𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐃 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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@justinalovee
𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐃 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
I just KNOW Aemond got rock hard... Judge me.
CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN TO ME HOW THERE’S ALMOST NO FANFICS FOR HER LIKE??????? LOOK AT HER PLS THATS MOMMY
𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝
Pairings: Aerion Targaryen x Targ reader, Daeron Targaryen x Targ reader
Warnings: Incest, smut, vomiting, blood, cheating, swearing
1.02
Thirteen moons prior
Resting your forehead against the cool wood of the doorway, you silently observe Daeron. It was nearing the hour of the owl, and he was still in the same clothes he’d put on the morning prior, staring absently into the lit fireplace before him. The only time he moved was to take a drink of whatever poison he had chosen for the night.
Mother dead, father lost in his grief and bearing the burden of watching over six younger siblings, it wasn't surprising he isolated himself. For years you wondered if Daeron was haunted by dragon dreams as much as yourself, but the glassy look in his eyes showed the truth of it. The overindulgence in various ales and rich-tasting wines was merely a way to cope.
Your parents had always been so preoccupied with Aerion’s irrational behaviour caused by his dreams of being a dragon trapped in human form that Daeron was often forgotten about.
“How long do you plan on staring at me?”
“You look sad.”
Daeron turns his head to look at you, and for a brief moment, he looks lost for words. His soft gaze travelling over your form. Hair unbound, barefoot, wearing nothing but a nightgown and robe, it was unbecoming of a princess to be pacing the castle alone like this, but you couldn’t find sleep.
Smile pulling on the corner of his lips, Daeron outstretches his arm, cup in hand. “I presume you could do with this.”
Nodding, you gladly take the drink from his hand before joining him. Taking a large gulp, the sweet flavour hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag. It was vile. Coughing, you shove the drink back at Daeron, pouting as he laughs.
“I don’t know how you can drink this much; it tastes sickening.”
“Well, you’ve never had as much of a sweet tooth as me,” he says, topping up the cup. “The stone floors may be smooth, but you shouldn’t be walking without something on your feet.”
“What if that was my ploy? To hurt it, so I’ll need to be carried around like a spoiled princess.”
“You are a spoiled princess.”
The two of you share a look, then break into laughter. Daeron pulls you into his embrace. “In truth, I sometimes miss you and Aemon coming to my room to hide.”
You smile, although the memories weren’t good ones. Aerion was a happy child once, but not long after his fourteenth nameday he changed and began taking great delight in tormenting his younger siblings. There were countless nights you’d run to Daeron’s room and lock yourself in to hide from Aerion, even when your eldest sibling wasn’t there. Daeron would come back from a night of relishing in whores and wine to find you and Aemon sleeping in his bed and not once did he complain.
It only stopped when you got married.
The room wasn’t well lit; the only source of light was the glow from the fire, which highlighted Daeron’s face. Your eyes move from his glossy eyes and his stubble to the dark smudges on his face. “You’ve got mud on your face.”
“And you’ve got—“ His thumb brushes underneath your bottom lip, “blood on yours.”
Not wanting to explain how Aerion bit your lip so hard while kissing you it drew blood, you shrug, “It’s nothing, I can barely feel it.”
Daeron’s nose brushes against the side of your neck; his actions have a gentleness to them, but his strained voice is full of sadness, “I hoped you reminded the brute you too are a dragon.”
“I’m fine”, when you turn to face him, your lips skim against his jawline, and you notice the way Daeron’s breathing quickens. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“What do you want?” He whispers.
“Many things, but for now, I’m content just sitting here with you.”
You linger together in silence for some time. His hand gently stroking the back of your hair, careful not to pull on it while your own hand strokes his arm. Noticing a tear rolling down his cheek, you press your forehead to his. “I hate seeing you like this. I am here if you wish to confide in someone about your dreams.”
He offers you a weak, tearful smile, though tears still slip down his cheeks. “You smell of mint tea.”
Your lips meet briefly, “please don’t keep the pain to yourself.”
“Do that again,” he pleads quietly. “Please.”
It was wrong, but you kiss him softly, pouring every unspoken feeling into that fleeting moment, but as you go to pull away, he cradles your face, causing you to still. You stare into his eyes, waiting to see if he puts a stop to it, but he crushes his lips against your own.
The kiss is hungry, desperate, and fierce.
Without breaking the kiss, Daeron pulls you onto his lap as if you weigh nothing. The show of strength was impressive. You gasp, feeling something hard pressing into your thigh, making him smile into the kiss. While your fingers sink into the back of his straggly, unwashed hair, his own hands slowly move from your back to your ribs, then up towards your breasts.
His lips brush against your ear, his warm breath fanning against your skin. “Is this okay?”
Something snaps.
A hunger you’ve never felt before becomes overwhelming.
You discard the robe on the ground, then swiftly start to untie his breeches. Daeron lifts his hips high enough to yank the fabric down far enough for his cock to spring free. He rubs the head of his cock against your clit teasingly, then between your soaked folds. Growing impatient, you sink down onto him, letting out a breathy gasp.
You’d never felt like this before: a rawness to devour another person whole.
His lips trace over your throat as you grip hold of his shoulders and start to move up and down. Finding a rhythm, you start to go quicker; lowering the straps of your nightgown, you bring his hand to your breast.
“Daeron, oh fuck.”
“Stop.” Both hands are suddenly on your hips to still your movements. “Stop, stop, stop.”
You feel sick. Rejected. Voice shaking, you ask, “did I do something wrong?”
“Gods no, you’re perfect. Just… fuck, you’re tight; I don’t think I’m going to last much longer.”
“Isn’t that the point?” You mumble into his neck, breathing in his scent.
“No, sweet girl,” he kisses the crown of your head. “It’s about two people finding pleasure in each other.”
“But—” Tilting your head up Daeron starts to leave a trail of kisses over your face, “I want to savor every moment of this.”
His hands tighten at your hips, guiding you to rock them at a slower pace. Tangling your fingers into his hair, you lean forward and press your lips against his.
The new position puts pressure against your clit, making you whine into his mouth as a wave of pleasure suddenly crashes over you. “I don’t want this to end.”
“Oh, gods,” Daeron grunts as he spills his seed inside you. After a moment he’s regained some sense and wraps an arm around your back, holding you close while stroking your hair with his free hand. “Then stay; stay with me until the morning, before we need to part ways.”
—
Guilt seeps in as you stand on the stone balcony attached to your private quarters that stares out into the garden of Summehall. It was a beautiful sight, yet you didn’t feel worthy of it.
“Good morrow, your Grace.”
Spinning on your heels, you step back inside, brushing the red curtains aside as you do. “Grand Maester,” you greet, trying to feign confidence. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Of course, I came as soon as you summoned me.”
“I have a sensitive issue that needs to be dealt with discreetly. A girl has confided in me that she has… been bedded and does not wish to have any consequences of the union.”
“I see. However, as I have pressing matters to attend to, I will delegate the treatment to an assistant, as I’m presuming the girl you speak of is a servant.”
“How long would that take?”
“A few days at most.”
From gossip you’ve heard over the years from different ladies and handmaids, you knew it shouldn’t take that long. Panicking, you blurt out, “I believe it was a prince she coupled with.”
A look of understanding passes his features, “did she say how long ago this took place?”
“It wasn’t specified, but I believe it was in the last couple of days.” You stare over his shoulder at the black dragon banner of House Targaryen hanging motionless against the far wall. Right now you felt more traitor than dragon; you’ve done both your elder brothers wrong by saying that. “As I said, this matter needs to be dealt with discreetly, as I want to avoid bringing disgrace on the girl.”
“Of course.” The Grand Maester nods. “I will brew it myself, where should I have it delivered to, Princess?”
“Here. Once it’s delivered, I will have a handmaiden summon her.”
The look on the old man’s face was hard to read. “The tea is known to disagree with the gut and can cause many unpleasant side effects. Do let me know if the girl starts to feel unwell.”
“Thank you.”
The maester lingers for a moment, then leaves without saying anything else.
He knows.
Your legs start to give way; you stumble a few steps and then land on the bed, collapsing onto the crimson sheets that Aerion chose for your bedding since it reminds him of blood. Your shoulders shake when a sob catches in the back of your throat.
You tremble under the weight of your own sins.
You fled before Daeron woke, afraid he’d see the pain in your eyes. Not only did you lie to the maester, but you broke a vow of loyalty to your husband. It did not matter that Aerion was cruel or bedded a whore every night he wasn’t with you; it was still wrong. In fact, it made you worse than him because you dragged Daeron into your twisted relationship, all because you couldn’t resist knowing what it felt like to feel truly loved.
The sobs come harder now; warm tears soak the sheets below. You’d probably invented the part of Daeron actually loving you in your mind.
—
Forcing a smile, you watch Aegon, Daella and Rhae race each other in the gardens. Egg was the fastest but would occasionally let Rhae win.
You’d woken feeling warm and unsettled, and though a stroll in the gardens would help you feel better, your father saw you leaving and instructed you to watch over the three youngest siblings. Usually you didn’t mind, but it was possible the side effects of drinking moon tea the night prior were starting to appear.
“Sister,” Egg suddenly stops running. “You look pale.”
“I’m always pale. Now go back to playing.”
A dull ache had started to settle in your lower belly that morning, but a warm bath had temporarily eased it; however, it was returning with vengeance. Feeling a sharp twist, you press your hand hard against your side.
Not here, please not here.
You’re unsure how much time is passing since you have your eyes squeezed shut and try to zone out the pain. The girls' giggles let you know they are still playing nearby. The bitterness of the tea mixed with bile was lingering at the back of your throat. A new sheen of sweat starts to roll down your forehead as tightness grumbles in your stomach unpleasantly.
You hear your name being called but don’t have the energy to look up.
“Gods,” a strong hand lifts your jaw up and pries one of your eyelids open. “Can you hear me?”
“Daeron…what…why?”
“Aegon came and got me; he said you looked unwell. And thank the seven he did.”
Another intense cramp comes on without warning, causing vile-tasting bile to creep up your throat and spill out your mouth. You barely managed to turn aside before retching onto the grass and merely avoided Daeron, who was now crouching.
“Fuck, Aegon, take the girls inside. Send someone to get father and the maester immediately.”
You try to wave your hand in protest, but you let out a small cry, feeling as if a knife is being twisted inside you. Placing the back of his hand against the side of your face, panic creeping into his voice. “You’re burning. Seven hells, what’s wrong with you?”
“True dragons burn from the inside.”
“Put your arm around my neck,” Daeron says sternly. “I need to get you inside.”
Nodding weakly, you do as he says. When you’re lifted up, you feel a dampness sticking to the back of your thighs and bum. Daeron moves quickly, but you are able to force your eyes open and catch a glimpse of the stone bench you were sitting on seconds before that is now stained with a crimson liquid.
—
The moment you stir, a loud female voice calls out, “Your Grace, she’s waking up.”
The sound of a chair scraping against the floor causes you to cringe, but feeling a large warm hand brushing hair out of your face puts you somewhat at ease.
“Father,” you sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was supposed to be watching them, but I didn’t know egg had gone inside.”
It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the bright sunlight shining in. The first thing you notice is your bedding; it has been changed and is now white. Then you look up to meet your father’s gaze. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, large bags hung heavily under his eyes, and he was ghostly pale. He looks scared.
You’ve never felt so small and fragile before.
Still stroking the side of your head, your father finally speaks in a soft voice, “Aegon is fine. Aemon took him and the girls to the library not long ago to read to them.”
“Everything hurts.”
“The maester can give you more milk of the poppy once he returns.” He looks to the knight standing by the doorway. “Where the fuck are my other sons?”
In other circumstances you would be worried that Aerion hadn't returned from whatever brothel he sulked off to, but right now he wasn’t a concern. But you did wish Daeron was here; he wouldn’t be able to fix the pain, but his presence brought comfort.
You groan, feeling pain starting to bubble in your stomach again.
“Prince Maekar, Princess,” the maester enters the room and approaches the bed.
You do well to avoid making eye contact.
He shifts uncomfortably, making your father snap, “just ask whatever you need to fucking ask and get my daughter something for the pain.”
“Forgive my intrusive question, Princess, but may I ask when was the last time you were visited by the moon?”
“Last week.”
“That’s good,” he nods. “It means we can rule out a mis—“
A loud ruckus coming from the hallway grabs everyone’s attention. When you flinch at the harsh voices on the other side growing louder, your father squeezes your hand. Glancing downwards, you notice a red blotch starting to appear on the bedding. Tears burn behind your eyes.
“Out of my way!” The door swings open, and Aerion bursts into the room. “Where is she? What is wrong with my wife?”
His hair was tousled, his cloak torn, and there was blood dribbling down his chin coming from what looks like a fresh cut on his lip. Your eyes lock, and you’re at a complete loss for words by how worried he is.
It was the first time since your mother died that you’ve seen tears in his lilac eyes.
Present day
Teary-eyed, you stare at Daeron.
“We’ve never spoken of what happened, and I’ve never pushed to remind you of it because I don’t want to remember how scared I was of almost losing you,” using the pad of his thumb, he wipes away fallen tears from under your eyes. “I know the maester brought you tea.”
“You must think as little of me as father does.”
Holding your face, he sternly says, “never, nothing has changed; you are still the same person. And father was just afraid. You bled for nearly two days, and he never left your bedside.”
“I dread to think what would happen if Aerion found out; he’s warned me before that I cannot do such a thing without his per—“
“Shh,” Daeron attempts to comfort you as more tears fall. “He will not find out. Father may suspect, but the maester would never confirm it. I imagine the old man values breathing too much. And you have little to fear from me; I do not wish to be flayed alive.”
Silence fills the room, and you use the opportunity to take in Daeron’s appearance. He was more frazzled-looking than normal. His eyes were heavier, full of a darkness that wasn’t known to him.
“What do you see in your dreams?”
He lurches back as if your question causes him physical pain. Narrowing his vision on the one spot on the floor, Daeron looks lost in thought. His nose scrunches as he mumbles, “Is the weight of these secrets so heavy that you are willing to endure being humiliated by our brother? There was once a time you’d challenge him, but your fire burns low.”
“I do not wish to be at war with him.”
Scoffing, he shakes his head. “I worry for you and the babe.”
“He’d never hurt them. Aerion may not love me, but he does love them.”
“And that is enough?”
“It’s the way things are,” you bring a shaky hand to your bump. “I’m scared that they will be ripped away from me. The gods will punish me, and I will die after giving birth like our mother did, and my own child will grow up cold and motherless.”
“Like his father?”
You chuckle slightly. “His? You cannot possibly know if it’s a boy or girl.”
He smiles.
Although he was right in front of you, you still missed Daeron. Your relationship wasn’t the same as before, and you did mourn it. This was the first time you’ve spoken the truth, and if anything, it was a distraction from your dream.
The door opens, and Aerion struts in chewing loudly, barely acknowledging either of you.
Daeron stands, “is there any word of Aegon?”
Aerion shrugs, then tosses the apple core into the fireplace. “Who?
“Aerion!”
“No need to state your purpose for being here; I’m bored already.”
“And what brings you back so soon, little brother? Surely not concern for your wife or unborn child.”
Rolling your eyes, you lie back down on the bed and roll to face the wall. “I’m going to sleep; have your dick-measuring competition somewhere else.”
Daeron chuckles, then bids you goodnight. You stare at the wall, listening to the shuffling sounds of Aerion undressing. It’s not until you feel a dip in the bed that you snap, “where’s in God's name did you go? You’re the one who insisted I come here, and yet you abandoned me.”
“Pray, save your theatrics for another audience.”
“If keeping me company for a couple of nights is such a hard task, I shall return home in the morning. I’d rather be with our sisters than watching men fight.”
In a flash he is beside you, his icy glare burning into you. “You’ll do no such thing. I will not be made to look like a fucking fool and have decked-out oafs and servants whispering that my wife isn’t there. They must know the dragon remains strong and united.”
Sighing, you turn away from him; Aerion never saw any further than his own thoughts.
Groaning like a child, he rests his chin on your shoulder while reaching to feel your bump, and if the babe knows who it is, they start to kick. “See, my boy is desperate for his father’s comfort. I will do well in the lists tomorrow for him.”
𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝
Pairings: Aerion Targaryen x Targ reader
Warnings: Smut, swearing, incest
1.01
You wake to the familiar heat of Aerion’s body pressing into yours, his faint heartbeat beating against your side. His arm rests across your chest tightly, as if he’s silently daring you to try and slip out of his grasp. You know better. You’ve learned by now that disturbing the prince’s sleep unless completely necessary is a mistake. His temper is short at the best of times, but right after he’s awoken is always the worst.
Long strands of silver hair fall in front of his eyes; the sunlight begins to shine into the room and lands on his face, making his skin look flawless. Aerion was truly beautiful.
Your fingers twitch along the edge of his pale skin, tracing the tension in his forearm. He stirs, murmurs something you can’t quite make out, a half warning in the form of a grunt not to move. The illuminating light that is now beaming a lot brighter spills into the bedchamber, adding a much-needed softness to it. Aerion’s room was decorated a lot darker than your own, with many black and red banners of your family’s house hanging on the walls along with stone carvings of dragons.
For some time you lay still, doing nothing but listening to the life in the castle slowly rising. The sounds of faint voices and footsteps echo in the halls. The servants would most likely be starting to serve breakfast to each private quarter soon, but like most mornings, they would check Aerion’s room first to see if the serving was for one or two people.
Meaning whatever poor soul opens the door would suffer Aerion’s irritable state if he hasn’t woken up beforehand. Letting out a deep exhale, you gaze down at the spoilt prince to admire his appearance. Underneath his closed eyelids were the most piercing violet eyes you have ever seen, and even in his sleep Aerion’s lips were in a pout. He has a lovely smile, although he never shows it much.
Without opening his eyes, he suddenly asks, “why are you staring?”
“I was just thinking how I hope the babe looks like you.”
Satisfied with that answer, he lowers his hand to gently cradle your bump before pressing a soft kiss to the bare skin of your stomach. Smiling, you start to run your fingers through his hair; these moments were the only time you got to see his softer side. Aerion was a terrible brother and husband for the most part, but you didn’t doubt being a father would bring out the best in him.
Spotting strands of hair sitting over his forehead and stopping just below his eyes, you gently tug it. “Your hair is getting long.”
Tilting his head up to stare at you, a flash of irritation flickers across his features, “what, do I now resemble a fucking commoner instead of the blood of the dragon?”
The sharpness in his tone causes words to catch in your throat. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“Do you think I let anyone touch it?” He snaps, sitting upright, “the last barber should have been hanged for the mess he made.”
Regretting even mentioning it, you hum and brush the fallen hair out of his face. After all these years you have become unfazed by his harsh tone. “I could cut it; father lets me, and Daeron has let me tidy his mess of hair before.”
His glare softens ever so slightly. “I suppose father’s hair isn’t awful. Just see that you don’t spoil it.”
—
The smell of freshly trimmed bushes and roses in bloom feels almost overwhelming as you stand by the window in the large chamber that faces the gardens of Summerhall. You weren’t entirely clear, but either the heat or nerves kicked in, but something was causing trickles of sweat to fall down the back of your neck as Aerion sits on the chair in front of you, then leans back, giving you easier access to his head. His hand moves upwards to brush your arm as if you were a pet being praised by its owner.
“Hold still,” you murmur, brushing a stray lock from his forehead. “It’s making me nervous that you keep moving when I’m holding scissors.”
Rolling his eyes, he lets his arm flop to his side and scoffs, “you are very dramatic, wife.”
For a short beat of time he does as you ask and stays still and silent, letting you trim the edges, but you stop when his jaw tightens. He leans forward suddenly, his narrow gaze locked on Daeron and Aegon, who have both been observing the unusual scene from the safe distance of the archway leading outside.
“What are those whining little rats looking at?”
“Maybe they are in shock from you being so quiet,” you shrug. “Or perhaps they think I’ve bewitched you into silence.”
Aerion’s lips press into a thin line.
Knowing they have spotted both your eldest and youngest brothers approach. From the look on his face it was clear Daeron found this amusing, while egg stood behind him cautiously.
“Good morning.”
“Morning sister, is today the day you finally rid our family of the plague that haunts us?”
Taking the bait, Aerion hisses, “careful you drunken sot.”
While continuing to cut Aerion’s hair, your nose starts to twitch; the scent of stale drink was stronger the closer Daeron got. Eyes bloodshot, cheeks flushed, hair falling loose from its tie. One glance at the prince, and it was clear he had overindulged the night prior. “Do you wish for me to cut your hair? I can do it before you leave for the tourney.”
Daeron mutters to himself quietly, then shakes his head, “thank you but maybe another time.” Clearing his throat, he nudges your younger brother, who seems unnerved, and gives him a reassuring nod. “Father says you are now joining us in a couple of days.”
“Hmm,” using your free hand, you gently rub your stomach. “After speaking to the maester, I decided it would be better to spend as little time in Ashford as possible. If all goes to plan, we should be arriving the night before Aerion joins the lists.”
The soft movements of your hand cause the baby to stir, and their movements become visible underneath the fabric of your dress. It wasn’t common for you to wear silk dresses since they are rather thin material, but since growing a little dragon, you had become accustomed to feeling uncomfortably warm. Noticing Aegon watching your stomach, his eyes widen as he tries to figure out the movements.”
“Tis your niece or nephew getting comfortable,” you stop cutting Aerion’s hair and motion for the young boy to come closer. “Do you want to feel?”
Aegon’s face lights up, “can I really?”
Aerion's head snaps towards you, but before he can protest, you take hold of egg’s hand and place it over the part the baby’s feet are hitting.
Grinning, he turns to face the eldest, who looks indifferent. “Daeron the baby’s kicking me! It feels so strange.”
“Seven hell’s women, I’m presuming you have finished with me then?”
Tutting at his childish tone, you eye Aerion’s hair carefully. “yes, and—“
“Good.” Abruptly Aerion stands up, causing egg to jump back and quickly move to hide behind you. Aerion glares at him but brings his own hand to your bump and smiles when he feels the movement for himself. “Such a strong kick; he will do well during a tourney himself one day.”
A few seconds later Aerion removes his hand and then leaves without saying anything. It was near impossible to figure out what he was thinking. When he’s out of sight, you turn back to face Daeron, who’s giving you a disapproving look. “What?”
Letting out an exhausted sigh, he straightens up, making him look much taller than his usual slouched-over stance. “I…just…” his voice drops to a whisper. “Do you think it’s wise to go on such a journey in your current condition?”
“I am pregnant, not ill.”
“It wasn’t a jest before,” he gestures to your hand. “There is a plague in our family. And jealous men make poor spectators.”
“Daeron,” you stiffen. “Father has already warned him; he’s going to behave at Ashford.”
“Do not be foolish and forget how he’s treated you in the past. He’s never going to change.” He pauses for a moment. “I worry for you. Dragons can choke on their own fire, and I don’t want you getting hurt when he does.”
Struggling to think of a response, you stare at him blankly.
Aegon, who has been watching and silent, steps forward, his eyes wide and serious. “Do you… do you think you could… cut all of my hair off?”
—
As the carriage rocks gently over the stony roads, you stare out and watch the different scenery blur into one. It helped you not focus on the tense stillness of the air that was growing more uncomfortable in each passing moment. You couldn’t meet your father’s eye; he looked ready to explode.
Aerion was rigid beside you, one hand gripping tightly to the edge of the seat and the other stretched over the swell of your belly possessively. Through gritted teeth he says, “Those fools, how could they bloody get lost when they are being escorted?"
“Don’t start, Aerion; something could have happened to them.”
A flash of irritation crosses his features, but one stern look from your father and he remains quiet. It has been reported back that neither Aegon nor Daeron has arrived at the tourney despite leaving days ahead.
Your father’s gaze snaps to you, “what happened to your hand? Daeron said you needed the maester to tend to it while I was away.”
You swallow, heart thudding in your ribs, and force a small smile. “It was silly; I got distracted and caught my hand on the needle while working on the babe’s blanket.”
Aerion glances at you; his expression is normal aside from the guilt in his eyes. Which you suspected didn’t go unnoticed by your father.
—
The large door swings open before you, and your Uncle Baelor is there, a warm smile lighting his face. “Princess, you are looking beautiful as always,” he says, voice gentle, eyes on your belly. “It shouldn’t be long until the newest member of our house arrives, I imagine.”
A faint curl of pride appears on Aerion’s lips but quickly disappears when Valarr steps forward with effortless grace to greet you both. He takes your hand and softly kisses the back of it, “cousin, it’s good to see you again. Congratulations, motherhood becomes you. Your good husband is truly blessed.”
“Yes, she carries my blood well.”
You and Valarr lock eyes; embarrassed, heat rushes to your cheek, causing your cousin to give you a sympathetic look. Aerion’s smugness quickly turns to annoyance when your father clips him on the back of the head, “enough. It’s been a long journey, and I think the lack of sleep has gone to my son's head. Has there been any word yet?”
“Not yet, brother,” Baelor says softly. “But I have sent my best men out to look for them. Myself and Valarr are going out to join the search.”
“I can join,” Aerion says in a half-hearted offer. “How far is the nearest tavern?”
You give your father a pleading look. If Aegon saw Aerion coming, he would most definitely hide. It was plausible that Daeron was off somewhere getting drunk, but if Aerion found him first, it would just make things worse.
“Perhaps the princess would feel more comfortable with you remaining here by her side?” Baelor suggests it in a way that makes the idea not seem his own.
“I would rather you stayed with me,” you answer truthfully. You didn’t want to be left alone in a strange place, plus it meant Aerion was less likely to get himself into trouble if he was stuck by your side.
—
You didn’t like Ashford castle, it had an eeriness that caused your spine to tingle, and Aerion’s unusual quietness as you were guided to the quarters didn’t help. The only sound you could hear was footsteps echoing and your own thudding heart.
You smile at the handmaiden as she closes the door once you have both entered the room. Now alone, you spin quickly to face Aerion, “that was utterly humiliating—“
He cuts you off with a searing kiss, his large hands cupping your face. When he finally pulls back, you catch the glint in his eyes; it wasn’t lust or love. It was possessive. Anger.
Bringing his mouth to your neck, he nips and kisses over the sensitive spots, “pregnancy has softened you; your body, your temper, but only I get to reap the rewards.” Aerion presses his knee between your legs, putting pressure on your core. “Only I get to see how your body changes with my dragon growing inside. It’s only my seed you will take.”
“Aerion—“
“Get on the bed.” He guides you backwards till your legs hit the side of the bed, “show me how ready you are to take my cock.”
Leaning back on the bed, you scrunch up your skirts while Aerion uses something cold and sharp to remove your small cloth. Probably the same blade he used… you push the memory down. Parting your thighs wider, Aerion kneels between them and stares intensely between your legs, “always so slick for me.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks.
Aerion licks one of his fingers, then slides it inside you effortlessly. He moves his hand painfully slowly, enjoying the sight of you becoming desperate for more. Flicking his tongue out, he teasingly touches your clit.
“Please, please don’t make me beg. Not tonight, please.”
He pauses for a moment, his fingers still when he decides what to do. Showing mercy, Aerion suddenly starts to devour you; he sucks and licks at your clit harshly while adding another finger. Using his free hand, he gropes at your breasts. It doesn’t take you long to come apart. You hear a muffled chuckle when your thighs start to shake and close around his head.
To stop yourself from screaming, you bite down on your bottom lip so hard it draws blood.
Aerion gives you a few seconds to recover, then stands up, his mouth smeared with the wetness of your arousal. Licking his lips, he smirks and starts to undo his leather belt. “Next time you become flustered from a fucking kiss on the hand, remember I am the only one who gets to touch you like that, wife.”
—
Struggling with all your strength, you scratch and hit the hand covering your face, depriving you of oxygen—
Jolting forward, you gasp for breath, hand pressed to your chest as it takes you a beat to pull yourself together. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Warm tears fall from the corner of your eyes and threaten to turn into a full sob but the sound of movements catches your attention.
Once your vision has cleared you recognise the person slouched in a chair placed in front of the fire. “Daeron, everyone has been looking for you.”
He says nothing, but you could tell something was wrong.
“Daeron?” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Where’s Aegon?”
He clicks his tongue, “not Aerion?”
The space in the bed next to you is noticeably empty. When purple eyes meet yours, you look down ashamed. Aerion was probably in the nearest brothel causing havoc. But that was nothing new.
“Where did you go?”
“I didn’t want to compete, so I paid the knights escorting us off and went to a tavern. Egg was mad at first, but the owner was happy for him to play stable boy for the other guests… but then I lost him.”
“Lost him? How could you lose our little brother, you were supposed to be protecting him!”
Turning his body to face you, he sighs and quietly says, “I’m supposed to protect you too, sister, all of you; it’s my responsibility as the oldest, but tell me how it’s possible when the thing my siblings fear most is another brother?”
Your stomach twists.
“Aegon ran. He’s scared… of him.”
A heaviness falls over you both; since announcing your pregnancy, Aerion has been different, kinder, but that was most likely because the babe made him believe his dreams were coming true. It was merely a distraction. But still, you wished to see the best in him, “he’s changed.”
“No, he hasn’t.” Daeron says softly. Coming closer, he crouches by the side of the bed so he’s almost eye level with it. “He treated you no better than a common whore until he got you pregnant. Egg comes to my room at night because he’s scared Aerion will hurt him. I’ve heard you cry yourself to sleep for years. The glad child we once knew is gone.”
A lone tear falls down your cheek, “that’s not true.”
“You fear him as much as I do.”
You don’t argue. The room starts to feel much smaller, your breath catching in your throat. The time of silence was stretching out while you thought over his words. If the prophecy Aerion spoke of was real and the three heads of the dragon would return in living form, you believe he was two of the heads himself. One of them being his old version, the one who enjoyed learning the histories of different houses, fishing, the version that once doted on you as a girl. And the other head represents who he was now, the version that terrified you most of the time.
Daeron takes your hand and turns it over, running the pad of his thumb over the nearly healed wound on the palm of it. “You are with child, and yet he still hurts you.”
“He didn’t mean to.”
“No?” He lets out a heavy breath, the scent of ale reeking from it. “I saw something awful happen to our family at Ashford. It’s the only reason I came back, to make sure it doesn’t happen to you or egg.”
“It was his dream. Aerion looked… enchanted. I tried to wake him up, but he didn’t stop until after I screamed.”
“What did he do?”
Your hand slips from his grasp as you bring it to rest on your bump. His expression shifts to one of hurt, and even in the darkness the threat of tears spilling from his eyes is unmistakable. “Voices whispered to him in a dream that the only way to check the babe was truly his was by checking my blood. Black blood would symbolise betrayal.”
“He thought the child wasn’t his?”
“He knows it is now, and that it is the truth of it.”
Daeron staggers slightly while switching from crouching to kneeling; his voice remains low, “my handmaidens tell me you spend nearly every night in his chambers. I don’t understand when his mind is near breaking.”
“Aren’t all of our minds fragile? I know why you drink so heavily, brother, and I… My own dreams don’t haunt me when Aerion is near. Perhaps he somehow shields me from them and bears the burden for both of us.” Your voice starts to break, “nothing he says or does scares me more than my dreams, and if I forgive him for his cruel acts and remain devoted, then the gods may forgive me for my own sins.”
“Actions have consequences,” he says weakly. “We both know this to be true.”
The words hang in the darkness of the room, settling deep into your chest. He studies you for a long moment, the evidence of intoxication becoming more evident when light slowly starts to creep into the room. Daeron’s bloodshot eyes glisten as he offers you a sad smile.
You know what he is thinking.
“Does he… know?”
We got the finest, most interesting Targaryen cast ever for barely 2 hours and will never see any of them again. I'm SICK.
𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬
Widowhood is only the beginning. Bound to a Prince you despise, you must navigate loss, dragon dreams, and the dangerous game of love.
𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧-𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝
Promised to one prince, trapped by another, you’re caught between duty and following your heart.
How else do brothers spend their time? A scene after🔞with local courtesans
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON + parallels — 1.04 | "King of the Narrow Sea" — 1.10 | "The Black Queen"
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧
Paring: Cregan Stark x reader, Aemond Targaryen x reader
Warnings: Smut, swearing
1.09
Storming through the halls of the Red Keep, you stare straight ahead, ignoring the servants and knights that are gawking in your direction. You didn’t miss the looks of fear and curiosity in the handmaids' eyes as you approached Maitland’s nursery; the three older women bow their heads and then scurry in the opposite direction.
Word of what happened reached the castle before you did.
You stop just outside the door and stare at the white cloak standing guard. “Ser Gyles.”
“Princess.”
“My son? Is he in his room?”
“Yes, your grace,” he answers slowly. “The nursemaid has not long got the young prince to fall asleep.”
It was late, too late. Not being able to think clearly, you stayed with Vermithor until the sun disappeared. The smell of smoke clinging to you was pungent; soot was covering your clothes, hair and face. You no longer resembled Maitland’s mother but rather someone forged in dragonfire. It was best to leave him be for now; knowing he was safe was enough. It was best you bathed so that he wasn’t frightened.
“If he wakes—“
“Thank you, Ser Gyles.” You start to retreat, but a gnawing feeling starts to eat away. Never before has your sworn shield not stayed by his post when you’ve directly asked him to. You turn back to face the knight and see the pity in his eyes. “Where is Ser Arryk?”
The knight, who was roughly forty years of age, swallows thickly. “He was summoned to the king's quarters.”
“Why?”
“I should not say, Princess'… however, I do believe the hand of the king would be able to tell you.”
“My grandsire?”
For a brief moment words seem to catch in his throat; letting out a deep sigh, he shakes his head. “No, Princess, the new hand of the king.”
—
Before the two idiotic boys that Aegon has named to his kingsguard can even question why you are there, you burst into the king’s quarters. Your furious glare lands on the knight standing by the window, his hand on the hilt of his sword, but his grip relaxes when he sees it’s you.
“Princess, are you—“
“Cole.”
Your nails dig into the fabric of your sleeve as you study the older man’s movements. His jaw was clenched, dark eyes firmly locked onto the stone floors. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at you. You hated him. No matter his intentions, Criston Cole has doomed Ser Arryk.
Aegon, finally turning in your direction, snorts loudly and spills the drink in his hands from laughing so hard. “Why are you covered in shit?”
You ignore him.
“What the gods have you done, Ser Criston?” After some perseverance, Ser Gyles informed you that the Lord Commander sent Ser Arryk to Dragonstone so that he could slip into the castle under the guise of his twin brother and slay Rhaenyra. “You’ve sent my sworn shield to his death. Into a castle that he is not familiar with – to what end? You would have been kinder to put him to the sword yourself.
Criston’s expression tightens. “Divided loyalties within the Kingsguard are a threat.”
“Ser Arryk was loyal. He saved mine and Maitland’s life,” you fight back tears. “You forget, Ser Criston, that both brothers watched over Rhaenyra as she grew up in kings landing, she would be able to tell the difference. Those standing behind her are not foolish enough for Ser Arryk to get close enough to cut her throat without someone noticing. Not to mention, brother may meet brother.”
Your gaze flicks to Aegon, who was too intoxicated to fully comprehend the conversation.
“Ser Arryk only agreed on the condition seasoned white cloaks guard yourself and Prince Mainland,” Criston says in a low voice while stepping forward. His brown eyes flicker briefly to your stomach before returning to your face. “Perhaps it is not my place—but I’m aware there may be other reasons why you wish to have a trustworthy knight close.”
“You’re right, it’s not your place.”
Turning your back to him, you head towards the door, but Criston steps directly in front of you, and with him so close, you’re able to see the tiredness in his eyes. “You are no longer in a position to gamble with your life so freely.”
Starting to feel flustered, you move too quickly, and a sudden wave of dizziness overcomes you, but before you can fall, strong hands grip hold of you, steadying you. “Princess,” his voice was laced with concern. “Get the maester!”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You try to walk out of his grip, but your knees start to buckle. “I just need to sleep it off.”
“Princess,” he sighs. “Prince Aemond may be more forgiven of what took place at the twins if you yell…”
—
Cregan slowly removes his thumb, which is pressed between your lips, and starts to trail his hand down your body. Goosebumps prickle, and nipples harden when his hand stops just below your navel.
You feel warm under his intense stare.
A boyish smile pulls on his lips as he lowers his hand until he finally touches the sensitive spot that he worshipped with his mouth not long ago. A small gasp leaves your mouth.
“You are beautiful,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the side of your neck. “So beautiful.”
His name falls from your lips like a prayer when he rubs slow circles on your clit. You didn’t want this moment to end anytime soon.
You wake to darkness. The cold chill of the northern wind was gone, along with the heat and comfort of Cregan’s body.
You feel sick.
It was hard to think straight; you burnt the bridge at the Twins to stop the Northern army from going any further and into any traps set. There would have been no survivors if Aemond had spotted them on Vhagar. But as much as you wanted to spare as many lives as possible, it was your feelings for Cregan that drove your decision.
Sitting up, you grimace in disgust; now fully awake, you can make out that the soot on your clothing has rubbed off onto the soft bedding below. It was still dark outside, but at this point you may as well wait until daylight to bathe. Scanning the room to look for your shift that was usually laid out on the bed, you are taken aback when you notice Aemond sitting in an armchair by the unlit fire.
Your stomach starts to twist as he stands tall, glaring down at you. Your breath is uneven as he approaches like a dragon about to pounce on its prey. Your skin is damp, and there was an uncomfortable stickiness between your legs already.
His knuckles grip tightly onto the headboard. “You’ve been a hard woman to track down, wife.”
His tone was sharp. Using his free hand, Aemond reaches for your chin, not roughly, but firmly enough to tilt your face up toward him. You could argue, you could lie, or you could tell him the truth, but you couldn’t trust him.
So you kiss him.
At first Aemond seems taken aback, but when you bring your hand to the back of his neck to pull him closer, he kisses you back. Letting out his pent-up anger, he bites your bottom lip with such force you taste blood.
Leaning back, he searches your face as though trying to read what you are thinking. “Do you think this changes anything?” he murmurs against the flesh of your neck, “you aren’t getting out of this room until we talk.”
The next few moments pass in a lust-filled haze while you both scramble to remove enough clothing. As soon as your small cloth is off, Aemond flips you and manoeuvres you until you're on your hands and knees.
“Aemond!”
He thrusts into you roughly. The sound of skin slapping echoes off the walls, along with the deep grunts coming from Aemond. The smell of fire and dragon brings you comfort, a familiar warmth you don’t get from your husband.
“Fuck,” he pulls out, his seed landing on the inside of your thighs. “I’ll have the servants prepare a bath.”
He quickly gets off the bed, and you’re left feeling numb. You were never destined to have a happy ending with Aemond; for now you’d have him here, but you feared this reality wouldn’t last long.
—
The water has cooled slightly when you sink into the tub; you usually prefer the heat, but the maesters advised during your first pregnancy that too much warmth was bad for the baby.
“Leave us,” Aemond says sharply.
The handmaids retreat, avoiding his gaze. Once it’s only the two of you left, Aemond removes his eyepatch. Being fully nude in front of other people never fazed him, but the sapphire in his eye socket was sacred.
As you settle into the water that stops just above your chest, you are careful to not kick Aemond, who is lying back somewhat relaxed at the opposite end. Picking up the cloth placed on the small table placed beside the tub, you start to scrub at your skin harder than necessary.
You can feel his eye on you.
“What?”
“You burnt the bridge at the twins,” he says finally.
“I did.”
“You shouldn’t have. Our forces won’t be able to cross it if need be.”
“You followed me.”
“Is that why you did it? The rage of seeing a husband checking on his wife—“
“Don’t,” you exhale slowly. “Do not lie and say it’s because of concern. You wanted that control over me.”
“Now you just sound paranoid.”
“You are many things,” you click your tongue, “but you are not a liar.”
“The rumour spreading around the court is you burnt the bridge because you could not find the Northern host. "But you are not incompetent,” he replies flatly. “You have flown those lands before. You know how to track movement from the sky. You know how to read terrain.”
His hands settle at your ankle; his fingers press into tense muscle.
“Are you angry?”
“You talk in your sleep,” he says quietly. “You fuck other men, you lie to me, you act as if Aegon is a toddler that needs coddling, and now you are going off course. Do you blame me for changing course and leaving concurring Harrenhall for another day?”
Not knowing what to say, you say nothing.
“And now you cannot even think of an answer."
“My mind is scattered,” you say.
“That is not an explanation.”
“It is the only one I have.” His hands are still on your ankle as you let the silence stretch just long enough that you find the words to justify and deflect. “It seems performing our duty, even when we have hated each other, hasn’t been in vain. I think I’m with child again.”
“Oh,” he resumes the massage. “That explains things. We can speak to the maester together on the morrow.”
But as his hands continue their slow path down your foot, easing tension, he pretends not to notice how stiff you’ve become. Your thoughts have started to drift to the sound of snow crunching under your feet, to the chill creeping up the back of your neck.
—
Bored, you fiddle with the rings on your fingers as multiple voices fill the council chamber at the same time. It was hard to focus with so many people squabbling at once. All of them were loud, arrogant men, none of whom had the blood of the dragon but yet still felt able to talk so freely about matters like dragon riding.
Aegon sits slouched at the head of the table, eyes rimmed red, fingers drumming against polished wood as he loses interest as well.
“The king should be attending to matters inside the castle grounds, not the dragon pit.”
“The matter at the Twins cannot be ignored.”
“The princess acted without sanction.”
There was no news of anything transpiring on Dragonstone, and as it stands, the fate of Ser Arryk was unknown.
“Mayhaps we are only in need of one dragon—“
“Enough,” you snap, cutting Tyland Lannister off. “Aemond cannot bear the burden alone of defending the realm. And perhaps the men sitting on my brother, the king's council, can do better when you next go out riding on your dragon.”
The temperature in the room drops; the only sound is a low chuckle from Aegon.
Aemond’s voice cuts clean through the murmuring. “Choose your next words carefully, my lords. The Northern army alone would outnumber our own, and the princess’s actions prevented them from meeting our armies in open battle before they were ready.”
“Perhaps…” Lord Larys quickly goes quiet when Aemond shoots him a death glare.
“The princess is not some errant child,” he says coldly. “She commands Vermithor. She understands terrain and the consequences of using dragon fire better than most in this chamber.”
To your surprise Ser Criston Cole chimes in to your defence. “We possess fewer dragon riders with experience on our side. Fewer still with strategic sense.”
“With that being said,” Aemond stands, commanding the full attention of the room. “There will be no further confusion; I will be the only dragon rider leaving the safety of kings landing until the war is won."
Breath catches in the back of your throat, and you note the genuine confusion on Criston and Aegon’s faces.
“This morning the maester confirmed my wife is expecting, and given her condition, she will be unfit to fly into battle. My wife's and unborn child’s safety is a priority. And given recent events, I will be assigning multiple white cloaks to watch over her at all times.”
His tone is gentle enough that to an outsider it might almost sound protective. But you hear it. The fire in his voice.
This was a punishment.
he’s so fucking hot…
manspreading his way to my brain
People will be so mean to teenagers do you literally not remember what it was like to be sixteen. Every time I talk to a teenager I feel I should hold their hands and tell them I think they're one of the bravest people on the planet just for choosing to endure but I don't because I don't want to be creepy.
Ghosts
{Warnings~Smut, swearing}
“Ahh!”
Your eyes roll back when Rafael’s teeth graze against your nipple through the fabric of your dress as your fingers tighten in his hair.
After the rest of your squad left the bar, you and Rafael remained until it was closing time, discussing a case in between drinks, but you invited him back to your apartment to continue the conversation. Somehow between going over evidence and pouring another drink, he kissed you.
And you kissed him back. Finally giving in to the sexual attraction you’d been trying to ignore for years.
Rafael is older than you and incredibly infuriating, but his passion during an argument at court… it sent shameful thoughts through your head. His passionate side sent a fire through your body.
Body flush against yours, he presses your back against the wall, raising his head again to find your mouth for another kiss, lightly biting on your bottom lip. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes—do you?”
“I want all of you,” he thrusts his hips forward so the hardness growing in his trousers is pressed against your core. “I’ve wanted this for a long time. Wanted to hear whatever sweet little noises fall from your mouth and see the look in your eyes when I’m fully inside you.”
The taste of whiskey and cigarettes lingers on his lips. You were paranoid he wouldn’t want to go any further, but there was no hesitation with how raw and unfiltered he was being.
Still in a tight-lipped lock, you pull the black straps of your dress down till your breasts are spilling out, then fumble to yank your tights down. The moment the nylon fabric lands at your ankles, Rafael’s hand moves, and his fingers rub over the damp spot on your underwear. After a few moments of teasing, he takes as much of your breast as he can into his mouth while pushing your underwear aside and sliding his fingers through your slick folds, but only enough to tease.
“Please.”
You can feel the thick calluses on his fingers as they press inside you, curling just right to hit the spot that makes your toes curl. His free hand holds your hip tightly, fingers digging in hard enough to keep you upright as you squirm with pleasure around his hand.
You unzip his trousers and start to undo his belt; once the material starts to lower slightly, Rafael abruptly stops and steps back. He stares at you intensely through his large green eyes and then kneels down in front of you. He pulls your dress completely off along with your pants and tosses it to the side.
He mumbles something in Spanish and then is between your legs. Rafael moves his mouth to your clit and begins sucking it while fucking you with his fingers.
It doesn’t take you long to come; you clasp your hand over your mouth so that your neighbors don’t hear you scream.
Soon as you come down from the post-orgasm bliss, you grip onto his shoulder and start to push him backwards. Knowing your intentions, he shoves his trousers down frantically until his hard cock is springing free. You don’t take much time to study the appearance of it, far too desperate to feel it. Straddling his lap, you stroke his cock a couple of times, then line it up with your entrance, then lower yourself down.
He was much thicker than you realized, “fuck.”
“Come on,” he says, taking a handful of your breast. “Show me how well you can take it.”
The sensation of mind-blowing lust lasts all night and until the early hours of the following morning.
After he climaxed from you riding him on the hallway floor, Rafael gripped your thighs tightly and lifted you off him and sat you on his face, licking and sucking until you came again. Then he bent you over the couch and took you from behind; after that, he held your legs wide open while you lay on your back on the kitchen counter as he thrust into you relentlessly.
It was only once you both recovered from that that you went into the bedroom.
And not once did you stop to think about the consequences of not using a condom.
Seven months later
Sonny drops a plastic container with pasta inside it in front of you. “It’s half past nine at night; eat.”
“I’m still full from...”
“Lunch?” He arches his brow and gives you a look that suggests he knows something you don’t. “If you don’t every few hours, you become cranky.”
“I do not,” you say, faking offense. “How dare you? I’m growing a human.”
“Exactly.”
After making sure nobody else is paying attention, you throw a pen at the back of Sonny’s head, but he senses it beforehand and ducks, turning back to face you, he has a stupid grin on his face—then he freezes, his eyes suddenly fixed on something in the doorway.
You didn’t have time to ask what was wrong before a familiar voice rolled through the room. You swallow the lump forming in your throat down, which is ironic considering you wanted the world to swallow you whole.
Your eyes met Sonny’s, the look on your face silently asking if he knew the A.D.A was coming in at this time. He shakes his head.
“…and if they want that plea deal, they’ll need to offer me something that doesn’t insult my intelligence.”
Rafael Barba walks into the bullpen, mid-discussion, his suit immaculate, tie perfect, and green eyes sharp. He looked somehow even better than the last time you saw him all those months ago—hair a little longer, a little looser, jaw shadowed like he hasn’t slept much.
Damn him.
It takes Rafael a moment to notice you. His eyes had been scanning the squad room without focus—then his gaze landed on the back of you. Everything in him stills. The nervous lump in his throat was obvious. His eyes move over you slowly, deliberately, like he was thinking hard on what to say.
You could only see him staring in the reflection of your computer screen that had gone dark; the stare was intense, but most people would miss it. Still pretending to work, you shake the mouse and then bring up a random file to make yourself look busy.
“Well,” Sonny mutters. “Look who crawled out of whatever high-profile hole he’s been hiding in.”
“I was dealing with a high-profile case in Florida,” Rafael says, a sharpness to his tone. “I’m now playing catch with everything I missed on the hudson park case.”
“Yeah, well, you missed a lot of things.”
You shoot Sonny a look: that says not now.
When an uncomfortable silence drags on, Fin snorts, “Counselor, you’re flappin.”
Rafael gives him a withering look before returning his attention to you. A soft smile on his lips, “It’s been a long time, detective.”
You chew on your bottom lip while still focusing on the screen; you need to talk to him in private, but everything feels more awkward with Sonny standing at the edge of your desk like a guard dog. It wasn’t spoken out loud, but you presumed the rest of your squad knew you and the A.D.A fucked, and then he disappeared without a word to anyone. Not even Liv knew where he had gone.
“We should talk.”
“About what?” Sonny asks pointedly.
Rafael doesn’t even look at him. “I believe that she’s talking to me, Carisi, not you.”
“Counselor!” Olivia calls. “Briefing, now.”
He exhaled tightly, frustration visible, his eyes softened when he looked directly at you. “We’ll talk later.”
“Yeah…” as he walks away, your hand automatically moves to your bump. “I’m sure we will.”
He NEEDS a controversially young wife.
mornings with ser duncan
ser duncan the tall x female reader | explicit/ 18+
sunday mornings are for imagining ser duncan next to you. his breath is hot in your ear, his big hands holding your hips in a slow, possessive rhythm. you are riding him slowly, taking your pleasure as the sun filters through the cheap curtains of the inn.
“No,” Ned pleaded, his voice cracking, “Varys, gods have mercy, do as you like with me, but leave my daughter out of your schemes. Sansa's no more than a child.”
“Rhaenys was a child too. Prince Rhaegar's daughter. A precious little thing, younger than your girls. She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion, the Black Dread of old, but I imagine the Lannisters taught her the difference between a kitten and a dragon quick enough, the day they broke down her door.” Varys gave a long weary sigh.
Don’t throw bricks 😭