Jamie here! Just kind of doing my usual trash nerd thing, but now it’s on Tumblr 🙃 This is intended as a personal blog, so expect a mixture of fandom related posts as well as ferrets, witchcraft, life stuff and miscellaneous things that simply bring me a little joy. Feel free to message me!
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This blog will continue to function as my main, but I’ll be posting my writing on @selfindulgentnerdling
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Just a little game you like to play with the twins; they need to be taught how to share, after all...
A/N: This is an established Vee-type (heh) polyam relationship that the reader is in with both twins. gn reader; no gender specific terms used.
MDNI!
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Blindfolding the twins and sitting between them on the couch in Perpetua's office as you jerk them both off simultaneously. The rules are simple: if they're loud, you speed up; if they're quiet, you slow down.
You tell them to behave and not move. Your favourite part is watching them bite their lips hard enough to draw blood. Trying so hard to not lose themselves in the slickness and warmth of your hands.
Hearing identical sighs and groans bleed into the air as their control begins to slip. Either way, win or lose, you're exactly where they want you.
They both jump at the opportunity to make it a competition. Must be good. Must control. The first one of them to cum has to take off their blindfold and leave.
However, as a consolation prize, you clean them up lovingly with your tongue; cooing at the overstimulated whimpers that fall from bite-swollen lips. More often than not, they cum again from this; their softening cock twitching feebly in your mouth, leaking their devotion down your throat.
After the loser has left, the winner tears off their blindfold and tugs you towards them so they can claim you as their prize; it never lasts long.
Perpetua prefers to flip you over and fuck you into the couch, kissing you messily and snarling as he presses his body as hard as he can against yours. When he cums, it's with your name on his lips, breathed worshipfully against slick skin.
Copia is different; he enjoys scooping you onto his lap and staring up at you in awe. He only manages to fuck you for a couple of strokes before he's lost in your warmth. You snuggle against him as his back arches, murmuring sweet nothings as he's spilling inside you with a choked whimper.
You prefer to let your own pleasure take a back seat in these games; the fact that you have two powerful men competing for your affections and falling apart in your hands is enough.
But they always insist on taking care of you afterwards, and how could you possibly refuse them? Once talented tongues and skilled fingers start roaming, your release is spilling down a willing throat before you can take a breath.
So far, Copia is 3-5 down to Perpetua.
One of those times, he came before you even pulled his cock out of his pants. He could barely look you in the eye, cheeks matching the colour of his jewels as his chest heaved with quiet sobs. You were sure to praise him softly as you cleaned him up, sending him out of the door with a gentle spank.
But delayed gratification has always been the name of this game. Perpetua has just learned the lesson of self control a little quicker...
2k words (longer than i anticipated when i started writing it, whoops!). Fluff fic (Copia’s got a crush on a librarian and that’s it). contains kissing so read at your own discretion.
“I wanted to be with you alone, and talk about the weather.”
Thud. “We’ve, uh, had some really nasty weather recently eh?”
You jumped at the sudden loud intrusion, looking up from your desk to see a large pile of books that had been dropped upon it. Copia stood sheepishly behind the pile, nervously fingering through a copy of Goethe’s Faust. Copia, since taking on his new position as Frater Imperator, had recently taken an interest in frequenting the clergy library. Specifically whenever you happened to be on shift.
You’d been appointed as one of the librarians there for some time now and had gotten to know the ins and outs of the place quite well. You’d familiarized yourself with the kinds of literature that the most frequent visitors from the clergy preferred. Judith preferred murder mystery novels. Marika Psaltarian had a secret penchant for spicy bodice-rippers. Sometimes, even Papa Perpetua would come down in the late hours of the evening and alternate between borrowing copies of Frankenstein and The Phantom of the Opera.
Copia, however, did not seem to have a rhyme or a reason as to what he would borrow. He always seemed to have a nervous air about him, whether it was hanging around your desk, or perusing the aisle next to you if you were there re-shelving items.
You looked up from your desk, putting down the book you were re-gluing the spine onto, and adjusted the glasses which sat a little too far down your nose. “Frater, this is my fourth visit from you this week. How would you know what the weather outside is like, if you’re going to spend all your time in here reading?” You teased.
Copia laughed, “We are friends, you know. You don’t have to address me with honourifics. Copia is just fine with me.” He swallowed deeply, finally becoming brave enough to make eye contact with you.
He was flirting with you.
“Right. And this copy of Faust, much different than the latest issue of ‘Better Homes and Gardens’ that you borrowed the other day.”
He stuttered, “Hey, that…. there was an interesting article about invasive ivy that I thought might be of some interest to our landscapers!” His cheeks flushed red, hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck.
“You keep your distance with a system of touch, and gentle persuasion”
You took the copy of Faust from him and signed it out under his name, your hands ever so slightly brushing against one another in the exchange. It sent a tiny shock through your system, swearing you could feel your heart skip a beat
“You’re not really going to read all of these, are you?” You questioned, already knowing the answer. He was wasting your time to continue chatting about silly little things like the weather in an effort to get to know you. He hadn’t exactly been great at hiding his crush on you, but you kept yourself at a distance from it. He had previously been the Papa, after all, and even now was a very high ranking member of the clergy. You needed to protect your heart, your last long term relationship had ruined you for some time and you kept yourself guarded.
He could be so charming though, with his stupid little jokes and the excuses he made to see you on his already incredibly busy schedule. You knew he had more pressing things to attend to than to visit the library. Somehow he always found the time. Your heart panged with admiration and adoration for him, whether or not you wanted to admit it.
“As long as you’re on shift, I’ll read anything and everything on these shelves.” He smiled, leaning on your desk with one arm, then promptly slipping and knocking over a box of index cards that had been placed dubiously near the edge. You jumped to your feet and ran to the other side of the desk, kneeling down to the floor beside him where he was frantically picking up the cards.
“Cazzo, sono un idiota.” he mumbled under his breath, organizing the cards into a neat pile and holding them out to you. When you extended your hand to take them, he took your hand into both of his, gazing into your eyes intently. “I forget myself when you’re near. Forgive me for acting like a giddy schoolboy.”
The eye contact was almost too much, his striking Emeritus white-eye perceiving you in a way that could only be described as reverence. Copia’s mind swirled with all of the possibilities, all of the different ways he could take the opportunity right now and properly ask you out. He would invite you to his suite and try to impress you with a homemade meal, probably Cacio E Pepe. He’d put on a cheesy Italian Giallo flick, like Suspiria, and at the right moment he would attempt the classic “movie theatre date” move of stretching and using it as an excuse to put his arm around you. And when the night was over before you left, he would kiss you, finally tasting your lips like he’d so often dreamed of doing.
But instead you were both here, knelt side by side in the library, holding hands with index cards between your fingers. And as he tried to muster up the words to invite you on a date, you let go of his hand and stood up.
“I’ve uh, gotta reorganize these now. I’ll maybe see you later, Frater.” You escaped to the back of the library, heart racing.
“I’m lost in admiration, could I need you this much?”
Days later, you were in the classic literature section, filing away some returns and keeping a lookout for some books that might need some fixing. As you thought you were alone in the library, you hummed to yourself, a cheesy 80’s love song that you had been playing on repeat lately.
You heard some shuffling in the aisle next to you and cocked your head to the side as you tried to focus on the noise. Through the cracks of the books in front of you, you spotted the unmistakable white iris of Copia staring at you intently. You giggled to yourself, pushing aside the books in your way and coming face to face with him on the other side. You rested your arms on the shelf, placing your head atop of your hands as you smiled at him. “Spying on me to see if I’ll burn the place down?”
His face flushed red, biting down on his cheek in embarrassment as he hadn’t anticipated being caught. He had been there far longer than you had caught onto.
“You were working so hard I, uh, didn’t want to interrupt you. You’re always so dedicated to your job.” You could feel a familiar heat burn behind your face and quickly turned away from him, picking up a book from your cart. “What’s your pick of the day?” He queried.
The book in your hands was a copy of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. You handed it to him through the hole in the library shelving, trying to think of a clever comeback but ultimately coming up empty. He flipped through the pages quizzically, stopping at a section that had been dog-eared. “Whatever our souls are made of…” he began to read aloud.
“… his and mine are the same.” You finished, mustering up the bravado to look at him. The air between you both felt thick, heavy with whatever anticipation had been building between you two from the last few weeks. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead closed the book and ducked away from the window you had created between the aisles.
And then he was beside you. He matched your gaze, perhaps for a little too long, studying your face and trying to read what was going on in your mind.
“Why do you hide from me, eh? You keep your distance from me, and I’ve been making a fool out of myself while trying to get to know you.” His hand nervously reached out towards your side, carefully taking hold of your hand and raising it up to his face. He maintained his gaze with yours as he pressed the top of your hand to his lips, warm and soft, leaving the gentlest of kisses. You felt yourself melt, a small smile playing on your lips.
“Something happens and I’m head over heels.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you, Frater…” you began. He cut you off with a squeeze to your hand.
“Remember, we’re friends. Call me Copia.”
You nodded, looking down at your hand in his. You’d thought about this moment more than you’d care to admit. You hated that you’d been keeping yourself so locked up, so distant from his gentle advances.
You often thought about how his hands would feel gripped around your waist. He could be a clumsy man, that much you knew, but the image of him holding you in a tight embrace and dancing with you had burned a yearning hole in your heart. The gentle cadence of his voice as he would softly sing into your ear, promises of keeping your heart safe with him.
“I want to know you, Copia. And I want you to know me. But there’s a voice in the back of my head that forces me to protect myself, and it keeps me from what I want the most.” Him. You want him the most.
A beat passes and he takes a step towards you, your back now pressed against the shelving of the aisle. He now takes your hand and presses it against his chest, taking a deep breath in. His heart is pounding, hot and heavy behind his ribs. “This heart, my heart, beats your name. I don’t read any of the books that I come down here to borrow, eh, well only the ones you recommend to me. I do this all for you.”
One hand is holding your hip tightly, the other cups your cheek gently.
“For me?” you whispered, almost inaudible. This was really happening. He smiled at you, he found you so endlessly endearing. Now was the time for him to be brave.
“May I kiss you, tesoro?” He asked, his thumb brushing over your lips ever so delicately. You nodded.
He drew his face to yours, gingerly placing the lightest of kisses upon your lips. He was just as soft as you imagined him, just as warm too. You felt yourself lean in a little more, deepening the kiss as your heads tilted to the side. He snaked his arms around your waist, pulling your body taut against his.
Years from now when you’re old and gray, and you look back on your first kiss with Copia, you’ll kick yourself for not letting it happen sooner. He will take such good care of your heart, shower you with undying love and devotion. He will approve funding for the clergy to renovate the library, giving you full control over the design, turning it into even more of a sanctuary for you. You’ll spend countless late nights together, watching the worst B-Movies in existence, making love until the sun comes up. He will drop down on one knee in this very aisle when he asks you to be united with him forever in unholy matrimony.
But for today, for the present, you’re here in the classic literature aisle with him and you’re tasting his sweet lips on yours for the first time. You pull away and he rests his forehead on yours.
“Tonight, after your shift, let me make you dinner. I’ll make you a childhood favourite of mine.” He pressed a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose. “Dinner and a movie. If you’ll have me.”
You smile at him, giving his lips another tender kiss. “I’m yours.”
“Don’t take my heart, don’t break my heart, don’t throw it away.”
cazzo, sono un idiota- fuck, I’m an idiot
tesoro - darling
so this is a really specific one shot fic loosely based on the music video for my favourite song of all time by my favourite band of all time, Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears. I couldn’t get the image out of my head of dorky Copia having a crush on a librarian, and thus this was born.
Summary - Forced to attend a stuffy ball, you find yourself hiding beneath a table with Aegon.
Warnings - implied targcest as always
Word Count - 4.5k
// masterlist // send me your thoughts //
The delicious aroma of roast mutton is wafting over you as you pass one of the many long serving tables lining the walls of the ballroom. Your gaze drags along the vast spread that has been prepared for tonight; a variety of artisan breads, cooked meats, and candied desserts are laid out upon silver serving dishes.
As you reach the end of the first table, a pile of lemon cakes snag your attention. Neatly stacked atop an ornate porcelain platter, the cakes are coated in a thin glaze that shimmers in the light. Your mouth instantly begins watering at the sight, your stomach growling in a way that would be deemed improper for a Lady.
Beside you, holding a plate that has been loaded with mashed potatoes and honeyed chicken, Jace turns his head to cock a brow at you.
“Hungry?” He asks, chuckling softly.
You suck in a deep breath before forcefully tearing your gaze from the cakes. “Extremely.”
It takes an enormous amount of will power to turn away from the serving table while still empty-handed, but you somehow manage to do just that. Having hardly even walked a few steps, though, Jace is abandoning his plate to rush after you, softly seizing your wrist to keep you from moving any further.
“If you’re hungry, then you should eat.”
His concern is obvious, not only through his tone, but his expression as well. With his furrowed brow and tight-mouthed frown, you’re fairly certain that he’s already considering the consequences of dragging you back to the table and feeding you himself if need be.
Jace had always been that way—not only with you, but with everyone. He was kind hearted and considerate to fault.
“I would,” you smile, shaking your head slightly to dismiss his concern, “but I’m afraid that if I do, I might very well pop right on out of this ridiculously tight corset.”
You wave an idle hand down to your waist, unnaturally cinched by the intricate lacing and boning of the garment beneath your evergreen gown. His eyes follow the motion, tracing along the intense curve, lingering for a moment too long.
The explanation seems to wash away much of his concern, relieved to know that discomfort was the only reason you had chosen to abstain from the treats being served. Even so, a touch of empathy remains, accompanied by the faintest hint of desire gleaming in his amber gaze.
Amber—an unusual color for a boy of Velaryon blood. His eyes were one of the many reasons that your mother, the Queen Alicent, felt so confident in labeling Princess Rhaenyra’s boys as bastards behind closed doors. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that there was likely truth to her claims. Your nephews probably were bastards—but you didn’t particularly care.
Jace was nice to you, and that was all that had ever mattered to you.
He clears his throat, realizing that he had been gawking at your body for far longer than he should. “It looks uncomfortable,” the words spill out without permission, and you nearly laugh when his eyes go wide. “That didn’t come out right, nothing about it actually looks uncomfortable—it looks stunning! I mean, you look stunning! It’s just that, I don’t know, I imagine that having something squeeze you so tightly might be-”
“Jace, it’s okay! Truly,” you interrupt his rambling with a soft giggle. “You should know that I’m not so easily offended,” you playfully chide. “Besides, you’re right. It is quite uncomfortable!”
Actually, quite felt like an enormous understatement. But you didn’t figure that Jace was particularly interested in hearing about how your breasts were aching from being roughly shoved up by the tight garment.
Jace looses a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Then why bother wearing them? Many noble-women go without corsets. Even my mother hardly ever wears one—she believes they’re vile things that only aid in the objectification of ladies.”
Your brows rise, agreeing with the claims of your half-sister. But then you let your attention shift to the dais, meeting the rough stare of the reason why you had been forced into the tortuous garb—your mother.
She’s already watching you when you meet her eye, her lip curled as she sends you a pointed look, silently urging you away from your nephew. It takes a great deal of effort not to shrink beneath the weight of her attention, and you’re beyond grateful for the group of women who shuffle past you towards the dance floor, giving you an excuse to break the hold she has on you.
“I wear it because my mother wishes for all of her children to look their best,” you answer, shifting your focus back onto Jace. “And who am I to disappoint the Queen?”
He notes the sudden callousness of your tone, as well as the way you clasp your hands together at your waist, fidgeting with the golden ring on your index finger. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, however, knowing well enough that you were not—and already knowing why, as well.
You imagine that Jace doesn’t much like your mother; both for her part in the rumors spread about him and his brothers and for the way she has treated his mother.
It makes you upset in a strange way, a part of you always wishing to defend the Queen, no matter how abhorrent her actions. After all, she was your mother—whether you like it or not—and you knew very well that if someone were to try to hurt you or your siblings, then she would gladly lay her life on the line for you.
You were thankful for her; even if her protection hurt, even if her maternal love only exists when your life is at stake.
“Speaking of your siblings,” Jace suddenly notes, veering slightly off-subject as his own stare drifts towards the dais, “how did Aegon manage to weasel his way out of attending tonight?”
Your brows snap together before letting your head snap back towards the dais, managing to avoid your mother’s nasty stare this time by looking to her right, taking note of each of your siblings.
Aemond is sat directly by her side, his posture rigid as his eye scans across the room, alert and on-guard as usual. Next to him is Helaena, leisurely picking at her plate of food and mindlessly bobbing her head along to the symphony being played for court musicians. Daeron, who your mother insisted fly Tessarion here from Oldtown so that he might be present for tonight, is sat next to your empty chair, making idle chatter with those around him.
But Aegon’s chair, sat between yours and Helaena’s, is vacant.
A knot forms in your stomach when you look back at Aemond, his piercing violet eye catching yours, gleaming with a silent order—find our imbecile brother before he makes a fool of us all.
You give him a curt nod before looking away, head whirling as you begin searching the crowd around you for any sign of your eldest brother.
“Simple,” you huff, “he didn’t.”
Jace hums his understanding as you politely excuse yourself, turning away from him to begin shoving through the throng of people filling the room.
You decline invitations to dance and spout excuses as to why you can’t stop to chat as you push past noblemen-and-women from various Houses, trying to maintain the pleasant persona your mother favored while still moving fast enough that you might find Aegon before he finds any new ways to publicly bring shame upon the Targaryen name.
It’s exhausting work—and by the time you have shoved yourself to the other end of the room without finding him, you nearly consider giving up. Your chest hurts and your scalp is itching from being poked and prodded by a dozen or so pins, all of which had been meticulously placed by servants to arrange plaits into a fanciful half-updo.
In many ways, you look like your mother; with your elaborate hairstyle and green dress, the look is tied together by a pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star dangling from your neck.
And, in many ways, you hate it.
Much to the Queen’s dismay, you’ve never much liked the elegant styles preferred by many women at court. No, instead you spent much of your time donning mail with your hair lazily pulled back, joining Aemond for practice in the training yard.
She hated how unrefined you were, how indelicate you were; fearful for how others at court might view you for it, for how much attention you might draw to yourself.
You blow out a sigh, resisting the urge to pull all of the pins from your hair as you will yourself to keep walking, to keep looking for Aegon. A table overflowing with carafes of arbor wine and flagons of ale catches your attention, setting off alarm bells in your mind.
If Aegon were going to choose anywhere to hide at this godsforsaken ball, then it would certainly be in close proximity to the alcohol.
A cacophony of laughter and clinking goblets surrounds you as you approach, scanning over rows of bottles and skimming the faces of those nearby. Spinning your ring on your finger, you walk along the entire length of the long serving table, disappointed when you reach the end of it and find that your brother is still nowhere in sight.
Chewing on your cheek, you fight the urge to pour yourself a drink when you notice a carafe of blackberry wine. The plum colored liquid seems to call your name, singing promises of sweet oblivion, an escape from the restless feeling clawing at your chest.
You’re out of place here in court, and you always have been—you know that, and you worry that everyone around you knows, too.
Sensical enough to recognize that alcohol would likely just exacerbate your current ill-feelings, you shun the carafe and turn towards the grand entrance. Lifting your chin and squaring your shoulders, you try to appear more composed than you feel as you saunter towards the large wooden doors.
If Aegon had snuck off with one of the serving girls, then there was a good chance that he was still somewhere in the hall, either flirting or feeling up their skirts. And, if you were wrong, then at least he had provided you with an excuse to slip away from this mess of a ball.
As you pass by the last serving table, the platters and dishes atop it already thoroughly picked over, you feel someone tug at your dress. You whirl around, a fiery retort already falling off your tongue, fully intending to rip into whoever had found the audacity to touch you without permission—only to find yourself insulting the air.
There was no one there, at least not close enough to have touched you.
For a heartbeat you begin to reel, wondering if you’ve started to lose your mind before feeling the sensation again. A sharp tug at the fabric, just by your knee. Your head snaps down towards your dress, covering your mouth before a gasp can slip your lips.
An arm is peeking out from beneath one of the finely embellished tablecloths, and a well-groomed hand is clutching your skirts. You instantly recognize the hand as Aegon’s, having become intimately familiar with your brother’s touch throughout your life.
Taking a step closer to the covered table, you try to look natural as you hunch over it slightly to get closer to his level, feigning an interest in a half-eaten roast duck.
“What in the Seven Hells are you doing, Aegon?!” Your voice is hushed, not quite a whisper, but low enough so that no one other than him might hear.
Releasing his hold on your skirts, Aegon lifts the tablecloth a little higher, revealing his face. “Get under here,” he tilts his head, motioning for you to join him beneath the table.
“No!”
He swiftly presses a finger to his lips in response to your incredulous shout, shushing you. You stiffen, nervously flicking your eyes to each side, checking to ensure that no one had heard you. Fortunately, the courtiers around you appear far too invested in their conversations and drinks to notice how you appear to have shouted at a roast duck.
Aegon’s lilac eyes are wide, pleading as he shoves the tablecloth up higher, giving you more room to slip beneath it. “Would you just shut up and come?”
It’s the sheer urgency of his tone that piques your interest, although you wish that it hadn’t. You huff out an annoyed sigh, taking another look around the room before gathering up your skirts and sinking to your knees, crawling underneath the table.
Once you’ve successfully sat down beside him on the stone floor, he drops the cloth, shielding the two of you from any prying eyes. The material is thin enough that it allows some light to pass through it, very dimly illuminated Aegon’s grinning face, all urgency having suddenly vanished.
“Welcome,” he almost sounds breathless, the word airy—and utterly unnecessary.
You can faintly see the rosy coloring of his cheeks, a few messy silver waves tumbling across his face, and you’re immediately willing to bet that he’s extremely buzzed. “What are you doing, Aeg?”
Your tone is firm, but there’s a certain gentleness to it that was specially reserved for your eldest brother. While you maintain that you love all three of them equally, it’s undeniable that your relationship with Aegon has always been… different.
He reaches to his side, lifting a carafe from the ground beside him. “Having a party,” he says, raising it towards your face and playfully swirling the garnet colored liquid.
“I’m unsure if you’re aware,” you motion towards the cloth shrouding you from the bustling ballroom, “but our mother has already planned quite the celebration for tonight—and she likely does not wish for it to be ruined by her drunkard son ducking beneath tables like an imbecile!”
Aegon pokes his bottom lip out into a pout. “Why must you assume that I am drunk?”
“Because you’re you,” you drone, cocking your head at him, “and you are always drunk.”
Rolling his eyes, he sits the carafe down on the ground between you. There are only mere inches separating the two of you, both of you squeezing your limbs close to your body to avoid having a foot peek out from beneath the table. Sitting this close to him, you can smell the sweetness of the arbor red of his breath—as well as the faintest hint of sulfur, a sign that he had clearly gone riding on Sunfyre earlier and had failed at washing off the dragon’s strong scent.
You take another breath, inhaling the smell of him into your lungs. It was familiar—comfortable, urging your taut muscles to slacken in his presence.
“And what if I told you that I am sober right now?”
A snort escapes you, sparing him an incredulous look. “Then I would call you a liar,” you tell him, tapping a finger against the rim of the half-empty carafe.
His stare drops down towards it, watching as the liquid ripples when you pull your hand back. When he looks back up, he’s wearing a crooked smile that makes your heart flutter. “Mostly sober, then.”
It’s nearly impossible to stifle your laugh, clamping a hand over your mouth so that you might muffle the sound and prevent passersby from becoming suspicious. The sound only makes his smile grow wider and more genuine, an expression that he graced very few people with.
“I’ll ask again,” you say, speaking only when you're confident that no more laughter will tumble out. “Why are you down here? If mother finds out then she will be furious and-”
Aegon tosses his head back, cutting you off with a groan. “Mother will be furious no matter what,”
Disdain drips from each syllable, thickening the air around you. He didn’t like talking about her much, and you couldn’t blame him for it. Of all your siblings, Aegon had been dealt the worst hand, simply by being born first. He got the brunt of your mothers vile behavior; and you hated that, too.
“Because,” lazily rolling his neck so that he can look at you again, he answers, “I’d rather spend my night under here,” he flicks a hand up, lazily gesturing around himself, “than be forced to sit through even one more tedious speech from some ancient Lord of gods-know-where!”
You bite your tongue, holding back another laugh.
“And,” he continues, nodding in your direction, “I am now saving you from the same mundane fate. You’re welcome.”
“What makes you think that I needed your saving?” You ask, brows rising.
Aegon purses his lips, placing a finger against his chin as he feigns contemplation, studying the intricate styling of your hair, the modest long-sleeved gown, and the Star resting against your covered breasts. “Perhaps it was that our mother has you dressed up as though you’re an aspiring Septa.”
Thinking of the plain women, with their simple gowns and traditional head coverings, you nearly laugh again as you ask, “How many Septa’s do you know that wear corsets and jewelry, brother?”
“None,” he admits, shoulders lifting into an indolent shrug. “Though, if they looked more like you, then I might finally have a reason to attend prayer. Beautiful women would be more than enough to turn me into a pious man.”
A warmth creeps up your neck as blood rushes to your cheeks, unsure if his statement was meant as a compliment—was he saying that he found you beautiful? If so, it shouldn’t have been a particularly shocking revelation. After all, Aegon had complimented you before, many times.
In all fairness, however, most of those times had been when he was thoroughly besotted. He had a habit of sneaking into your rooms and practically draping himself off of you, muttering drunken nonsense about how breathtaking you were. You had never placed much truth in the statements though, assuming that Aegon likely didn’t even recognize who he was speaking to, much less whose bed he had crawled into.
But even if this was a genuine and mostly sober attempt at complimenting you, the flattery of it doesn’t last nearly long enough. Your own insecurity washes back over you far quicker than you like, reminding you of just how unlike yourself you currently feel.
“I do not believe that anything would be capable of turning you into a pious man,” you joke, trying and failing to cover up the melancholy that has settled into your bones. “Not even beautiful women.”
“You could.”
The answer comes far too quick, spilling from his tongue with an eagerness that even seems to catch him by surprise.
“Though, I must say, for as exquisite as this dress makes you look,” his hand reaches across the short expanse dividing you, mindlessly running his fingers along the fabric covering your shoulder, “I much prefer the way look in armor—sweaty skin, messy hair, sword in-hand—all of it.”
Your breath catches in your throat as his touch drifts towards the center of your chest, fingers dragging along the thin chain leading to your pendant, lifting the Star into his palm. He stares at it for a moment before yanking it roughly from your neck, grinning when you yelp. “But this,” he lifts the Seven-Pointed Star slightly, “I absolutely hate.”
With that, he tosses it from underneath the table, sending it skittering across the floor beyond the tablecloth.
Your jaw drops open, a hand pressed against the now-sore spot along the back of your neck. Despite yourself, your lips start to curve into a playful smile. You try fighting against it, try pressing them into a firm line, but fail. “Mother will not be happy about that-”
“She’s never happy,” Aegon interjects. His own expression shifts, the line on his forehead deepening as he says, “Do not let yourself bear her misery. Life is too short—and you deserve more than that.”
A palpable silence is thickening the air, and your breathing seems to synchronize as you simply stare at one another.
Slowly, nervously, you say, “I’m not sure what it is that I deserve,”
“You deserve,” he pauses, lips still parted despite the absence of speech. Then, swallowing back the words that had been building in his throat, he says, “you deserve whatever it is that you want, sister.”
Your hand falls from your neck into your lap, and you avert your gaze, watching your fingers as they fidget with your ring. “And what if I do not know what I want?”
Once, you had thought that you wanted a life like Jaces. A happy life, with a mother that knew how to love you and siblings that hadn’t been raised in fear of their half-sister ascending the throne, taught that their very existence was a threat to her power. But, suddenly, you felt as though you were no longer sure.
Aegon hesitates, watching you carefully. His lilac eyes appear as though they’re searching for something within your own—a hint of recognition, or reciprocation. If he found what he was looking for, then you were unaware. “Then you’ll figure it out,” he sighs, his smile not reaching his eyes. “You have all the time in the world to decide.”
There is something reassuring about his statement, making it resonate with you in a way that you hadn’t expected. You look up, holding his gaze for a heartbeat, then two, and you almost swear that you can see it—the silent invitation, the plea to delve deeper into his words, to decipher exactly what it was that he was promising you.
You have all the time in the world—all the time in the world to decide if he might ever be something you want.
Suddenly you find yourself dancing on the edge of a precipice, chest tightening as you grapple with the idea that, maybe, something more might exist between you and Aegon.
That, maybe, he had always known who he was complimenting and what bed he was slipping into.
That, for him, it had always been you.
“Aegon, I-”
He shakes his head, cutting you off before you have a chance to say something that he fears you may regret. Then, sliding the carafe between you to the side, he scoots closer. “If you plan on staying under my table,” he teases, clearing his throat, “then we need to do something about your hair.”
“I thought you said I looked exquisite?” You stay still as he starts toying with the strands, trying to swallow the tumult of your own emotions.
Aegon’s plucking various pins from your hair, tossing them to the ground. “Yes, but I also said that I prefer your hair when it’s messy. It’s more…” he sucks in a breath, unable to hide the admiration swelling in his chest when he finally exhales, “you.”
Your cheeks are burning hot, and you’re suddenly very thankful for the lack of light around you. On instinct, you almost tell him how your mother wouldn’t agree—but then you think better of it.
“You’re… generous.”
Something about your voice sounds foreign in your ears. You sound nervous—and you’re not used to feeling nervous around Aegon.
His fingers are combing through the plaits forming your updo, his brow drawn taut, framing his lilac eyes, shining bright with concentration. “Generous,” he snorts softly, nails raking lightly against your scalp as he shakes the strands loose, “I don’t hear that one often.”
“Well perhaps you’d hear it more if you weren’t such an ass,” you shoot back, slowly trying to slip back into your usual self.
“Me? An ass?” He’s untangled the final braid, scooting away from you slightly now as he presses a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “Never.”
Now falling in loose waves, free of those incessant pins, you brush your hair over your shoulder. “Just earlier I heard you telling Lord Grover that if wisdom were measured in wrinkles that he would be named Grand Maester.” You point out, unable to mask your amusement while recalling the old man’s shocked expression.
“Is it not true?” Aegon smirks. “The man is nearly seventy, and his age certainly shows.”
“Lord Grover is only two-and-fifty, brother.”
His brows shoot up, gaping at you. “Tell me that you’re not serious!” When you nod, confirming that you are, he sucks his teeth. “Wow—how unfortunate. He looks positively dreadful for his age, then. I thought that he surely had one foot in the grave by now.”
“Aegon!” You rebuke through your own sputtered laughter, shaking your head at his insolence. “See? This is what I was talking about! If you weren’t so crude then you might get more compliments.”
Swinging his arm back to grab for the carafe, Aegon’s nose scrunches slightly. “Why bother?” He implores, a hint of mischief in his tone. “My crudeness is what you like most about me, is it not? Without it, dear sister, your life would be quite boring.”
Just before he brings the carafe to his lips, he inclines his head towards the tablecloth, emphasizing his words. A reminder—that, without him, you would still be out there, sitting miserably amongst your siblings and being forced to dance with Lord’s twice your age.
There was something more beneath the veil of humor and arrogance, however. A craving that had him tipping the carafe back, hoping that the stinging of the alcohol might numb his gnawing desire for validation—to hear you say that you yes, my life would be boring without you.
“I suppose you’re right,” the admission has him pausing, the carafe lingering against his bottom lip. “Truth be told, I had never put much thought into it before, but you do have a way of keeping life interesting, Aeg. So, I must agree that, without you, my life would be positively dreadful.” Staring at the ground in-between you, you smile before adding, “After all, who else would be able to convince me to risk our mother’s scorn and crawl beneath a table to drink wine and fix my hair?”
There’s a slight tremor in his voice when he speaks, trying to mask the warmth swelling in his chest, “You have yet to drink a single drop.”
“Then I suppose that is the next thing you’ll have to fix,” you say, sticking your hand out towards him, urging him to pass you the carafe. He hands it to you while biting back a grin.
“Careful,” he warns, “drink too much and you may end up like your drunkard brother.”
“I don't mind,” You mirror his expression, your own lips curving as you raise the glass upwards, the strong scent of the arbor red stinging your nostrils. “I quite like my drunkard brother.”
His gaze burns against your flesh as you tilt your head back, allowing the alcohol to slip over your tongue, and you suddenly realize that you are no longer standing on the edge of that precipice.
You’re falling.
a/n - i was honestly just thinking about jude and cardan hiding under a table in the cruel prince and ended up with this? so yeah, definitely inspired by jurdan content (but y'know... no coup d'etat lmao).
I really like that we’re seeing the random cruelty both Daemon and Aegon ii have visited upon people since s1 has real and preswnt consequences rather than it just being entirely for shock value. Daemon is being psychologically tortured at Harrenhal as well as suddenly unable to control people with fear and finding that he has no other way to interact with people he considers beneath him, and Aegon being burned by the brother he bullied as well as one of his victims (Dyana) quietly working against him with Mysaria and Hugh about to turn against him for lack of payment. Its really adds to the story when people on the receiving end of all this bullshit react and react badly even if they’re not otherwise important to the plot
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Aemond x Visenya (daughter of Rhaenyra)
Warnings
: Smut, Rape/Non-con Elements, incest obviously, Dark Aemond , Obsessive Aemond, Possessive Aemond. Eventual Fluff, Blood and Violence, Virgin Visenya. Choking, Hair-pulling, Large Cock, First Time Blow Jobs, / eventual first time everything
Takes place before Lucerys is sent off to Storm’s End. Visenya, oldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Laenor, never makes it to the ball held so suitors can to vye for her hand at Dragonstone because Aemond sneaks in and kidnaps her. Inspired by ‘Meant to be Yours’ from Heathers The Musical because I couldn’t get the song out of my head. Will be a couple of chapters long.
——–
“All is forgiven, princess, why don’t you come out?” A smooth voice said from the outside.
It was a voice I recognized all too well. It belonged to the reason why I had barricaded myself in this chamber in the first place. I’d been on my way down to the ballroom, being the guest of honor, when I had seen him at the bottom of the stairs. And I… Well I’d panicked and run the other way. Naturally. And he… he’d given chase.
I swallowed hard, my heart was beating so hard in my chest that I feared my ribs would break. Was that even possible? What was he doing here? Our families were supposed to be at war! Had he brought the battle here? Or was he just out for my blood?
“You broke your promise and for that you should be dead… but then it hit me and I thought, what if they went away instead? Those bastards are the key, they’re keeping you away from me. They’ve made you blind, messed up your mind, but don’t you see, Princess? I can set you free!” His voice grew exponentially louder and more threatening the longer he spoke.
Where were the guards? I had given them explicit orders as I entered this chamber: to not let anyone in! Especially not him! Had he killed them? My eyes were locked to the only thing separating us, a door made of wood that would not hold him for long, but I forced myself to look away. If the guards were dead, I had to find another way out.
“When you left me, I fell apart…” He continued, before gripping the silver handle, rattling it in an attempt to open it.
Thank the Gods I’d locked it.
“But then I realized you had forever changed my life and set loose all the truths in my heart. Don’t you see, Princess? I was meant to be yours! We were meant to be one! Don’t give up on me now! We need to finish what we began.”
Could I escape through the window? No, I couldn’t possibly survive a fall, and I wasn’t a good climber. My dragon was probably asleep, and this chamber was too far up for him to hear my call. Damned that I had not run to my own room. But then again, this had been the closest one… As it belonged to my little brother Lucerys, I had not spent enough time here to discover the secret doors. But they were here, I knew there would be at least one. Dragonstone had been built just like the Red Keep in that sense. I just had to find it, before it was too late.
I moved to the wall on the opposite side of the door and began touching various items that might open such a secret door. My heart was beating so fast I was convinced he’d be able to hear it through the thick door.
“When the ballroom goes up in flames… you’ll have no one left to wed but me!”
I gasped, then slapped a hand in front of my mouth. What did he just say? He’d set fire to the ballroom?!
“The city will see the smoke pour out the castle, and know exactly what it means! That we were meant to be one! You were meant to be mine! Princess, I am all that you need! You carved open my heart, can’t just leave me to bleed!” He shouted, hammering his fist into the door with such vigor that the sound of it rang in my ears. It was a wonder the door still stood.
I couldn’t believe my ears! He’d set fire to the ballroom? Or was he going to? The ball tonight was dedicated to finding me a new suitor after our family’s little ‘falling-out’, but I couldn’t claim there was a lord in all the seven kingdoms whose loss I’d lose much sleep over except for those of my brothers! And what about my mother? My uncle? My cousins? If there was even the slightest chance he hadn’t started that fire yet, then I had to stop him!
Pushing off from the wall, I gathered my heavy skirts and set off back to the door when-
“VISENYA!” He screamed as he pounded on the door.
I’d almost reached the door, but jumped at the animosity in his voice and stumbled on my dress, only just catching myself right before I would have crashed to the floor.
“Open the- Open the door, please. Visenya, open the door.” - “Visenya, can we not fight anymore, please… can we not fight anymore?”
I reached the door and put my hand on the handle, hesitating as every cell in my body protested at what I was about to do, that I was about to let this man back into my life. But I had to! I had no choice! If there was any chance I could save my family then I had to take it, no matter the cost!
“Visenya,” He continued, in a softer voice. “I know you’re scared, I’ve been there, but I can set you free.”
Set me free? What did he mean by that? A chill went through me at the suspicion that he meant to kill me. I clutched the handle as if my life depended on it, because… what if it did? I didn’t want to die. My whole life was ahead of me.
“Visenya, don’t make me come in there!” He shouted then, resuming his pounding on the door again.
My heart skipped a beat, and I let go of the door handle as if it had burned me. If he was truly going to kill me, then I wouldn’t be able to save my family…So no, I had to find a way out so I could run and warn them, or save them if it came to that. Saving them was all that mattered. I kicked off my hopeless shoes and ran to another wall, searching high and low for a split seam in the wallpaper, an object that worked as a key - anything to get me out of this room!
“I’m gonna count to three!” He yelled. “One! Two!” - “Fuck it!”
I had just found the book in a bookcase that wasn’t in actuality a book, but the handle to the secret door when the door was forced open with a loud bang, the hinges whined pitifully, but stayed on - though barely.
In the opening of the door now stood Aemond, my once-dear uncle, his face, hair and clothes covered in blood and his one eye black with murderous intent. By his feet lay the two guards from my family’s personal guard, their heads sliced straight off. I’d known these men my entire life, and now they were dead. They had died protecting me from my own uncle.
My breath caught in my throat. The room spun. I knew Aemond was dangerous. I knew he was demented. I knew he was deranged. But it was something very different to see it with my very own eyes rather than just hearing it. And though I had heard tales of his… demeanor over and over, I had not believed them until now.
I was a lady, an unarmed princess, his favorite niece, his former betrothed, yet Aemond didn’t even lower his bloodied sword at the sight of me.
“Come now, let go of the book,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. His one eye was wild and the other gleamed richly from the light of the many candles in the chamber.
The stone in his eye was the moonstone I’d given him long ago, back when we were children. I recognized it right away. How could I not? It was the very stone I had asked him to marry me with all those years ago. This was before, of course. Before he stole my cousins’ dead mother’s dragon at her funeral. Before my brothers took his eye. Before our mothers turned on each other. Before the king, my grandsire died. Before Aemond openly questioned my brothers’ heritage and started a war.
I knew Lucerys and Jacerys were bastards and that I was not. It was clear as day. I had my father’s tan skin and my mother’s white hair - and my brothers had neither. But to bring their heritage into question, even privately, was to threaten their lives… and my mothers, and by extension, mine. But to do so publicly? To do so publicly was to declare war, and declared war was what he had done.
Swallowing, I raised my chin, refusing to show my fear in front of him. “Why don’t you put your sword away, uncle?” - “Or are you afraid of a girl armed with a book?”
A smile painted Aemond’s features, yet I was no less afraid of him. There was no warmth to find in his painfully beautiful features. He closed the door carefully behind him and locked it, as if that would make me forget what had happened before it, then he took three long strides into the room.
I should have run. I should have just opened the door and run while I still could. He had a sword, but I knew the lay of the secret hallways and he did not, for he had not grown up at Dragonstone such as I had been forced to due to our family’s rift.
“Only a fool would underestimate you, niece,” he said bitterly. “But, since you ask so sweetly.” He wiped the blood off with his sleeve before he placed the large sword back into its sheath on his hip.
“Did you kill them?” I heard myself asking in a small voice.
Aemond raised a Targaryan white brow. “Your guards? Yes, they’ll not be bothering us anymore.”
I swallowed again. “And what of my mother, my brothers?”
My uncle continued taking careful steps in my direction, as if I was a newly hatched dragonling playing too close to the fire. “I will not allow them to stand between us. You are mine, Visenya. You promised me. On your soul be the consequences…”
I didn’t dare breathe. Horrible horrible images were swimming in my mind, burning a hole in my resolve. “Please…”
Like a predator, he pounced on me, forcing my hand to let go of the book with one hand, and grabbing my throat with the other. He squeezed the breath out of me and pinned my body to the wall with his hips. I scratched at his hand on my neck, but his grip was steellike, and a moment later he’d caught both my wrists in his other hand, which he pushed to the wall above my head.
“If you want your mother and your bastard brothers to live, you’ll do exactly as I say…”
Eyes large, I attempted to nod, but found myself quite arrested. I could barely breathe.
But it seemed good enough to Aemond who smiled and stroked my neck with affection. “You’re going to come with me back to King’s Landing and you’re going to wed me like just you promised. Then my mother will have us crowned and all will be forgiven.”
I took a shivering breath that led his eye to dip to my exposed chest. I was wearing a rather revealing dress for this ball. It was a wonder my breasts hadn’t escaped their confinements yet.
My head span. It wasn’t a bad offer. If he held up his end of the bargain and let my family be, this was a very good way to end the war before it could truly begin. An alliance through marriage that tied the family back together. There was that whole issue with us being crowned together, which I knew my mother would not like one bit… but, I saw no other way. Even if my mother did end up winning the war, there was bound to be losses on both sides, and while I despised my uncle Prince Aegon and Queen Alicent, not to mention her father the hand - I had always held nothing but love for my aunt Princess Helaena and her sweet children. My feelings for Aemond were complicated at best, but I still didn’t want to see him dead, not truly.
If it meant keeping my family safe and sound, I’d marry anyone. Even him.
His hand crept up my neck until his thumb could caress my lower lip, which stopped me from biting into it. “What do you say, princess?
There were many things I’d like to say, but I could see there clearly was only one acceptable answer at this point. “Yes.”
His one eye softened, and his grip on my hands loosened.
Relief flowed through me, but then I was stupid enough to add, “I’ll do anything to save my family…”
His violet eye darkened immediately, and his hands on my throat and my wrists turned bruising. “Is that so?” he asked, wetting his lips.
I opened my mouth to speak, but could get no answer out with how hard he was squeezing my neck. All I could do was give a small nod, my face flushing as I felt him grow hard against my hip.
“Prove it,” he said darkly.
Before I knew it, I had been pushed to my knees before him, but at least he’d had to let go of my throat and hands. I had to lean on his legs while I gulped down big breaths of air with the greedy impatience of someone who had been on the cusp of passing out, but I was not given a lot of time to recover before Aemond slid his hand into my hair and yanked my head up with such force that a pained moan was torn from my lips.
When I looked up at Aemond’s face, I saw a hunger in his eye that scared me. His mouth was shut tight and his jaw was sharp with determination. His grip on my hair hurt and my neck and wrists were already sore, but I couldn’t help the small cursed part of me that burned with desire at his actions. He wanted me. He wanted me so bad he’d snuck into his enemy’s lair just to get me, and it… it had started a fire in my blood that I couldn’t quench.
If it was so wrong, why did it feel so right?
Aemond held my gaze for what felt like hours, but that was probably only a few passing moments before he yanked on my hair again, moving my head to face his groin where his trousers had formed an impressive tent. “Go on, princess, prove to me that I can trust you. Rumors say you know your way around men after all, show me what you’re good for.”
I swallowed hard. Those rumors weren’t actually true. I’d never… I hadn’t even- I didn’t even know where to begin, but clearly what he wanted me to do couldn’t be attempted with his pants on… With that in mind, I lifted my hands and hoped he didn’t see how they trembled. I didn’t want him to punish me for my inexperience. But I’d never opened a man’s trousers before, and it took me forever to figure out where to open them. Underneath his trousers were undergarments, but fortunately I found the cords to untie the center of them faster, and then his… manhood sprang free, almost hitting me in the face with the sheer size of it.
Seven hells… Just what was I supposed to do with this thing? He was enormous! While I was untouched, I wasn’t wholly innocent and naive. I knew what went on behind closed doors. I knew what went where, at the very least, but I couldn’t understand how I would be able to pleasure him with mouth when his member was this large? I’d walked in on my fair share of corners where such business had gone down in late hours of the night. But of course, those corners had been covered with blankets of darkness, and I would only allow myself a glance before making haste past as I was in fact not only a lady, but a princess, and above such things.
“What’s the matter? Never seen a cock like mine before?” he asked, taunting me though I could hear his heavy breath.
I had not, but I didn’t let him egg me on. My face was burning with heat, shame and fear. My heart was a spooked dragon in my chest, threatening to burn its cage to the ground, but there was more at stake here than my pride. If pleasuring Aemond would save my family, I would do it. If I had to put my mouth on anyone’s… cock, I’d rather it be his actually. Resting my hands gently on his thighs, I leaned closer and placed a kiss on the pink tip.
I could hear his mouth falling open, but no moan came out. Shit, did I do it wrong? Did kissing someone there feel unpleasant? I looked up to ask him, only to find him staring down at me in complete shock
“I-”
“You’ve never done this before, have you?” he asked. He seemed speechless at the prospect. But would he be so into me if he truly thought I was a wanton whore?
I licked my lips uncertainty, my eyelashes fluttering as I attempted to come up with a good answer, but nothing came to mind other than the truth. “No…”
His violet eye darkened, and he closed his mouth shut before he promptly let go of my hair and shoved his cock unceremoniously back into his undergarments before closing his trousers, taking only a fraction of the time it had taken me to undo them. For reasons I didn’t wish to explore, I felt oddly… disappointed.
I stayed down on the floor, awaiting further instruction, feeling used and yet not at the same time. While he’d tied his trousers, my eyes had been drawn to the sword by his side, but there was no way I’d be able to take it from him, much less hope to win a fight against him even if I had a sword and he did not. Aemond trained hard every day, and I’d barely touched a sword in my life. I should have taken my mother up on her suggestion that I train with my brothers, but I much preferred to read above all else. Stupid. That had been a stupid decision. I was stupid girl.
Suddenly there was commotion outside the door and Aemond was by my side in a heartbeat, grabbing my arm and lifting me to my feet as if my weight was of no consequence to him. Guards! They were here for me! They had to be! Aemond must not have set fire to the ballroom yet then! All was not lost! I could have squealed with glee, but then Aemond found the book I should have used to run earlier and tugged on it. The secret door opened soundlessly and Aemond dragged me towards it.
“No, let me g-”
“Quiet,” he hissed. His other hand came over my mouth, silencing me as he lifted me into the secret hallway, shutting the door carefully behind us. He didn’t wait around to see if the guards would take as long as he had to break into the room, instead he hurried through the hallway and then down the many stairs.
I fought against him now, but I was simply no match to Aemond’s pure strength. I didn’t have the heart for it either as I didn’t actually want to hurt him.
When I managed to get my hand on the hilt of his sword, my joy was only momentous before Aemond slammed me into a wall with such force that my mind reeled and the breath was knocked from my lungs. He still had a hand over my mouth, and with the other he unsheathed his sword and laid it against my neck, the cold of it biting into my skin. It was Valyrian steel, an extremely sharp sword. Aemond’s face displayed signs of desperation now in addition to the hunger and the anger when he glared down at me. “If I cannot have you, then no one can. Do you understand? I would rather kill you than give you up. Do you prefer that? Do you wish to die?” he growled at me.
I shook my head carefully, to avoid ripping open my own neck on his sword by accident, tears springing to my eyes.
Aemond leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine with a sigh. “Then stop fighting.”
I pressed my eyes shut, and then, and then I nodded. I couldn’t help but believe him. Aemond never shared his toys growing up. He was a possessive man.
When I opened my eyes again he was staring down at me, expectantly. I drew a shaky breath, and forced myself to relax in his arms.
He removed his hand from my mouth first, and when I kept quiet, he delicately removed his sword from my neck and sheathed. Then he took hold of my bicep, to guide me instead of dragging me. I followed him, I saw no other option. How did he even know where to go? I would ask if I didn’t think he would strike me if I spoke at this point. There were sounds coming from all over the castle now, but still there was no sign of a fire. Either he’d lied or they’d been able to stop it. They were shouting my name, I realized with a start. They were all looking for me.
But it changed nothing, so I said nothing, I simply followed my captor down the secret halls in my heavy dress on bare feet. He took a sharp left and then the biting winds from the sea were around us, pulling on my hair and my clothes. It was cold and dark. I hadn’t even known about this exit.
Aemond closed the door behind us and seemed to realize my lack of shoes just now. A sigh escaped his lips at it, but he surprised me when he simply lifted me into his arms and began carrying me down to the water.
Had he taken a boat here? There was no sign of my deceased aunt Laena’s dragon Vhagar. But then, I doubt his arrival here would have gone unnoticed if he had flown in on her. She was the largest dragon alive known to man.
I opened my mouth to ask this when we arrived by the water and there indeed was a boat waiting for us. It was a simple rowing boat. I was stunned. Prince Aemond Targaryan had rowed all the way to Dragonstone in a little rowing boat? All alone? For me?
He put me down on the bench in the front before he pushed the boat out into the waters and jumped in. My mouth was wide open, I couldn’t even hide my shock. But Aemond just sat down and began rowing us away away from Dragonstone, away from my family. He moved with meticulous, strong sweeps and it wasn’t long until the castle disappeared behind the fog. He’d been lucky with the weather tonight.
I couldn’t look at him like this. Not when his arms were bulging with muscles for every foot he paddled and the movements the rest of his body was doing were putting utterly inappropriate pictures in my head. He was stealing me away in the cover of night! How could I find him attractive? He’d threatened to kill me and forced me to kiss his cock! What in the seven hells had gone wrong with me to still be warm with affection for him after all that? I buried my flush face in my hands and rested my elbows on my knees.
I wasn’t left to waddle in my own self-pity for long before Aemond was by my side, having let go off the oars. Thunder boomed in the skies and I looked up, thinking that this was a horrible way to die. Out on the water in a little rowing boat. But no, it wasn’t thunder. It was Vhagar. Vhagar had come to pick up her rider, and his… bride. Gods be good. “Get up,” Aemond said softly, as if I had a choice. He even offered me his hand.
I took it only because the boat was unsteady and I was fairly certain my dress would drag me to the bottom of the sea if I fell into the water. Vhagar landed relatively smoothly in the water despite her large size, and I would absolutely have fallen overboard had Aemond not steadied me by pulling me to his chest due to the waves that were now rocking the boat. I could feel his heartbeat being so close to his chest, it was calm and steady, much unlike mine. How could he be so calm in a situation like this?
I hoped Seasmoke was asleep still. He would stand no chance against the mountain of a dragon that Vhagar was, and I did not wish to see him killed. He was fiercely protective of me after my father had died. Well, after my mother and father had faked his death so he could go live off the rest of his life carefree with his lover, Ser Qarl, while my mother married her uncle, Prince Daemon. I hadn’t understood it then, but while I did now - at least to some degree - the information was not pain-free by any means. I had been very close to my father and he had been very fond of me, as I was his only true child. So when he had left, he’d left Seasmoke to me.
Aemond lifted more than he aided me onto Vhagar’s back, before seating himself behind me. He was so close I could feel that his manhood was still fully erect against my back. I grabbed onto the saddle, thankfully it was big enough for the both of us, and Aemond grabbed onto me, his breath by my ear. “Good girl.”
I finally started uploading a new fic on AO3. This shamelessly self-indulgent piece of smut is dedicated to my fellow JP nerd and Robert Muldoon stan, @sicparvismorrigan.
Summary: Have you ever wondered why sunset is Robert Muldoon’s favourite time of day? Well, it’s because of you.
🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕🦕
You work on Isla Nublar as an engineer for InGen. One of your colleagues and friends, game warden Robert Muldoon, has been quite stressed lately. What he doesn't know yet is that you have developed a fierce crush on him. And that a very special surprise is waiting for him to relieve some of the tension...
Rating: Explicit
Category: F/M
Fandoms: Jurassic Park Original Trilogy (Movies), Jurassic Park Series – Michael Crichton
Pairings: Robert Muldoon/Reader, Robert Muldoon/You
Status: All chapters are written and edited except for the epilogue. There will be updates once or twice a week.
I got pretty fed up with looking for words to replace said because they weren’t sorted in a way I could easily use/find them for the right time. So I did some myself.
I’M DRUNK OR JUST BEING WEIRDLY EXPRESSIVE FOR A POINT/SARCASM
Hooted
Howled
Yowled
I WONDER
Pondered
Voiced
Wondered
OH, YEAH, WHOOPS
Recalled
Recited
Remembered
SURPRISE BITCH
Revealed
IT SEEMS FAKE BUT OKAY/HA ACTUALLY FUNNY BUT I DON’T WANT TO LAUGH OUT LOUD
Scoffed
Snickered
Snorted
BITCHY
Tattled
Taunted
Teased
Edit: People, I’m an English and creative writing double major in college; I understand that there’s nothing wrong with simply using “said.” This was just for fun, and it comes in handy when I need to add pizzazz.
“Be sure to shake it!” the bubble tea barista tells me but I don’t. I won’t. Why would I? “It mixes the sugar” maybe you want that. Maybe YOU do. To be drinking some homogenous concoction. Uniformly distributed. Each sip the same as the last. Just as sweet. Just as sweet. Just as sweet. All pointless flat indulgence. No personality. No humanity. A time-loop of your own devising, bereft of experience, sanitized of risk.
I want my first sip to be teeth-curdlingly sweet. I want the next to be horribly disappointing. I want to hunt. I want to jab my straw into pockets of substance like my ancestors stirring twigs into a bug colony. I want to raise the straw to different depths and feel something. The ocean is so far but I know what it means to rise from its syrupy dark depths into the still waters above.
I want all boba. I want no boba. I want to scoop the bubbles with my straw when the ice-rocks have been washed dry by the tide. “Be sure to shake it.” Never. I want to experience every human emotion in this cup of tea. I am not a coward. I am not a sheep. My tea is still enough for pond-skaters to glide. It will not shake. Live your repetitive nothing. Live in fear of the unknown. Live your fear of change. I am choking on a boba.
Some of the men yall tag as dilfs are SHAMEFUL. I was looking for dilf memes (it is not important why) and all I see is a parade of rosy-cheeked unblemished dandy men. Slapping a beard on a 26 year old in a suit is not a dilf, you are besmirching the title. There is a recipe, a Dilf Recipe. You do not need all these ingredients but you must have AT LEAST three: a child/ward/apprentice of some sort, crows feet, laugh lines/frown lines, sun damage, gray hairs, dark circles, Depression, intriguing battle scars/injuries/missing limb, Divorced, body hair, a look in the eyes that screams for A Moment of Relief, etc etc. Like the bar is low. Ben Barnes is not a Dilf. Harry Styles with 5 o’clock shadow is not a dilf. TIMMY CHARDONNAY IS NOT A DILF. You are all WEAK your blood is WEAK put that man BACK IN THE OVEN UNTIL HES DONE THESE DUDES ARENT AL DENTE THEY ARE CRUNCHY AND DUNKED IN WATER PUT THEM BACK LET THEM COOK
