she/her, eighteen, infp, child of demeter, alysmond’s love child.
WHO DO I WRITE FOR?: asoiaf/hotd, the hunger games, avatar, marvel cinematic universe…
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PLEASE NOTE . . . [I] i do not write dead dove content. [II] pleaseeee give me criticism―i always aim to improve my writing! [III] gtfo if you are racist, zionist, maga, islamophobic, homophobic; people who discriminate are not welcome here. [IV] please ask me if you want to be in my taglist! it’s always open! [V] feel free to request for any reader you like (masc!reader, gn!reader, poc!reader). i do it all!
❛ the moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon. ❜
happy birthday to moiiiii i promise i plan on posting here soon😭💗😭💗😭💗 in the meantime, follow my kpop blog if youre into it!!!! quite active on there <33 @baskinginvellichor
pairing: draco malfoy x muggleborn!slytherin!fem!reader
request: devastion overwhelmed you completely once you witnessed how draco, your boyfriend, was unable to defend you after his friend called you a mudblood.
word count: 2,472
warnings: ANGST, swearing as usual hehe, goyle being a cow, draco being a DICK and also calling reader a mudblood but its for your own good woah, a bit of fluff before the angst but there is NOT a happy ending, all this goes down on reader's birthday, unfortunately not proofread again (it's 1am in the uk im SORRY)
author’s note: i looooved writing this request, goodness gracious me. HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANON, i put my own little twist in it if you dont mind, draco DOES call reader a mudblood towards in their argument dw<3 also theres a little easter egg from one of my other fics, youre a real one if you notice hehshhs
more draco malfoy | navigation
IN THE SPAN OF SIX MONTHS, your private friendship with Draco had blossomed into something more beautiful—a real relationship where you got to call him your boyfriend. However, there was a downside to the two of you dating… Draco made you promise that you wouldn’t tell anyone; you knew deep down that this should’ve been a red flag, that if he really loved you, he wouldn’t be afraid to tell anyone about you, about your love.
Too bad that your naivety got the better of you.
Sitting on the cold, stone floor of the Astronomy Tower, you tried to stifle your sobs of despair, but it was no use. Tears of your turmoil trickled down your cheeks like the waterfalls you always adored gazing at whenever you went hiking with your parents—today wasn’t the special day you had planned it to be.
After all, it was your birthday. Your seventeenth to be precise.
You weren’t expecting a lot, in all honesty. Just a day of happiness, spent with your closest friend… and even your boyfriend, Draco. Most of all, he had promised you—
“I can’t believe I turn seventeen in a few days,” you whispered, more to yourself if anything as you burrowed into your beloved boyfriend’s chest, hiding away from the rest of the world… The tips of his fingernails slowly traced a line up your spine, creating a rather ticklish sensation, your quiet giggles sounding like the vocal music of the angels in Draco’s mind. He brought you closer (you didn’t think that had even been possible, not with how close you both already were) his arms wrapping tighter around your waist, his chin making a home in your many locks of hair.
He had snuck you into his dorm. Since you were both in the same House, it was easier said than done—Theo and Blaise decided to attend class for once, so Draco took his chances.
“Mhm,” a small smile touched his lips as he hummed, his grey eyes peering at you—he had always cherished how you fit so perfectly against him. Like he was made for you, and you him. “I bought you something, actually.” Though, as soon as those words left his lips, he immediately regretted saying them in the first place, seeing how you sat up within an instant, your wide, bright eyes meeting his.
“What?—Why? You know I hate it when you buy me things,” you frowned, though it looked more of a pout in Draco’s eyes, his small smile widening into an amused grin.
“And why is that? Am I not a good enough gift giver for you?” his teasing voice prompted you to roll your eyes, the heel of your hand colliding with his chest, almost like you were shoving him playfully.
“No, you always buy really… expensive things—don’t your parents wonder where the money’s going?” you asked, your tone sounding a little more serious now. He hated how concerned you grew whenever it came to the people in his life—but, it was basically his fault. Sometimes, he thought about how it would’ve been better if he’d decided not to pursue this relationship with you.
But, for once, he wanted to be more selfish than usual. Everyone that feared Draco seemed to conclude that he always got what he wanted, but that was not the case.
He got lucky with you.
“Don’t worry about my parents,” was all he said; his expression didn’t say much, but you could tell he didn’t want to continue this particular conversation. Initially, your heart dropped, worried that you had overstepped a boundary—though, the way his fingers intertwined with yours, the way his thumb rubbed the gentlest of circles across your skin… it caused your anxious feelings to dissipate.
They never really go away. They just… stick to the surroundings. Hence why your inner voice used the term ‘dissipate’. Your mind always knew better than your soul, always two steps ahead…
“Can you at least tell me what the gift is?” your question was much more softer this time, smiling because of how warm he made you feel—how warm his hand felt against yours. You wanted to ask another question; something that probed at your mind recently was how he always wore long sleeved shirts around you now. It wasn’t a problem entirely, it merely sparked worry inside you. In spite of that, you supposed that attempting to ask would only push him away.
Draco was confusing in that sense. Your love for him, however, overpowered that.
“Of course not, my heart,” murmured Draco, his grey eyes twinkling with his usual charm. Using that nickname that always made your soul melt like fresh honey. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”
“You’re the bloody worst,” you groaned, his deep chuckle flipping your organs inside out as you collapsed against him once again, snuggling into the cotton of his grey jumper.
Tell me about it, was what he wanted to reply, but he stopped himself. It was a happy moment. A moment of peace for once in his fucked up life. He wouldn’t ruin it.
Not with you, the only person who believed in him.
—That was before you stumbled upon a conversation with Draco and his friends today. Being a Muggleborn sorted into the House of Slytherin was clearly a set up from bloody Merlin himself. Unsurprisingly, you had more friends outside of Slytherin; a lot of the Hufflepuffs, thankfully, were sympathetic to your situation. That afternoon of your birthday, you had walked out of the girls’ dorms, relieved that you had found your Transfiguration homework, heading straight towards the Common Room…
And, that was when you heard it.
Gregory Goyle saying your name.
“What are you so hot and bothered about?” Crabbe nudged Goyle, seeing how visibly peeved the latter appeared to be after exiting the boys’ rooms. Draco wasn’t particularly interested in the conversation after his little… rendezvous at the Room of Requirement. He simply sat in an armchair, playing with his silver bracelet.
It had a butterfly charm, actually. Your middle name, translated from Latin, meant ‘butterfly’. For your birthday, which was today, he had bought you a dragon charm since ‘Draco’ meant ‘dragon’ in Latin. However, you wore yours on a sterling chain around your neck, wanting it to be hidden—no one would believe that you could afford something like that.
“Snape teared me a new one,” he grumbled, plopping himself down onto the velvety green sofas with a huff. Crabbe pulled a face.
“You mean tore—”
“—Shut up. Anyway, he saw how shitty my grades were and now he’s forcing me to get a tutor! Fucking unbelievable,” Goyle muttered under his breath, running a hand through his extremely thin curls, leaning his head back as Crabbe replied.
“Nothin’ wrong with that. I’m being tutored too,” he shrugged, sitting beside him as he fiddled with his watch. Releasing an irritated ebb of air, Draco also leaned his head back, wondering how long he was going to endure this pointless discussion.
“You’re not being tutored by that mudblood, [Y/L/N].”
That was when you heard it. Standing under the doorway that led towards the Common Room. It was nothing new, being insulted with that term. Nevertheless, your eyes fell on Draco, seeing the way he picked his head up slightly at the mention of you.
You waited. For a good few moments. Hoping. Praying that he would defend you.
And, a few seconds later, he laughed, bearing his pearly whites and all.
“Yeah, good luck with that. She’s a real fucking brown noser, that one.”
By that point, your mind was blocking out every sound that followed Draco’s words—you made a run for it, not even bothering to look at your so-called boyfriend, dashing out of the Slytherin Dungeons before fleeing to the Astronomy Tower. You had tried to keep it in, your tears, your sorrow—it was all too much.
To make matters worse, he had fucking followed you. As soon as he made sure that his lackeys couldn’t question him, he’d tried to catch up to you, but you were always the quicker one. If you weren’t so obsessed with academics, you’d make a real good Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch Team.
There Draco Malfoy stood, watching your hysteric sobs consume you, your head in your hands—he knew that you’d be upset; in fact, he knew you’d been listening the entire time. He noticed you before you had even become the topic of conversation.
He always noticed you.
And now, you had noticed him. Your gaze lifting momentarily, only for it to widen at the sight of your boyfriend standing there with the blankest of expressions. Sniffling to yourself, you stood up from your seat on the ground, your expression one of clear torment.
Anger. Anger consuming you because you didn’t know why you were putting yourself through this. Dating one of the richest Purebloods a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. When you were only a measly Muggleborn. A Mudblood.
Even so, the same weight of dissipated dejection weighed over you. Why did he ask you out? Why did he become friends with you in the first place if this was how he saw you? If this was how it was going to be? Him pretending to care about your blood status in front of his good-for-nothing friend group.
Maybe, after all this time, it wasn’t a pretense. Perhaps this was a prank he’d instigated just to humiliate you.
Numerous possibilities. Numerous outcomes. They all filled your head like snakes in a vat of thick, torturous tar.
Your voice broke the silence.
“I don’t understand you,” your first statement filled the atmosphere like a hot vapour, suffocating not just you, but the other person in the room—Draco. Your tears had stopped, cheeks still wet with your misery as you stared at him, not just with passionate feelings of indignation, but more so disbelief. And he couldn’t handle it.
I should’ve done this earlier.
“Really?” His voice was quiet. Almost noiseless, like he was calculating the best way for this to go. “I don’t think you’ve ever understood me, my heart.”
That nickname. The nickname reserved for you and you only. There was once a time where it would make your insides all warm and fuzzy, where it would make your soul melt like honey. Now… now, it felt like molten; searing, dripping lava scorching your insides, burning you—destroying you from within.
Those anxious feelings, the ones that dissipated. They came back.
“Seriously?” you scoffed, blinking away the fresh saltwater that threatened to spill from the very crevices of your heart. “Was all of this just some cruel joke to you? Our friendship? Our relationship?”
Silence.
Silence, silence, SILENCE—
“Oh, don’t go all quiet on me now,” you muttered with a breathless chuckle, stepping forward, only to shove him where it would hurt the most—slamming your heel against his chest, where his heart would feel its impact. He certainly did with the way he turned his head to the side, unable to look at you. “You planned this to embarrass me, didn’t you? You never loved me, all these stupid gifts—” you reached inside your shirt, only to rip the sterling chain from your neck, throwing it at him— “It was all fake?! It was for YOUR enjoyment, wasn’t it, Draco?”
No.
“Of course it fucking was,” he finally snapped, glaring at you with those grey eyes—you swore that they had been brighter once, that they had sparkled in the sunlight during those ever so secretive moments in his dorm. Regardless, it was now darkness that devoured those orbs you always pined after. Depravity. Hatred.
All over a blood status.
“You’re a mudblood, [Y/N], you’ll always be a fucking mudblood—why can’t you get that through your insipid brain of yours?” he was seething now, catching you completely off guard as he grabbed your shoulders, staring into those wide, dimmed eyes that used to glow every time you saw him.
“Theodore gave me the idea, you know?” Lies, lies, lies. “Told me to mess with you a little since no one else would dare touch such… such scum,” he laughed—he was fucking laughing. Watching as more tears rolled down your cheeks, like it was automatic. Two natural waterfalls crashing into the warm chambers of your coveted core. “I mean, come on, love—I thought you were smarter than this,” his taunts overwhelmed you like a vice, his grip on your biceps tightening, wanting to hurt you as much as he could—needing to, so you could walk away.
“You’re just as delusional as the rest of them,” scoffed Draco, his lips, the same lips that locked with yours in the early hours of the morning, holding a barely perceptible smirk, clearly proud at how broken you looked. How utterly devastated you appeared before him. Glass-like tears decorating the apples of your cheeks like diamonds on a dress, eyelashes wet with absolute desolation—the contentment that had embraced you like a blanket earlier today had vanished in less than seconds.
All because of Draco Lucius Malfoy.
“Probably shouldn’t have led you on for so long, huh?” he murmured gently, like he was complimenting you. Like this wasn’t eating you up completely; terrorising you. His calloused fingers cupped one of your delicate cheeks, his thumb swiping across your skin to wipe those tears away, the ones you had fought so hard, but had escaped your crevice anyway. A whimper of sheer melancholy was all you could respond with, crying to yourself—your entire life was a lie.
“Fuck you, Malfoy,” you whispered, shaking your head from his almost-soothing grasp, stepping away once again, feeling rotten to the core. Your eyes met his for a final moment, your bottom lip quivering, as well as your entire body—like you were cold, frostbitten. Betrayed. “We’re done. I hope I never see you again.”
With that, you shoved past him, your hushed weeps trailing after you as you fled the tower, leaving your ex-boyfriend alone in the tower. Leaving him with his deprecating thoughts.
She wasn’t worth it.
Father wouldn’t have approved.
MUDBLOOD.
Swallowing the painful lump that grew by the second in the confines of his throat, Draco’s eyes landed on the sterling chain at his feet—the one that he had gifted you only this morning. Holding the dragon charm. Holding him. He bent down to pick it up, seizing it like it was the most delicate thing he had ever felt; and it only held that title because it was purely yours. His heart was yours and yours only.
“Don’t worry, my heart,” he murmured to himself, the ambient glow of his Dark Mark resonating through the rich cotton of his shirt. His thumb brushing over the silver scales of the charm with an utmost gentle manner. “You won’t.”
hello since its been almost a year since ive written this, i genuinely cant find it in me to finish part two IM TURNING EIGHTEEN NEXT WEEK IM SORRY IM NOT THE SAME PERSON I WAS LAST YEAR
i quite like how i ended this though. the world needs more angst💗💗💗💗 im really sorry if i disappointed people though 😭💔
✧ |summary: baelor's new needy wife doesn't let him sleep.
✧ |pairing: baelor 'breakspear' targaryen x reader.
✧ |tags: 18+, mdni, p in v sex, age gap marriage!
✧ |note: holy mischaracterization... sorry if it seems out of character for baelor... took me like 2 weeks to finish it..., i tried my best!!! not beta proofed <3
Baelor’s soft snores have annoyed you for the half hour you had been tossing in bed, uncomfortable and achy. You had always found comfort in sleeping in Baelor’s bed, leaving your own bedchambers unattended long enough that you had simply told the maids not to bother to make the bed every morning.
“Husband” one of your hands comes to shake him slightly by the shoulder, trying to get him awake.
He had come late to bed, as he so often does, making sure that he has done his duties for the day. He would read letters, answer matters of the realm, and be in the small council when needed. Baelor was dutiful, always learning and attending to anything that the realm needed.
Yet he had made sure to fuck you properly, tiredly as he mumbled praises to your ear, kissing your neck softly.
Sometimes, you wished for him just to take a day off and be with you. Though the prospect of him being king was closer by day, even if Good King Daeron enjoyed good health.
The little you see of him, the more you crave him. It was becoming animalistic at this point, if it weren’t for the fact that it would be improper just to get under the small council’s table and simply suck his cock until you got enough.
Baelor lets an annoyed hum, trying to keep sleeping.
“Husband” you insist.
“What…” he could barely articulate the words to make sense “Sleep”
“I can’t” you say in almost a whine. “Baelor”
“My love, this can wait for the morning”
“I need you” you say once again, sitting up as he sighs yet keeps sleeping. “Badly”
Usually he would have you whenever you asked, always gentle and loving, kissing you with a smile and complimenting you time and time again. But you knew he was exhausted, after all his duties he did without a single complaint, even lightening up his father’s work, so the Good King could rest and play with his grandchildren.
He moves his head to face you, his eyes barely open. “What?”
“I have missed you” you say, sincerely.
“Oh…” he says, moving slightly to pull you to his side, making sure his arm is wrapped around your back to accommodate you closer. “I know, beloved” he says, his tone drifting once again. “Let us sleep for now…”
“But…” you try to complain, yet you’re met with a dismissive hum, as he returns to snore. You doubt he was even awake or would remember this conversation by morning
You nuzzle your head to his neck, his scent soothing as you try to get closer to him. If only it was that easy to sleep when having him by your side.
As your hand caresses his chest, feeling the small hairs in your digits as you make circles trying to think properly, to convince your brain to sleep… yet something in you keeps you from slumber.
“Baelor?” you try to ask, but he’s asleep once again.
Your hand moves lower, pushing the covers out of your way, as your hand finds his flaccid cock and you have to accommodate against him, feeling horny all over again. You move your hand back, only to spit on it as your eyes feel dropping. Yet, as your body feels tired, your mind is more awake than ever.
His cock takes its sweet time to harden, little by little, as your husband grumbles and tries to remain asleep.
“Love… what’ye doin’?” He grumbles, a hand against his face, as he doesn't want to open his eyes.
“I really need you” your tone is almost petulant, but Baelor was used to it (and he almost always encourages it)
“Now? Sweetheart, we’ve already…”
“But your cock” you whine, as you sit up, feeling his hand fall from your side as he groans slightly. “just a quick one… please, again?”
Baelor sighs, as he looks at you with that tired expression of his. “You are insatiable…”
He moves groggily, moving in between his legs. His cock was hard now, the fat head was leaking slightly as you took the girthy length on your hand before moving it to meet your cunt. You can see the dark hairs at his base, yet he kept them well trimmed, like he does with the rest of him.
Baelor moves lazily, unlike him in many ways. As he pushes inside, you can hear him groan, his throat raspy from sleep that came so hard for him these days… and having a young wife that wanted him every second.
“Only Gods know how my wife got so much energy…” he murmurs, and you wrap your arms around his neck as you moan loudly.
“I’m young and full of life”
“That you are…”
He moves his head down to press a kiss on your cheek, so tender and loving, as his hips thrust slow and deep. His cock feels so huge inside you, and it was certain for you that his girth was his best attribute (amongst many others not relevant now…)
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Your fingers curl, gripping his shoulder as he groans next to your ear, his forehead falling to his shoulder as he presses sweet kisses there.
“You’re so beautiful, darling” He praises you gently, his hips thrusting with a steady rhythm, his cock providing the perfect friction that you loved. “And insatiable… I already fucked you before bed, and you wake me up for more”
His heavy balls make a soft thud every time his thrusting gets deeper and deeper. You grip his shoulders, already drooling at the thought of having his cock in your mouth as a simple wrench would do, not like a future queen with her husband.
The small hairs on the base of his cock tickles your skin slightly, but you are too drunk on pleasure to care. You can hear the small noise the bed makes as it hits the wall, among the small creaks of the wood.
“I’m going to fill you up” Baelor murmurs, planting soft kisses next to your ear. “Yes, my love?”
“Yeah, please, please… fuck”
His thrusts become more insistent at your pleas, shifting his angle just slightly. His bread scratches against your face as he kisses you everywhere. He wasn’t a vocal man, but he wasn't quiet either, as he groans and murmurs loving praises.
Baelor’s cock throbs as you cum, whimpering against his glistening skin. His balls tighten, pumping ropes of cum inside her The praises that leave his mouth become a bit slurred, as he kisses your neck gently, hands gripping your hips still as he makes sure he empties into you correctly.
As he rolls to his side of the bed, pulling you close to his hairy chest, you both try to catch your breath.
“Are you satisfied now?” he asks, that slight amusement on his tone as his fingertips caressing softly your arm as your hand comes to rest on his heavy chest.
hi!! i dont know if anyone will read this but i would just like to apologise for not posting at all :(( i wish i had a better explanation other than the fact that my life is so messed up at the moment </3 i have been writing, just not fanfics. my depression has really done a number on me and im just at a point where im not sure what to do with myself. i turn eighteen in two months and a levels have put my light out!!! i still want to write on this blog, im just struggling to post here and my tiktok lately - i hope you guys understand <3 i love you all
The way I would've snuck into westeros to find the dance of the dragon's historic records and put rhaenyra on the list of monarchs because, her name not being there meant that all those fatalities meant nothing.
The throne was her PERSONAL goal and she literally sacrificed so much for it.
pairing: aemond targaryen x niece(velaryon)!fem!reader
request: you venture towards your uncle’s chambers after dinner, intending to yell at him. however, something more vulnerable comes between the pair of you.
word count: 3,843
warnings: ANGST TO FLUFF, i cant remember if anyone swears in this?? vulnerable aemond yay, targcest but i promise you reader doesnt actually call him 'uncle' or any weird kinks like that, reader is jaces twin, a few smooches at the end xx
author’s note: i am SO profoundly sorry for constantly taking unintential gazillion-month breaks, its moreso the fact that i think i cant write good things if anything. i had motivation last night though!!! finished this ten minutes ago - tysm anon for waiting patiently!! i hope you like this!! i quite enjoyed writing it<3
more aemond targaryen | navigation | taglist form
INITIALLY, YOUR REASON FOR storming towards your uncle’s bedchamber was actually quite valid—one would say it was necessary to assert your place with him after what he dared confessing at dinner. A dinner that was supposed to make amends, at that. Seeing the leprotic illness your grandfather succumbed to, you genuinely thought everything between you and him (as well as his brother) would be okay. Things with Helaena were all too well, both you and her taking to the floor and giggling like the young princesses you were supposed to be. It was hard to imagine that she had married Aegon, her older brother, the moment you and your family—
Left Driftmark.
The worst night of your life. Why? You were made to choose between your younger brother, practically a baby in your eyes, and… Him. Your uncle.
Prince Aemond Targaryen.
Once? A friend. Someone you confided in, given that the pair of you were similar in age. While your brothers never treated you the way Aemond’s older brother did, you always felt inferior at court. Being an obvious bastard was one thing, but being a female bastard was another ‘problem’ entirely—like simply having the anatomy of a woman as a royal, illegitimate child was a sin. Your brothers had it bad when it came to Queen Alicent. Sometimes even Prince Aegon.
You had it worse.
Nor did you have a dragon. You once had a hatchling; a baby she-dragon the size of your palm, small enough to stand in the middle of it. Light purple scales that matched the shade of gowns you always wore (your favourite colour was the same as your mother’s); wide brown eyes blinking with curiosity whenever you took her for walks around the castle.
Unfortunately, due to her physical stature, she didn’t survive very long. You kept her ashes in a little locket around your neck, vowing to never claim another. A vow you intended to keep, seeing as you never really visited the Dragonpit in King’s Landing anyway.
Nevertheless, it was another ‘flaw’ highborn girls liked to mock whenever you heard them whispering in the hallways of the Red Keep. Thinking you weren’t there. Gods, it had been humiliating. Not being able to stand up for yourself.
However, it was where you found common ground with Aemond. The sweet, ten-year-old boy you once knew. You remembered a period where you both would sneak out of your rooms in the middle of the night—not to explore the Streets of the capital or cause mischief while your families lay sleeping in their quarters. No, the sneaking around was only because you wanted to read in the Keep’s biggest library. Reading while the moon reigned in the skies… there was something more magical about it.
All was good until your good Aunt Laena died. It was a bittersweet procession; your mother had talked fondly of her, but you only met Laena and her daughters a fair few times before the former’s death. Most of all, you only really wanted to stay with Aemond, who seemed lonely. Staring out at sea—the beach specifically. You wondered why for a few moments until Luke tugged on your arm, asking to go inside.
You should’ve gone to him.
As written before, that night truly was the worst night of your life. Seeing Aemond forced to sit, all the while a maester stitched his eye socket together.
Your brothers bloodied and bruised. Luke’s dagger being the evidence to understand what had happened.
That night, Aemond had claimed Vhagar without telling you. On his way back, both your brothers and your cousins, Baela and Rhaena, confronted him. A fight broke out. Your uncle’s eye was lost moments later.
Various defences were thrown. “He attacked me!” “He called us bastards!” Aemond met your gaze from afar, like he was imploring you to listen to him. Like you always did. One eye filled with hope, pleading, longing. The reality of losing an eye just because he took the opportunity to claim the largest and oldest dragon in the world was now overwhelming him.
And, in the end, you did not choose him.
“He called us bastards,” you heard Jace whisper to your mother, your face peaking out from behind your grandsire’s, Corlys, legs with wide, bewildered eyes, your brown locks braided back since you had just awoken from slumber.
Bastards. You were a bastard to him. It did not matter if you were not at the scene, nor did it matter if he hadn’t mentioned you during the fight. You were Jace’s twin, only five minutes younger. Coming at him and Luke meant he had come at you.
That was that.
Even after Queen Alicent slit the skin of your mother’s forearm, and even after the loss of Aemond’s eye, no one faced repercussions. Your family, as well as you, flew back to Dragonstone. Staying there for the next six years before you were summoned to King’s Landing once again, forced to defend Luke’s position as Heir to Driftmark after your grandsire returned from the seas in a depreciating condition.
The position was held, of course. Your mother betrothed your brothers to The Dragon Twins, Rhaena and Baela, your stepsisters now after Princess Rhaenyra made the decision to marry Prince Daemon, brother of your other grandfather, King Viserys. It strengthened her place as Heir. Though, you all could tell there was more to it than a crown.
The entirety of the petition, you could not take your eyes off of him. Aemond. It had been your first time seeing him since the accident six years ago. He had grown, now taller than his mother and even amounting to the height of his grandsire, the Hand. Otto Hightower. An eyepatch covered his lost eye, the rumours (evidently spoken by giggling noblewomen) told you that something now replaced the missing organ. A jewel? A new eyeball entirely? You did not know. His silver-golden strands were no longer short and wavy, but reached the small of his back, half of his hair brushed back with a black hair tie. Not to mention the fancy leather his figure sported, his body lean… Fine. Strengthened. Sword at his hip. A subtle smirk at the hilt of lips—
Not aimed towards you, of course. In fact, he hadn’t spared you a single glance the entire day.
It wasn’t as if you wore anything special to catch his attention anyhow. Though, your version of ‘nothing special’ was something else entirely—you liked wearing the Targaryen colours whenever your mother did so, the pair of you having a beautiful bond people rarely saw between mothers and their daughters. You wore your locket, of course. A black gown that hugged your figure, embroidered with red silks sent all the way from Dorne. Nothing but the best for the Heir’s only daughter.
Perhaps you had the looks of a bastard. Perhaps you didn’t have the silver-golden locks or the purple eyes your former child-self had always wanted. But, you had beauty. You had personality. In your mother’s younger years, she was dubbed The Realm’s Delight by her father.
Your stepfather, Prince Daemon, named you The Realm’s Heart.
It seemed none of that mattered to Aemond. Especially during the dinner, where he suddenly found the balls to declare you and your kin bastards. You were just thankful that Daemon sent him to his room with one look—with Jace shoved to the floor and Luke slammed against the dining table, all you wanted to do was hide in the corner like Helaena had done.
And now, in the present, here you were. Outside of his bedchamber after asking a handmaiden for directions… just in case he had moved. He hadn’t.
A strange feeling hugged your heart. Did that make you feel good? The fact that he decided to stay in the very same chamber you spent countless days and nights in, unbeknownst to your mothers? Or, maybe you were overthinking it. It was just a bedchamber after all…
Gods, what a skin-crawling thing. Standing here, your fingers hesitant, but subsequently forming a fist so you could knock on his door. Looking about your surroundings to check if anyone was watching.
A Targaryen Princess standing outside her uncle’s bedroom? The staff of the Red Keep are certainly familiar with that story.
What felt like centuries had actually been twenty-two seconds, the oak wood door slowly creaking open in the quietest hallway of the castle. Like him. Or… like he once used to be. Was he still the quiet boy you once knew?
Why were you even wondering? You were supposed to be angry. You were angry. So angry that you did not stop to even examine the state Aemond was in—you simply pushed past him, hearing a quiet scoff in the midst of crackling flames of his fireplace as he swung the door shut, turning to face your slightly trembling body.
Not from fear.
You did not let him speak whatever he first thought once he laid his eyes on you. Unlike the silent child he knew in the past, you were quick to snap at him, eyebrows furrowed, soft lips pursed in annoyance.
“Some bloody nerve you have,” you began, inhaling a short breath as you eyed him head-to-toe, realising he was still in the same garments he wore at dinner—he smelled of dragon scales and leather. “Coining my brothers and I illegitimate the moment the King dismisses himself—”
“Dismisses himself,” Aemond huffed with dark amusement once again, shaking his head before brushing past you, like he was dismissing you. A realisation entered your mind, recognising that his singular phrase was the first time he had actually addressed you in years. Not talking to you and your brothers. Just. You. It was odd. It felt different. You were no longer children.
Had this idea been childish? Strutting your way to his rooms, wanting to prove yourself to him? Or were you right to come here?
Your brown eyes trailed after his form, witnessing how his calloused hands, once small and delicate, grabbed an open book from his desk, the Prince not daring to meet your gaze in the slightest, using this opportunity to scoff yourself.
“I’m saying it’s cowardly!” you exclaimed, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling infuriated at the sight of his back to your chest. His arm effortlessly reaching up to push the book back in its place on his shelves. “You could have spoken ‘your truth’ in front of your father, but you chose to do your whole speech the minute he leaves—I do not understand why!” you smiled, in a way that was mocking him; you certainly did not support him. Pearly white all on display as you hear the sigh that escaped him, his lone eye flitting over to you. Briefly.
“What is the point you’re trying to make here?” Aemond questioned, turning to face you as your arms fell to your sides, your eyes scrutinising him as he stepped out from behind his desk. “That I started that argument for no reason?”
“Yes—”
“I only ‘started’ it because your brother looked straight at me after they brought in the pig for us to eat. He laughed,” he emphasised, no longer having an expression of aloof, understanding that you were not intending on leaving him alone. You assumed he was talking about Lucerys, seeing as Jace was dancing with you and Helaena, and Luke… Well, Luke had never been able to control an impulse of his. He likely remembered the pig Aegon brought for Aemond as a ‘gift’ all those years ago, seeing as he did not have a dragon of his own. The Pink Dread.
Damn you, Luke.
“That… that is besides the point,” you defended, taking another step closer as Aemond raised an eyebrow. “That does not equate to you calling us—me a bastard!”
“Do not take it too personally—” he taunted, about to turn away.
“Why? Because I am one?” you interjected, irritation lacing your tone as quickly as it left his. What embraced him next was much more sinister. “You’d think after six years, one would become a somewhat decent human being since it doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere anytime soon—”
“Ah… decent?” he now grinned, not in a friendly manner. “Like you were to me that night?” He didn’t even have to specify, your shoulders stiffening as Aemond stood straighter. Another step closer towards you. “I watched as you stood by them instead of me. That boy stole my eye—”
“You were about to pound my twin brother’s head with a rock!” you guffawed in disbelief, seeing the frustration beginning to unravel across his expression. “What else was he supposed to do—?”
“Not aim for my eye?”
“He was not aiming.”
“Even so, attacking me because I claimed a dragon before they did—”
“You mocked them!”
“As they mocked me!” He finally barked, catching you off guard as your shoulders slumped, your heart beating faster in your chest. Your chest heaving, as was his—your back and forth almost coming to an end as his single, violet eye bloomed with a newfound emotion. Desperation. “Do you not remember all the things your brothers said to me? Following Aegon around like lost pets,” the Prince ridiculed, but in a much quieter voice. Your eyebrows crinkled, no longer in fury. Aemond was desperate, as written before. Desperate for you to see. To understand.
“They were children,” you mumbled weakly, registering the air that wrapped around the both of you. Tension. Nervousness. Nostalgia. It was all too much. And, his face after hearing your minute phrase was one you could not forget. That face… was the same one he wore that night. Eyes falling to the stone floor in a moment of vulnerability. Hopelessness.
“As was I.” You swallowed. “As were you.” It was as if you stopped breathing. “And, you never…” Gods, this was it. He met your wide-eyed gaze again, the same big eyes he had once adored looking into. The curiosity that always shone through was still there—you had not changed. He had not changed either. “We were something, you and I,” he continued, voice fragile. Like it would break at any moment. “Friends, perhaps. You were my only friend.”
“Aemond,” you whispered, the anger leaving your body, escaping through your short breaths as he carried on.
“Seeing you stand there with them—it was…” he could not finish. He swallowed his words, turning his head so you could only see his eyepatch; not the violet eye you had tried to catch the entirety of the day. You knew what he would’ve said regardless.
“They… they’re my brothers,” was all you could say in this moment, unable to find the courage to say more. To say that you were sorry for everything that happened—you hadn’t had the chance to. Not when your grandparents ushered you out of the Hall of Nine. Saying it was time for bed. And, hearing the words leave your mouth, the Prince faced his desk with a grunt, hands gripping the edge like a lifeline after retreating from your closeness; even two metres apart was too close for Aemond these days. His right hand flexed across the oak, violet eye focusing on the wood markings that were centuries’ old. Eyepatch straining across his forehead. It felt too tight. Your weak defense was enough to cause resentment, but Aemond did not fully… understand the concept of siblings sticking together. Brotherhood. Helaena, whilst kind, was distant because of her many dreams. Though he and Daeron were close in their younger years, the sixteen-year-old tended to write less and less these days because of his duties at Oldtown.
Aegon? Aemond thought him as a pathetic excuse of a man. Dallying around brothels like some commoner. Wasting his days away in his chamber doing gods’ knows what. Aemond remembered his thirteenth nameday, remembering that night as clear as day.
Humiliation.
You were now unsure of your place here. In his bedroom. Knowing you should leave seeing as the argument was… over? Your throat already raw from holding back tears, you noted the way Aemond remained hunched over his table, your fingers curling into fists because of uncertainty. Do you approach him? Or silently leave him be?
But, that was a mistake you made once before.
With caution, you stepped closer. Taking one step at a time, the heels of your shoes creating a soft click against the stone beneath you both. Giving him time to tell you to leave, observing the way his back muscles seemed to stiffen in a miniscule manner. He could hear you, and yet… he hadn’t stopped you. You carried on, nibbling your bottom lip, brown locks tucked behind your ears as you halted right behind him—even hunched over, his form was staggering. You just about reached his shoulder with your flats.
“Aemond,” you called again, your voice soft. Soft like before. It hit him hard, discerning the way you spoke—like you were children again. “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. For all of it.” Silence. “I am sorry—”
“Stop,” he whispered, taking his turn to swallow the lump forming in his throat. You were confused.
“No,” you whispered in return, gulping as tears sprung to your eyes. You did not know why they suddenly came, blurring your vision as your left hand reached out, finding his elbow. Fingers wrapping around his clothed flesh as he cocked his head slightly to the left, not wanting you to see him. “I’m sorry. Look at me.” Pleading. You were pleading for him to bestow only a glance. You wanted acknowledgement. Wanted some sort of acceptance. “Aemond—”
“Stop it,” he gritted his teeth, omitting a sharp intake of breath as you caressed his forearm, fingers trailing towards his palm. “I don’t want your apologies.”
“I care not,” you mumbled, gradually pulling his hand off of the desk so your fingers could intertwine with his, albeit forcefully since he was fighting you. His back straightening, warmth colliding with his icy flesh. “I seek your forgiveness. I’m—” You were interrupted by his hand ripped from your touch, only to feel it squeeze your arm instead, both hands prying at your flesh in an effort to get you to—
“Stop,” he begged, eyebrows crinkled in an agonous manner. Bemusement met yours.
“Why?” You asked, compelled to lift your gaze because of the immense height he now possessed. Freckles no longer clung to his skin, though specks were still present if one looked closely enough. Did he ever get close to anyone these days? You imagined he’d rather not, even if he had a good amount of highborn ladies trailing after him night and day. Were you an exception?
“It is not you who should be apologising.” More silence. Flames of the hearth crackling like rain during a thunderstorm filling the air between you.
“Then why do you detest me so?” Your query only troubled him more. Like he did not know the answer himself. Not entirely. He didn’t have an excuse for the animosity he had towards you.
In actuality, he felt nothing towards you. Nothing except…
No.
“If you stand with them, you stand against me,” he finally admitted, Aemond’s grip on your arms… softening after realising he was still touching you. He did not let go entirely. His reply, however, only served to fuel your own agony, your lips parting, brown eyes lowering to your feet.
“If you insult them, you insult me,” you muttered in response. This connection—this understanding you both shared, it was much bigger now. Bigger in the sense that the King would be dying soon. You knew that. Everyone knew that. An Heir has already been named—a name that citizens of Westeros would likely oppose.
His family would oppose yours. Sooner or later, it will happen.
“I never meant to.” Your eyes lifted, slightly widening at the revelation, pupils almost growing larger than the former’s colour. His expression was one of conflict. Like he was unsure of telling this to you. This was his version of an apology.
“You didn’t?”
“…No.”
“Do you regret befriending me?” An unexpected question he was all but willing to answer.
“No.” A small nod was your reply. You never broke eye contact. “Do you?”
“…Of course not.” He nodded too.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
More silence.
“You should leave,” he murmured, his large, detailed hands crawling up your arms so they could rest on the pads of your shoulders. “‘Tis late. You return to Dragonstone on the morn.”
“Mhm.” Your quiet hum brought silence again. Desperate silence. There was much more needed to say. The words were on the tip of your tongue. You were not just friends—yes, he was your uncle, but he never acted as such considering the small age gap. You felt something more, something you could never place as an innocent child.
And he was no stranger to it. Bringing you impossibly closer, hands cupping your cheeks as the air shifted into something much more deeper. Intimate. This was foreign to him—affection. Perhaps as a child his mother was more loving, but most of her devotion now went to his sister Helaena. As it should, in any sense. Yet, it caused him to feel withdrawn.
“What are you doing?” you breathed your words, cold fingertips grazing against your scalp as they glided between your silk strands, his right thumb gently skimming your cheekbone.
“Don’t know.” His hoarse mumble was enough to send shivers down your spine, your eyes closing, his nose brushing against yours. Your breaths were quick, quiet, conspicuous…
His lips were quick to attach themselves. You hadn’t kissed anyone before. The first touch of your mouths was… long. Soft lips clinging to your upper lip as your hands found his stomach, almost tempted to push him away—and yet, you didn’t. Aemond tilted his head to the side for better access and you allowed it, kissing him back, the feeling of his tongue swiping against your bottom lip bringing butterflies to your belly. His pretty nose nudged your ala, the outer edge of your nostril, seeking more of you, your own fingers drifting up to tug at the collars of his leather. You broke apart for a millisecond, kissing again—gently. Softly. Feeling pushed back until your buttocks touched the edge of his desk, the same desk he had been ‘gripping like a lifeline’ minutes earlier. Placidly, Aemond inched you backwards so you were sitting on the oak table, pulling away for a moment to tuck your brown locks away; they always seem to come loose.
And then, he kissed you again. And again. And again. Lips locked, your hands finding his cheeks, his finding your hips.
“I should leave,” you whispered against him, Aemond only pausing to hear you out. “It’s… late.”
“Mmmh.”
There was still much to learn about each other. To make up for the years lost between the two of you. Anyhow, you were never just uncle and niece. No longer just friends.
