look to daemon who looks at you with a raised brow and a small chuckle. “I am so happy to know our families will join together once more with the engagement of my son aemond and rhaenyra's daughter y/n.” The table grows dead quiet. Even the staff in the room stops in their place at his words.
Alicent is the first to break it, “That is,,,” She struggles to finish her own sentence as she blinks rapidly, “So wonderful.” Rhaenyra straightens up in her seat and brushes her hand down the front of her dress letting out a confused sound before she speaks, “Yes, so wonderful, what brought on such a decision.”
“y/n had come to me and ask for permission herself.”
At this every head in the room turns in your direction, you let out an anxious laugh as you quickly wipe a drop of sweat that begins to run down your face and let a clearly forced smile grace your face.
Aegon quickly begins to laugh, almost falling out of seat as alicent leans forward to scold him. As daemon begins to chuckle rhaenyra places her hand on his arm, “Did you know about this?” He does not answer, continuing to merely shake his head as he takes another drink from his cup.
You look at the dragon twins and jacaerys who are staring at you with wide eyes while you feel lucerys place his hand on yours, “What is going on sister?” You shrug as you try your best to keep the smile on your face under their stares, “I do not know what you wish for me to say. You should remember what i said.” Jacaerys leans towards you his face furious, “But that should not mean you must marry the man!” His words are hushed yet angry but he seems to settle down a little as baela places a hand on his shoulder. You simply shake your head and do not dare to look at aemonds direction, instead choosing to fiddle around with the food on your plate.
You are so curious to know what he is thinking and you do not attempt to listen to their side of the table, instead as much as you hate it, focus on the scolding you are getting from your siblings and they do not seem to care you give them no response. Things around you finally begin to settle down as viserys is carried out the room and the room grows quiet again.
You grow more and more anxious as you watch helaena speak and know that in the past this is when the night began to fall apart. You rack your mind quickly as you try to decipher what to do. You still do not dare to look at aemond as if he would be any help. You do not bother to think before you act as you see jacaerys almost stand to go offer helaena a dance as you shoot up from you seat holding your cup as everyone stares at you. “I know everyone is sick of speeches but if i could give the last one.”
You relax as you see jacaerys settle into his seat and stare up at you as you take a deep shaky breath before you speak. “I would first and foremost like to acknowledge how wonderful it is to be here with everyone despite the unfortunate circumstances,” You let out a light laugh awkward laugh before continuing, “and i would mostly like to shout out my future husband.” You finally look at him.
He is as stoic as ever but he keeps his eye firm on you. You look for any sort of reaction from him but he merely continues to stare at you like you’re nothing and you lose your confidence, “um,,” You look to daemon who raises his eyebrows at you and his words from earlier come pummeling back into you.
He will choose them over you in a heartbeat. You must swiftly put in the effort and attempt to make him not trust them. However you see fit.
“Our union is a beautiful one, though my letters to you had gone unanswered, i am more than hopeful to make up for the lost time with a timeless bond we shall share. To us.” Your raise your glass to him as his eye widens and his head slowly turns to his mother and otto who look confused at your words and you sit down swiftly with a satisfied look.
Even if he does not like you, you believe letting him believe you had attempted to contact him the years you were apart and alicent or otto or both had hid it from him would be enough to atleast allow him to feel a bit of discomfort towards them, even though you knew it was not enough you would have to do more.
To your relief or maybe even your horror the night quickly closes after your speech and you are unsure of what to do now. This was uncharted territory. In the past you were quickly rushed to your room to pack up your stuff to leave but now you were saying a friendly goodnight to their side of the family and swiftly rushing out of the room before aemond or anyone for that matter could approach you.
You try your best to make it to your room, you can even see the door before you are suddenly scooped up and throw over his shoulder. “kepa put me down!”
“Your mother wishes to speak to you.” “I don’t want to.” you groan in defeat as you try to pull yourself off him but he keeps his arms firmly around you until you walk into a room and he places you down on the couch before taking a seat next to you.
You avoid eye contact with your mother who is pacing directly Infront of you. “I am very angry with you.” “I am sorry mother.” She runs his hands sown her face and stops pacing, standing straight at you with her arms crossed. “This is not something to take lightly you must consult me on these types of things.” “I’m sorry.”
You look down at your lap as you rethink over your decisions. Maybe you did not think this through. You should have talked to her atleast and now she has to deal with the stress of your rash decision. She sits down next to you and grabs your hands in hers. “Is this truly what you want?”
You don’t know anymore. Tonight went a lot better than you had expected. Well maybe it had only gone well because you had intervened when you did but maybe you did not need to marry him for this family to be salvaged. But you certainly cannot take it back now. Maybe you could, maybe they could convince viserys he had imagined the whole thing and you guys could go back to normal which meant the two of you would never speak.
Yet you cannot risk anything happening to your family.
“Yes it is mother.” She lets out a long breath and tightens her grip on you, “Then it is done.”
You let out a shaky breath as you put a grin on your face. You cannot tell how you feel but you are more curious about how he must feel about all this. He must be so confused and you hope he is at least pleased about it. Someone must be.
“Then we will return home in a few days and you can stay here-“
“no!”
You and daemon say at the same time, both of you sitting up in alarm and she leans back in shock looking between the two of you.
“what is with you two? is there something you aren’t telling me?”
the two of look at one another slowly before you turn back to rhaenyra.
“of course not.” “certainly not mother.”
She squints her eyes at the two of you, “are you sure?”
“definitely not.” “No no no.”
She moves on despite clearly not believing you guys. “Then we shall stay, if you so insist…”
you and daemon let a sigh of relief and she continues to look at you two confused. “I will let you two keep this secret you have for now but you will tell me the next time i ask you hear me?”
“yes mother.”
She leans over and cups your cheeks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “now me and your father have much to discuss. Head straight to bed.” You nod and turn to your father placing a kiss on his cheek causing him to smile and grab your face lightly before you stand and say goodnight leaving the room.
You cannot wait to get back to room so you can finally relax for the first time this whole evening, quickly flopping onto your bed and trying to sleep having no regard to change out of your dress merely wishing to escape to the dream world. Now you were walking into this blind, you have so much false confidence as you knew how the events would play out but now you are more than lost. In the past you had been packing up your stuff to hop on a carriage back to dragonstone but now you were staying in the keep. Betrothed.
You had not thought this far clearly. You would be married. It was your duty of course and your mother had begun talking about finding you a suitor but you always brushed it off believing it to be a problem for future you. But future you is here and now you will have to do as women do and marry, lay on the birthing bed to have children.
You will think about this tomorrow. as you fade off into dream land, a small part of you hopes to meet him there.
“Aemond you must see reason they clearly are trying to manipulate you. I shall talk to the king and make him-” “There is no need.”
“Aemond! I will not allow you to marry that girl, you know what she is a b-” “Do not say it.”
Alicent is desperate to get aemond to care about this the way she does but aemond seemed so far away, simply staring at the wall not sparing her a glance. This was not the son she knew, the son she raised and she did not like that.
“Aemond please-“ “Did she truly send me letters?” Alicents blinks, shocked at his question, frozen in confusion, when he scoffs at her appearance and goes to stand she snaps out of it and stands with him. “Obviously she did not aemond. She is lying! I cannot believe you are allowing her to get into your head like this!” Aemond says nothing as she grabs his forearms and looks into his eye. “They are lying to you aemond this is scheme to get you to fall into their trap, to lure you int a false sense of security, son please.”
The two stand in silence for a good moment. The only words exchanged is another please escaping alicents lips. Yet he says nothing at all merely ripping his arms from her grip and fleeing from her room leaving her to call after him. He did not turn back and she flops down on the couch in defeat. Her head in her hands, what was she to do?
You wake up to maids urging you out of bed, scolding you for having fallen asleep in your night clothes and swiftly rushing you to a bath. For a moment you had forgotten about the events of last night and you were at peace until as you were getting dressed another maid came into the room.
“The queen has requested to have tea with you princess.”
You certainly cannot refuse a request from the queen no matter how sick it made you. As you are led there you try to run though any scenario you could think of, would she try to talk you out of the engagement? Would she berate you for lying about sending aemond letters? What if she was actually happy about the betrothal? no certainly not. You remember her clear distain at the idea of halaena and Jacaerys getting married and you’re certain she feels no different about you. maybe you could try and convince her it would be beneficial. But you have no benefits to your name and in truth neither does aemond. Both set to inherit nothing. Your brothers to claim driftmark and dragonstone you truly have nothing to your name other than your blood.
There were no benefits to marrying you. Similar to aemond but he could have a much better life, marry into one of the great houses and become the head of the house. You have stripped him of that, even in the past he was set to marry into house baratheon, though you know he does not honor these arrangements, and had prospects a plenty. And you have stripped him of that. You should be happy he is stuck marrying you for he has lost the ability to inherit anything, yet you cant find yourself happy you only feel sorry for him.
You mentally prepared so hard that when you walked into the room you are unsure what to do when you see your mother and alicent sitting side by side chatting with smiles on their face with aemond sitting opposite of them, a free chair besides him. When they see you they rush you over to sit down next to them, aemond stand and pulls out the chair for you. You let out a hushed thank you as you smile at him and he hums with a faint of smirk on his face as he looks you over before sitting back down himself.
You are poured a cup before the commotion begins once more. “Now that you’ve arrived we should talk about the pressing matters.” You gulp and glance at aemond who blinks. The two ladies flow back into the discussion they were in before, a light argument with both of them showing their stubborness. “It is tradition she be married in the ways of the old gods and it is valriyan traidition. Im sure your son would also like to be married in the way all his ancestors had been.” “And my son also follows the faith of the seven and it would be incredible disrespectful to him should he not be married under the seven.”
“Why dont we just do both?” They turn to you and you merely shrug. “we could do a smaller more intimate ceremony with just family on dragonstone before we have a more formal wedding in the grand sept or whatever its called. Its respectful for both of us and everyone is happy,” you turn to aemond who is already looking at you, “Right?” He hums once more and nods, “Though it matters not to me where we marry it is a good idea nonetheless.”
The two women contemplate the idea before alicent begrudgingly agrees. “It is not an awful idea. but it would be hard to secure the grand sept.” This has your mother turning to her confused. “why ever not?” “Aemond is my second son, we only got the grand sept for aegon because-“ “The high septon shall listen to me when i ask. She is my first daughter and is to be treated as such.”
So the two ladies were in agreement and you let out a sigh of relief. Though you could feel alicents stare burning into you whenever she thought you could not notice but she was more than obvious. Youre more than grateful for the two other people in the room for only the gods know what she would be saying to you should the two of you be alone.
they get so lost in their conversation they barely even notice the two of you. You cant help but glance at aemond and he appears bored, fiddling around with a coin between his fingers. you ignore the fact that your thighs squeeze together while you eye his fingers for a moment too long. “im sorry.” you cant help but say in a hushed voice in his direction. He looks upon you shocked, glancing quickly to his mother but the two barely notice him before he looks back at you. “whatever for?”
“for dropping this on you so suddenly. I was wrong not to consult you before asking grandsire.” You do not know why you feel so sorry now. He is the man who killed your brother for gods sake but now youre sitting here feeling sorry for him? His eye is wide as he looks at you blinking as if he had not heard you right. He takes a few moments to compose himself before he coughs lightly into the fist of his hand. “You should not apologize. I am more than happy that you had asked him about it.” You tilt your head as your heart pounds in your chest, “He probably would have rejected me when i would have asked. My mother would certainly never do it in my stead.” “You planned on asking him?” Your words are strained yet still hushed.
He leans in closer to you and you freeze. “If i have not been obvious enough with my affections then allow me to make them clear to you now. I planned on marrying you whether our family agreed or not. If you do not believe me i am more than happy to show you how i feel like how i had done in the garden.”
You flush as he pulls away. a rush of emotions flow into you, you’re sure your soaked under your dress right now but you cant think about that right now as the two women turn to look at you guys. “I believe it is best we wait a few months to even think about these weddings,” “And i say its best we begin the prep immediately there is no reason to wait but maybe it is best we wait.”
You cannot let them push the wedding back too far. You would even prefer if this union was set in stone right here right now. You worry what will happen within the family should you wait too long to marry. Luckily for you aemond steps in, “I see no reason for delay, wouldnt you like for our father to be present for the ceremony? If we wait too long who knows what could happen.”
You are more than happy he stepped in instead of you though you doubt his reasons for wanting to push the wedding up are as pure as your reasoning is. Alicent, despite the flash of irritation that crosses her face a sad look graces it in its stead and she nods in agreement. “You are right. yet i doubt he would be able to travel to dragonstone in his condition.” “He could travel to the grand sept no? Im sure it would make him more than happy if he could be there.” Alicent looks at rhaenyra before she nods her head, “yes i suppose he could.” “then the matter is settle, we shall have a wedding in the grand sept and the celebrations here then travel to dragonstone where they shall be married and then they could even stay on dragonstone for a few days by themselves it could be a little trip for them.”
You blush at the idea of being in your childhood home with just aemond. Alone. As a married couple. You dare glance at him again and he has a pleased look on his face. his eye reaches yours and the smirk on his face grows at your embarrassed expression. You cannot believe this. “That sounds lovely.” Alicents words are strained but she makes no complaints, realizing it is a 3 vs 1 situation she only looks to rhaenyra. “And when would we be having these ceremonies?” “I see no reason why we cannot have it in two weeks time.” A lump suddenly grows in your throat and you cough into your elbow. ”Two weeks? That is ridiculous! Imagine what the people would think, they would think that…” Alicents words trail off as rhaenyra looks at her with a pointed look and she takes a deep breath. She does have a point as much as you hate to admit it. If you were to announce a sudden wedding the people would certain think the worst, probably that he had gotten you pregnant and you were forced to marry. You certainly cannot handle that. “What if we say we have been betrothed since childhood but are finally getting married now that aemond is older?” Alicent certainly tries her best not to glare at you though you dont let her know shes doing a terrible job yet your mother nods. “Thats perfect. Then its settled yes?”
Everyone at the table, though alicent is reluctant, nods their head in agreement and rhaenyra smiles. “Then me and the queen have a lot to discuss so you two are dismissed.” You go to stand with aemond and your mother turns to you, “Tomorrow i will call you down for the wedding planning.” You nod and bow at alicent with a pleased look as you leave, aemond trailing behind you.
You let out a breath of relief after the meeting. You did not know if viserys would live to the next two weeks you did not even know if he would live to tomorrow. But atleast you knew you would be in the keep when it happened. but whatever happens after that you’re sure your father has it figured out. You barely even notice aemond is walking beside you, your head almost spinning from relief. When you grip your head he turns to you, “Are you alright?” You nod but he seems insistent, grabbing your arm and leading you to sit down on one of the benches aligning the walls.
You lightly thank him while he kneels in front of you, pressing a hand in front of you forehead. “You dont feel warm.” He mumbles more so to himself, you close your eyes and press your head against his hand, the warmth of his hands feels nice against your skin. When you flutter your eyes open he has a smug look on his face so you full back and roll your eyes. Suddenly you realize how reminiscent of the garden the position you two are in now and flush, turning away from him.
He chuckles at your expression , “I did not know my lady was of such an indecent mind.” You glare at him, “And how does the prime and perfect prince know what i am thinking of?” A familiar look graces his eye and he leans in closer to you. you hold you breath as his smirk grows. “Because i am thinking the same thing. No i am thinking much much worse things.”
His words are hushed like they are forbiden they should be forbidden, for the way you shift in your seat and the pounding of your heart. He almost goes into kiss you before his eye widens and he stands. Footsteps.
“Aemond.” helaena looks upon you and smiles, “Good sister.” You smile back at her as best you can and let out a shaky breath, “Princess.” “Please we are to be sisters, you should refer to me as such.” You nod and let a real smile grace your face at her kindness. You have always liked helaena for she has always been kind unlike her brothers. Your eyes widen when you see she is holding jaehaerys, memories of hearing of his death flash in front of you and you try not to let your surprise show on your face. “As you wish good sister.” A big smile grows on her face at your words. “I have always wanted a sister, i am glad you shall be joining us here in the keep.”
You are not shocked to hear she does not consider rhaenyra her sister why would she? But it does rattle you back to earth and remind you why you are doing all this in the first place. For her. Your mother. to prevent a future that might kill her, that would kill you kill you all. You cannot afford to be blinded by pretty words and shove whatever feelings you had down. Standing up you run your hands along your skirt and put on your nicest face. “I am more than happy to be becoming your sister then. Do you have any plans this afternoon?” “I am to take jaehaerys to his lesson then i suppose i am free.” “Then let us chat this afternoon? just us girls.” You add in fear of aemond attempting to insert himself where you fear he will be. She nods eagerly, “Join me in taking him then.” You nod and politely bow to aemond, not missing the gleam in his eye before joining helaena and walking off. “Enjoy your afternoon.”
You do not turn back at his words but helaena does and sends him a smile. His words rattle you more than you would like to admit. You listen to helaena talk about whatever she wished to with a smile, you should not only focus on getting in good graces with aemond it should have always been a priority to focus on earning the good will of the others aswell. You will never gain otto or alicents but helaena and maybe even aegon you could certainly swing in your favor.
Your next few days follow a simply routine, you wake up, eat breakfast with your family, join helaena for stitching, avoid aemond as much as possible though it is easy with him keeping to his sword work and his books, wedding plan with your mother and alicent in the afternoon then eat dinner with the hightowers where you would make conversation with aegon when no one else would. It was simple yet you felt like you were walking on borrowed time each and everyday. You felt a sense of anxiety with every move you made, like someone was waiting for you to slip up, you were waiting every moment for the ball to drop, for viserys to die. Yet it did not happen. The wedding approached closer and closer the beginning of the festivities would begin tomorrow and he was still alive and well, as well as he can be.
You had finished breakfast and were walking to go see helaena but freeze as he stands in the hall, pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back. At the sounds of your footsteps he looks up at you and stands tall, staring at you. “My lady.” You bow your head, “My prince.” You walk forward towards him and he keeps his position, his eye trailing your every move. You have not spoken much to him, enough to keep civil and keep his attention but not enough for anything really to occur between the two of you, merely small chatter. You intend to keep it that way and move to walk past him, “Good day-” “I wish for you to join me today.” You freeze in your movement and keep you back to him.
You do not know what to do. It would be wrong to refuse him but you are nervous you may not be able to control yourself should you be alone with him. “Helaena is preoccupied this day, and, call me selfish but i wish to hear my future wife say more than five words to me today, if that is acceptable.” The tone in his voice tells you he has a wicked face on and he is content knowing he has called you out. You take a deep breath and turn around, “Of course my prince. I shall join you.”
“Call me Aemond,” He hums as he looks down at your outfit, “I would say put on your riding gear but i am sure you do not have any. This dress with do. Come.” He offers you his arm and you nervously take it, his words worrying you. “Where are we going?” When you to not grab his arm he laces his fingers with yours and begins to walk you two down the hall. “You are to be my wife you shall meet vhagar, she is eager to take a ride.”
You almost argue you do have riding gear until you remember you do not have a dragon. You did not claim one until the war when you claimed a wild one. Your heart aches at the memory but it is only shoved down at the anxiety that trails its way up. “No certainly not. i will do no such thing.” He smiles at your reluctance and continues to urge you along outside of the keep and you walk along a path covered with trees.
“Do not fret i will not allow any harm to come to you. I simply wish to spend some time with you.” “and you wish to do that on a dragon? why can you not train for today yes? I will sit in the courtyard and watch you all day! there is to be a tourney tomorrow you know.” You do not wish to do this, growing more annoyed with every step you take. “Yes a tourney i am more than sure to win in your honor.” His chest is puffed and he looks straight ahead with the confidence of a true dragon.
You scoff, his overconfidence is something you allowed to slip past your mind. “You have never fought in a tourney aemond.” “so you believe i will lose? where has the kind women who sung my praises gone hmm?” Your eyes widen at his words. You have been a fool! allowing yourself to get too comfortable with him. “Forgive me aemond i-” He switfly cuts you off and is pleased at your nervous look. “No no please continue i am so eager to hear what you truly think of me.” You pause and rethink what you will do what you will say. You cannot afford to mess this up with time so fragile.
“Allow me to apologize, i have been denying myself from seeing you, for i fear what i will do should i.” This has him shocked and you smile as you gain the upperhand, he blinks before a smile graces his face pulling you closer to him his grip on your hand tightening. “I am glad we are one in the same.” You are certainly not one in the same but you are also certainly not lying. You do fear what you will do, how you will allow yourself to lose control. It frightened you how much he could do to you.
You freeze as you stand in front of vhagar, she leans to eye you down and you take a step back while aemond speaks to her. He grabs your hand and places it on her nose and she lets out a long breath. “She likes you.” You scoff and shake your head, “I bet she wants to eat me.” “She does not eat people.” Your mind reels back to lucerys and you sigh, gripping at your chest. “Dragons can do anything.” His brow is raised in question but does not dare to say anything. He allows you to get familiar with vhagar and you cannot find yourself to relax despite the fact she is making no clear moves to harm you and does not intent to. He watches you as you shake still in fear and he moves to grab you gently, turning you to him. “If you wish we turn back now we can, i will not force you.”
He once again gives you an out as he always does, whenever you try so hard to make him a bad guy in your head he always twists and turns the story where you end up feeling back for misleading him. You nod and attempt to stand tall and confidence. “I will go.” You will do what you have to, for your family, and it does not hurt that the genuine smiles that graces his face is gorgeous.
He assists you on her and moves to sit behind you, grabbing your hands and covering them with his as he grabs the handles. You already feel as though you are way to far up but when aemond calls for her to rise and fly you close your eyes as the winds hit your face. The only sounds you hear as the flapping of vhagars wings as you soar higher and higher. You do not dare open them despite the fact you have spent the last couple months dragon riding. You fear you will be reminded of your last moments in the sky before you had fallen off, your breath quickens and his head falls on your shoulder, his lips right next to your ears sending shivers down your spine when he speaks. “Open your eyes.”
You do and it is glorious. Riding around the areas of kings landing are much more gorgeous than war. When you look around you do not see smoke you do not hear the sounds of metal crashing and screams and shouts, what you see is beautiful waters and lands and what you hear is merely the rippling's of the wings and the sound of Aemond breathing. “Its wonderful.” He hum and presses a kiss against your neck, “there is nothing more wonderful than this.” You hope he means flying. You are sure he means flying. You gulp and keep your head straight, taking in the sight around you instead of focusing on him. “I get why you do this so often.” “It clears my mind, you should join me when i fly.” Certainly not. You will not yet you do not find yourself refusing. You say nothing as you continue staring out the scenery before you.
The two of you are silent for awhile simply taking in the sky until his hands leave the tops of yours and wrap around your waist instead. “What are you doing?” “I wish to thank you.” “whatever for?” “for wishing to marry me,” you freeze as you begin to sweat despite the cool air hitting you.
“I, am no more than a second son. A cripple. Yet you asked for my hand despite that. When i have nothing to my name other than the one you already share. So thank you.” Your heart shatters. You begin to feel an ache in your chest and you close your eyes and lean into him. You feel awful. Sick to your stomach. He does truly seem to care for you and that makes everything far worse. You cant help but think to yourself would it be so bad to love him? to allow yourself to truly be happy in your marriage and your future together? The man behind you is not the man who killed your brother at least not in this life. or maybe not yet.
Yet you cannot help but turn around to look at him, he pulls away and keeps a firm grip on your hips as he stares at you, a far away look in his eye. “I wish you would not thank me.” “Why not? You have done more for me than you know i merely wish to honor you the way you deserve.” You shake your head and let out a weak no, he must not continue for it hurts too much. “Please don’t,” “I will, i will until i can no longer breath, i will do anything for you.” He presses your foreheads together and you should swiftly pull away from him, turn away and keep yourself locked up tight but you allow him to despite what your head was saying because it is what your heart wished for. “I can offer you nothing.” You say in return as you hope its true, not just in titles in lands in anything but you pray you cannot return his feelings either. Yet he simple rubs his nose against yours and you let out a shuddering breath. “I do not care.”
Your hands find his face and he pulls away from you. You simply stare at him, your eye falling to his eyepatch which he is quick to notice and goes to pull it away from his face. You stop him, “You do not have to, if you do not wish.” He smiles and pulls it away from his face. You are gasp lightly at the glimmering sapphire in his eye. You run your hand under his eye and he leans into your hand. “it is beautiful. You are beautiful.” He shakes his head and presses his forehead against yours. “There is no one more beautiful than you.”
He kisses you. It is not similar to the past kiss you have shared. This kiss is simpler, one made of pure love. Like he is pouring himself into you and you drink every drop of it up. In this one moment nothing else matters. Not the past present or the future just you and aemond above the world. You ignore every worry, every voice in your head telling you this is wrong. Just the feeling of his lips on your and the grip of his hands on your hips. His lips leave yours and trail down the side of your jaw down your neck, licking and sucking at the skin he can reach. Your hands grip his shoulders and you are pulled even closer to him as you revel in the pleasure. His lips trail back up to reach yours once more as one of hands leaves your waist and trails under your dress.
You let out some heaving breaths as he pulls away from you. “Allow me to make my debts right. To give you what you are owed.” You do not even think before you nod, without a care in the world as he presses his lips against yours against he trails his fingers along your slit. Unlike last time he barely wastes anytime before two fingers enter your and you let out a long moan that aemond drinks up as his tongue finds its way in your mouth. You have never felt like this before, with the rushing winds and the feeling of his course fingers inside your walls, his thumb toying with your clit. Aemond pulls away from your lips and you drop your head into his shoulder as he continues his movements inside you.
“You feel so good my sweet, fuck i will never tire of this.” You feel in slip in a third finger causing you to hiss at the stretch. You can focus on nothing other than the way he’s making you feel, you had thought the garden was the best it would get but somehow this was even better, you feel that pit in your stomach grow and grow leading you to bite into the fabric covering his shoulder to silence your only growing moans. “I want to hear you my sweet,” And he certainly hears you, with your battered breaths and shaky moans right next to his ear you can feel himself harden against you. You almost wonder if you should help him but being so close to your release you only think of yourself.
“Aemond,,” “my sweet give me what i desire, cum.” His thumb against your clit quickens and you shake as you drip all over his fingers. They stay inside you for a moment, allowing you to settle in your release before he speaks to vhagar to have you land before he removes his fingers and you watch mesmerized as he takes each one in his hands, licking even at his palm to remove some that had dripped down. “Does it truly taste that good?” He hums with his eye closed as he pops the last finger from his mouth. “absolutely divine.”
You had not even notice you had been flying back to where you had taken off. He must have been steering with his free hand. He basically has to carry you off of vhagar as you legs do not seem to be working. You say nothing to one another until you are off the ground and you eye his hardness. “Do you not need any help with that?” That annoying smirk graces his face and he shakes his head. “I would not want a pretty little innocent girl like you to partake in such terrible terrible sins.” You roll your eyes at his words despite your shaky legs begin to walk away from him which he quickly catches up with you. The rest of your walk is in silence and he walks you back to your room and wishes you a good day until dinner before he leaves and you walk into your room before leaning against your door and letting out a shaky breath.
what were you going to do?
You quickly request a bath before stating that you will take a nap before dinner and sleep finds you quickly. Your dreams are filled of you and aemond, similar to how you had been this afternoon and you lose yourself in them. You had apparently been so lost when you open your eyes it is well past dinner and the sky is as dark as can be. You turn to the other side and hope that when you try to fall back asleep you can but a piece of paper on your bedside table as you sitting up.
meet me in the library.
No name attached to it and you think it could possible be aemond. but what could he want from you at an hour like this? certainly nothing good. You throw on a cloak and walk yourself to the library, with every step you take you grow more and more nervous. Yet when you enter the library and walk around the empty walls of books you let out a sigh of relief at the man you see. “kepa.” he turns to you, his face illuminated by the candle in front of him and he crosses his arms as he turns to face you a look you cannot read present on his face.
“What is that look for?” “You like him.” You flinch like he had yelled at you and you fiddle around with your cloak. “I do not.” Your father takes a few steps towards you and stares you down. his tone angrier but his words are still hushed “I have begged you to be careful.” You shrug and grow annoyed at his accusations, “I have father.” “You say you have yet i am staring at the face of a girl who is walking herself directly into a hightower trap.”
You let out a frustrated noise and throw your hands up as you take a couple steps back. You do not know why you are so annoyed by his words. Maybe it is because you feel he is undermining you and does not trust you. Or maybe its because you feel called out by him. You do not know what you feel or what you think about him anymore. Maybe you really are walking into some elaborate trick. Or maybe youre not. You have no clue anymore.
You snap. And you yell at him depsite the fact you do not mean to.
“I am doing exactly what i must do for our family. I do not like him i am not falling into some trick everything i am doing is for us! so screw him and if i have to pretend i love him for the rest of my life then i will because i am doing it for us!”
The two of you are silent as you stare each other down. You do not know what came over you but you merely wish to leave this conversation and for him to leave you alone. The sound of footsteps has you freezing in place. You turn your head and see him. He does not look at you, either of you in fact. Simply placing a book back on the shelf and grabbing another. “Aemond wait i-” He does not turn to you as you speak. You watch as he merely begins to walk away. You almost run after him, but you feel so stuck in your place. He heard that. He had to have. You cant even be bothered to care that everything you have worked so hard for might have just been crumbled when the only thing you can think about is how he must feel.
He laid his heart before you and you have done nothing but squash it like a bug. Maybe it was a trick maybe it wasn’t but you can’t help but fear it was. Maybe you should hope it wasnt for you cant imagine how hurt he would feel should he has been genuine. You should hope he is exactly how your father pictures him to be. The aemond you know of the future. The evil man who murdered your brother and calls your bastards at every breath. Though deep down you know he is not.
You cannot breath. The air escaping you as you stumble your way to the table and stare at the wood as your head spins. You sit down in one of the chairs as you look at your father with worried eyes. He runs his hand along his jaw and he shakes his head. He does not know what to do. And neither do you.
Your wedding festivities start tomorrow if there even is still to be a wedding at all now. He has the proof he needs to go to his mother and she would swiftly put a stop to this as she has been dying to do. Would you be kicked out of the keep? would all your efforts be in vain? Would he hate you? if he didnt before he must now. He must despise you. For tricking him and rightfully so. You are a monster. But a monster who had been in the right. Everything you are doing is for your family. But your heart aches for him as you press your head against the cold wood of the table.
s.m: You are falling to your death. Your final wish is to be able to go back and stop the war. It seems the gods have granted your wish and you open your eyes to be back to the fateful day before of lucerys trial months before your 'death'. You must do everything in your power to prevent the war even if the only way is to find herself in the arms of the one man she hates most, Aemond Targaryen.
w.c: 8.6k
c.w: minor spoilers for the later seasons of hotd, putting anything else here would be spoilers. but theres nothing too crazy don't worry. NOT PROOFREAD theres smut i promise for the freaks out there.
a.n: this is literally just two freaks trying to see if they can match each others freak, enjoy !
masterlist - part two soon !
d.t ml @venmondiese
You’re falling. How long have you been falling? They say when you die you see your whole life flash in front of your eyes but all you see is the grey sky above you.
You are going to die.
You expect to be more scared. You should be screaming, crying, yelling for help. But as you fall through the skies the one thing you feel is regret. As you watch your dragon be chomped up by vhagar, the way your body burns after being lit on fire, you just saw your brother be knocked off his own dragon into the sea.
Whoever is listening to me now. I will beg of you. If i can only ask for one thing, i wish to go back. To stop this all from happening. To prevent the war. Please. This is all i wish. If in death i only wish to remember the good. Please.
You allow yourself to close your eyes. You shall meet the stranger soon. You expect it to hurt once you hit the ground, yet it does not.
Instead your eyes burst open with a jump and you take many a deep breath.
“Are you alright dear?” You look in front of you with alarm. Your mother and your step father look at you worriedly. What in the hells is happening?
You were just in battle. You look down at your outfit and realize you are wearing the same outfit you had been wearing to the keep when you arrived for Lucerys trial. You look back up and notice your parents also appear to be wearing the same outfits as that fateful day. You were sitting in the same carriage, the same familiar bumps in the road.
Were you replaying your life as some had claimed? But it felt too real. “Sweetheart?” your mother reaches forward. as best she can as viserys sits on her lap, and grabs your hand, “Bad dream?” Maybe it had been all such a terrible terrible dream. “Yes, I'm sorry mother.” She squeezes your hand before letting go, going back go bouncing viserys on her leg.
You lean back and take a couple deep breaths. It was simply a terrible dream. But when you turn to your right you gasp, “Lucerys.” He looks at you with wide eyes, “Are you well sister?”
You cant help but hug him, turning your body towards him so he is practically sitting in your lap, shoving your head into his neck, filling his pulse race against your forehead. “Sister? What are you doing? ow this is uncomfortable!” You ignore his whines as your eyes build up with tears. Months, you have gone months without seeing him, hearing his voice, smelling him, feeling his pulse, you missed him. You missed him so much. “Are you crying?” your tears had begun to drip down his neck and soak into the neck of tunic.
“I had a terrible dream.” You rush out as you sob. Because that's all it was. An awful dream. You feel Lucerys unstiffen as he relaxes in your touch, allowing himself to get comfortable in your lap as it grows clear to him you have no intention of letting him go. you hear him whisper to you “I am alright sister, i promise.”
You say nothing in return, just allowing yourself to listen to his breaths. It is almost as if it was real, him truly dead. You try to ignore the churning of your stomach as he begins to play with the ends of your hair, his head soon drops to your shoulder and you hear his breath relaxing. He’s sleeping. You slowly turn yourself to be facing forward, his head falls into your shoulder as he begins to softly snore. You rub your hands up and down his back as you finally rid yourself of your tears.
“Was your dream truly so horrid sister?” You turn to your left and there sits Jacaerys, next to him sits Joffrey who was fast asleep. You try to ignore the flashing images of arrows pelted into his skill that appear in your mind when you see his face. You reach your hand up and touch his face, your hand lays on his cheek as he blinks at you. “So horrible.” He grabs your hand from his cheek and laces your fingers with his.
“It was just a dream dear sister. Do not fret.”
Yes. That's all it had been. A really awful terrible dream.
Yet it gets harder to deny it was in fact all just a dream as the sequence of events play out exactly the same as they had. How your mother had been greeted at the gate, how your parents told you and the boys to entertain yourselves while they went to go meet with viserys. Even the walk to the courtyard was the exact same save for the way you clung to Lucerys which he was more than happy to let you, as he had his own nerves about being back in the keep.
This was so strange. You watch as Jacaerys eagerly approaches the swords, the way Lucerys looks around anxiously, the way Joffrey trails at your other side. You felt sick.
Your stomach drops, as you think about what you had been praying for. Were the gods truly giving you another chance? To fix this? But how would you even fix this? You know you cannot let it happen as you feel Lucerys tightly grip your hand. You have to do everything in your power to make sure he stays safe, to make sure they all stay safe.
But how would you even go about such a thing? The family is basically beyond repair. You know of what will occur, if you can’t figure this out. You try to come up with anything.
Suddenly you hear the clanging of swords and you whip around. As much as you hate to admit it an idea pops in your head. No. This can’t be it. There must be something else you can do. Not him. definitely not him. Yet you find yourself getting pulled along by Lucerys to watch the fight.
He truly is such a skilled swordsman, you would know you’ve seen him in the fields, even having gone head to head for a moment before you fled. You can barely pay attention to the fight. This is it. If you’re really going through with this you would need to start right here right now. You must be able to come up with something else right? There is no way this is the only option.
“Nephews, have you come to train?”
Your mind comes up blank. You feel Lucerys move to hide behind you as Jacaerys takes a step back.
His eye finally moves to you, “Niece.”
You have no other choice.
You let go of Lucerys and take a step towards him, you put on your best smitten look and smile at him. “Uncle, its been too long.”
You must be bold, you must do anything for your family.
You offer him your hand, it hands in the air for a moment and you fear he will simply brush you off. You’re sure your brother are staring at you confused but you can’t be bothered to care as an amused look graces Aemond’s face and he tilts his head.
He grabs your hand and brings it up and his head far down enough to lay a kiss on the back of you hand. You let the smile on your face grow no matter how much you wish to spit at him.
“You have grown into a beautiful lady dear niece.”
You bring one of your hands to cover your mouth as you look down at the ground. You feel Lucerys tug at the back of your dress but you cannot give up.
“and you have grown into a fine prince dear uncle.”
The sudden marching through the hall should not startle you the way it does. Maybe you had just been so lost in your act you could not remember when it had happened. You watch with blank eyes as Vaemond stares you down, you doubt his fate will change and he no longer scares you the way he once had.
You turn back towards Aemond and see he is already look at you. You smile at him before you turn you back to your brothers. “If you wish to go you can, i wish to stay here.” Jacaerys looks at you with worry, “Truly?” You remember you had all quickly fled to your rooms after seeing Vaemond and you knew he would soon suggest you all head back. yet you can’t go not now, not when you must make this believable.
You nod eagerly and they hesitate, especially Lucerys who truly does not want you to leave but you urge them too, it would not go as well if they were here.
“Shooing off your nephews dear niece? how disappointing.” Aemond finally speaks as you watch them quickly walk away not before sparing you once last glance before they turn the corner.
You hate to admit you think he is handsome. Probably the most handsome man in the realm. When you look at him he has a smirk on his face. “Would it be scandalous to say i wish to just spend some time with you my prince?” He raises his eye brows and a look of surprise crosses his face before it drops back to his more stoic look. He takes another step towards you and the smirk graces his face once more as you bashfully look away from him. “You truly wish to?” No. definitely not. “What if i said i did?” You whisper towards him.
He looks like he about to say something else before a voice cuts in behind him. “The prince still has training to do. He best not be faced with any,” Criston looks at you with a glare which leads you to try to hold back you eye roll, “Unfortunate distractions y/n”
You open your mouth to say something, you are unable to stop yourself, wishing to spit some vile insults at him but Aemond speaks before you can. “It is princess to you ser Cole, best not forget yourself.”
You can’t help the smile that grows on your face and the warmness that spreads though your chest. No. You should not be feeling like this. He simply did it as he knows it is rude to not address you correctly, you know it would certainly make him mad.
It amuses you the way criston bites his tongue and mummers to himself for a moment before speaking again. “My apologies princess.” You nod, not wishing to fight with him as of now. “But the training yard is not a place for, you, it would be best if you left.”
You still think he is talking to you inappropriately but you will not say anything to him for now as you simply turn back to Aemond. “I suppose i shall leave, but will you take long? I wish for someone to show me around the gardens, if you would of course.”
You fold your hands behind your back as you stand up tall, You can not faulter. It would be good to get away for a moment, as you have a request you must make. criston speaks before Aemond does, “I will request a guard for the princess-” “I shall not be too long, though i would hate to make you wait.”
You shake your head a begin to walk backward, the smile on your face growing “I will wait as long as it takes dear uncle, please come fetch me i shall be in the library.” You turn before either of them could say anything else and hurriedly walk up the steps and out of view.
Once you are far enough away from the room you lean against the wall and take a couple deep breaths. You feel sick but you can’t help the way your heart races as you think of the interaction.
Was he always so, charming? Well the last time you had met you had been children. Until the rest of your brothers and step sisters you did not see him on driftmark as you had been bed ridden with a fever during the service and your mother thought you too unwell to travel. You had no clue what happened and you had no clue that would be the last couple moments you spent in the keep as you woke up one day on dragonstone, apparently having been taken while you were asleep.
He was always a meek kid, you being a couple years his senior, never really spent that much time with him. You remember seeing him getting picked on and you would scold your two younger brothers and send an apology to him but beyond that there was nothing too it. He was certainly a grown man now.
No. You shake your head to yourself and slap your cheeks. What were you thinking? This is the man who murdered your little brother. Who slaughtered house strong. You could not be thinking this this. It does not matter. You no matter how much you despised him had to get this done. You do not walk towards the library. Instead you walk far up the stairs until you are stopped by some guards.
“I would like to speak to my grandsire, is he free?”
“The hand should take care of any concerns you have.”
“I am first born daughter of his first born daughter Rhaenyra Targaryen you will allow me entry if he is free.”
You cross your arms and stare at the guards who look at each other before they allow you entry to the room. You have not seen him in years you doubt he even knows who you are. So when you hesitantly enter the room and come into his view you try not to gag at the sight of him. You had forgotten how close to death he looked, it know being clear to you he was on his death bad, basically standing at the strangers doorstep.
“Aemma?” You whine and walk closer to him. “No grandsire it is me, y/n. Rhaenyra’s daughter.”
He is silent for a moment before he lets out an ah and a smile graces his face, allow you to grab his hands and sit on the bed next to him. “Yes yes y/n, my dear its been so long. too long.” You nod and smile as best you can at him. “Yes grandsire i have missed you.” He agrees and squeezes your hands.
“There is a proposal I’d like to ask you of.” You hesitate, this is really it. You have no clue if this is even going to work. But you have to try, even if it kills you you must try. “I am sure you could see how our family has been divided as of late,” You know exactly how to pull at him, how to get him to agree, remembering his speech from the fateful dinner that will probably occur tomorrow. “I hate it. I wish for us to be a family together. Which is why i must tell you. I have been in love with Aemond since i was a young girl. He is the man for me grandsire i am sure of it. So i must ask for your blessing in our union, to grant me my one true wish. To make our family whole.”
You are proud of yourself that you do not throw up. You are sick. You cannot believe you are even asking this. But you have to, you see no other path forward. If you can convince him to be on your side and stop this maybe it could all be prevented. You could be a fool walking into a lions den but it does not matter, you have to try.
“Yes yes that is all i wish for yes you shall marry him. oh the wedding will be beautiful, and we will be all together.” You do not have the heart to tell him he will probably not make it to the wedding. instead just smiling brightly and thanking him, squeezing his hand tightly. “Oh thank you grandsire this makes me so happy.” He nods eagerly before he begins to cough, telling you he needs some rest but as you walk away you can see him fall asleep with a smile on his face.
You are going to be sick. You are going to marry him. If you live long enough to marry him, if he does not kill you first. You try to hide the fact that your hands are shaking so badly and you stumble slightly as you walk as you make your way to the library. You know him to be a ruthless man. A Kinslayer. And now you were going to marry him. You were totally screwed.
You are unable to sit still in your seat, constantly rocking back and forth or tapping you hand and feet as you wait for him. He has no clue you’re sure. and your hopeful your grandsire will tell no one definitely not Alicent or most certainly not otto. You should have said something about it before you left but there is no point on dwelling on it now. as you try to relax in your seat.
“You are truly waiting for me.” You sit up out of your seat and turn to him in alarm. He had changed into more a more formal dark green outfit.
“of course uncle, i was truthful when i said i would wait for you.” You can’t read him. He does not speak for a moment, keeping his gaze stuck onto you, looking you up and down. You feel like he is analyzing you, trying to catch even the most minor slip up from you. Like he can tell you are trying to trick him. You can’t have him thinking like that, so you eagerly walk to his side and smile as sweetly as you can at him.
“I apologize if i interrupted your busy schedule uncle.” He smirks and shakes his head, offering you his arm, “Do your brothers know you are here?”
You shake your head and look at the ground. You do not get to see the pleased look that finds its way one his face until he grabs your chin and lifts your head up to look at him, taking a step closer. You feel your chest tighten. You do not understand why you feel this way, why his stare and the simply tilt of his head as your breath quickening. “How curious.”
He drops your chin quickly and acts as if nothing had just happened, offering you his arm. “You said you wished to see the gardens yes? They have grown rather nicely in your absence.” You hesitate for a moment as he raises his eyebrows with a smirk at your hesitance. You certainly cannot faulter now. you cant let him catch on to you, you can tell he has his suspicions.
You eagerly grab onto his arm and take a deep breath, accidently allowing yourself to be consumed by his addicting scent. You cannot stop the delighted hum that escapes you and your gasp covering your mouth. You are humiliated. You turn your head towards him and notice a different look on his face as he stares at you. He says nothing, simply letting out a hum before speaking, turning his head away from you. “We should head out now, the garden is lovely in the afternoon.”
You are glad he says nothing and simply nod and he begins to lead you out of the library and towards the courtyard. You attempt to ignore the stares and whispers of the maids and other ladies in the hallway as the two of you walk. You’re sure word will spread of the two of you walking arm and arm together, you are already dreading the talking to you’ll probably get from your brothers, your mother and especially daemon.
You cannot think about that now. Not as you finally arrive in the garden and simply begin to stroll through the large hedges of grass.
“I wish to know how you’ve been fairing uncle,” You stop for a moment pressing your free hand against his elbow in your laced arm, “I am embarrassed to say.” You bashfully look away, as if you do not wish to say it.
You are shocked you are able to act so well. Or at least you hope you are. You have to get him to believe you, you hope he is at least slightly convincing by your performance.
Your hopes are somewhat confirmed when his arm grips onto tight and looks your way, “You should talk freely with me my sweet niece.”
You blush at his words, unable to control the heat that flows up to your face. You are only happy he seems to be convinced, yes that is it.
“I have missed you.”
He turns you to face him and your breath stops. You two are chest to chest and he’s staring at you with dark eyes. You can feel his breath fanning on your face as you try to ignore the pounding of your heart at your proximity.
“You should not say such things to just anyone my sweet. Some men will not be as kind as i am after you say such things.”
my sweet.
You attempt to pull out of his arms but he keeps you there firmly. Staring you down as if he was a predator looking at his prey, you can’t help but whine quietly and you hear him hum, his grip tightens on you before he lets go. Taking a step back and coughing into his fist.
“I apologize, i lost myself.”
You can’t do anything but nod. Breathing heavily as if its the first time you can breath in years. You grip onto the spot where your heart is and grip the fabric tightly as your heart beats louder than it ever has. He looks at as stoic as he always does while you must look like a disheveled lady who just got caught in a scandal.
You basically were, feeling so caught by aemond who simply stares at you, his eye never leaving your face as he watches your every movement.
He opens his mouth to say something before a scared maid comes approaching you two, “my prince-” “What is it.” He spits at her, his face leaving yours angrily as he stares at the girl. The poor girl is practically shaking, she bows, “I am so sorry my prince but, the queen has requested your presence.”
His face drops as he straightens up at the mention of his mother. You suddenly notice the eyes you feel staring at you. It gives you a chill which runs down your spine, you look around the gardens for anything and notice nobody other than the maid and of course aemond. Then where are those eyes coming from?
“Of course, tell her i shall be there shortly.” “she requested i walk you to her immediately my prince.” You suddenly turn around and look upwards and you see two pairs of eyes staring right at you. Otto and alicent. How long had they been watching you? Had they seen what just happened between you and aemond? Not that anything had happened. No definitely not. Just two people talking.
“Of course.” You turn back to aemond and give him a nervous smile. He notices the look on your face and tilts his head as he looks at where you had just been looking. He tsks and turns his head away, you swear you see him roll his eye as he huffs. He looks back to you and grabs your hands, you try to pull them out of his grasp, your head flicking behind you, worrying they will see but he keeps you tightly in his grip.
“I am sorry to leave you, i shall see you dear niece.” He pulls your hands to his face and leaves a kiss on the backs of your hands before he drops them and walks off, not even waiting for the maid to follow after him. The maid quickly bows to you before hurriedly running off after aemond. You look back up and notice that the two of them are gone, you let out a sigh of relief praying they had left before they saw any of that.
Maybe you should be hoping they had. Then your act would be more believable. You never thought this would turn out like this. Maybe he just believed you far too much and was no acting on it. You wish you felt a sickness in your stomach, you want to hate him. He killed lucerys. You should hate him, you have hated him these last couple months. Nothing has changed, you do hate him. Do you?
You stand in the garden for a while your mind running a mile a minute. Are you getting so into your act that you're truly starting to believe it?
No. Enough of these foolish thoughts. You hastily move out of the garden, you should just head back to your room and sleep. Its late afternoon, you fake fatigue from your travels to avoid talking to your parents and brothers and lay down on your bed after a quick bath.
You stare up at the ceiling as the thoughts from today come spinning back up. Will this really work? Will this even be able to prevent anything? or are you just doing this for your own selfish gain? No. This absolutely had to work. You could not bare to go through what you had months ago, you still do not even know if anything is even real.
You try not to let your mind spiral and descended into madness as the sky turns from light to dark, skipping dinner. it’s not good to think about answers you will not receive until you see it for yourself. You should just try to sleep, but the way you are tossing and turning your eyes not even fluttering closed you fear you will not sleep a wink tonight.
Suddenly you hear soft knocks laid on your wooden door and you shoot up. For a second you think it may be aemond, you knew of aegons more horrendous personality maybe aemond is of the same mind and wishes to claim something from you? No, aemond is certainly not as depraved as him, you had known he took a mistress during the war, that witch, but if the rumors were true she was the only woman he laid with.
You open the door and let out a sigh. “lucerys.” You do not know if what you feel is relief or disappointment. Why would you feel disappointment? You watch as your brother attempts to smile at you before he looks meekly at the ground. “Can i, can i sleep with you sister? i cannot sleep.” Your heart aches at the sight of him, he had not come to you last time, had he felt the same way and could not sleep but felt like he couldn't come to you? was your over display of affection for him today the thing that gave him the confidence?
“of course you can.” You open your door wide enough and allow him to pass by you where he hurriedly scurried in and flops himself onto your bed. You smile at him as you walk over and lay down beside him. He smiles softly at you and lets out a quiet thank you as you begin to stroke his hair. “Are you alright?”
His face drops and he takes a deep breath, “i am scared. Why do they question us so? I wish we looked more like ser laenor and less like ser harwin then they would not question us, then we would be able to stay at dragonstone together, instead of being here.” Your heart begins to ache, you continue to stroke his hair.
You know of his doubts, his worries, and you wish you could do more to sate is worries. You know the trial will go fine tomorrow, knowing viserys will come to defend his heir, but he has no clue of that. Nor should you but you do.
“Everything will work out luce i promise. Leave it to mother to worry about.” “But i do not wish for her to worry. I wish i could do more for her. Maybe i should not be named heir to driftmark.” You sit up causing him to look at you alarmed. “Lucerys velaryon do not say such things. You are a wonderful boy who shall grow up to be the most honorable man, you should not speak down on yourself.” You cross your arms as your heart tries to be ripped from your chest as you remember. If you do not succeed he will probably be killed, by the man you are trying to court.
This whole thing was ridiculous.
He seems content with what you said and simply smiles at you, his eyes droopy with sleep. “Thank you sister.” You continue to comb his hair with your fingers as he’s lulled to sleep. You press a kiss against his forehead and allow him to press himself into your side.
You can’t allow anything to happen to him. You cannot allow yourself to be swayed by aemond’s charisma. He killed your brother. He was heartless and ruthless, a kinslayer. You cannot be swayed. he does not make your heart thump and have your breath racing.
You almost allow yourself to fall asleep before heavy banging on your door jolts you and lucerys up. You two look at each before looking back the door. “Who could be here this late?” No. He was not here was he? Another set of banging hits the door and you gulp.
There was no way right? You freeze as your hand hits the handle. What would you say if it was him? What would you tell lucerys? What would he do if aemond do if he saw lucerys? What would lucerys do if he saw aemond? you know the two will meet eventually, which did not go well at all, so what if its truly him?
You grab the handle and pull it. Letting out a huge sigh of relief as he storms past you. “You were not at dinner.”
He turns to you his arms crossed, your brother crosses his arms at you in the middle of the room. Baela and rhaena follow into the room, closing the door behind them. “I have been tired all day brother, i wished to rest.”
“You were not tired when you were walking around in aemonds arm rather cozy.” you ignore him, greeting you sister baela and smiles and gives you a warm hug before stepping and crossing her arms at you too. “Not you too.”
“What could you possibly have been doing with aemond?” You sigh and walk back to the bed, sitting on the edge. “I do not know what you wish me to say.” “I wish for you to explain to me why you were with him.”
You sigh and throw your hands up. “I simply wished to see him.” “You wished to see him? are you mad?” “Is that so wrong?” “Yes!”
You flop down on your bed and sigh. You feel the bed bend down next to you and see you jacaerys face staring at you. “you are acting strange sister, i simply am worrying for you.”
“it is so wrong i wish to bond with my other family members.” “They are not like us you know that sister.” You sit up and stare at them. You wish you didn't have to do things like this. You wish you did not have to do this. You wish you did not have to see the look of hurt on rhaena’s face or baela’s glare, or jacaerys anger or even lucerys confusion.
But you cannot give up now. Standing up to glare at the four of them and cross your arms. Your voice tight with anger. “I do not excuse what happened between you all on driftmark if anything i hate him for it. but you will not understand, i simply wish to spend some time with my other family. We should all want to mend what has been broken, bury old hatched and build, if not a loving family relationship, then atleast a civil one. I am sorry that i am the first person to realize that it is no good it would do no good for blood to be bad between is, not for us, not for rhaenyra. or her claim. We as family must have each other's back. and if we are not at least civil with these people they will never support us.”
The four of them are silent and you let out a huff as you fall onto your bed and close your eyes. “If you wish to hover and argue with me you may but you will be arguing with a wall. I know i am right and i will be sleeping. You are free to talk amongst yourselves.”
You roll over and keep your back to them. You feel lucerys get off the bed and you assume the four of them have huddled in a corner, whispering to each other. They would not understand. What you are doing for them. They would not even believe you if you tried. Though you hope your story is believe able enough.
You try to sleep. Though you are unable to knowing they are lingering not too far away from you. You feel movement around you and the door opens, footsteps trailing out before it softly closes. A part of you fears you might have scared lucerys off. but when the bed dips next to you you feel relief. “Can i still sleep here sister?” You turn around and look at his nervous gaze and nod, grabbing his cheek and smiling at him. “of course you can stay.” He smiles and lays down at your side, allowing you to wrap your arms around him.
You don’t fall asleep for a while. Simply staring up at the ceiling and feeling lucerys shuffle around in your arms every once in a while. You pray and pray that tomorrow afternoon will go exactly as it had the first time. And for the dinner. You would have to get a lot more creative to try and figure out how to prevent that.
It is now morning and you had been planning on walking to jacaerys room after breakfast before you are suddenly stopped. “Good morning.”
“Good morning my queen.” You bow and attempt to bite your tongue as she gives you what you know now to be a clearly fake smile. “How have you been faring? it has been a long time since we’ve spoken.” “I have been well, as all my family has been, my queen.” She nods and folds her hands behind her back. “I wish for you to walk with me for a few moments.”
It is not a request. She is telling you. So you nod and she walks, not even looking to see if you are following though you are. You know what she wishes to ask. Though you pray your grandsire has not mentioned the proposal to her and she simply wishes to ask what you had been doing with aemond. Not that you would have an explanation for that either.
“I have just been wondering something. if you would clear my head.” The sound of metal clanging behind you would startle you if you did not know criston trailed behind alicent like a damn dog. He should make it less obvious that he is glaring at the back of your head.
Please do not ask about the proposal please do not ask about the proposal,
“I had seen you with aemond in the gardens yesterday, thats curious is it not?” You try to hide the shaky breath of relief you let out. You simply hum , “it is not so curious. We are family after all.”
You act like you do not near the mumbling of ser cole behind you. Something suddenly click to you, he was probably the one who told alicent of your outing with aemond and you grow irritated.
Alicent merely huns though you know there is more she wishes to say. You are silent as she attempt to gather her words properly. You do not even glance at either of them, keeping your gaze forward. Its odd, despite the fact you should be more stressed out talking with the queen you feel more at ease then you were with aemond.
“I suppose you’re right. Its simply been a long time since you’ve been in the keep.” “Exactly the more reason i would wish to spend the afternoon with him. It is rather a shame our time was cut short.”
You don’t get to see the way her eye twitches and the way criston rolls his eyes but you can assume so. “Yes. I am sorry i had to pull him away for somethings..” You can hear how her words are not sincere but you decide maybe you can make her feel bad.
You turn to her with mock shame in your face, “Oh gods i had no clue it was you who pulled him away, i am so sorry i would not have complained if i had known it was you.” She turns to you and has a look of embarrassment on her face, “It is no issue truly, do not fret.”
You smile at her and she gives you a weak clearly forced one back before you turn back forward. It’s fun messing with them.
“My queen.” She quickly turns around where a guard was standing, “Your presence is required in the council room your grace.” She nods before she turns back to you.
“Good day princess.” “Good day my queen.” She scruries off without another glance but ser cole spares you a glare before he trails after her. You sigh and roll your neck out before walking back to your own room, no longer having any interest in speaking to anyone. It would probably be best to have some alone time before the trial anyways.
The trial goes exactly as expected thankfully. Viserys walks up exactly as before, rhaenys says jacaerys and baela and rhaena and lucerys will marry, daemon cuts off vaemonds head. All the exactly the same. It gives you erriry feeling, now you are so sure you have been transported in the past. You keep lucerys hand tightly in yours during the trial though you knew how it would go, allowing him to lean against you in relief afterwards.
The only difference is you can’t help but find yourself glancing at aemond throughout it all. His eyes drift to you as well numerous times, a small smirk finds itself on his face every time you lock eyes. You look away bashfully every time but you always find yourself looking back to him.
You quickly rush out the room after everyone had been dismissed, hoping to avoid everyone. You find yourself in the garden once more, finding a secluded bench and sitting down. Leaning your head back and letting the sun hit your face.
You allow yourself to relax, listening to the sound of the wind and the bugs, breathing in the scent of flowers and grass, enjoying the way the sun and the wind hits you. You don’t know how long you’re lying there. Not until you finally decide to open your eyes and stretch.
You turn to your left and let out a shriek. “Aemond!” He has an amused look on his face as you cover your racing heart with your hands. “I did not mean to startle you my sweet.”
You turn away from him and readjust yourself to be sitting upright, keeping your gaze forward. You merely hum in acknowledgment, not trusting yourself to speak. The nickname. Maybe it has just slipped his mind to add niece at the end of it.
“I merely wanted to see you” You look to him and see the amused look on his face. You still cannot tell if he’s genuine or not, he keeps his emotions completely in check, only allowing you to see what he wishes you to.
You smile, putting on a sweet face as you bravely scoot towards him. “I an happy to hear that uncle.” He hums, continuing to watch you. You squirm under his gaze and cough into your hand due to nerves.
Why do you seem to be enjoying yourself? Why do you like his eyes on you? You hate him. He killed your brother for gods sake. He didn't in this timeline you suppose. No. Why are you trying to rationalize this with yourself? You had just sworn you would not be pulled in by him.
Yet when he leans forward and gazes into your eyes you find your mind turning into putty. “What have you been up to these past few years my sweet? i fear we did not get to talking much today during our time together due to,,,”
He trails off, looking away almost bashfully as if he is embarrassed about what had happened. You’re sure he probably is, you would be if you were him. Not that what he did was wrong, no it was wrong, very wrong of him to grab you like that and have you so close to him. To say such a romantic statement to you and you two are not even courting. Thought you two wouldn't be entering a courtship anyways, well would your engagement count as a courtship?
“I have not been up to much. I’ve been doing some studying, some reading, lady things.” He nods at your answer but he looks displeased like thats not what he wished to hear. “How have you been uncl-” “Are you betrothed?” You look at him alarmed and try to catch you breath as he leans in closer to you. “I will apologize for being forward later but i must know.”
“Why?” You breathe out with a hushed breath, as you notice his eye drifts to your lips. “You must know. You must know already why i wish to know, why i must know.” No. You don’t know. You certainly don’t wish to. You shake your head and let out a meek no while he nods and gets closer. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, a chill runs down your spine as his lips brush against yours and you shiver.
“My prince.” He lets out sound close to animalistic as he whips his head to the left to glare at the squire while you pull all the way back and turn your head out of view, scooting farther away from him.
“Your mother is looking for you-” “Tell her i am busy.” He barks out. Thought you are not looking at him he can tell’s clenching his jaw and glaring. “She requests you now-” “You should go uncle-” “I am never allotted a moment of alone time and the one time i am she demands me? Tell her i am busy at once.”
The squire looks back and forth between you two and you say nothing, simply flushed with embarrassment. This was humiliating. Were you truly about to kiss him? and you were happy you were about to kiss him? You could not believe this. He nods simply, eyeing the two of you for a moment longer before nodding and rushing away.
You breathe heavily as you stare at your lap, your heart racing. What was happening to you? You begin to speak as you turn to look at him, “If your mother needs you maybe you should go- hmm!” he kisses you with a sense of fever you have never experienced. Sucking up every little sound and breath you take, one of his hands finds its place on your jaw.
When you open your mouth a little to gasp he eagerly shoves his tongue in your mouth, pocking and prodding, eagerly dominating you, leaning his body over you to where he is basically covering you completely, leaving you to lean back against the corner of the arm rail.
You grip onto his forearms, unsure of what you are doing. After what feels like an eternity he pulls away from you, eagerly rubbing his nose against your face affectionately, a small true smile falls on his face at your dazed look, his thumb affectionately rubbing the side of your cheek.
“Ao issi sīr gevie issa dōna.” (you are so beautiful my sweet) You flush. You hate him and the way he makes you feel. How dare he. You are supposed to despise him, make him pay for everything he’s done to you, to your family. But this Aemond hasn't done anything. This Aemond who’s gazing into your eyes like you are the stars in the sky, like you are the center of the universe. Maybe if this all works out and there can be no bloodshed there will be no reason to hate him truly.
Suddenly his hand lightly trails down your sides and to the sides of your thighs where he finds himself rubbing circles on your thighs. It is a silent exchange. The eye contact you share being more than enough. Your breath continuous to race as he keeps his eyes on you. one of his hands trailing down your legs and under your dress. Your breath speeds up and your heart quicken, is it even possible for a heart to be beating this fast? Would your heart burst from your chest?
He is a terrible man. An awful one. For being so unaffected while you are panting at a single touch. His hand lays on your thigh as he continues to gaze at you, he stops and you gulp, opening your mouth but unable to speak. He has stripped you of your ability to do anything. You look at him confused why he is not doing anything and then you realize something.
He is waiting for you.
For your queue. for your permission.
You have only heard and read about the affairs between men and women, you have never experienced something like this, he had even taken your first kiss. If you did this it would all be getting too real. Were you truly going to sully yourself like this? It would not technically be sullying yourself as he is to be your husband, no other man is meant to touch you anyway. No man is good to touch you other than him. You don’t want another man to touch you. Only him.
He is surprisingly patient. Not moving his hand an inch. continuing to gaze at you with that same dreamy look. You still cannot get a good read on him, is he truly trying to do this because he holds affection for you or is he merely attempting to manipulate you? had his mother told him to persuade you to get you to submit to him?
You nod to him.
It doesn't matter to you. You want him. Terribly to the point your heart begins to ache and your stomach twists and turns.
He finally begins to move his hand where you are soaked. He merely brushes his fingers against you and you move to grip his forearm tightly staring at him with wide eyes. He continues to simply gaze at you, unable to take your hands off you as he slips past your underwear and shoves a finger inside of you.
You gasp. One of your hands moving to grip his shoulder and pull him closer to you as he lightly begins to wriggle it around, feeling the inside of your walls. You are glad you are in a far away part of the garden for if anyone were to hear you, you would surely be ruined. Yet you couldn't find yourself to care as he pressed his lips against yours in a messy, open mouthed kiss as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of you. You are surely hurting him with how hard you are griping onto his shoulder, put his spare hand slides up your dress to begin squeezing your breasts as you gasp loudly against his lips. His lips leave yours occasionally, instead pressing against your cheeks and around your lips.
His finger quickens in pace where he slips in yet another finger giving you a delicious burn in your stomach. He stretches you out, his hands scissoring against you, his fingers pressing against your tightly walls which grip against his fingers harshly. He can move his fingers freely however, as you are completely drenched, allowing him to easily move within you.
You cannot tell how he is feeling, his eye simply closed as he presses kisses against your face but his face seems as stoic as ever. Though you cannot dwell on it again as he adds a third finger. You did not even know women could take more than one but three? This has your jaw clenching and your eyes shut tightly. He still says nothing and you in return. The only sounds coming are from your moans and gasps. You press your face against the side of his, putting your lips right up against your ear as he continues to pump in and out, you are now able to hear the squelching sound coming out of you leaving you to whine. You should be humiliated.
You continue to whine and moan and groan in his ear. Pressing yourself against him tightly, the burning of your stomach roaring louder and louder. You have no clue what is happening to you, not having heard about this unusual feeling before. You want to question him but you cannot find yourself to break this silence between you.
“Brother!” The two of you freeze. Your eyes shoot open and glance at him who looks at you with the same look, glancing over his shoulder at the direction of the voice. “Brother! Where are you? I know you're here!” He groans and mumbles to himself. His face annoyed as he continue to gaze at him. He slowly slides his fingers out of him and you whine at the now empty feeling, that burning in your stomach dying down.
You watch as he stands. You are unable to move only looking at him in confusion. What was happening? “I will make it up to you.”
He leaves. Turning his back to you and does not spare a single glance as he completely leaves your view. You are left clutching the bench and breathing heavily, the daze not having left you.
Summary : Marrying your bastard nephew to mend fences between your families wasn't exactly what you had planned. But when you realise that Jace has grown into a strong and handsome man, you might be ready to rethink your plans.
Rating : Explicit, 18+ MDNI
Pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Aunt!Reader (Reader is Alicent and Visery’s daughter. She’s one year younger than Aegon)
TW : p in v sex, mommy kink, sub!Jace (kinda), Dom!Reader (but they both switch tbh), inappropriate use of the word muña, oral (f receiving), afab reader, incest, unprotected sex, not proofread
Words count : 8064
AN : hi everyone!! I’ve been very busy lately so I haven't had time to update BUT I’ve been working a bit on various fics. Sorry to all my Aemond girlies but today it’s time for some Jace x reader. It’s a fic I’ve written for my gf who’s turning into a Jace girlie 🤭 It's full of indecency and inappropriate things.
Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!
Enjoy 🖤
The gardens had become your refuge over the past few days. Under the shade of the trees, on the soft grass, you had found a peaceful haven away from the excitement caused by the arrival of your half-sister and her herd of bastards. The Red Keep made you feel suffocated. And seeing your mother pacing back and forth, running left and right, didn't help. You had to calm her down. You had to keep an eye on your older brother, making sure he didn't slip away into the maze of Flea Bottom for the umpteenth time. You had to hold your family together, and you were tired.
You almost envied Daeron, in Old Town, away from the hustle and bustle of the court.
At least no one would think of looking for you where you were now. And you could enjoy a moment's respite, poring over the thick book you had borrowed from Aemond's library. Had he known that you had entered his room without warning, had he known that you had dared to disturb the perfect tidiness of his precious bookshelves, he would probably have threatened to feed you to Vhagar. But what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. Besides, you could perhaps find a way to pay him back later.
For now, you just needed to be left alone.
You stretched out, arms reaching for the sky. The sun's rays crept through the leaves, their warmth leaving a pleasant sensation on your face. Summer was back and you were delighted. The gentle breeze that ruffled the corners of your book and occasionally lifted the silver curls around your face gave you a sense of freedom. You deftly kicked off your shoes and lay back for a moment, your eyes closed.
Footsteps echoed on the cobbled floor, and you sighed in annoyance. You didn't have to open your eyes to see who it was. You recognised his footsteps. So, you kept your eyes closed. With any luck, he would continue his way and leave you alone to find someone else to annoy.
"Hey, my favourite little sister," Aegon exclaimed as he landed heavily beside you, his body brushing against yours. You opened one eye to acknowledge him, then closed it again, your arms crossed behind your head. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on me?" he insisted when he saw you weren't answering him. "You know, make sure I don't run off or end up drunk somewhere…Stuff like that. Which our mother probably asked you to do."
A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. It was true that Aegon was terribly annoying. But of all your siblings, Aegon was still your favourite.
You resigned yourself to rolling onto your stomach, your chin resting on your hands and your head tilted sideways to face him. "My dear brother," you replied sarcastically. "Unable to occupy yourself, as usual." He rolled his eyes before reaching out to remove a leaf that had gotten caught in your hair. He subtly ran his fingers through one of your curls, his touch as light as a feather. "And why have you decided to come and disturb my moment of peace, tell me?"
He blew the leaf away and you watched as it flew away on the breeze. Your big brother's eyes shone with mischief. "Why would I need a specific reason to spend time with my favourite sister?" he added, and it was your turn to roll your eyes. He moved to lie next to you, his body practically pressed against yours.
If you moved a few centimetres, your elbows would touch his.
You'd always been inseparable, and the habit had stuck over time, even when the teenage years had driven you apart. But in those moments, you were like two children again, ready to run away from Septa lessons to get into mischief in the castle.
“Because you always have a reason for everything,” you replied, and he looked at you with a fake hurt look that was greatly exaggerated. With Aegon it was easy. It had always been easy. He wasn't as serious as Aemond, he wasn't as strange as Helena, and he wasn't as far away as Daeron.
"I just wanted to make sure my little sister was all ready to meet her betrothed tonight." He paused. "And also, that she hadn't suddenly decided to become a pious woman and follow the path of the Seven." His voice lowered. You poked him in the ribs. "See? I'm a caring big brother. I care about you."
"Shut up, Aegon," you replied. He laughed. Then he rolled onto his back, arms crossed behind his head, one leg bent, and he closed his eyes. The golden rays caught in his long lashes made him look like an angel.
Everything he wasn't.
'Well?' He added. “Excited to see Jacaerys Strong?”
You sat cross-legged. The bracelets on your wrists clinkled. Aegon knew how much the idea horrified you. You had no desire to marry Jace, to sacrifice your freedom for your half-sister's bastard eldest son. You had no desire to leave the Red Keep, to follow him to Dragonstone and spend your life bearing him children. It was your mother and Rhaenyra's idea, of course.
The union of the eldest daughter of one and the eldest son of the other, as a way of repairing the rift that has grown between your families over time.
As if you were destined to mend fences, to undo the mistakes of your own parents.
It wasn't that you hated Jace. But he was your older sister's son, a bastard who had pretensions he shouldn't have precisely because he was a bastard. He was the model son, the perfect son, the prodigy son, the one who always did everything right. It irritated you. He irritated you with his brown curls and his awkward posture.
It wasn't fair that your father showered him with praise when he could barely remember your own name.
You stood up, smoothing the folds of your red dress to make yourself more presentable, and you caught your brother's eyes on your body, his eyes riveted on the thin fabric that revealed your delicate shapes. God, you loved to play with that. You knew how to get men wrapped around your finger with your sweet, innocent air, and Aegon was the first victim. You approached him and held out your arm to help him up, which he accepted by pulling himself to his feet heavily. After putting your shoes back on, you bent down to pick up the thick book in your arms. If you lost it, you could be sure that Aemond would be angry with you. And that was a risk you didn't want to take.
"Perhaps you're right, lēkia. I'd better go and make myself more presentable for my betrothed. I wouldn't wish to disgrace our family." And with that you turned back, your hair swirling in the air behind you as Aegon watched you go with a small smile on his face.
You knew how much Aegon hated being ignored, and even more so when it came from his little sister. You knew that he would return with his tail between his legs and a pleading look on his face. Between his constant whining and his dirty jokes, he gave you little respite, but it was a game that had developed between you; a game that, deep down, you enjoyed.
He was so predictable.
“If I had known you liked strong men, I would have dyed my hair,” you heard him shout from behind you. Aegon wasn't the least bit shy. You shook your head, your silver locks bouncing.
"Get lost, you moron," you replied without even turning around.
The meal in honour of your betrothal promised to be exciting.
***
As soon as he saw you, your nephew rose to pull the chair beside him in a gallant gesture, and you found yourself watching him. Really watching him. His long, broad fingers on the back of the chair. His dark locks falling around his face. His precise features; his straight nose and deep eyes and square jaw. You hadn't realised how much your nephew had changed. He'd grown up too, and he was now a good head taller than you.
He had become a strong man, indeed.
But you refused to admit that Jacaerys Strong had become quite pleasant to look at.
"Princess," he said, pushing the chair back for you to sit down. Fingers brushed the skin of your partly bare shoulders. The touch had lasted a fraction of a second, enough to make you wonder if it had been a figment of your imagination.
"Lord Strong," you replied in greeting. If the words hurt him, Jace didn't show it. Always the perfect son. What would it take to push him over the edge? To crack the shell he'd built around himself? To shatter the image of the gentleman?
To your right, Aegon was already seated. He was holding a glass of wine between his fingers while Aemond seemed to be lecturing him about something you couldn't understand. The exchange between you and Jace had obviously not escaped his notice, and the corner of his mouth had already curled into a smirk. You knew what it meant.
His silence was full of implications, louder than any words.
Your mother had lectured him before dinner, warned him to behave because that was what was expected of him, and she was counting on you to make him obey.
But your older brother didn't say anything. He simply raised his glass in your direction, his lips forming a word that you couldn't read. You weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed.
You looked at your nephew. He had donned a gambison in the colours of the Velaryons, and you couldn't help but smile at the irony of the situation.
After all, a bastard in blue was still a bastard.
"Enjoying King's Landing?" you asked your betrothed, in an attempt to start a conversation. His attention turned to you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.
“It's quite different from what I remember,” he replied, his voice a little lower than usual, his warm eyes meeting yours. “But of course it all depends on the company you are with."
You hesitated, suddenly unsure.
You hated what the sound of his voice did to you. You hated the way his eyes suddenly made you feel vulnerable.
Fuck.
“It all depends on the company, indeed. And do you find yourself in good company tonight, nephew?" You gave him a defiant look, as if to judge his reaction.
As if to unveil what he held within himself.
“I'm not quite sure. Should I?” He paused, one eyebrow raised. He had taken the bait. “What would yousay?”
His eyes sparkled with something you couldn't quite put your finger on. It wasn't the malice you usually found in Aegon's eyes when he wanted to tease you. It wasn't the gleam that animated his mind when he came up with a new plan for you to cover.
"I would say I'm in pretty strong company," you replied as you took your cup, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of your lips that you hid behind the glass.
You were cruel, giving him no respite, you knew. But you admired his composure. He hadn't cracked yet.
You knew men who were less patient.
Jace leaned towards you. A slight tilt of the head, just to make sure you were the only one to hear him. As if he wanted to share a secret with you. “Careful, Aunt,” he began, his voice suddenly quieter than before. It was almost a whisper. “I might begin to think you enjoy my company.”
You know I don't, you wanted to reply, but Jace had already straightened up as if nothing had happened, his head turned away from you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Baela give him a questioning look, and an unfamiliar sensation stirred in the pit of your stomach.
An unpleasant heat.
A hint of irritation.
You were annoyed, and you didn't know why.
“Look how handsome your betrothed has made himself for you,” Aegon sneered as he reached for the decanter and leaned in close to your ear. “A true Velaryon, isn't he?” He huffed.
You wanted to slap him on the thigh, make him swallow his mockery.
“If you think he's so handsome, I can happily leave him to you,” you replied, and Aegon's eyes widened. You saw him take a sip of wine, and something deep inside you told you he probably wasn't opposed to the idea. His usual mischievous smile was hidden behind the wine glass, but there was no mistaking his eyes.
Aegon had that tendency to give himself away, and you could read him like an open book.
The meal proved to be as boring as you had imagined. Small talk exchanged over fake smiles. An illusory moment in which everything seemed to be going well for one evening.
You weren't fooled, and you knew it was all a facade. You knew your family well enough to understand that the slightest spark could set things alight. You knew your brothers well enough to realise that all it would take was a simple glance between them to liven up an evening they found dull.
You just hoped they wouldn't cause too much trouble tonight.
To your left, Jace was still deep in conversation with Baela. They had that kind of complicity that made your blood boil inside; a shared laugh that sounded in your ear like the squeaky music you hated. You frowned. It was you, his betrothed. It was you, not Baela, and you didn't understand why that statement was suddenly so important.
After all, you despised this union. You hated Jace. You had no desire to promise him the rest of your life.
Jace was a bastard, and you deserved better.
So why did the sight of him touching Baela's hand cause a twinge of jealousy in your body?
His fingers brushed over hers absently. A light touch on her knuckles.
And all you felt was fire.
And then. Then, your fingers slipped under the wooden table.
You knew you were playing with fire. And you knew that if anyone paid too much attention to what you were doing, they would see that you weren't exactly behaving like the perfect Princess Targaryen you were supposed to be.
But you didn't care.
You let your fingers wander, running along the outside of Jace's thigh before moving up to settle in the hollow that connected his thigh to his hip. With a faint touch, your fingertips brushed the inside of his thigh, and then lower, tracing small circles through the fabric that was already beginning to tighten.
Jace almost choked.
He spat out the contents of his glass, his dark gaze fixed on you. Everyone had fallen silent, their heads turned towards him. Rhaenyra's eyebrows were furrowed in concern.
And you hadn't removed your hand.
An innocent smile lit up your face, your eyes sparkling with mischief. You wondered if Aegon could read you. If he could see that look on your face, so similar to his own. That distinctive feature you shared.
Deciding to play with your prey a little longer, you put on your best fake concerned face, pretending to be worried about his health.
"Are you all right, Jacaerys?" you asked, your voice a little higher than usual as your nails dug into the fabric of his breeches. Not to hurt him, of course. Just enough to wake a certain part of him, just enough to remind him that you were his betrothed.
He cleared his throat and coughed again.
“I swallowed wrong,” he replied.
Your fingers crept a little higher, trying to explore his upper thigh, where you knew your nephew would be sensitive. You didn't want to be rational tonight, you wanted to let the fire take over and consume you.
You wanted to let the sleeping dragon within you awaken.
The taste of the forbidden was divine, and the heat spreading through your lower belly was too delicious to stop now.
"Be careful, mandianna. We're not married yet." you said. We're not married yet and look where I've got my fingers. You kept your thoughts to yourself. "I wouldn't want to find myself a widow already," you replied in High Valyrian, amused, and Jace looked at you with his big brown eyes, somewhere between anger and excitement, embarrassment and curiosity.
Under the table, out of sight, your hand brushed the stretched fabric where you could read the confirmation of what he was feeling, the manifestation of his desire.
He was hard.
Perfect.
It was you who provoked this.
He responded to your touch.
You felt a familiar breath on the back of your neck and realised Aegon was leaning against you again. He was pretending to serve you some of the vegetables that had just been brought in for the starter, taking the opportunity to whisper in your ear as he did so well. "Try to be more discreet, little sister," he chuckled softly, his voice nothing more than a whisper to make sure no one heard you. Discreetly, he nodded to where your hand still rested on your nephew's thigh. He tilted his head. "Rhaenyra is right in front of us. Do you think she can see what you're doing to her son under the table?"
He put on his best disinterested face. As if the words exchanged between you were nothing more than banalities.
As if he weren't commenting on the indecent deeds you were doing under the table, unworthy of a girl of your rank.
"Shut up, Aegon," you replied, trying to keep a straight face. You didn't want him drawing any more of your family's attention to you, especially when you hadn't finished playing.
Your big brother gave you a knowing wink, as if to promise you that your secret was safe with him.
And you decided to continue entertaining yourself with the new game you'd invented.
You were bold, and you decided that if Jace didn't already know it, he would find out soon enough.
***
It wasn't that Jace was disappointed with his betrothal. You were divine, and the dress you wore made you so regal that he couldn't keep his attention anywhere but on your body, on your cleavage so gracefully offered to his gaze.
It was precisely why he had turned to Baela, why he had tried to distract himself with their conversation, why he had desperately tried to find something else to hold on to.
Because you were making him lose his footing. And that was a feeling he hated.
No, Jace did not regret his betrothal. You were everything a man could want; you were beautiful, you were regal, you were clever, and above all, you were a Targaryen. A princess. The king's daughter.
The only problem was you were distant and elusive.
Jace remembered your pretensions and mockeries from his childhood. He remembered the little brat you were, following in your older brother's footsteps. He remembered a little girl with a strong temper, who knew what she wanted. He remembered the pranks, not just the ones he'd taken part in, like the Pink Dread, but the ones that had turned against him because of you and Aegon, too.
It was clear that the little girl you had once been, taller than him, with long silver curls and an air of self-assurance far too confident for her young age, had grown into a beautiful young woman.
And that was something Jace hadn't considered.
He couldn't concentrate on his conversation with Baela, not when your fingers were digging through the linen of his breeches into the flesh of his thigh, as if to remind him to whom he had been promised.
Your fingers, slender, light, burning against his inner thigh.
He clenched his jaw.
All around him, the words and faces of the guests mingled in a swirl of sound and colour. Fuck.
Fuck.
His breeches were really becoming too tight.
You'd dared to do that. You'd dared to slip your fingers under the table, in front of everyone, and Jace didn't know whether to admire your audacity or wrap his fingers around your wrist and force you to take them off.
Suddenly he felt hot, a familiar warmth spreading between his loins.
He wasn't sure he could get up, not with his member pulsing between his thighs.
Fuck. You weren't supposed to make him feel like this. He wasn't supposed to feel such a desire for you when you weren't officially married.
This dinner was about officially declaring your betrothal, not consummating a union not yet pronounced.
He was trying to calm down. He tried to ground himself back into reality. Perhaps by staring intently at the contents of his plate he could ignore the sensation of your fingers rising dangerously high; the desperate need to finally have your fingers wrapped around his manhood.
His knees slammed into the table in a sudden movement.
Your fingers had just brushed the bulge that had formed between his thighs.
And he needed more, infinitely more.
You couldn't have the cruelty to arouse such lust in him and then leave him like that. He would never forgive you.
"Stop that," he growled in your direction, low enough for no one else to hear.
But you still had that damn innocent smile, that damn audacity to act as if nothing had happened.
"I don't know what you're talking about, mandianna." Nephew. The sound of the High Valyrian rolling off your tongue sent a wave of heat between his legs. Seven hells, you were going to be the death of him.
He wanted more.
He needed more.
More of your fingers around him, more of your tongue against his length, more of that innocent look on your face as you knelt before him, more of your tight cunt.
Jace was on the verge of losing it. You'd made him a slave to his own desire. You had closed your claws around him and he knew there was no turning back now.
“If you play with fire too much, you might get burned, muña," Jace retorted, leaning towards you, and he felt the imperceptible movement of your hand twitching at the threat. Aunt.
Despite his dwindling strength, King Viserys tried to make a speech about family, betrothal, and a whole host of other undoubtedly honourable values, but neither you nor Jace paid any attention. You were caught up in your own game.
Then Jace stood up, forcing you to remove your hand.
You could see he was uncomfortable, for you knew where to look, for you knew what you had done.
You knew he had a painful erection between his thighs, and it was all because of you.
But you could only admire your nephew's composure.
“To my uncles, Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. I have fond memories of our shared childhood.” His glass between his fingers, he raised it in the direction of his uncles, then turned to you. "And to my sweet and beautiful bride-to-be, who I'm sure will never cease to surprise me with her daring and surprising side. May our marriage be filled with joy and satisfaction".
The toasts continued, as did the meal. The servants had brought the rest of the dishes consisting of steaming meat and tasty garnishes. It was almost too joyous, almost too happy to be real. As if there was a threat lurking somewhere in the corner.
But Jace still had to teach you a lesson.
The music started, the sound of instruments filling the room. Jace apologised to Baela and walked over to his aunt. His other aunt. Your sister.
And you felt the anger return; the same inner turmoil as before.
Jace had held out his hand to Helaena and led her to dance a little further away. You immediately exchanged a questioning look with your brother, who had also stared at Jace in disbelief as he had walked away on your little sister's arm.
"So?" Aegon began. "It seems your betrothed didn't appreciate your little game?" You glared at him, but he just scoffed. "If he changes his mind... You know I like it."
You wondered if you could do the same. You wondered if you could ask Aegon to dance and if Jace would feel the same bubbling inside him, the same jealousy coursing through his veins.
You hated that feeling.
You shouldn't feel that kind of emotion, especially not for him.
You obviously didn't see it, too focused on your own annoyance, but Jace kept glancing in your direction, as if to make sure you saw him.
He wanted to make you jealous. He wanted to fuel the feeling he'd identified in you. He wanted to catch you at your own game. And one thing was certain, Jace hadn't played all his cards yet.
Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
After a moment that seemed an eternity, your betrothed returned to sit beside you, Helena going back to her own seat. You were less and less able to hide your annoyance, and no doubt Jace noticed, for he leaned towards you, a satisfied look on his face. "Your sister is very sweet," he murmured. He knew very well that this simple phrase would be enough to send you over the edge.
You liked attention. You liked compliments. You liked to be praised.
You said nothing back. But Aegon had his trademark grin, the one that stretched his lips when he had a devious plan, and he was already getting up on the pretext of serving Baela some wine so he could whisper in his nephew's ear. "I know my little sister can be particularly demanding.” He paused. “And difficult to tame. So if you ever need any advice... Or demonstrations…"
Jace was fuming, but he knew he had to keep his cool. It was Aegon, typical Aegon, to push his buttons, to succeed in making him suddenly unsure of himself, to make his mind confused. His fingers closed around his cup, his jaw clenched, and it took all his self-control not to throw the contents in his uncle's face.
He didn't even look at Aegon, who had returned to his seat with a triumphant smile.
But you felt something under the table. Something slipped between the folds of your dress, along your skin, discreetly, lightly, a delicious touch against your skin that made you want more.
Your eyes widened.
Jace.
Jace the perfect son. Jace the model son.
Jace slipping his fingers under your dress, touching the skin of your thigh, rising dangerously high where you could already feel the wetness forming in the crease between your thighs.
This was the moment he snapped, you knew it. You hadn't heard your brother's words, you had only seen him lean towards your betrothed, but you knew he must have struck a chord with Jacaerys Velaryon. That he had probably touched his weak spot.
Or perhaps you were just getting your comeuppance. After teasing him, after making him hard and desperate.
Jace moved his hand, tracing the space where your skin was soft and tender, all the way up your thigh, with a slow, gentle touch. His hand moved further towards the centre of you, where you were sensitive, and he brushed against your crotch. He didn't even need to apply any pressure with his fingertips to tell that you were wet.
Your hips automatically moved towards his hand in search of more contact, causing you to wiggle in your chair. All you wanted to do was grab his wrist, force him to slide his fingers under the fabric separating you, force him to touch you right here. But you were still at dinner and the game was becoming far too dangerous.
"I told you to be careful," Jace whispered as he withdrew his fingers and resumed his serious gaze, his fingers fidgeting on the wood of the table. “Two can play at this game.”
And then perhaps the Seven heard you. Perhaps they were offering you a way out. To be honest, you weren't sure if it was a miracle or a curse. For Aemond had risen, and he had done what he did best; he had made a mocking and provocative speech to his nephews.
Everything happened quickly. Jace and Luke leapt to their feet to answer the provocation, Aemond and Aegon were ready to fight back, and even Baela and Rhaena were prepared to defend their family. You had no time to move, no time to react, for dinner was already over, and so was your little game of cat and mouse with Jace.
This was your way out, you knew it. You were tired of sitting around a table listening to boring speeches. And the entertainment that had consisted of sliding your fingers under the table to push Jacaerys Strong over the edge had now turned against you.
"I shall rest," you warned your mother, who was deep in conversation with Rhaenyra, her features wrinkled with worry. "Tonight's events have left me somewhat tired. And I think a night's rest would do me a world of good." She nodded, stroking your hair, and you knew instinctively what she was thinking. Always the perfect daughter.
And as you passed through the heavy door of the dining room, you hurried off in a direction that was not that of your room.
Oh, but if she knew.
***
Thankfully, the corridor was deserted. You didn't have the slightest desire to run into a guard who would ask you where you were going or escort you to your room for security reasons.
Your steps were as discreet as possible on the stone floor, like those of a small mouse. You moved quickly, stealthily, almost on tiptoe.
Only the crackle of the fire broke the heavy silence between the cold walls, where the dancing shadows of the flames distorted.
You slowed your pace. You had a doubt. You weren't sure which door was the one you were looking for.
And then suddenly, as you reached the end of the corridor, you felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you against the wall, away from prying eyes. A strong grip, as if it didn't want to let you vanish again.
Jace was holding you between the wall and his own body. Despite the darkness, you could see his eyes shining in the candlelight, fueled by a devouring hunger you didn't know he possessed. He stared at you for a moment. His eyes in yours. A tension hung between you, burning, ready to consume you both, and you were completely willing.
Gently yet firmly he turned your body. Your chest against the cold wall, your back against his warm chest, and you pulled your hips back to provoke him. You wouldn't succumb so easily, not to Jacaerys.
He pressed himself against you, moving his pelvis forward so you could feel his hard member against the top of your buttocks.
"Do you feel what you're doing to me?" Another thrust of his hips. "Can you feel the effect you're having on me?" He pressed harder against you. Through the layers of fabric between you, you could almost feel him throb. Gods, he seemed big. "Teasing me all evening... Such a tease, aren't you?"
If it wasn't the consequence of your own actions.
You stifled a moan with your arm so as not to attract any patrolling guards. What you were doing was dangerous. At any moment you could be caught. At any moment you could be in big trouble.
But you couldn't stop now. Not when the best was yet to come.
You moved again, seeking more contact, seeking to make Jace harder and more painful than he already was, and you turned your head to challenge him. "What if it's you who's just too weak?"
You felt his hoarse breath against the back of your neck, at the base of your hair. He seemed to be hesitating, thinking. About what he was going to do to you, about what he was going to do to make sure you were responsible for your actions. Again he turned you so that you had your back to the wall, facing him, and you recognised the gleam of desire in his eyes.
Towering over you, he lowered his gaze to you, your faces inches apart. For a moment he let his eyes devour you, wandering from your eyes to your lips, from your lips to your breasts, visible through the fabric of your dress. He wanted to keep this image printed behind his eyelids; your half-open lips, your pleading gaze, like that of a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
You looked ravishing.
"Tell me to stop," Jace murmured. And you knew it was the sensible thing to do, you knew it was better to stop everything now, while it was still possible to turn back. For you weren't married yet.
But you had no desire to be responsible.
His fingers curled around a lock of your hair and tucked it behind your ear, waiting for your answer before continuing.
"What if I don't want you to stop?" you replied, your eyes locked with his. He felt your hand against his cheek as you detailed his face, tracing his well-sculpted cheeks, and he longed for more contact, his face seeking the warmth of your palm.
You put your arms around his neck to draw him closer, to close the distance between your lips, to feel his warmth against your body.
To quench this desire, this need that was becoming uncontrollable.
And your lips met in a feverish, urgent kiss. He pressed you further against the wall, his fingers running down your sides, brushing against the breasts he so craved.
He found your hips and his fingers worked frantically up the bottom of your dress in a crumpled ball of fabric to reach your core. "Look at how wet you are." His fingers brushed your folds through your undergarments. "All of this just for teasing me." He pressed one hand against the wall, still leaning against you, but not giving you what you wanted: his hand had stopped, and you tried to wiggle your hips to force him to continue, to force him to give you what you wanted.
Deep down, you loved the way he was losing control.
You loved that side of Jace you didn't know.
So you grabbed his wrist, guiding his fingers under the last barrier that separated his skin from yours.
The sensation was delicious.
The touch of his warm fingers against your folds sent a wave of heat from your lower belly through your entire body. You didn't want him to stop. "Here." You breathed against his lips. "This is where muña needs you." Aunt. He tensed beneath you, and you wondered if it was the ambiguity of the family tie, uttered in High Valyrian, that had such an effect on him.
You let your lips brush against his.
He collected your wetness on his fingers, exploring the slit between your folds up to your little pearl. You were soaking wet. And you desperately needed him inside you.
His fingers slid down to your opening where he applied a little pressure with the tip of his index finger without ever penetrating you.
"I know," he murmured, drawing small circles before abandoning your opening to return to your bud. "But I can't give you what you want now."
You whimpered under his cruelty, against his lips.
You could see through his game.
He wanted to make you beg, but you weren't the kind to beg. You were the one with the power and you were going to show him.
"We shouldn't stay here," you muttered, rubbing yourself against your nephew's hand. "If someone catches us..."
Jace nodded his head in agreement, withdrawing his fingers glistening with your juice, which you guided to his own lips, spreading the stickiness against his lips.
"If you're a good boy, I'll let you taste me."
And with that, he pulled you into his room.
***
Lying on the bed where you'd pushed him, Jace watched as you removed your dress, his prominent erection stretching the fabric of his breeches. The dress fell to the floor, forming a red puddle that you stepped over, one foot after the other.
Your nephew couldn't look away from your hypnotic figure, but his eyes inevitably wandered back to your breasts. You'd seen him glancing at your cleavage all evening, you could tell he wanted to run his fingers over your soft flesh, his lips over your nipples, and now that you were completely naked in front of him, you could see the unmistakable desire in his eyes.
You walked up to him. He clenched his jaw when he saw you. You, and the perfection of your shape, your little pointed nipples, the tantalising path that led from your chest to the space between your thighs where he knew you were soaked for him.
The flat of your hand pressed against his chest, forcing him to lie down between the pillows. He complied, never breaking the eye contact between the two of you, and you took your place on top of him, your legs on either side of his body. His husky breath escaped through his parted lips, lightly caressing your face.
You were naked, he was still dressed, and you had infinite power over him.
You lowered your hips against his covered crotch, the essence of your desire staining the linen of his breeches as your hips began to move slowly.
You leaned down and traced his jaw with the tip of your lips, planting kisses along his throat. Underneath you, his member twitched. Mimicking what he'd done earlier, you let your fingers rest on the painful bulge between his legs and whispered, "I know." You applied a little more pressure, drawing a moan from between his lips. "I know it's painful. But I can't give you what you want right now."
Jace growled. He wanted to turn you over, slam you against the mattress, pound into you and make you swallow your insolence. But he wanted to see how far you were willing to go. He wanted to see you keep control for a while longer.
You deftly undid his breeches to make it easier for your hand to slip through. You found his hard member, warm and heavy between your fingers.
It was a new sensation. As a model princess, you'd never ventured into this territory, saving your maidenhood for your future husband.
But Jace was your future husband.
You closed your fingers around him, your thumb collecting the sticky beads that had already formed at the tip of his cock and spreading it along his length.
"First I want to come on your tongue," your lips articulated against the skin of his throat as the hand that was in his breeches moved up his torso to close around his jaw, your thumb caressing his lower lip to emphasise your words. "Will you let me?" you added. In response, he let the tip of his tongue slip between his lips, touching the pad of your finger. "Let me show you," he whispered.
And indeed, Jace worked devotedly between your thighs, his tongue tracing the length of your slit, drinking in your essence as it flowed from your entrance like a delicious nectar. His tongue tickled your little knob, his thumbs spreading your folds to gain access to the treasure he coveted.
One of his fingers found your hole clenching around nothing, tracing small circles against it to force you to voice what you wanted. "Do you need me here?" he whispered against your flesh, the vibration of his deep voice sending shivers through your core. Your hands buried themselves in the dark mass of his hair and you moved your hips against his face, urging him to maintain the contact of his mouth against you. "Use your words, muña," he added, despite his nose being buried between your folds.
When you gave him the answer he was waiting for, he let a finger enter you in a delicious stretch. You held back a moan, your fingers digging deeper into his hair, not caring if you were hurting him or not. He continued to explore your cunt with his tongue, like a thirsty man, like a devoted man.
You wouldn't last long, your release close.
Jace then added a second finger. The sensation of his fingers inside you, against that rough spot, combined with that of his tongue between your folds, against your pearl, was simply divine.
"Go on," Jace started, but you immediately cut him off. "Shut up." You didn't want him to speak. You wanted him to continue with his damn tongue, with his broad fingers inside you. You didn't want him to stop. "I am... I am close."
And your climax washed over your entire body like a wave of warmth. Your legs closed around your nephew's face.
It was probably one of the best sensations you'd ever experienced.
Still between your legs, his fingers gripping your thighs, Jace collected your arousal on his tongue, sending shivers of overstimulation down your spine, and your whole body shuddering in a brutal spasm. You straightened up, knees still bent, your hand returning to your nephew's hair to guide him over you, his face close to yours. You stroked his cheek gently, as if to let him know he was a good boy, and your thumb picked up the sticky fluid that was smeared all over the bottom of his face.
You were both out of breath. You from the intense release you'd felt, he from the dedication he'd shown.
A smirk formed at the corner of your lips, and you pressed your thumb between his lips to ensure he didn't waste anything. Jace tilted his face close to yours. "You taste divine," he breathed, turning your cheeks red. "But now I need to be inside you."
His fingers slipped between your thighs, where your centre was pulsing, still far too sensitive from the ministrations he had given you.
"You can give me another, can't you?" He asked, and you nodded, so sore.
After he undressed, Jace pushed on your shoulders to make you lie down, but you skilfully changed positions, taking him by surprise.
You were unwilling to give him the power he wanted, not yet.
Straddling him, you moved your hips to rub your crotch against his erect manhood, spreading your wetness along his length. Beneath you, his torso rose and fell rapidly, and the grunts he let out conveyed his need for more. So your hand sought his hard member, guiding it to your entrance without letting it penetrate you. "So?" you asked playfully. "Do you think you've been a good boy ? Do you think you deserve to be inside me?" You wanted to make him beg, and Jace could see right through you. "To be the first?" you added, lowering your voice slightly, as if you were telling him a secret.
But he wasn't sure he could hold out much longer.
So he capitulated, giving you the defeat you'd been waiting for.
"Yes." he breathed. "Please." Your victorious smile stretched your lips and you guided him further against you, pressing his erection against your opening. Fuck. He was massive.
He was about to breathe a sigh of relief, ready to feel your velvet walls tighten around him, but you blocked his hip movement.
It wasn't enough.
"Please who?" you asked, your fingers moving back and forth around his manhood. He glared at you. You were gloating. "Please, muña," he finally begged, and you gave him what he wanted.
You lowered your hips to let him slide into you in a long thrust that stretched you around him. He was indeedmassive, and the new sensation of having him inside you was a delicious mix of dull pain and burning pleasure. You stood still for a moment to adjust to his presence inside you, your core throbbing around him. The initial pinch gradually dissipated, replaced by a pleasant sensation that sent a wave of warmth through your body.
And then he began to thrust in and out, pushing up to sink into you. "Fuck...fuck, you're tight," Jace growled. Your loose hair cascaded down either side of your face, tickling his cheeks, and he caught it in a messy bun to hold it behind your head.
You could feel the same pleasure as before building up in your lower abdomen.
Gods, you could feel him so intensely. So deeply too. Bouncing rhythmically against that particular part of you.
You buried your head in his neck, his woody scent filling your nostrils.
It was primal. Animal, between the two of you. All that mattered was the here and now. Your body against his, the sweat beading between you, the moans filling the room.
Jace tugged at your hair, causing you to throw your head back, freeing access to your chest, and he straightened up into a sitting position, his member still deep inside you, to find your breast. He buried his face in it and your hand instinctively found the back of his head to stroke his hair. Jace's lips traced a trail of kisses down the valley between your breasts, following the curve of your flesh before closing around your nipple, which he sucked gently. One of his arms wrapped around you to hold you tight against him, his other hand resting on the breast he wasn't devouring.
You stayed like that for a while, your legs on either side of him, his mouth seeking solace in your breasts, the divine sensation of being full, with him inside you, in the softness of the night, the flames rocking your lovemaking.
One of Jace's arms finally found your back and in one swift movement he reversed position. He desperately needed more, sensing that he wouldn't last long.
He pinned you beneath him, against the mattress, your legs immediately closing around him and the pace quickened. His thrusts became more messy, more sloppy because of your two combined essences. "You're mine, now" he grunted, and you shivered. His index and middle fingers wandered between your folds, caressing the spot where you were joined before moving to the pearl hidden at the top of your slit. "Am I?" you replied teasingly. You could feel him throbbing inside you. "Then be a good boy now and give muña your seed."
That was the spark that ignited the fire. Jace quickened the rhythm of his hips, his fingers still buried between your folds, his movements erratic. With each of his thrusts, you felt his member hitting that sensitive spot against your spongy inner walls. You tensed and for the second time that evening, your release flooded your entire body. You were followed by your nephew as Jace spilled into you, his seed painting white ropes against your womb.
He lay still inside you for a moment, his cock softening as you both caught your breath, your hands in his dark curls, his head at the nape of your neck.
You winced as he withdrew from your still sensitive core, his now cold seed flowing between your thighs. Jace dropped down beside you, satisfied. Then you turned to him. You grabbed his wrist one last time and guided his fingers to your centre, where your folds were smeared with the remnants of your lovemaking.
"Look how much you've left inside me," you whispered into his ear, making Jace collect his own seed on his fingertips and push it back into you. "I'm going to keep it all inside me, would you like that, sweet boy?" you whispered again.
And Jace pulled you against him to kiss you, his member stirring between his thighs, against you. It was true that he'd given you the upper hand this time. But he was ready to show you what he could do. You snuggled up against his chest, tucking your head under his chin.
"Perhaps…We should bring the wedding date forward."
