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House of the Dragon, Episode 8:

Not Alicent thinking that Viserys was talking about her rapist firstborn while he answered Rheanyra's question on his deathbed, regarding her being the 'prince' that will unite them as one, especially mere hours after we see them being hospitable after years.

Syrax providing Daemon and Rheanyra's children with three eggs, for their three children, befitting their station as trueborn children of dragons.

Funnily enough, Daemon being a classy malewife and manslaughtering Vaemond Velaryon for badmouthing Rhaenyra (all true, by the way), screamed Will Smith Energy (not that I condone what he did in any way).

Lastly, wondering why Aemond Targaryen's actions seem so familiar, why his mannerisms are something that remind us of someone we've witnessed before? Me too! Each and every action, sly retort, and taunt, gives the viewers of Daemon Targaryen in his prime, impulsive, agitated, and having a keen taste of violence.

But where Daemon's actions reflect underlying hurt, and the urge to protect and safeguard his family, Aemond's actions are a result of his dysfunctional upbringing and the deep seethed wounds caused by the callous words of his own blood at the time he didn't have a dragon, and thus, no proper position as a dragon himself.

Y'all, requests are open! If you have any interesting ideas that you want to request, then please feel free to do so because I want to write but have no ideas😭😭

saw that you're in your got era so perhaps jealousy headcanons for the got or hotd characters? 👀 literally anyone from these characters - robb, jaime, margaery, oberyn, theon, cersei or ramsay, I'd love to see your interpretation on any of them ! ( or aemond, alicent, aegon, gwayne, OTTO !!, larys, daemon or mysaria for hotd, again whichever era you feel like it !!) and just for future reference, do you write for asoiaf characters or mainly the shows?

'LOVE CAN KILL, [jealousy! hcs]

-GOT / HOTD CHARACTERS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Robb, Jaime, Margaery, Oberyn, Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, Tyrion, The Hound, Aemond, Aegon, Alicent, Gwayne, Daemon

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; jealousy, and how some characters deal with it ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOT and HOTD!characters x female reader. SFW! But naturally, some of these characters get a bit suggestive! Possessive behavior, canon typical violence, etc. Please send in more GOT/HOTD requests! Apologies this took so long, this is more characters in a post than I've ever done lol. Unfortunately I'm not super familiar with Otto, Larys, Theon, or Mysaria, so I decided to pick some characters I'm more familiar with! (Joffrey is my #1 favorite of all time, my sincerest apologies.) Whew, 14 characters ! For right now I'm only writing for the TV shows! (i've only read book 1, lol)

𝑅𝛰𝐵𝐵 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐾

♫ “I wasn't thinking when I told you to stay.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

With Robb, it's all about the body language. And boy, he's horrible at hiding it.

He can have a hard time placing the feeling as jealousy. He was raised to be honorable. But feelings of...neglect run deep with him. Oldest child syndrome, if you will.

Which is why his jealousy most likely manifests in subdued, quiet behavior. Part of him will recognize he's being ridiculous, while another part of him is silently fuming. Fists clenched, he'll send you an intense stare as he watches you converse with another lord.

His emotions leak through his expressions. When he catches you staring back, his gaze will flit down, and he'll wait patiently for you're time. Or...in most cases...he'll march right up, placing himself between you and the man. Maybe a small, "I'll take it from here." If the lord is offering to help you with something.

A subtle touch on the small of your back. It's a small claim, a subtle "back-off."

A lot of his jealousy also transforms into protectiveness more than anything. He'll offer to accompany reader to places he wouldn't normally be concerned about. He's close by, and he's reminding her wordlessly, he's watching over her and any threat.

Finally, when you two are alone, will he drop down that guard of his. Covering up that burning pit inside him with casual humor, you can sense the underlaying seriousness of his voice in his light teases.

"You’re quite popular these days. Should I be worried that I’m not your only admirer?"

He certainly beds you, having something to prove. And only afterwards when you are in his arms, sweaty and warm from the candlelight, wrapped in furs...will he calm down.

"It’s not that I don’t trust you… It’s them I don’t trust. Some men don’t know how to keep their place." He'll whisper, holding onto you firmly.

𝐽𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “You don't know that you're in over your head.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Jaime's jealousy is burning. It's simply the way he was raised. And gods, you are his.

Numerous sarcastic remarks flow between the two of you and the man who he believes has essentially stolen your affections. His taunts are offhand, dry remarks, often directed towards his "opponent" or even you, if he's feeling bitter enough.

"I didn’t realize he was such a comedian. Maybe I should ask him for pointers." He'll say, with that sarcastic drawl. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make me jealous. Not that it would work, of course." He chuckles, but his gaze is sharp.

Depending on the offense, Jaime's reactions differ. If you simply have an admirer, a few...well chosen words are directed towards them. His confidence allows him to not be too bothered. Maybe standing closer, clearly showing off to whatever poor soul thought they had a shot with you.

It's a different story if you are friends with the person involved, or entertain their advances even mildly or jokingly.

That's when the uncharacteristic tension comes out, full of small twitches in his jaw and curt, smug responses. His visible annoyance is uncontrolled.

We saw how he was with Loras when it came to Cersei. If he feels truly threatened, whether it's by another pretty boy, or just someone he feels could...hypothetically...have the upper hand...He'll corner them when you're off somewhere else. And give a small warning, from the Kingslayer himself.

"You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with, so let me remind you." He leans in just close enough for his words to sink in. "Whatever you think you might be to her… you’re not. Let’s keep it that way, hm? I'd hate to see you make any...lasting mistakes."

𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝐸𝑅𝑌 𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “It was just too hard to push you away.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Margaery is smart with her feelings. She knows how to play the game, and play it well. Instead of showing her jealousy openly, she's a touch more composed than most characters on this list.

She recognizes just how precious you are, and admires that. She doesn't necessarily blame others when they become...attached to you.

When jealousy arises, she views it more as a small problem in need of being handled. And she knows how to handle things.

She embraces the graceful competition, subtly outshining anyone who seems to get in the way of her goals. Her goal being you're affection, of course. You're already hers, and she sees no problem in working to keep it that way.

This appears in gestures of strategic sweetness to keep you close, perhaps wearing your favorite gowns on her, and offering that charming smirk. She doesn't shy away from manipulating you, just a teeny bit.

"They’re certainly captivated by you. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to keep your attention." She teases, "Besides, who could ever compare to us?"

Her words carry a playful undertone, but she makes her point clear. Laughing charmingly, threading her arm through yours.

Very rarely does she think she's in any serious danger. She prides herself on being yours and knowing how to keep you on a tight leash. Though...if she feels genuinely worried, she expresses her feelings quite clearly but still gently. She reminds her lover of their shared goals, and all that they've built together.

"My, you do attract admirers easily, don’t you? I’ll have to start guarding you more closely." She gives you a playful look, though her touch on your arm will linger just a bit longer than usual.

𝛰𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑌𝑁 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “Let me go, but you won't let me go.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oberyn doesn't feel insecure. How could he? He knows, deep down, that you're his. Jealousy isn't something he confines himself too, he views it as an ugly emotion, capable of getting rid of the true wonders love has to offer.

That being said...he is only a man. And he is fiercely protective. If anyone were to flirt with you and you were clearly uninterested, it would be a swift death, or at the very least, he'd make his point clear with a blow or two and a cutting edge remark. Especially if they are a Lannister. He enjoys you being admired, but only to a certain extent.

"Your efforts are wasted, they’re far too captivating for someone like you. I’d suggest you find someone more... suited to your charms." He begins, hand itching for his spear, "Consider this your first and last warning."

Yeah, he means business.

Most of the time, he spins the situation to show-off. Showcase his own passion and devotion to you. If it's simply a friend of yours, he may even offer them to join in. If not, he'll spend the entire night practically worshipping you, promising that he's the only one who could ever make you feel like this.

Similarly to Margaery, he teases you lightly.

"You have a lovely laugh. But I must admit, it’s much better when it’s for me alone."

Oberyn doesn't shy away from PDA either. It's that assertive reclaiming he seems to favor, pulling you close, whispering something that affirms your affections for each other. He'll revel when he watches the other mans face fall in dismay.

He might get cocky, and push it a bit far. By the time he's done, the 'competition' will be utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He'll be smirking at his own quips.

"I assure you, my friend, my lover favors...more substantial things." He motions to the poor mans crotch.

You're gonna have to give him a slap on the arm.

𝐶𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸𝐼 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “Consequence of loving me can be cruel.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Cersei's jealousy is intense and multifaceted, to say the least. It manifests in a mix of cold fury and harsh threats, channeling that anger into much more controlling behavior.

Deep down, she is terribly insecure. Once another man or woman as your attention, and she catches on, she's coolly lashing out. And she catches on quickly.

At first she may appear indifferent, but if you look close enough, you can see the subtly giveaways. The way her lip curls, her nostrils flare, and her knuckles go white gripping her wine chalice.

If you're the first one to confront her, and attempt to reassure her, you'll save yourself some trouble down the line. Guaranteed, she'll deny it, but still make a passive-aggressive remark here and there. But eventually she'll calm down, edges softening.

That rare moment of vulnerability that you're not sure is manipulation or not. She'll look towards the ground, running her thumb over you're hand on her cheek. She'll sit on the edge of her bed, jaw clenched.

Now, it's a whole different story if you don't catch on to the early signs. If you don't manage to reassure or call her out in time, that jealousy implodes.

She may confront you first, anger bleeding through her. She runs on it. She may even threaten you, oblivious to the potential consequences her words might have.

“You think you can charm your way into my affections by paying attention to that little fool?" She's standing up, loathing distorting her features. Her voice raises. "Perhaps I should throw a feast in her honor. Let’s see how charming she is when surrounded by my people."

It's threats and threats and more and more threats...which can be especially worrying if the person she's jealous of is a friend of yours.

Almost every scenario ends with you having to comfort her, treading carefully with the words you say.

Now, when it comes to confronting the competition, she makes it very clear. Though, these threats are often much more impulsive. A swig of wine, and she gracefully moves towards them when you're out of sight.

A faux compliment or two, before she whispers, close.

“You’ll find that my guards are quite loyal to me. A simple command, and they’ll ensure you never breathe the same air as her again.”

It only makes her feel a bit better. But, regardless, she's smiling smugly, feeling proud of herself when the offenders face turns white.

𝐽𝛰𝐹𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑌 𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸𝛰𝑁

♫ “Too much love can kill.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh, Joffrey. I'm obsessed with him.

Yeah. He has the worst jealousy issues out of everyone on this list. It's baaaaad. It's a cocktail of insecurity, possessiveness, and entitlement. As someone who has been raised to believe he is above others, and has been coddled his entire life...it infuriates him.

It's the same feeling you get as a child, when someone steals one of your toys. You belong to him. He never grew out of that mentality, or that feeling.

Be prepared for plentiful outbursts of anger. He's a tantrum personified, especially if he feels disrespected. Insecurity grips him tight and refuses to let up until he's either been heavily reassured...or the other person is... taken care of.

And even then, after reassuring him for hours, it may not be enough. You know how he hired a knight to take out Tyrion in the Battle of Blackwater? Yeah. That person will be paid a little 'visit.'

When reassuring him, similar to Cersei, you really have to be careful what you say, or it might make the situation even worse. At that point, he's seeing red.

"I’m the king! You should be grateful for my attention, not chasing after scraps!" He's huffing, pointing to himself as his breathing increases. He'll look at you with an ice cold glare, nose wrinkled in distaste.

He might even force his hand around your face, harshly grabbing you. He looks dead into your eyes, voice clear and low. "You're mine. You belong to me." He's seething.

If he notices you simply looking at anyone else too long, he'll feel beyond threatened in both his masculinity and position as king. Especially if you laugh at another mans jokes, or simply attempt to be friendly with a commoner or lord.

"What’s so amusing? You’d think you’d find better entertainment than that fool." He mutters under his breath harshly, bad habit of picking at his fingers. He'll shuffle uncomfortably. He'll look to you expecting agreeance. It's 100% that mentality of 'Friends? You don't need friends. You have me.'

Yeah, he keeps the very blunt insults coming. Petulant name calling is not above him. Includes, but is not limited too, "Degenerates, Idiots, Commoners, Peasants, or Cretins" which he may describe as being "Stupid, Disgusting, Repellent, Sickening, or Revolting." He's got a LOT of those angry remarks in the bank.

While he may not directly confront the offender, (he doesn't have time for idle threats.) He has his own ways of dealing with them. And that is a public humiliation ritual, making a mockery of any rival. And if they disobey ANY whim of his, they're gone. That one scene with Tyrion at his wedding? That "Kneel!"? He's commanding the same of any man unlucky enough to have threatened his claim on you. Oh, and they're going to be his cupbearer.

Even if they do as he asks, by now his anger will have transformed into that renewed sense of cruelty. "You're fingers or your tongue?...Or I could just cut your throat."

𝑅𝐴𝑀𝑆𝐴𝑌 𝐵𝛰𝐿𝑇𝛰𝑁

♫ “You're gonna suffer now, whatever you do.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

His jealousy may not be as overtly intense as Joffrey's, but it certainly is the scariest.

In his own words, he prefers being an only child. That same kind of mentality certainly carries over to his relationship with you. He prefers to be the only one you see that way.

He loves a good game, and that's what this is. If anything, it's quite exhilarating for him. Though, he is a huge hypocrite. For a man who thinks jealousy is boring coming from you, he feels it quite freely.

Sees it as a means of asserting dominance, whether that be through intimidation or overt manipulation. He doesn't deny it like most characters on this list. When he's feeling jealous, he says it. It's a small warning for you not to go any farther, lest worse things occur for you or the perceived threat.

He'll go up to whoever you are talking too, saccharine and honorable smile on his face. He'll casually interrupt, introducing himself as Lord Bolton's successor. Despite his calm demeanor, there is a tightness in his face, and a wicked look in his eyes, that only you can recognize. It will make you shiver.

If the rival persists, he'll find it all too amusing.

"You're bold, I'll give you that." He says with a boisterous laugh, and you already know the mans fate is sealed.

Looks like his hounds will be having another meal tonight. He'll have his men go out looking for the man, and he'll question him more...privately, when you aren't there to witness his tortuous taunts.

But for now, his focus is on you, and your loyalty to him. When he excuses the both of you, his hand is gripping yours painfully tight.

By the time you're in his chamber, he's on you, ripping your clothes off with a harsh intensity and pushing you to the wall. His nose is twitching in barely kept anger, forcing you to look at him.

We all saw that scene between him and Myranda when she threatens to marry someone else, and it was not pretty. His eyes are borderline bloodshot, and he can't keep his hands off you or your throat.

"You're mine." He leans forward, through gritted teeth. It's better you don't put up a fight, because he'll be having you and your attention one way or another.

Que the numerous kisses and bite marks soon to follow. And he is not gentle when he's inside you.

You'll never hear from the flirtatious lord again...and if you do, it's only in the prayers of his grieving family.

𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐼𝛰𝑁 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “My love, you are not safe with me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Now, Tyrion's jealousy is more subdued and introspective versus some characters on this list. He has a good sense of self-awareness, and he's intelligent to figure out what he's feeling quite quickly.

At first he'll dismiss it as nothing more than an annoying feeling of insecurity he attempts to cover up. But...it doesn't last long. Especially when someone else makes you laugh. Or when Bronn makes a taunt with a half smirk, that some other fancy lord has taken a keen interest in his lady. (Bronn, you instigator!)

As such, Tyrion resorts to his usual humor to deflect any unpleasant feelings he may have when he's jealous. Similar to his brother, these witty remarks are are subtle intimidation technique, meant to dryly convey his displeasure.

"Ah, the sound of laughter. How quaint. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to earn your amusement." He forces a smile, masking his discomfort. "I didn’t realize I was competing for the title of Court Jester."

These feelings of inadequacy manifest in more self-deprecating ways for Tyrion, given his anger is more controlled. He might opt to drown his sorrows, so don't be surprised if you catch him drunkenly waving his chalice around, doing poor impressions of the so-called-lord that had your attention.

This doesn't mean he won't confront the rival, though. Quite the opposite. While he won't seek the man out, (For his sake, he isn't privy to seeing the tall handsome lord in person. He's not a masochist.) If he happens to come across him flirting with you first hand, or sees him during a feast, he'll make sure to throw one or two gibes out there.

"Desperation looks unflattering on you, my friend. Perhaps you should tone it down a notch." He speaks carefully, nodding to Bronn as a subtle warning. "Or at least the best you can manage..?"

If the rival flirts with you blatantly and in front of him, I can 100% imagine him putting them down. After a flirtatious remark directed towards you, he'll make a dry comment, "Flattery is wasted on me, but do go on; I’m always entertained by those who think they can win my affection." As if it was directed towards him. Probably shuts the man up for a moment.

When the two of you are alone, he'd be very grateful if you could just hold him. Give him that reassurance he craves when his carefree facade breaks. That moment of vulnerability means the world to him.

𝑆𝐴𝑁𝐷𝛰𝑅 "𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝛰𝑈𝑁𝐷" 𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “I need you to go, don't fight me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Listen up, Sandor doesn't take shit.

Jealousy isn't an emotion Sandor is particularly used too. In fact, he didn't think he'd find anyone to love in his lifetime, so the feeling is foreign and unpleasant. And, like a mean dog, Sandor's first reaction is to growl.

He doesn't like it. Says it's constricting, and it pisses him off. Not just the pretty boy lord flirting with you, but the whole situation in general. Makes him feel vulnerable, and weak.

Naturally, his first reaction is to distance himself. He may avoid you, grumbling, spitting out vile and vulgar comments to get you to run with your tail between your legs. It's better for the both of you that way.

"You think they’re worth your time? Just a pretty smile to distract you?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You could do better. But then again, you always choose to suffer." He motions at himself, and it's a glimpse of that self-depreciation he buries.

But you love him for a reason, and you know that won't end well. Best way to handle him when he's jealous is to be gentle, and to listen.

He doesn't want empty reassurances. He's complicated that way, even if they are genuine. He isn't one for flowery words or overt displays of emotion, so the best way to comfort him would be to give him some space, but continue to take care of him.

It will still frustrate him, but eventually he'll cave. He'll rejoin you, silently, eventually. Won't offer any apologies, but maybe a gruff nod, and you two will commence whatever it is you two have.

In future instances, he becomes much more brutally honest with how he feels. Doesn't sugarcoat it. If he doesn't like someone, even if they are a friend, he expects them gone- or he'll take care of them regardless. That kind of possessive behavior is just something you'll have to work through.

I can imagine him silently brooding if he witnesses someone flirting with you first hand. Typically his size and reputation is enough to scare whoever away. He's looming over them, eyes dark, and ready to defend what's his.

When you take your leave, he'll confront the person with a very explicit threat or two.

"If you don’t back off, I’ll find a nice dark corner to stuff you in- preferably with a pile of shit." Or, "Get any closer, and I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat."

𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “Get swallowed by the weight.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aemond has the most...complex jealousy out of everyone on this list. It's layered, and the outcome may be unpredictable. It's an emotional and volatile nature that's been building up for years since he was a child.

He often had feelings of jealousy for his brother, his nephews, etc. That trauma is deeply rooted in him, and it's hard to let go of old habits, given it's been present all his life.

You'll watch his head bow in distaste when you make small conversation with other lords. How his eye will gaze at you, almost warningly. His jaw will be clenched tight, and he'll avoid eye contact, looking off to the side in anger. He doesn't want to watch.

If it's a friend of yours, he can be a bit mean, questioning your loyalty a bit harshly.

"Friendship? Is that what you call it?" He speaks, angrily. A thinly veiled threat is directed to you, "It seems more like a prelude to betrayal."

He'll brood in the corner, silently waiting. That is, unless, he deems the man goes too far.

In the scene where he gets his eye put out by Lucerys, the conversation that starts before it happens pretty much sums his jealousy up. He's firm with his claim to Vaghar, and the same goes for you.

When Rhaena states that Vaghar was hers to claim, Aemond responds in kind, "Then you should've claimed her." And puts up a hell of a fight to prove his point. That same possessiveness carries over to his relationship with you. He doesn't back down. You're his.

He has no problems getting in between you and the man he feels threatened of. He offers a blunt threat.

"I could have you torn apart, limb by limb, and I’d sleep soundly at night. Be certain of that."

Guaranteed, mixed feelings of insecurity will rise to the surface. When you two are alone, he'll continue to brood silently, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and body language tight.

Please do reassure him. He needs it. His eye will soften, and he'll place his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. With a soft huff of an air, a final warning slips past his lips.

"Don’t make me remind you why I’m the only one worthy of you."

𝐴𝐸𝐺𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “I wanna hold on tightly.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aegon handles jealousy poorly, much like he seems to handle everything else.

It's like throwing gasoline on a fire. Once that feeling in his chest flares up, it's shown through erratic behavior, sarcasm, and attempts to assert his claim in juvenile, insecure ways. Unlike his brother, he lacks the restraint to simply brood.

No, be prepared for plenty of mocking comments directed towards the man he's threatened of, and showy displays to prove he's the better choice.

Everyone knows he is unpredictable and reckless, and possessiveness drives him to act out. He certainly overindulges to cope with his insecurity, (getting shitfaced) and will gladly push your boundaries to get your attention back on him.

Not to mention the belittling comments he'll make.

"Oh, is that who you’ve chosen to entertain now? I didn’t realize your taste had grown so dull."

Prone to acting overtly clingy, almost like a restless cat. He will attempt to slide over into the conversation, resting an arm around you, or even pulling you away. He doesn't care if it's 'improper.' He probably brings up his status, his bloodline, acting over-the-top.

He's also no stranger to outbursts. His temper may make him lash out impulsively, whether that be towards you or the man whose got your attention. If he's in a particular mood, be ready to deal with a screaming Aegon, threatening to slaughter and burn said rival. His fist will come down hard on the council table.

He also doesn't care if he's making a show of it in front of the council members. Que Alicent or Otto attempting to placate him. He needs to have a cooler head if he's going to be ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and this type of behavior isn't very becoming.

He definitely thinks he's owed some make-up sex, if only to quell the insecure storm raging inside him.

"You think they could satisfy you? Truly?" He says, firmly, as he steps closer. Anger is burning in his words, volume raising. "They wouldn’t even know where to begin."

And he plans to show you that he's right.

𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “I'm afraid I'll pull you over the edge.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Alicent experiences jealousy complexly, just like Aemond. It gnaws on her until she's at her breaking point. Rather than overt displays or confrontations, she attempts to employ more strategic distance...but it always ends up resorting in icy politeness.

She's making her displeasure known through restrained, pointed remarks. Out of duty and pride, she'll attempt to avoid direct confrontation, but she wears her jealousy on her sleeve.

I imagine her withdrawing from the situation at first, if not for anything but her own sake. Her gut reaction, out of insecurity, is to escape the situation. It honestly makes her feel sick.

Unless she's forced to stay...then she'll begrudgingly offer a tight smile. Her responses are carefully measured, and she slips into that role of "queen" rather than a lover.

A part of it stems from passive aggressiveness, and another part of it is purely subconscious.

Speaking of passive aggressiveness, she'll make some pretty cutting remarks, either questioning your loyalty or purposely feigning ignorance to the situation.

"Perhaps I’m mistaken. But I know loyalty when I see it. Or when I don’t."

It's an all bark, no bite threat towards you. But it serves as an aggressive reminder of your connection with her, and that you are now apart of her duties.

If she does interfere beforehand, she'll make indirect remarks about the person causing her jealousy, but will most likely frame it as merely her own curiosity.

Maybe just a touch of self-depreciation, unintentional manipulation. Years of Otto's techniques have rubbed off on her.

"It’s of little consequence, truly. I simply thought I was the one you preferred to spend your time with. I may have misjudged."

𝐺𝑊𝐴𝑌𝑁𝐸 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “Hurts to say it over, over again.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

In contrast to Alicent, Gwayne has no problem when he feels threatened to step in. He's a member of a powerful house, and a knight no less. Those two things have taught him to be prideful and honorable.

He will defend your honor whenever he deems in necessary, and there are no exceptions. He certainly has a flash of a temper, but he believes he's much more restrained than others, given his training.

If he thinks someone is crossing a line, he'll interfere. He'll position himself quite closely to you, making his presence known.

He offers the man a silent warning, offering a cool, assessing look. It would be enough to communicate his disapproval.

And if the man persists...well...they'll end up with the end of a sword pointed at them.

Similar to Robb, Gwayne's jealousy appears more in his heightened protectiveness. He insists on staying close for your safety.

"Do they need to be reminded that you’re already spoken for?"

Obviously, his noble pride carries on. If he gets pushed, his jealousy will show more openly, taking the man aside, and telling them that he is more worthy of her time and attention. Might throw in a comment about his noble standing.

He'll take you aside when everything is said and done, reminding her his intentions are honorable. Everyone else is just...unworthy.

"You may not see it, but I know men like him. If he truly respected you, he wouldn’t need to linger around someone else’s beloved."

𝐷𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ "No matter how you feel." Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh boy, you'll have to keep this man on a tight leash when his jealousy flares up. It's as intense as he is, and he shows it openly.

He'll deny it, or embrace it, depending on the severity of the perceived offense. It's closely tied to that desire for power within him he can't seem to shake. Any affront to your loyalty is an affront to his own standing.

He switches from possessive protectiveness to outright hostility. There's really no in between. It's a raw and unfiltered fury that makes his hand shake and his eye twitch.

He doesn't tolerate rivals, and he's very upfront that he's the only one fit to be by your side. This comes through when he has you all to himself on his bed...

He'll confront the person whether you want him to or not.

"If they value their limbs, they’d remember you’re mine." He mutters casually, pacing around the room.

He carries that hard glint in his eyes. He may even mildly appreciate the sheer balls of the man stupid enough to attempt to flirt with you, but he'll shut it down quicker than anyone on this list.

"You’ve got a bold tongue. I wonder if I should cut it out..?" He'll look to you for permission. It's up to you if you wanna let the dragon loose!

PURE AS THE DRIVEN SNOW.

+ . jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

synopsis. a spoil of war and unhappy bride to the lord commander of the kingsguard - aemond "one-eyed" targaryen - your loving and fair husband offers you a deal six months before the coronation of the heir to the iron throne. give him the death and or ruin of the bastard jacaerys velaryon before he can sit upon the throne, and he will give you your freedom and much more.

3 + . contents. no use of y/n or any variation. canon-divergent. there was no dance of dragons!au. blood mention. abusive relationship. mentions of past character death. slavery. enslavement. 4.3k words.

notes. this is going to be a series, cross-posted on ao3 here. if you wish to be part of a taglist please comment down below!

The morning begins as it always does.

You awaken in your chambers alone, the space on the bed beside you has grown cold with the lack of body shaped into it and the room is empty with the exception of your ladies maids. Despite sleeping a full night, you still feel exhaustion pulling at your insides and threatening to click your eyes shut forever. A gentle sigh escaping your lips when you crawl out of bed in your nightgown and stretch limbs. Popping and cracking filling the air of the room you’ve memorized every single speck of as the familiar and routine noise of servants fixing and preparing your bath joins the noise of your limbs being stretched out.

Then you’re guided over to the tub, offering gentle greetings and kind inquiries of wellbeing to the ladies who smile at you fondly and return responses and inquiries of their own. Truth be told, being around them is one of the little highlights of your days in the beautiful and expansive Red Keep of King’s Landing. Talking with them of various things they’ve kept their ears on within the walls and corridors as they bathe you with gentleness and care. You’re grateful for them, one of the few lights of the Keep usually so dark and dreary for your soul and body.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end.

And soon, you’re being dressed in silence when a handmaiden specifically plucked by your dear and darling husband enters to oversee your day as always. The fabric put onto you feel stuffy, the fabrics expensive and of gorgeous materials but nothing you enjoy – not a fucking thing. As if the color didn’t bring bitterness across your tongue just the same. Dark blacks with pretty lace and eyelets. To say it wasn’t beautiful, to say the gown you adorn and rubies you’re bathed in, aren’t beautiful would be untrue, yes…but they’re all of Aemond’s choosing. Down to the style in which your hair is done. You always refuse to look in the mirror when all is done.

Then the morning continues with your meal in your marital chambers. Breaking your fast on your lonesome without the loving and gentle handmaidens chosen by Queen Rhaenyra for those within the Keep but chosen by your husband to keep an eye on you when he is away. As always, you’re uncomfortable as you eat while reading a book you’ve earned the privilege to read by no longer being yourself entirely. At least the “worst” parts of you. Eating the food is uncomfortable, you eat so quickly that your stomach will ache later and you know it but you want it to be over with.

Already three years of marriage and you thought you’d be used to all of this by now, accustomed to circumstances beyond your womanly hands. Unfortunately, you’ve not grown used to this part of a loving wife to a young prince and Lord Commander because you know that if given the chance you’d slit his throat and escape in the night. If only there wasn’t concern of your neck lying upon a slab of stone the next day.

Walking down the corridor with perfect posture and chin high, your hands folding down against your navel, handmaiden close behind, your eyes looking along corridors and walls you wish to never see again. Your heart thumps softly and gently, a lullaby in your head to keep you calm in such an atmosphere and life you’ve found yourself in. Though, it’s difficult when you pass open corridors and catch the forever gloomy weather of King’s Landing. Every cold breeze and scent of rain, it’s a reminder that you’re forced to swallow and stomach.

Every day is the same. Every morning is the same. Every afternoon. Every night. Every week. Every month. Every year. Every fucking second.

There are some good moments, some breaths taken by you. And as you nod to the guards with a soft smile, you enter into one moment of fresh air. Your eyes immediately fall to the white-haired children playing with toys as their mother sits on a beautiful seat of golden stitching against green fabric. “Good morrow, Helaena.”,you greet the white-haired oddity who embroiders with steady and gentle hands. Her round lilac eyes flicker up and she smiles upon seeing you, you walk over, handmaiden waiting near the door. And you breathe in softly as you sit down beside her.

“Good morrow.”,Helaena greets you, smiling softly as she looks along your features,”Did you sleep better with the tea?”,the sweet butterfly of the Keep asks with a gentle tilt of her head. Her voice is so soft and gentle, quiet.

Your eyes look at the children who giggle and babble, playing with one another with wooden and metal figurines. A bit guilty to shake your head, you do so and then turn from the adorable little children to look at Helaena who’s smile falters a bit. “I regret saying no. I slept just as restlessly, sister.”,you speak softer and easier than you do around others with her. Helaena sighs softly, her expression melding into one of sympathy as the handmaiden’s of her chambers bring you your unfinished embroidery. “Thank you.”,you tell them before turning to Helaena and shaking your head, eyes casting down to the uncolored butterfly embroidery on a baby blanket. “But it is no matter, what do I need slumber for?”

Helaena hums softly, she nods before she looks away from you. And as routinely for this day, you and Helaena embroider in silence with the occasional look to the children and the occasional word of small talk between you and her. Though none of it is awkward or tense, in fact – you cherish these moments of silence with Helaena because you know this will be your only moment of entire comfortability and relaxation until you see her in two days again. Because even during your bath, you’re in the room you despise wholly.

Soon, you stand and hand your things to the handmaidens of Helaena’s. Ready to simply leave Helaena in silence as you always do, you pause when you hear her call you. Only three steps away, you turn and look at her with a gentle tilt of your head and gentle smile. Her big doe eyes flicker along your face, needle with embroidery thread between her pointer finger, middle finger, and thumb while her other hand holds the hoop itself. Helaena seems to hesitate, or rather pluck her words, before she speaks and she nods gently.

“I…will miss you if you go left.”,Helaena says, her eyes flickering between yours and fingers fiddling with the needle.

Your brows twitch, you blink softly at the odd words. “I…will be back, Helaena.”,you try to reassure her with a soft smile, nodding gently. Helaena shakes her head, parting her lips to speak before she shuts her mouth. Then she slowly but subtly nods, slowly sitting herself down. Some concern and worry dip into you, your eyes flickering to her handmaidens who look just as puzzled. You’re unable to do as you wish, to comfort her or pry more when your handmaid calls your title to attend the next duty of yours. Glancing at the old woman, you look at Helaena and smile. “I will see you soon, sister.”

Then you leave.

Walking down the corridor, you already begin to discuss in your head what you’ll be reviewing in the study of High Valyrian you find oddly fascinating and maybe even fun to learn. If not for the expectations bestowed upon you, your fluency is never quite enough for that of your husband that looks forward to teaching his children the language beneath two parents of the languages fluency. Gods bless those children.

“Oh!”

Round a corner you turn, you exclaim softly when you slam shoulder first into something a bit soft yet firm. The smell of grass and the slight sour of the salty sea wafts into your senses, strong hands grab your biceps to give you purchase and balance where your hands grasp broad shoulders. Slowly, you lean back and your eyes meet the brown almond ones of none other than the heir to the Iron Throne himself. Jacaerys Velaryon, his expression one of surprise as she gently eases you from his chest with a tilt of his head down to you.

“Forgive me…” And Jacaerys trails off as his eyes seem to absorb your features. Perhaps recognizing an unfamiliar face he’s surely only ever seen in passing and during one very brief greeting during your wedding to Aemond. You blink softly, looking along the prince adorned in the garment that suits that of a man training with the sword. Armor half gone, lightly freckled skin sweaty, and dark curls tousled and messy. A splash of pink taints his cheeks and a nasty swelling forms around a cut through the apple of his cheek. No longer than a pinky but drawing blood still. “F-Forgive me, my lady.”,he smiles as he apologizes, clearing his throat and slowly settling you from the close proximity.

With a soft smile for the prince you’ve heard both good and bad of, you nod gently in a half-bow of your head. “No, forgive me, your grace. I was lost in my thoughts.” Pulling from Jacaerys who fixes his loose fitting deep red shift darkened just a bit with sweat, your eyes flicker along his face. The cut through his cheek draws concern, your brows sewing up ever so slightly. “That is quite the scratch, are you to see the maester?”,you ask, fixing your gown and looking along his features before settling on those warm brown eyes.

Half-smiling, Jacaerys shakes his head. “I’m simply to take a bath and ready for a meeting with her grace. It’s only a scratch, nothing to bother them with.”,he reassures you with his voice as deep and smooth as always.

You exhale softly and shake your head, hesitating before you look at the bit of dirt. “Allow me to assist you, your grace?”,you request. Jacaerys blinks softly, his lips part only to shut and offer response in a small smile and gentle nod. Nodding yourself, you turn to look at your handmaiden. Always so stone-faced and monotonous. “I will tend to my duties after I assist the Prince, take your leave and I will see you when I am finished.” The handmaid bows then walks away. You know Aemond will hear of this and not be too happy but you don’t necessarily care.

In fact, you feel it’s perhaps why you’re even offering.

Walking with Jacaerys to your quarters, the prince you hear of being capable of great conversation is oddly silent. He walks beside you, still slightly out of breath from his training and continuously runs a hand through or over his dark curls. You walk beside him in the same silence. With all you’ve heard of the prince, the only negativity to spill from lips have been those of Aemond and Aegon. A drunk and a cold man child. Everything else of Jacaerys has only been glowing, Helaena herself speaks fondly of the alleged bastard. Such a negative word and yet you’ve never quite understood the depth of it.

Silence continues until Jacaerys is sitting down across the unlit fireplace and you sit beside him with the necessary supplies set onto the expensive and heavy table. You break it as you grab a cloth and gently pour a clear fluid onto the soft round.

“How did you come upon such an injury? Is Ser Criston so rough with princelings?”,you ask with a bit of a playful tone, a slight smile on your lips as you gently begin to clean around the cut itself.

Jacaerys seems a bit tense. But you presume it to be the injury and your care of it, even if you are gentle it surely must sting. He chuckles a bit in the face of your remark at least, it’s welcoming to your ears and eyes. Such a light smile and expression of ease. “He can be – especially with the likes of I, but I’m afraid the reasoning is far more embarrassing.”,he confesses, muttering softly as you set aside the cloth to dampen another. You smile at him, tilting your head with brows in your hairline. Silently imploring him to continue and the prince is gracious enough to do so with a soft exhale. “I…ran into the door on my way back into the Keep.”

And you’re unable to stifle your moment of laughter, Jacaerys joining in his gentle chuckling as you clean the cut itself. “Goodness.”,you hum with amusement and humor in your chest, a smile spread across your lips as your eyes focus on the cut. His brown eyes flickering between yours. “Well, I suppose it is not prince’s that are known for their grace, yes?”

He laughs, a laugh that shakes his broad shoulders, hands going up in a defensive manner on either side of his head. “Precisely. I’m meant to possess strength like a boar not grace like a swan.”,says Jacaerys as you set aside the cloth and you hum softly with an amused smile. When your hand gently cups his jaw to inspect the cut closer, he inhales a bit sharply. But he then speaks so quickly, you wonder if you imagined it. “How did you come to possess what the maester’s do and know how to use such?”,he asks. You shift your hand away and turn, gently folding objects back where they must be in a small woven basket.

“I’ve known longer than I’ve resided in the Keep. I know it is unbecoming of a lady, of a now Princess, to be informed of such matters but my husband saw it useful. For moments he does not wish to let the Keep see his business.”,you explain. Voice fond before it dips into something a bit more exasperated.

Listening attentively, Jacaerys nods and he smiles lightly. “I think it’s quite impressive, whether people think it unbecoming or not.” You hum softly, looking at him when he nods gently and pats the piece of cloth over the cut. “Thank you, princess.”,he says with a soft sincerity. And you nod, smiling at him.

“Of course, your grace.”

The doors to your marital chambers part and you turn to the guard holding open the doors. When your eyes catch the beautiful vision of white in black, your jaw tightens and eyes narrow. Slowly standing, you bow and Jacaerys stands with a gentle nod of his head to Aemond. The One-Eyed Commander looking from you to Jacaerys, then to the little patch work on his face. “Forgive me, I did not realize I was intruding. I could not find you in your studies.”,Aemond apologizes, stepping down the steps with that stoic expression and hand firmly grasping the hilt of his sword.

“There is no need for apologies, I was simply assisting Jacaerys.”,you explain with a bit of sourness in your words, then you turn to the prince and smile,”Have a pleasant bath and meeting, your grace. Do take off the cloth when you get into the water.”

Jacaerys smiles at you and bows. “Thank you, princess.” And he rounds the couch, walking past Aemond once he nods in acknowledgement.

When those doors shut behind Aemond boring his lilac eye into you, your smile falls and your eyes narrow at Aemond. Turning away, you grab the woven basket and walk along the floor of stone. “You surely did not leave your duties to scold me for missing my High Valyrian lesson, did you, husband?”,you speak sharper in his presence, walking over to an armoire and setting the basket within. Aemond hums in acknowledgement and you turn around once the wooden doors shut.

“Normally, I would wait until we were reconvened to “scold” you but I was told the reason you did not attend your duty and found interest.”,your husband speaks smoothly. Each word from his lips is that of calculation and purpose. Never does he speak without something to be traced in his words.

You look along his handsome face and raise your brows, he’s silent. He’s doing what he often does, what used to intimidate you, being silent. But it only irritates you and tires you now, you slowly walk towards him. “Does it bother you so that I attended to one you hate?”,you ask, tilting your head while meeting his lilac eye. You notice his eyepatch seems a bit out of place and his long silvery locks slightly mussed. He must have rushed.

But…oddly – very oddly, Aemond doesn’t seem to be angry. Not like the time you gently cradled Lucerys when he took a hit to the head while training with Ser Criston. No, right now, as you approach him he looks like Vhagar. In his lilac eye there seems to be something purposeful and in his smile he seems to look as if he’s gotten something he wants. You reach out and gently smooth his soft locks, fixing the leather patch as he stands with his hands folded behind his back. Something bad sinks into your stomach when he grabs your wrists and pulls you to the furthest corner of the room. Gentle, but firm and quick. You try to remain cool and composed.

Even if it feels like bile is tickling your throat.

“Do you recall when I called you useless?”,Aemond hums, releasing your wrists once he has you between him and the corner of the chambers. You exhale sharply and nod, brows furrowing in irritation and eyes flickering along his face. “It seems all has just changed…and–”,Aemond offers that cat-like grin as his lilac eye narrows,”...you don’t even realize it.”

“What are you on about? Why are you whispering?”,you question with confusion and that sickening feeling only worsening. Aemond hums, you hate it when he does that. It always feels like a bell in your head. An automatic reaction to tense up.

“I believe you should like to spend more time with my nephew.”,he replies, voice low and quiet as he flickers his lilac eye between yours. Your lips part in surprise and your brows slowly furrow in tighter confusion. That sickening feeling in your stomach worsens, you swallow hard. Aemond continues. “Jacaerys has been slipping in his duties since her death, the first two weeks you heard of how he did not leave his apartments, as of late he’s missed council meetings and spends more time than not being a dummy for Ser Criston Cole. Perhaps he’s punishing himself–”

“What–is your point, Aemond?”,you interrupt him sharply, hotly with glaring eyes. Exposing your cards to him that his thinking aloud and quick but fluid purposeful words are burning into you.

Aemond nods. “Yet, he smiled so sincerely at you and let you tend to him.” Then Aemond nods again. “I wish for you to see him, spend time with him. Perhaps entertain him with those borish stories of your homeland or play the damsel in distress. I do not care, just seep beneath his flesh.”

The implications of what Aemond is asking of you is as clear as day in your head. Disgust curls at your features, eyes glaring hotter up at him as you shake your head. For as long as you’ve been Aemond’s, he’s sought for that damn throne. Despising Jacaerys as the heir, for his bastard status, and despising the Queen for her “whore” nature. Aemond speaks so openly of it with you, he speaks so freely of it with you because of what he harbors against you with that sword and Vhagar just outside of the city. Were it your own life, you would have happily shouted through the corridors of the treacherous cunt that Aemond “One-Eyed” Targaryen truly was. But it isn’t just your life. It hasn’t been for three years.

But this. To use a grieving widow’s weakness and softness he believes he sees in Jacaerys towards you, it makes you feel sick.

Immediately, you scoff and shove past Aemond. “No.”,you sharply state, turning and facing him with a furious expression,”I will not be involved in this petty rivalry of the crown because you believe what defines a king is his blood and not his person. Whatever plan you believe you may have stumbled upon like a gold, I will not partake.”,you speak sharply, in a soft and hushed manner with fists clenching at your sides so tightly your hands tremble. “I am not a whore that would so easily ruin such a man because you order it s–”

“I will free you.”

The moment those words leave Aemond’s lips, your face falls. Your eyes widen and your eyes flicker along his features, smug and cat-like grinning. Slowly, Aemond steps towards you while your head tries to figure out if you’ve truly grasped the words you never thought to hear from him. Ever.

“You…find a way to ruin Jacaerys…find a way to bring him to his death or a ruin so tragic he will have no place upon the throne and I will free you.”,Aemond speaks lowly, softly. One of his hands comes up, when he’s close enough, to gently hold your chin between his thumb and curled pointer finger. Your skin crawls and your blood feels cold, a shuddery breath leaving your lips as you look along his features in shock and appall. “Should you succeed in ruining my nephew or bringing about his corpse, not only will I free you but I will take you home and you have my oath…you will never see me again. Not me, not any man to trade flesh.”

“A-Aemond–”,you choke out softly with wide eyes growing glassy. It feels as if your entire body is numb, your face screws. “I…I could not kill–”

“You have and you could again.”,he hums with a tilt of his head. You swallow bile at the horrid memory. His hand slides to cup your cheek,”But here I am being fair. Giving you the option between madness or death, he is close already with the death of Baela – he merely needs a push or a pull.”

“How…c-can you even know it would be you to take the throne?”,you whisper softly, your brows furrowing tightly.

Aemond nods. “I’ve done good to appeal to my half-sister and mine own uncle…with no other heir but Lucerys sworn to the Tides already and three babes long dead – well…”,he trails off, then he gently shrugs,”Should I need to use force I will but we have six months, I do not wish for war, I wish for what I know must go to Targaryen blood.” And Aemond gently wipes your tears. When did you start crying? “Will you be a dutiful wife and give me what I feel you capable of? Or will you be confined to the Keep for the remainder of your days? Your people being traded and taken from–”

His words meld into nothing. Your head circles and shakes with the offer presented to you on a silver platter. Routine has been shattered and now you’re being offered the chance of what you’ve always desired and what your people have desired for so long. So long you’ve yearned to hear the wind of the palm trees, feel the warmth on your skin from a sun forever present in the sky, and to see the depths and colors of the butterflies that coast along the salty sea. No routines for survival, no fear of a child never seeing their mother again when a ship pulls to harbor…you would finally be home and it would only be that.

Home.

At the cost of a man Aemond believes you – of all people – capable of bringing to his knees based off of a singular moment Aemond was not even present for. Jacaerys Velaryon, a man still mourning that of his betrothed and cousin who died not three months ago. Six months. Twice of time – that is what you are given to somehow ruin or…Gods forbid kill a man that Aemond despises merely because of the blood he had no control over when the Gods created him. The cost of one for the cost of you and your family. Could you even do it? Could you even manage – would Jacaerys truly be so weak? Is he so out of his self and identity that you could find a crack in his skin to crawl beneath?

Does any of it matter when you can almost feel the warm tropical breeze on your skin and feel your mother’s embrace again – if she is even still there. If any of your family is. The longer you stay here the least likely you will ever see them again, right?

“Writing.”,you interrupt him sharply, his mouth undeserving to utter your beautiful and warm homeland. Aemond’s brows slowly raise and you pull from his touch with a shuddery exhale. “I must see it in writing, signed and approved by that of a higher power. You swear to take me home, to ban the trade of flesh there…I–will do it. I swear it.”

The white-haired Lord Commander nods, he leans down and cradles the back of your head with a smile of pure happiness you’ve never seen before. He plants a kiss to your forehead before he brushes past you.

But you stop him, turning with a shake of your head.

“He is a good man.”,you try. Perhaps you’re saying it to yourself. Not to him. Trying to salvage an innocent despite the many you once knew. Speaking to your heart that’s been freezing steadily with Aemond’s hold.

Aemond hums. “He is a bastard.”

Then he leaves and you exhale deeply, placing a hand on your forehead and one over your stomach.

How will the Gods punish you for this?

MIND OVER MATTER.

+ . jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

part two to 'sacrifice'.

synopsis. you return to jacaerys. a gift from the gods.

3 + . contents. canon-divergent. no use of y/n or any variation. mentions of violence. heavy angst. no comfort. hurt. descriptions of torturous aftermaths. 3.2k words.

Warm firelight bathes the sharp and strong features of the prince, dark brows furrowed so tightly that the crease between them may become permanent. There’s a drowsiness in his eyelids and yet his mind is louder than the storm that rages outside of the stone walls. Shifting on his shoes, his strong hand fidgets and shifts along the smoothness of the hilt of his sword as he watches the flames burn at the wood and lick along the stone walls it’s confined to. Hand so tight along the smooth leather and grooves that he may just snap the hilt itself. In his other hand he gently smoothes his hand along a hairpin, pretty with a dangling flower off a chain of silver and made of glass. Jacaerys’s dark almond eyes slowly flutter shut and he inhales through his nose with a tight jaw, head throbbing and stomach feeling hollow.

It’s been two months.

Two months. Jacaerys hasn’t seen you in two months, he hasn’t heard a word in two months. Jacaerys swallows thickly as a stinging moves through his nose and his hand tightens around the hilt of his sword while the other eases around the glass hairpin. You should have returned to him already. You should have returned, come back to him so he might be stronger and less of a coward as he had so promised. So Jacaerys could do what he’d been too weak to do so many times before. Yet, it’s been two months. So much has happened and you’re still gone.

Heavy doors open and Jacaerys’s eyes open, broad shoulders stiffen and he blinks away the stinging in his eyes. Slowly, he straightens up and conceals the hairpin beneath his dark sleeve. Gentle footsteps and the soft brush of fabric against stone, Jacaerys listens to the footsteps of his mother and the sound of her setting down supper onto the table within his quarters. Jacaerys is wordless, he doesn’t look away from the flames. Silence is thick, heavy, he awaits her departure but he knows her, his mother. So, she never leaves.

Instead, she speaks.

“Please eat.”

And Jacaerys wishes she’d care less, then he’d feel less guilt over the ruin this is bringing him. The ruin of his affections and his…love may bring this war that he’s meant to be entirely focused on. Yet, all he can think about is you. You. You. Fucking you. In no response, Rhaenyra’s footsteps grow closer and Jacaerys looks away from the flames when his mother suddenly steps before him. Her hands reach out but his boots step back and his hilt is grasped even tighter.

“Mother.” Jacaerys says as a warning. He loves her. He doesn’t wish to snap at her or say things in harsh blindness as he’s been doing all too often during this war. Especially as of late. Jacaerys’s eyes screwed shut and he finally releases the hilt, his hand coming up when he makes the mistake of looking at her porcelain face of love and concern for her sweet boy. Grooves line the inside of his hand from the design of his hilt and his fingers shake, he’s so tense he’s trembling. “Please.” The word comes far less firm and stiff, it comes pathetic and desperate. Begging her to not break what he’s been so horribly holding together.

Rhaenyra’s brows sew up, her eyes flickering along the face of one stricken by grief before a death. The Queen exhales deeply as Jacaerys slowly lowers his hand and she presses her hands over her stomach. “My sweet boy…this–you cannot let what we do not know bring you to your knees.” Rhaenyra’s voice is soft, gentle and all the worse for Jacaerys. He tries to keep his burning gaze to the floor, but he weakens again in the atmosphere of his mother’s comfort and love. Dark eyes look at her beautiful light ones and his jaw tenses as she shakes her head. “We do not know of her fate, she would not wish to see you like this. I cannot bear to see you like this.”

“Like what?” Jacaerys asks as if he does not know.

“Like a shell of my boy.” Rhaenyra replies swiftly, her brows sewing up and eyes squinting in an almost pained way. Jacaerys swallows thickly, his hand running down his face as he turns away and slowly walks over to the supper. Thumbs smooth dark circles and sweep slightly sunken cheeks. Jacaerys’s eyes look at the food and his stomach curls in disgust, what if you’re starving somewhere? What if you’ve starved? “There are still loyalists seeking her, Jacaerys.” His mother tries with a soft tone, a gentle one as he picks up a piece of bread and holds it in the hand not occupied by the glass hair pin.

“Do you remember what I was like when we first met, mother?” Jacaerys speaks softly, quietly, his brows twitching as he holds the bread in his hand. Glancing at the Queen, Rhaenyra’s expression softens and the hint of a smile on her pink lips brings a hint to that of Jacaerys’s. But it makes his stomach all the more sick as he nods gently. “She has been my closest friend since I was a boy. She’s proved herself loyal to me, to you – to us since…since before there was a loyalty to be deserving of. I wish she weren’t such.” Jacaerys’s eyes screw shut and he swallows thickly. “I wish she would betray us, I wish she would stab me in the back, I hope and pray to the Gods that she were more selfish, more disloyal, dishonorable I–”

“Jacaerys.” Rhaenyra breathes out.

Jacaerys shakes his head and drops the bread crushed into crumbs along the plate. And he inhales shakily, he looks down and unsheathes the glass hair pin. That stinging in his eyes has grown worse, his vision blurring as the little glass flower gently sways off the chain. “L–Luce–” Jacaerys voice grows choked as he looks down and his vision blurs further. “H-He gave this to her. An expression of gratitude for all she did when we were still children. So many times I’ve tried to get her to wear it, Baela’s tried the same – after h–he…” Jacaerys trails off. “We stopped but…I still remember why she refused to wear it. She told me so confidently that she wanted to wear it for my coronation.” And Jacaerys inhales shakily, footsteps coming towards him.

The moment Rhaenyra’s hand touches his arm, Jacaerys sets the glass pin onto the table and embraces her with a choked sob. Rhaenyra holds him as she did not long ago in mourning her son and his brother. Jacaerys clings to her gown and shakes his head. “I could not stand it, m-mother – blood sheds in war but mine own and that of mine heart…two at once, for us…” Jacaerys sobs into her neck, his mother gently swaying him while holding him close as if he’s still just a little boy that needs his mother. Rhaenyra’s expression is one of pain as she holds him close.

For a while Jacaerys seeks comfort in his mother, then they talk about the recents events together – nothing too touchy, they are not privileged yet to truly and fully mourn – and Rhaenyra eats with Jacaerys.

It’s an hour and some later when the doors suddenly open, bursting practically. Jacaerys and Rhaenyra look at Baela, panting with wide eyes. “Baela, is all well?” Jacaerys asks with immediate worry.

Jacaerys nearly crumbles at the words to leave her lips.

“She has returned.”

It feels as if all the blood in his body is cold. It doesn’t feel as if Jacaerys is of his own mind or body – his soul and heart racing him down the corridors to follow Baela as Queen Rhaenyra leaves to notify Rhaena. Jacaerys is quick, dark curls bouncing and moving as he follows the sound of instructions tossed at sworn guards from the maester sworn to Rhaenyra. Cold winds from the open walls and windows bring an iciness to once warm skin, but Jacaerys can feel nothing. Nothing but an anticipation and overwhelming sense of fear of what he might face.

Quick hands catch Baela when the followerer to that of the maester extends his hand to stop Baela from grabbing the handle of the door. The guard shakes his head after a formal bow, his brow beaded in sweat and tan skin a bit red against the heavy armor he adorns. “Forgive me, your graces, but the maester has given strict instructions to not allow anyone within the chambers – her guard may be infected with a contagious fever.” Jacaerys’s eyes widen and he feels himself ease back into his body, he looks to Baela who silently urges him to cling onto some semblance of patience or hope.

But Jacaerys knows with fevers, death is always almost certain – and he must know of all that happened, he must see you one last time. He couldn’t say goodbye to Lucerys, he will not find his opportunity lost with you.

Jacaerys pulls back Baela with a gentle touch of her wrist and his dark eyes meet her rounded ones. “Oblige the instructions of the maester, no one shall enter.” Baela can see the resolve in his face and she inhales deeply, her brows sewing up as she nods and gently squeezes his hand holding her wrist before she steps away. Immediately, the prince turns to grab the door but the guard steps in front of it and Jacaerys looks at him with soft breaths and wide, incredulous eyes as the loud sound of servants in the chambers come through the heavy door.

“My prince, I cannot risk your–”

“I am the prince – you are sworn to my blood. Let. Me. Through.” Jacaerys’s voice is hard and thick as his eyes burn into the gaze of the guard. The guard, clearly taken aback, seems to hesitate. Jacaerys can feel him pondering whether he fears the heir or the Queen more, how would the Queen feel about her son possibly being exposed to a horrid fever? Jacaerys can’t seem to care. He doesn’t. And thankfully, he wins. The guard quickly steps aside. Jacaerys nods. “Thank you, Ser.” And Jacaerys enters the chambers untouched yet closest to the entrance of the castle.

The sound of the maester ordering the servants fills the air, the old man hunching over the bed and for the first time in two months, over eight weeks, over sixty days, one-thousand four-hundred and sixty hours, over five million seconds – Jacaerys’s eyes fall to you. His expression hard and his entire body going numb, a servant rushing to him to place a precautionary cloth around his face and Jacaerys merely allows it to happen as he watches you laid down and being tended to with a quickness.

Your face is filthy. Covered in smudge and dirt, hair the same and matted so severely that it’s being cut off. Beneath unconsciousness, being stripped of your dirtied clothes that were not the ones you left Dragonstone in, Jacaerys feels sick suddenly. Lashes cover your back, flesh risen and scabbing over with signs of infection in some green to match that of the bruises on your face and flesh. Jacaerys stumbles backwards, a hand going to his heart that feels it may just give out and he turns around.

Emptying the contents of his first true meal in two months into a glass vase, he screws his eyes shut as the scent of the dungeons burns into the room.

Soon, Jacaerys is given everything he must know while alongside his mother and cousins.

A guard of the Keep was assigned to watch you when you were discovered – you were stupid. You stupidly tried to help a woman being given a public lashing and what did you get? Recognized and imprisoned. It wasn’t enough to be imprisoned, plenty of the cunt usurper’s came to visit you but Jacaerys could hardly stomach the knowledge that Aegon saw to you the most. The guard to help you escape, unable to handle the cruelties of the usurper Aegon against a woman of honor and loyalty, recounted to Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Jacaerys all you had gone through in those two months.

Every horrid detail.

Jacaerys was nearly going to kill himself. To fly to King’s Landing and bring Aegon’s head to be the centerpiece of a grand feast. But it was during the loud chaos of attempting to keep the prince at bay that the guard offered something – something that was enough to make Jacaerys settle.

Your words. One of the long conversations you had with the guard, one conversation after a bad set of lashing that left you drooling and hunched over a bale of hay with your torn dress bloodied and dirty. The guard says he had asked you why you did not merely give Aegon what he wanted, why you did not tell them what the Queen was planning, why you did not kill yourself, why you did not agree to be the best sword beside that of the Kinslayer Aemond Targaryen. Jacaerys could hear your voice in his head rather than the guard’s when he offered your response.

“I know I will see him again…I could not look in his eye if I were to ever give these true bastards what they desire, so I will not. Because I know that someday…I will see my Jacaerys again.”

The maester had delivered the news of your condition. Needless to say it wasn’t well. Starved enough to keep you in agony yet fed enough to keep you alive, beaten more often than not, and used by more than just the usurper cunt and given moon tea so many times you are all but promised to never bare a child. But the maester said there was no fever, no flu – that the only thing anyone could do now is to wait. To wait and to not let the task be in vain, for a guard of the Keep that’d been close to the King was now in their palm.

But Jacaerys – try as he might – couldn’t care, not about being ordered to find rest and eat and every other thing he could not do and not about anything else. The next night, when all are silent and the guards are patrolling where they should, he went to your chambers. He had to see you.

Now here Jacaerys sits, at the edge of your bed and looking over you with tears falling down his cheeks and body stiff. You look ghostly. That warmth and brightness gone and replaced by a splash of hideous colors to be a reminder of what you faced. You’re more white bandages than skin. Jacaerys swallows thickly as he sniffles and shifts on the seat, shaking his head when a tear finally falls and he reaches out. Strong hands are gentle, treating your hand like the glass hair pin and cradling it between his hands. You’re cold yet sweaty.

Inhaling shakily, Jacaerys swallows thickly and he shakes his head. His eyes trace your features, your hair, and he forces a smile as hot tears roll down his cheeks. “You will go mad once you awake and see your hair.” Jacaerys whispers out softly. His thumb smoothes your knuckles and flesh of your hand. “Once, I hardly even cut an inch as a foolish little joke of a young boy trying to get the attention of a strong girl and you nearly made me bite my own heart with your punch.” He laughs softly, sniffling as he nods and looks down at your hand in his. “I must apologize as well for going through your things in your absence. I–wanted to find your hair pin, to keep it safe. It–is.” Jacaerys nods stiffly as his eyes trace hair choppy and cut, wet from the bed bath you’d been given.

“Oh and–I have already ordered a surplus of your fruit you so love.” Jacaerys nods, his eyes shooting back down to your hand. “I–whenever I fell ill you…you would bring me chocolates. You would not let me eat them though, no.” The prince swallows the lump in his throat that simply forms again as blurry vision trains on your hand. “No, you told me that the chocolates were to be my reason to get better sooner. You told me that if I could not get better, I would never taste chocolate again. Then you w-would jest and pretend to eat them when I–would refuse my medicine or the help of the maester. I think the chocolates were my remedy.” Jacaerys’s voice breaks off as his smile falters and shakes, his hands smoothing along your hand.

“Or perhaps you were my remedy.” He whispers quietly.

And Jacaerys looks at your face. The bruising along your face, the cuts, the bandaging and bandages – Jacaerys swallows thickly and he shakes his head with a hard and deep sniff.

“So, you m-must be quick. You must get better, lest the fruit rots. O-Or I will eat all of it. The crates of it. You m-must get better, you m–must awake please–please a-aw–” Jacaerys’s voice breaks off into chokes sobs, his head falling forward to press his forehead against your knuckles. The prince’s body shakes and jumps in pure agony and pain as he holds your hand. Kissing your knuckles and along the inners of your palms, up your fingertips, pleading and begging fills the air with his chokes sobs. “Wake up for me – do not leave me…d-do not–”

It’s sometime before Jacaerys finds slumber, head throbbing, eyes puffy, and throat aching as he slouches in slumber in the seat beside your bed. His hand holding yours, pinkies interlocked. Well, his with yours.

It’s his first full-night’s rest since your departure.

The prince slowly stirs sometime later, his brows twitching and his head foggy from the ache that comes with sobbing and crying for hours on end. In his head he can hear the soft sound of your voice calling him, the scent of medicinals and herbs staining his nose as he shifts his face on the surface of soft bedding. Hunched over now and asleep against the edge of his bed, his hand still feels your skin and Jacaerys fights consciousness. He fights consciousness to cling to his dreams of you being well and alive in his arms, not incapacitated and broken on a bed. Each mark is a remnant of what Jacaerys did to you, how he should have stopped you, done anything to prevent you leaving.

Waking up in his chambers, Jacaerys is slightly annoyed to have been moved from you but his neck and body is relieved. Sighing heavily and rubbing at his eyes, Jacaerys shifts to the edge of his bed and runs a hand over messy curls. Pondering over what he should bring you from your own quarters to make the unfamiliar room more comfortable for you, he stands and he makes his way over to his wardrobe for fresh clothes. Just in case you wake up. But the sound of his heavy doors opening stops him and he turns.

His eyes fall to Baela’s. His cousin holding bated breaths and in her hand a rolled letter, she swallows thickly and rapid blinks barely conceal the glassiness of her eyes. Jacaerys feels his heart sink to his shoes. "Cousin..." Baela breathes softly. "I--am so sorry."

Rest doesn’t come easy ever again for the young prince. And the fruit rots. Just as you did.

Anyone else pretend that Rhaenyra or Alicent can somehow give birth to a poc baby while reading fanfics?

TAKE ME OUT.

+ . jacaerys velaryon x f!targaryen!reader

synopsis. once is an accident, twice is a mistake, three times is an addiction. and jacaerys is an addict. though you are too.

3 + . contents. no use of y/n or any variation. cunnilingus. p in v. missionary. period/canon-typical incest. creampie. infidelity. fluff. maybe angst if you squint. 3.3k words.

In his mind that first time will forever remain. Like a painting made of oils behind his eyelids, through the grooves and dips of his brain. When you had come to his aid after a particularly rough and hostile confrontation with your husband Aemond. Jacaerys knew you were as Helaena was – not of the serpent behavior of your brothers or mother. You were kind, gentle. Aiding him as if you were a cat licking the wounds of a kitten despite his two years held over you in age. Jacaerys can still remember the way you apologized for Aemond, the way you explained that he was not all bad and he was only upset by the sureness of “bastards taking the throne”. He can still recall how warm he felt when you quickly apologized for using such a word, overexplaining the way in which they were of Targaryen blood no matter what anyone said.

But what Jacaerys can remember most vividly is the first time he kissed someone. The moment his lips caught yours. His aunt who was once his childhood friend, a girl he rode the dragon with first, a girl who he’d allow to play with his sword. A relationship torn by opposing views and scrutinizing eyes. And a relationship he so selfishly mourned and grieved for feelings past that of family and friend – that he took initiative to – for once – be selfish.

Despite how vivid the night was, Jacaerys often finds difficulty truly seeing the painting beneath his eyelids and draping his brain. But the sounds are there. The sound of your soft moans and skin hitting skin, the sound of his name leaving your lips around air of pleasure and need. Then the touches. How your hands felt in his choppy hair, how soft your hand was in guiding his cock to your cunt warm and fitted perfectly to him. The ghost of your lips. Jacaerys can remember such details so vividly he could retell the tale in High Valyrian.

He also remembers the oath you both made. When the panic from him and tears of guilt from you subsided and you both agreed to never speak of what happened – to forget it.

For a while you both did good. Six months and nothing occurred. Until Rhaena and Lucerys’s wedding celebrations and Jacaerys found his hands woven in your hair and his cock sheathed in your throat.

Then again. An oath, a promise that nothing would happen again.

Jacaerys should’ve been strong when you came to him in search of comfort from the rain three months after that second incident; you’ve always been so terrified of the rain because with rain comes thunder. He should have been strong-willed and turned you away or at the very least offered to comfort you where anyone could see you two, where guards were around. But Jacaerys was weak again. He was weak and desperate, the effort of guiding you to the library not enough to stop what pulled the two of you like flames to dry grass.

You wound up bent over a table, dress bunched around your hips and cheek pressed into the oak.

No more oaths were made, no more promises.

You both couldn’t cheat, sin, and lie. Even if the two were sin all the same. Jacaerys indulged, by Gods was he selfish – greedy and desperate. In your embrace he did not care of damnation, he found more than enough Heaven for an eternity buried in you with those pretty eyes gazing up at him and soft hands clutching him like you might die if you let go. Jacaerys indulged like Aegon did with his wine. You were something more intoxicating and inescapable than the most alluring of sins and vices. Truth be told, Jacaerys was willing and ready to die for his sins, to pay and to spend the rest of his eternity in an inferno of suffering.

Jacaerys cannot – he could not – ever repent. For that he would need to be sorry.

Unfortunately, your remorse was there. Your guilt. From constant visits to the sept, to trembling around Aegon, to being unable to look at Jacaerys for days after any interaction of the lurid kind – Jacaerys knew you were feeling a need to repent for the sins you were committing. And eventually, unfortunately, you soon put a stop to it all. In the afterglow of orgasm with his seed spilling between your thighs and his arms around your waist.

To say he was crushed would be an understatement. Jacaerys was devastated to know you wished to end things. Moments of not just sex but love – an intimacy unfathomable to any unfortunate enough to not feel such an embrace. But Jacaerys respected your wishes, he respected the fact that you did not wish to continue in adultery, infidelity, sin and depravity with your nephew while having two children and a husband. No matter what a cunt that husband was, Jacaerys accepted it. He knew he could accept anything for you, even if it meant mourning you despite your life still vibrant and forever present in the Keep.

A year. He’s shown restraint, his relationship with you has moments of fleeting looks and lingering touches but you are both as you were. Aunt and nephew, caring and adoring one another despite what many obstacles may offer to such a relationship. Twelve months. Jacaerys has been looking for a betrothed, a bride to take before his coronation to take the Iron Throne. It isn’t a necessity, no, it never is for a man yet he still searches. He ignores the manner in which every option to even brush his interest resembles you in one way or another. Three-hundred and sixty-five days. You’ve grown close, you spent time together plenty and he spends just the same means of time with your beautiful children. A year and Jacaerys has been so obedient, a gentleman as he was raised and a man of honor and strong-will just the same.

Nothing’s set him off. Not the beauty of you in your gowns. Not your breastfeeding. Not the manner in which you touched him. Not the close calls of close proximity – not even a drunken stolen kiss from him. Jacaerys has shown resilience and strength, he’s shown himself to be a man of honor and strong-will in the face of something only the Gods would be cruel enough to dangle before him.

So why now? Why now is his heart racing, his heart thumping, his skin burning – why now does he feel the same as the night he first kissed you?

“Nephew?” Your voice is clear in the air, slicing through his clouded thoughts and mind.

Jacaerys brings himself to the present, over a year later from the moment everything changed and he blinks with a hard shift of his adam’s apple.

A small smile twitches up at the corner of your lips, you hold your pointer finger between the pages of the book in the beautiful library. Adorned in sleepwear, hair let loose and skin free of expensive jewelry and intricate fabrics, you’re a glowing painting in the candlelight. “I’m surprised to see you here.” You hum, voice quiet beneath the silence of the Keep where all sleep.

Where most sleep.

Jacaerys, having sought escape from a restless bed, nods as he steps closer towards you. “I–hope I’m not disturbing you, aunt. I couldn’t sleep. I never can when it’s too cold.” He honestly speaks with tentative and cautious steps. When you smile softly, a slightly pulled-back smile, you wave a hand over. Jacaerys melts internally and his steps become far more comfortable as he walks over to take the seat beside you on the beautiful chaise of smooth crimson velvet and golden accenting along the mahogany details. “What keeps you up?” Jacaerys asks, knowing he should simply leave as your eyes fall back down to the book you peel open.

Sighing gently, you shrug loosely and your eyes trace the words while you speak to him. “I’m unsure. I’ve been plenty restless as of late.” Then you look to him and scrunch up your nose at him. “Have you wished ill upon me for my teasing early this day? You do know it was your fault you fell.” You muse with a smile on your lips, setting aside the book and shifting closer to him.

Jacaerys’s soft laughter fills the air and he shakes his head, his eyes noticing your own taking notice of the small scrape against one of his high cheekbones. “If you had not tripped me, I wouldn’t have fallen.” The prince pointedly remarks. “I forget how serious you are of threats to take your sweets.” He grins, brown eyes gazing into your beautiful features. You roll your eyes but he can see the concern in your brows. Can you feel the warmth of his skin? The fisting of his hands in his nightcloths? Perhaps you may even see the need in his gaze?

“Well – do not toy with such matters again.” You remark, seemingly satisfied with what you see. Leaning back, your knees still touch his leg. “Does it still hurt? You should have seen the maester.” Falling into a soft murmur, your words just barely reach his ears the moment the pads of your ring finger and middle finger brush along the shallow scrape his face took against the stone wall of the corridor to the kitchen. In the wake of your touch follows fire.

Jacaerys’s heart thumps in his ears as he looks along your features, you look along his just the same. Tension settling in the air is palpable for the heir to the throne. Thick and hot like the breath of a dragon before fire should hit the flesh. It’s selfish and cruel of him to wonder if you’re feeling the same, looking at him expectantly with your fingertips just ghosting over the injury he can no longer feel. Truthfully, entirely, one could shove a spear through him right now and he wouldn’t feel it. All he can feel is you.

All there is – is you.

But he can’t have you. It would be wrong for him to indulge, to capture your mouth and find his way on top of you. Jacaerys cannot go against your wishes, against your wants. Even if you’re giving him those eyes. Half-lidded. Even if you’re breathless with parted lips. Even if you’re still gently touching his injury numb and static beneath your fingertips. Jacaerys cannot take what he wants, he cannot be selfish any longer in this situation. Especially not here, not where any one might catch you two. Not when you wished for such sinful things to never happen again. Jacaerys can’t.

“Kiss me.” You almost whine.

Now he can.

Hands calloused at the upper palms grab your face immediately, lips catching yours for a kiss so bruising he can almost feel your teeth through the flesh.

Jacaerys’s dark eyes screwing shut and darker eyebrows sewing upwards as you take his face. One hand cautious of the injury while the other grips his face like he’s your source of air. The time of tentative and slow kisses was gone long ago and even with just shy over a year apart – it still is gone when Jacaerys feels your tongue slip into the hot cavern of his mouth. A moan leaves his mouth to echo in your own, one of his hands slipping to grab at your hair at the base of your skull against the scalp.

Fisting your hair and pushing himself forward, you lie back on the chaise. Wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses fill the silent air of the library as Jacaerys’s hand not fisted in your hair begins to undo the soft satin lacing at the back of your dress. Your thighs spread and his knees press into the cushion of the chaise, dress bunching along your upper thighs to bring space for his hips between them. Jacaerys feels the fabric loosening, he feels your hands slipping down to undo the fabric of his trousers, your tongue, pants from your nostrils against his cheek, the heat of your face…

Jacaerys feels everything but guilt and remorse.

Yet still, he pulls away despite his inner need screaming and shouting at him. Your wide eyes look up at him, his fabric loose and low on his hips and your own loose and low along your shoulders and breasts. Panting raggedly, heavily, your brows twitch and hot gaze is questioning. Jacaerys nods gently as the hand not supporting his weight beside your head now comes to cradle your cheek. A thumb smooths your swollen lower lip. “Are you certain?” Jacaerys asks, his voice hoarse with lust and love.

Your gaze softens and your shoulders relax, looking up at him, your tongue flicks out and catches the skin of his thumb. Jacaerys shudders. “I’ve missed you. I could not be more sure.” And Jacaerys leans down with a shuddery exhale.

Soft pink lips ghost your jaw and soft kisses become hot and wet ones along the base of your throat. Trembling hands tugging down the fabric of your neckline and revealing breasts he’s ached and yearned for. Eager, warm hands grope and squeeze at the soft flesh and your soft moans fill the air. Pure ecstasy rolls off your tongue as he gropes at the flesh, fingers catching hardened nipples between them and rolling them. When a cheeky pinch is a bit too hard, you choke out a whine and your hips jerk upwards. Jacaerys’s mouth dances along collarbones then down towards your sternum.

But he shifts his mouth and catches one of your nipples in his hot mouth. Your body arches up into him and he basks in your responsiveness. Tweaking at your other nipple while his tongue flicks and works along the one in his mouth, your sounds keep his trousers up with the hardness of his cock tenting the fabric.

Jacaerys is a man starved and you are not his meal but the God blessing him with one.

When his head finds solace beneath your dress, the scent along of your wet cunt makes him dizzy. You’re panting raggedly already as his lips kiss at your sensitive inner thighs and fingertips ghost the flesh. The way you twitch and whine in annoyance brings a smile to his lips. But he can’t handle teasing you, doing so simply pulling him taut all the more and his mouth finds you again.

Basking in the taste that envelopes his mouth, Jacaerys holds your thighs as his tongue licks up your folds to flick against the sensitive clit throbbing and aching already. Your moans echo in the library, hands grasping the golden lining of the chaise lounge seat and the cushion beneath you. Jacaerys should care more about your volume, you should care more about your volume. But neither of you do care. Especially not the prince that feels your cunt clench around his tongue that basks in the gummy feeling of your walls while his nose moves against your clit.

“J-Jacaerys!” You cry out when he pulls away. “Wh–What–why–”

“Shh shh…” Jacaerys pants raggedly once he slips out from beneath your dress. You look up at him on the brink of tears and he shakes his head. “I want us to come together.” He whispers hoarsely, licking his mouth with a stickiness off his chin and along the bumped bridge of his big nose. Your brows sew up and you wet your lips, looking down as Jacaerys shoves down the rest of the fabric.

With his cock unsheathed, you mewl and writhe beneath him, hands ready to snap the wood and rip the cushion when he presses his thumb to his cock to slip up and down between your folds. The throbbing, weeping cockhead breeches your entrance and Jacaerys nearly comes then and there. Choking out a “Fucking Gods–” while you arch up into him with a cleaner swear of “Help me, Gods”. The feeling of your wet cunt around his hard cock makes him dizzy, slowly easing himself to his mess of dark pubes leading to a dark happy trail. Your head leans back against the armrest of the chaise.

“M-Move–” You almost immediately beg with a whine when he’s buried to your clit.

Jacaerys pants through clenched teeth, hands pressing into your thighs to keep them spread wide. “I–need a moment or I will release.” He confesses with a crooked grin on a flushed, sweaty, glistening face as dark eyes look down at you lovingly and sheepishly. You smile and laugh softly, panting raggedly with your own disheveled appearance. Jacaerys’s heart swells, his body aches feeling you clench him.

Then gently, he takes your hands and leans down. Your eyes shut and your fingers interlace with his own as his forehead presses to yours. Slowly, he begins to rock his hips for a steady and slow pace of thrusts. You moan out against his mouth, your nose pressing against his own. Steadily, he begins to quicken his pace, hands holding your own tightly. And in a blur you’re both messes of moans and wetness, the most obscene of sounds filling the library and perhaps even heard down the corridor but neither of you seem to care.

Clinging to you, embracing you as you lie back, Jacaerys grunts with each hard thrust that smacks his tense balls against your ass. You moan and cry against his throat, your hands grasping the fabric of his upper clothing against his shoulder blades as your clenching and loosening and clenching cunt satisfy his hard cock just as his tip satisfies that most sensitive point of your insides. Jacaerys is unsure how he’ll ever stop this, how he’ll ever be able to simply let you go – but that isn’t his worry now as his thrusts grow sloppy and harder.

“I–I need to release–” Jacaerys grunts, he’s felt you holding off the last ten minutes. You always liked to finish together. Nodding with desperate whines, he tries to pull back but you lock your legs around him and his eyes widen. Pulling back, looking down at you with hands bunched in your dress, Jacaerys meets your face contorted in pleasure and euphoria. “What are you doing?” He makes no effort to stop or slow down as your back arches up into him.

Nodding, you reach up and hold his face. “In me. I will take the aftermath of consequences of the moon tea but ri-right now you–I need to be full of you, Jacaerys.” You choke out in a raspy manner, your thumbs smoothing his cheekbones. Jacaerys moans out, nodding as he leans down. “I love you.” You gasp against his mouth as he holds your hips and kisses along your face.

“I love y–you–fuck!”

Jacaerys’s cum fills your wet and needy cunt only seconds before you release a wet mess all over his length with a squeal of climax. Your legs fall limp on either side of him, his cheek against your temple and your hands interlaced with one another now.

Panting raggedly, spent bodies against one another, Jacaerys waits a few moments as his length softens in you to pull out. You gasp shakily and squeeze his hands, he pulls away his hands to fix your dress. The hem down to cover you and the neckline up, then the laces as you weakly sit up. He plants kisses where he can. Your temple, your cheek, your shoulder, your breast. When you’re covered, he sheathes himself and looks down at you – using his sleeve to wipe the sweat from your dazed and ditzy expression lolled to the side.

“Are you well?” He asks softly.

You look up at him and you pant softly, gently brushing away his curls with a soft smile. For the first time, Jacaerys does not see guilt or remorse in your gaze. All he can see is love and care.

And damnation is worth every fraction of it.

“Wonderful.” You reply, leaning into his touch.

Jacaerys smiles and he leans down, kissing your cheek.

“I love you.”

And you kiss his jaw.

“I love you.”

Oath of Devotion

Kingsguard Gwayne Hightower x Queen Reader

Tags: angst, mention of SA, romantic tension, pining, forbidden relationship, hint of religious guilt, oral sex (female receiving), p. in v. sex, hopeful ending, third person narrative

Wordcount: 9,440 (I blame Freddie Fox for this madness)

As King Aegon is slowly dying from his injuries, his pregnant wife finds solace in Ser Gwayne's company. One night as the birth approaches, she confesses a terrible secret to the knight…

Author's Note: thank you so much to the lovely Lana who made a beautiful moodboard for this oneshot, here ♡

The Seven Kingdoms never had a Lannister Queen before the golden-haired lady had been sent to King's Landing to marry young Prince Aegon. The match had been decided quite hurriedly, as it had always been thought the eldest son of Viserys would marry his sister, but when the time came, a simple suggestion of alliance with the Westerlands by the Hand had been enough to sway the king's mind.

Strong allies were crucial for the stability of the realm, perhaps even more so than the purity of the bloodline, Otto Hightower argued, and Viserys agreed. Marriages could happen further down the line of succession to bring back dragon blood.

The dragon bloodline was safe, Viserys judged, but the realm was still weak and divided from his decision to name Rhaenyra as his heir. The Lannisters made their contempt and disagreement known many times, although never crossing the line of insolence or treason, and a match between their house and the royal house would no doubt appease them and secure their loyalty once and for all.

Therefore, on a sweltering summer day that would remain in people's minds for years to come, a carriage and a large party of armored soldiers crossed the gates of the Red Keep, bringing with them hope for peace, prosperity, as the young lady's dowry came in the shape of economic and trade treaties with the capital.

Gwayne had served his sister the dowager queen and her son after her, and when tragedy struck and a war for the succession erupted, it was ordered that he would now be sworn to the queen.

She was a bright and sweet girl, her mother-in-law often said, strong and resilient but kind and obedient, despite the occasional arrogance. The prospect of war had soothed her edges and calmed her fires, and she took the responsibilities that befell her more seriously than the young king did. She made a good queen, one that protected her people, and as the war tore the realm apart, she brought them comfort and strength.

Day after day and night after night, Gwayne shadowed the young queen as any threats against her were taken with the utmost seriousness and concern. On the other side of the Keep, brought back from the battlefield injured and without a dragon, King Aegon spent both his waking hours and resting ones in pain, a sweat taking over his body as the burns suffered at the hands of Rhaenys and her dragon spread across his skin in rashes that would never heal.

His younger brother Aemond was now regent, and as he took over with the guidance of Otto Hightower, Ser Gwayne was left to guard the queen away from matters of the realm. Even though he admitted to having felt cast away at first, hurt in his honor to be protecting a woman instead of defending his king on the battlefield, he soon came to understand that his mission was of the utmost importance.

As the queen's belly started to swell, Gwayne accepted that it was not simply a woman that he was protecting, but the future of the realm, as a male heir would secure Aegon's position further and lift the troops' morale as they fought across the lands.

It was a noble charge, a delicate one, and in Gwayne's mind, a holy one. He would keep the queen safe, insuring she would carry her child in as much safety, peace, and quiet as he could offer her, and in the end the realm might be rewarded with a new king to lead it, one with a golden crown of hair, with the soul of both a lion and a dragon.

As the queen's belly grew and the quickening was felt, the child keeping her awake at night and uncomfortable during the day, her mood soured. It was not a happy pregnancy, nor was it an easy one, and Gwayne felt for the young woman. He could see the shadows growing under her eyes, their shine becoming more dull—he didn't voice his concerns, as it was not his place.

He knew the bearing of a child could weigh heavily on a woman's mind and health. Such was a woman's curse, and a man could only pray that the gods would lift her burden.

Gwayne spent his nights in prayers, his eyes trained on the queen's door but his mind deep in pleas to the gods, reciting the texts he had learned. He prayed for an ease to come to the young woman, for relief of her pains, whether they were physical or of the mind, and for the strength to bear what was still to come. He feared she would not survive if she did not regain some sort of strength, spiritual if not any other.

Which is why his heartbeat quickened one night as the queen's first lady-in-waiting came out of the royal chambers with an unusual request.

The rooms were still lit with many candles despite the late hour, and the hearth was blazing hot and bright. She could not bear to sleep, not even to lie down, and even after two baths over the course of the evening, both with scalding water despite the Maester's recommendations, she still could not settle.

She was not one to beg nor reduce herself to ask service from her guards, and she kept to the schedule that was decided for her, but on this night, the burden was too much for her to bear silently.

"The queen wishes to visit the Sept," she heard her lady instruct the knight, but his answer wasn't the one she expected. Instead of agreeing as he usually did to everything she asked of him and leaving to attend to what he had been given, he stepped into the room and after a customary nod, spoke in a measured tone.

"The hour is too late, my queen," Gwayne tried politely, worried etched over his noble features. "Traveling through the city to the Sept is not safe."

Gwayne carried himself with pride and nobility, a quality that she had admired from the beginning, even more so when the knight had been assigned to shadow her day and night. He made the perfect sworn protector, with a non-threatening demeanor that allowed the young queen to feel at ease in his presence, as well as a galant and reverent disposition that brought warmth in her chest.

He was deferent and respectful to a fault, which is why it made her take a step back as he entered the room without being prompted or invited, and for a moment she feared he was acting on the king's orders, as the young man was his beloved nephew.

"The hour doesn't matter," she insisted, hoping her orders would be the only ones he was following. "Wake as many guards or servants as it will require."

Gwayne shifted where he stood, curling his shoulders inward and narrowing his stance, and for a second she thought he looked much younger than she knew him to be, before fright took over any affection she had for the man. "Surely whatever ails you can wait until the morning, your Grace," the man tried to placate, but a sudden burst of anger rose in her chest until she thought she might suffocate with it. 

"No it cannot!" she roared, so sharply that her delicate voice broke in her throat and her maidservant flinched. Never had she seen her mistress speak as such, and it was with a trembling hand that she brought a warm cloth to the queen's cheek, delicately wiping her tears away.

"It cannot wait," she wailed, then covered her mouth in panic when her chest heaved and her stomach rose.

Her maid was quick to respond as the young queen turned and fell to her knees, surely grateful for the bucket the servant provided. She wept as she coughed and heaved, holding her stomach with one hand and gripping her maid's arm with the other.

"My queen, is it the babe? Shall I call for the Maester?" Gwayne asked worriedly, ready to bolt out of the room in search for help. 

"Call for the Septon, I beg of you," she whined as the maid stroked her hair and back soothingly.

Gwayne swallowed his worried protests and nodded again, retreating from the room quietly as the queen cried and begged in whispers, a despair so sharp that it brought tears to his eyes.

From this night on, Gwayne watched his sworn charge with rapt attention, following the young queen dutifully as she visited the Sept each day, morning and evening, and prayed on her knees with a fervency rarely seen outside of the order of the Sisters. His worries he kept for himself, although they must have shown on his face, and his prayers were silent on his lips as well.

As he watched over the young woman, he prayed without words, asking the gods for wisdom and guidance so that he could protect his queen to the extent that she needed.

She was in danger, at war with a despair so profound it could only come from inside, but no matter how many hours Gwayne spent on the issue, he could not figure out what threatened the queen so much. Her marriage with King Aegon had been young and loveless as the war started, and now that the pregnancy made her position more secure, she was neither saddened by her husband's condition nor joyful at the prospect of an heir.

Something terrible was afoot, Gwayne could sense, but his imagination failed him and he could not decipher it.

Whenever the hour or the weather did not permit traveling across the city to the Sept, she instead spent time under the Weirwood, which she found comforting. Back home in Casterly Rock, the cave where the ancient tree dwelled was a place of peace and harmony for her.

One evening, as her maid and her sword protector waited on the edge of the courtyard, she wondered with sadness if she would ever see it again. She remembered the way her whispered prayers would echo in the deep chamber, as though the rock was murmuring them back to her, repeating them as a parish would repeat a Septon's sermon.

"Ser Gwayne," she suddenly called, smiling as she heard the clinging sound of his armor.

"Yes, my queen," the man answered, and his melodic voice brought a warmth to her chest.

The man was often silent, but never cold, and she enjoyed his presence more than she had initially thought. He was pious and gentle, and he had the utmost trust of the dowager queen—a trust she found herself giving him as well, as each act of loyalty brought her comfort.

Kneeling under the large tree, a book of prayer on her lap even though her thoughts had strayed, she looked up at the man and found his piercing green gaze trained on her eagerly. There sometimes was an earnestness on his features, one that endeared him to her.

"There is a Weirwood tree where you grew up, isn't there, Ser Gwayne?" she asked, and he seemed taken aback by the question.

"Yes, there is, my queen."

"Did you visit often?"

"Not often enough. I wasn't so devout in my youth, I admit." 

She smiled as the ghost of a laugh passed her lips. Gwayne allowed the corner of his lips to stretch to the side, comforted by the fact that this detail of his childhood seemed to amuse the queen, and he wished he had more peaceful or cheerful memories to share with her. He had been sworn in to the Kingsguard not long after his mother's passing, and most of his childhood memories were now tainted with her loss.

"How strange for a man who was raised in the cradle of the Faith of the Seven," the queen pressed as a gust of wind blew across the courtyard.

She picked her shawl from her lap and wrapped it around her shoulders, covering her back with the bright red fabric where a golden lion was embroidered. 

"Without a doubt, your grace," he replied, and it seemed she found his answer lacking.

"Do you miss it?"

"No, I don't," he answered honestly, and as her bright green eyes lifted to him once more, he continued. "I am exactly where I'm supposed to be, your grace. My life is here, serving the royal family."

"Which is also your family. You are a loyal man, Ser Gwayne. A man of honor," she praised, and she could swear she saw him blush in the dimmed light of the evening, pink erupting under the starlight spatter of his freckles.

For a moment she feared her secret would tumble out of her lips and her chest swelled with the raw emotion of it. She took a deep breath under his attentive gaze, wondering whether he would accept her confessions and bear her burden as she was forced to.

As she took in his noble features, the breeze making his copper strands dance, shame suddenly rose in her stomach and the words died on her lips before she could even give them shape. How could she even begin to voice the terrible secret that she bore, how could she ask such a devout and honorable man to keep her confidence, one that was rooted in utter disgrace and the most unholiest of acts.

Her hesitation must have shown, as the knight took a step forward and offered his arm to help her rise from the cold ground, but as he spoke she was reassured that he had not the faintest idea of the shame and self-loathing she carried.

"The hour is growing late and the air has quite a chill. Perhaps my queen would like to go back," Gwayne offered as he saw her shiver again, and she took his arm with a whispered thank you.

She rose in silence, wrapping her shawl around herself tighter as they walked back to the castle, still tormented by the moment she had just lived. She had been tempted to take the plunge into complete honesty and bare her shame to her sworn shield. 

She desperately wanted to be seen, just as she viciously wished to protect her secret and her shame. The duality of such a burden weighed heavily on her, and she was afraid she would die, crushed under this unsurmountable trial. 

"Shall I call for a bath to be drawn?" Gwayne asked from where he walked, always a step behind her on her right side.

"This is above your function, ser," the queen remarked casually, almost glad for the distraction. Still, her tone was almost breathless and the knight stopped for a second and dipped his head in silent apology.

"My apologies, I have overstepped," he replied in a demure voice and this time it was the queen's turn to stop. Standing under the archway leading back into the Keep, she turned to face her sword protector, an open expression of gratefulness overshadowed by her sadness.

"You have not, Ser Gwayne. I merely meant that it is unusual for a knight to concern himself with such mundane tasks."

"I concern myself with your comfort, not only your safety," Gwayne explained, keeping his eyes low in what could be interpreted as reverence, but in truth he was unsure if he could bear to look her in the eye at that moment. "You are carrying the future of the realm, after all."

"Of course," she replied, but this time her tone was clipped and cold, and by the time Gwayne raised his eyes to her, she had stepped away again. One of the layers of her shawl was floating behind her as she rushed inside and up the stairs, as though she was eager to take her leave of him. 

Shame curled in his stomach as he realized he had crossed the young queen somehow, and for a moment he wondered whether she had been expecting something of him, something he had failed to deliver. He thought of her words, of her emotions that played so openly in her eyes; if one knew how to look past the regal air she gave herself as armor, and he found himself caught on a delicate edge.

He was unsure where the line between insolence and amicable conversation was, whether or not he was meant to speak of his own volition or wait for her prompting. There were times where he felt she waited for his words, as though they bore some profound meaning that soothed her.

"Did I overstep this time, my queen?" he quickly asked, their footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell.

This part of the castle was deserted at that hour, since most of the lords and ladies had retreated in their quarters for dinner, but Westerners dined at later hours, he had found out.

"No, you didn't," she assured, glancing at him over her shoulder. Curls had come loose from the breeze, bringing layers to her updo.

It wasn't until they were back in the antechambers of her quarters that Gwayne realized there were tears in her eyes, and as she turned toward him to dismiss him, her gaze looked like a forest in the rain, a storm drowning acres of pines.

"I have upset you," he stated with mild panic. "Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, my good ser. I have upset myself," she replied with a smile that further concerned him. She took a breath that seemed to rattle her chest or heave her stomach, and her hand drifted to her abdomen. 

Gwayne suddenly remembered the night his worries had arisen, and the question that he had kept contained for fear of being insolent suddenly pushed past his lips. "Is there something wrong with the babe?"

The young queen took a step back as though he had struck her, and heaved once more. "Now you are overstepping," she accused, tears rising in her eyes, but Gwayne knew he had found an element, if not the source, of her enduring despair.

Part of him defended that it was his duty as a sworn knight of the realm to protect the future of the crown, but he knew deep inside that his concern for the queen overtook his concern for the realm.  

"I am your sworn shield, my queen, your protector. How can I protect you if I do not know what ails you?" he pushed and her hands curled into fists, holding the brightly-colored shawl in front of her like it was giving her composure. 

For a suspended moment Gwayne thought she would strike him across the face or order for him to be disciplined, but she did neither. Instead, her face smoothed over and all emotions left her, like a steel vault closing. She took measured steps backward into her chambers and beckoned him inside with a quiet word.

"Leave us," she ordered to the girl who was currently preparing her bed, propping pillows and smoothing the covers. "I need a private word with Ser Gwayne."

The girl left without a word, barely a quick curtsy, leaving him alone with the queen. She looked strangely calm, all of her emotions swimming in her eyes behind her blank expression. She walked to the fire, observing it for a moment as though it held the words she was looking for. The orange light illuminated her features and she spoke without looking up at Gwayne.

"Would you keep a secret for me," she whispered, as though the mere question was a treason, something reprehensible. 

"I would never betray your confidence," the knight replied, his heart galloping in his chest as a wild horse. He knew they were on the edge of a confession, that there would be no coming back from it—he would likely never forget her words, and she would likely see them on his face every time she looked at him.

"Swear to me," she said, barely turning her head, and her gaze was fierce and burning.

“I swear to you, my queen, upon my sacred vows, that I would never reveal your secret," he swore, shivering under the intensity of her eyes.

"You once asked if the king hurts me, do you remember what I replied?" she asked bluntly, turning to him and crossing her wrists at the top of her round belly.

"The king doesn't touch me," Gwayne recited coldly. 

The queen took a deep, steadying breath, facing her burden and the gaze of her sworn shield with a courage that inspired him.

"The full truth is, the king doesn't need to touch me in order to hurt me,” she said regretfully. "He makes me... perform acts, for his viewing pleasure," she whispered with the look of a frightened deer, gauging his reaction.

He held onto his composure, relief loosening his shoulders slightly. He could easily imagine how a noble woman could feel debased by this, but what she had just confessed didn't touch the more horrible images his mind had conveyed over the last few weeks when he had wondered about her sorrows.

"There is nothing shameful about an act that was performed under duress. The shame is his," Gwayne replied fervently—he knew well enough of his nephew’s proclivities, and regretted that his temper was so ill-matched with that of his queen.

"You do not understand, Ser Gwayne. It is worse than what you are imagining,” she whispered tearily, rushing to him in desperate steps and for a mad second he thought she would reach out, place her hands on his arms.

He lifted his hands from the pommel of his sword, and her gaze quickly flitted to them as though she was considering his touch, but refrained. They remained in heavy silence for a moment, her eyes peering into his with such an intensity, he despaired words could not be shared in this way. Her lower lip trembled and she looked at him with visible heartbreak, as though she was about to bid him a definitive farewell.

"The baby isn't his,” she whispered, quiet and pleading, as though uttering those words would have the gods strike her down before she could finish her breath. "When he came back from battle, before the sweat took over his body, he already could not perform anymore," she explained, a great flush of shame upon her graceful features.

"Then, who..." Gwayne swallowed, unsure how to reconcile this terrible truth with her earlier admission. "Is it Prince Aemond?"

"Gods, I wish it was," she replied with a mirthless smile, twin tears making their way down her cheeks. "But the prince is too honorable and would have slain his brother at the mere suggestion. He would never betray Princess Helaena."

Gwayne shifted his weight, considering his next words carefully in the face of her frailty, but she spoke again before he could find them.

"Aegon had Ser Arryk scout the streets of King's Landing, rounding up the illegitimate children of Prince Daemon or King Viserys. As you surely know there are many working the docks or the brothels," she explained. "He had them brought back to the Keep for a specific purpose, and brought to his chambers one by one."

"I understand," Gwayne assured, but it seemed that now that her terrible secret was out, all the words she had kept to herself and the gods were pouring out of her sweet lips.

"Every night until my moons stopped coming," she recounted, her gaze staring into a void he could not see, her frame trembling as though the pain was cursing through her body once more. "I thought that now that I was with child, he would stop, and for a while he did. However the Maester confirmed that the child is alive and strong, and that there is no reason for me not to perform my wifely duties."

"The night you begged me to bring you to the Sept in the middle of the night..." Gwayne closed his eyes in shame, dropping his chin. Bitterness coated the roof of his mouth as he recalled the two scalding tubs of water she had had delivered to her rooms, her urgency, the way she wailed in despair when he refused to escort her to the Sept.

"I pray to the gods every night... I do not know what to pray for. I pray that it is not a son and that the future of the realm is not compromised, that a second war is not about to erupt," she sobbed, her hands coming to shield her face from his gaze. "And I pray that it is not a girl, because he will not stop until I have given him a son."

Gwayne's face contorted with her agony, and he wished he could lift the burden from her shoulders, and give it to its perpetrator. He loved his nephew—he had loved him as a prince and had often indulged his proclivities, and he loved him as king, but such depravity was beyond what he was prepared to forgive.

"Now my shame is plain for you to see, good ser," she said, looking somehow more rested than she had in weeks, her shoulders dropping in relief. 

"The shame is not yours. It is his, and mine. His for betraying your honor, and decency itself, and mine for not having seen it," Gwayne replied fervently. 

He took a careful step forward, too close to what was deemed appropriate, and yet she allowed him with wide eyes and parted lips, caught in the pull of his devotion. She took a deep inhale when he picked her hand up, slowly brought it to his lips, and pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles. "I will not fail you again," he vowed, and she sighed, her small fingers curving into his hold.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling the closeness of her skin like the sun at the highest point of summer, scorching his cheeks, and he could not help himself. He pressed a second kiss to the back of her hand, feeling himself falter—his head spun as he pictured himself kissing along the delicate bones of her wrist, up her arm until he reached the soft skin at the crook of her neck.

He let go of her hand suddenly, taking a sharp step back, and at that she looked bereft; but he was sworn to protect her, and he would not tempt her into sin, no matter his desires and his conviction that he could please her as she deserved.

He saw the moment her emotions burrowed under the surface again, and her features closed over them, her face smooth as marble once more. "Would you call my maid back in?" she said, her voice firm and flat, and somehow Gwayne felt more wretched from that simple question than his own shame.

The next few weeks passed in much a similar fashion than they had before her confession, except that this time Gwayne was much more attentive to her outward signs of distress. He had hoped that the queen's confession would relieve her of much of her burden, as shame was the most wretched companion, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect, and any warmth she had once shared with him was gone.

His mind seemed to clear from the fog of yearning he had found himself caught in before her revelation, and he clung to the mission he had assigned himself as a lifeline. He stood proud and unyielding as a servant came to fetch the queen night after night, refusing for her to be summoned, even when the young man was replaced by Ser Arryk. 

His devotion to the queen came in the form of his steadfastness, fueled by the ache in his chest now that he knew of her burden. It came in the form of his silent presence at the door when the time of labors came, and midwives rushed in and out of the rooms to fetch linens and water. 

The girl that was born to her was pale as the moon, and yet made her mother smile as bright as the sun. Gwayne looked down at the babe with delight and fondness as he was introduced to her, his second charge, and he instantly took it on with pride.

"She looks like you, your grace," he said quietly, and the slow nod the queen gave him in return was charged. They both knew this time was only a reprieve and that her nightmare would soon start again.

"How marvelous it is, that such a pure and perfect being shall be born of such darkness," she murmured, only for him to hear, pressing her bundle closer to him. 

Gwayne dipped his head until the line of propriety was crossed and he could smell the milk on both his charges. "As long as I am sworn to you, I vow that her purity will not be touched by this corrupted world."

The smile she bestowed on him at those words was as soft as a kiss, and he felt it on his face as though she had pressed it into his skin. 

With the beauty of that new life shining a light on the queen, came the shadow of what would follow. As she took to her chambers to rest and bond with her baby daughter, and he guarded the door more often than he effectively guarded her. Gwayne felt a tension mount in him, scalding and bitter. It colored his tongue in a way he usually controlled, but this time he could hardly contain himself. 

Words came bolting out like a wild horse one morning and he lost his grip on them and on his impulses, until he found himself waiting in the antechambers of the queen, his sheath in hand but his armor nowhere to be found. He felt unworthy of wearing it, his head down like a scolded child after the heated words the hand had spoken to him.

The heavy doors opened and he was summoned, stepping inside with his gaze tilted downward in the foolish hope of concealing his bruised cheekbone and split lip.

The rooms were bathed in the soft morning light and in the smoke from the night's candles. In the middle of those ribbons of white, the young woman sat. Upon seeing her, all shame vanished from Gwayne's chest and instead came a great conquering feeling, and he knew he would not be able to summon an honest apology for his actions.

"It was reported to me that you disrespected your lord commander," the queen said slowly, and Gwayne could only nod. There would be no use denying the truth of his deeds and his words, and he found he had no wish to conceal them from her.

"I confronted him. I asked him how he could allow the king to treat you in this way and never intervene," Gwayne said solemnly, a hint of defiance in his voice, and to his delight the queen huffed a sad laugh.

"You needn't defend my honor, ser," she said, lowering her eyes.

"Yes I do," he replied, widening his stance and looking up at her with the impertinence she knew he sometimes had. 

It was the righteous insolence of nobility, of not being a simple knight of the kingsguard, come from squiring for a noble lord, but the son of the Hand to three kings. She found beauty in the way he dared step over the line, and in the impudent way he was looking at her in that instant, showing pride in what he had done.

"You have hardly been able to look at me these last few days," she murmured, licking her lips.

"You misunderstood, I am ashamed, yes, but of myself!" he cried out, taking a step towards her once more, and heat bloomed in her stomach as she remembered the last time he had allowed himself to get close to her. "I was sworn to protect you and I failed to do so."

"Ser Gwayne, you forget yourself!" she admonished, but in truth she wished to reprimand herself for the way her thoughts strayed. 

Her hands came to rest on her belly and she closed her eyes, looking for composure. "I did not mean to offend you, or bring you shame," he said, quieter, his temper settling. He knew aches and pains came to her more often now that her term was near, and for all his pride at having struck his commander, he did not wish to distress her.

"You did not. My disdain for Cole is known, if anything I am grateful you spoke your truth to him," she conceded, then licked her lips over a smile that threatened to appear on her face. "I heard you bruised his face."

"I did," he replied, lifting his chin and unfurling his shoulders.

"A shame that he bruised yours," she said, rising from where she was sitting. She fumbled for a moment, troubled, but found steadiness as she dipped a handkerchief into the small basin of fresh water her maid had left on a table. 

Without another thought, she came to him in quick steps and reached up, pressing the wet cotton to the split side of his lip. "Your father and nephew won't have you dismissed. We need good soldiers at this delicate time," she soothed although it was unnecessary.

She watched as Gwayne's lashes fluttered, casting shadows on his freckled face, and her chest swelled in yearning. He looked so young in that instant, without the bulky armor that kept his lean frame hidden, and she flushed as she realized she had never seen him so uncovered. Her treacherous gaze flitted downward, along the planes of his chest and stomach under the simple cotton shirt he wore, to the cream-colored trousers where a tantalizing line of buttons rested over a slight bulge.

She averted her eyes but the silent sin had been committed, and when she met Gwayne's face again, he was watching her raptly. He reached up to hold her hand against his face, leaning into her until his nose and lips were nestled in the crook of it.

"Gwayne," she murmured, forgoing his title and all propriety along with it. 

His piercing eyes remained on her as his lips followed the line of her veins from her palm to the inside of her wrist and arm, uncovered from her large sleeve pooling at her elbow. They both sighed as she gently threaded her fingers through his copper mane, and a lick of heat went through her as his parted lips revealed his tongue.

She retracted her hand as though his fiery hair had burned her, tears coming to her eyes. “I was soiled, ser. Do not debase yourself," she murmured regretfully as his hand caught her elbow, keeping her close.

"You were not. You are made holier and purer to me because of the suffering you have been put through," he pressed, fervent as ever, and she desperately wanted to believe him, to cling to the reverent way with which he looked at her and hold on to whatever scraps of honor she still had.

"Please," she said, taking a few steps back and he let her go, her arm slipping out of his grasp until her fingers were falling from his, their fingertips grazing. 

The cut on his lip was stinging more fiercely now, and he nodded a few times as he pressed his tongue against it subtly—he bent down and picked up the kerchief she had dropped, white tainted with a few spots of his blood, and slipped it into his pocket.

He watched feebly as she closed her eyes against hot tears, taking deep, steadying breaths until he saw her surrender spread across her face. 

"The maester has informed me that my afterbirth confinement is to end, and that I may return to the King's bed," she said before she opened her eyes again, and Gwayne swallowed heavily under the implication.

“It may be over soon, my nephew won’t live to be an old king", the words fell from his lips before he could think them through.

“Hush, you must never be caught uttering those words!" she cried out, rushing to him again and pressing her hand to his mouth. "Mind your tongue, even here with me.”

Fear coursed through him and it must have shown on his face—for a second he wondered if he had willfully ignored affection she bore to the king despite his transgressions. However she shook her head, the pressure of her hand lessening until her fingertips were barely grazing his lips.

“I simply meant…" she softened. "You are safe with me and I shall keep your confidence, but I could not stand you being disgraced, or worse, if you were heard.”

The pads of her fingers lingered on his lips, and he could not help but lean into them, seeking her warmth. She gasped as the tip of his tongue came to taste the salt of her skin but did not retract her hand.

They were both breathing heavily, caught in that suspended moment, and he wondered if she would suddenly push him away as she had in the past.

"I will endeavor to remain by your side, always, my queen," he said reverently, dipping his face until his mouth was hovering over hers; such sweet lips deserved to be kissed, to be worshiped. Her fingers dropped from his face but his mouth grazed her cheek as she turned.

"Ser Gwayne, you forget your vows," she whispered.

"What are the meaning of those vows if I cannot protect you and serve you as you deserve? I am sworn to you," he pressed, his breath hot on her face, his eyes full of adoration. "I am yours. In every way you might require."

He tilted his head, seeking her mouth again, and this time she allowed him. Her fingers curled in his shirt as his mouth pressed to her gently, firm but chaste, his lips molding perfectly against hers. He waited with batted breath as she pressed back, letting her guide him, sighing quietly as she pulled back only to push herself up on her toes and kiss him again.

Ever mindful of how delicate she was, he wrapped an arm around her waist softly, enjoying the delighted sigh that came from her parted lips, and the way she melted against him as his tongue prodded hers. Her hand was back in his hair, carding through the thin strands and making the back of his neck prickle, while she tasted his passion and explored his lips with hers.

He was gentle and slow, yielding to her instead of taking, but she could feel the tremble of his body as he restrained his desires.

The healing touch of her sworn protector turned firmer as her hands pressed into the muscle of his chest, and she felt him quiver as she followed the plane of his flat stomach until she reached his waist. His belt was somewhere else with the rest of his armor and she delighted in the softness of his clothes, the ease with which she could reach his skin. 

He pressed his moan into her mouth, his tongue curling against hers as her fingers fell to the buttons of his breeches. He buried his face in her neck as she boldly curled her hand over him; he encouraged her, his own hand coming to rest at her bottom.

She rubbed him through the linen, feeling the weight of his stones and the length of his shaft; she relished in how it hardened in her palm. For once she had a choice, and in her arms was leaning a man that desired her, adored her beyond the shadow of a doubt. In his arms, she felt free, cherished—she soared as he moaned aloud when the heel of her hand pressed harder against his tip.

He widened his stance and heat washed over her as he did so.

"Your grace," he murmured in her neck, his voice edging on a whine, pleading and reverent.

"Not here," she whispered in his ear, breathing in the scent of his hair, sweat and soap. "I'm not your queen here. Please."

"You're always my queen..." he replied, his mouth pressing hot, wet kisses along the column of her throat, down into the collar of the gown she was wearing. "My lady of light."

His eyes were clear and piercing as he looked up, his fingers following the path of the tight laces until they found the knot at the base of her neck and pulled. She held his head to her chest, then to her abdomen as he removed the laces expertly, taking her dress and shift down as he went. She shivered as his hair grazed her breasts, his mouth following an invisible line from her collarbones to her navel.

Finally, as his knees hit the floorboards and two rings of fabric laid at her feet, did he look up again. His eyes were dark, blown wide, his cheeks flushed a dark pink and his lips parted on a sigh that could have been her name.

"Gwayne," she called, and he went swiftly, rising gracefully and picking her up, her legs around his waist. Her silk slippers fell to the floor as he brought her to the bed, his breath in her mouth and her core flush with his abdomen.

He laid her down on the edge of the bed with a care that brought tears to her eyes and kneeled in front of her once more. He picked up her feet one by one, and after removing her stockings, kissed one of her ankles, his lashes fluttering.

"Look at me," he said, his gentle tone bordering on commanding and it made her shiver. 

She was so used to having him at her call, obeying her every whim, and it felt good to lay back and allow him to take the reins. This control she was giving him didn't make her feel afraid, in fact she relished in it, and in the trust she had in him.

He kissed her ankle, then her knee, pushing her leg up until it came to rest over his shoulder, and finally, he reached the place she so desperately wanted him to kiss. 

She braced despite herself, but gasped when the press of his lips was merely a graze, the gentlest of kisses. It made her shudder, a blazing path running from her core up her spine, and she found herself rocking up against him, seeking more friction.

"Oh gods, Gwayne," she sighed as he kissed her pearl firmly, the very place she touched when the night was thick and she was alone, closing her eyes to visions of piercing green eyes and fiery hair.

She watched him as he savored her, his tongue coming to lick a careful strip up her folds, then prodded past the soft flesh to find her most sensitive spots. Soon she couldn't hold herself upright and fell to the sheets, her hands tangling in his luscious hair as her legs curled over his shoulders.

The cut on his lip stung but he ignored it, if anything the low burn incensed him, as though it was a mark of his devotion. She arched her back as he flattened his tongue on her core, and he felt her legs shake over his shoulders, her heels digging into his upper back.

"Gwayne," she whined, her grip tightening on his hair.

"Let go," he pleaded, desperate to feel her peak under his mouth. 

Curling his hands around her thighs, caged between her knees, he savored the ache in his jaw as she rocked back against him, gently then more pressing. He felt a tension mount in him as she grew stiffer under his grip, frantic, her body tight like the rope of a bow until it snapped.

She cried out as Gwayne's tongue pulled shudder after shudder of pure ecstasy from her pearl, irradiating her entire body. Heat spread in her core, her most intimate place pulsing with molten waves, curling her toes and arching her back. 

As she regained her breath, Gwayne was kissing the inside of her thigh, one of his hands stroking her soothingly while his other was busy between his legs, no doubt working the buttons of his breeches.

"Allow me," she panted, and he obeyed without hesitation; he climbed after her on the bed, his hips on either side of her and she reached up. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the tight buttons for a moment, and by the sight of her knight holding himself over her, his head hanging between his shaking shoulders.

He climbed off the bed as soon as the buttons were undone, pulling his shirt over his head and messing his copper strands even more. She found herself mesmerized by them, wanting to card her fingers through them again as he took his pleasure this time. She traced the curves and planes of his upper body with her eyes—from his defined shoulders to the swell of his pectoral and the carved lines of his abdomen.

Time slowed as they both looked at one another, her gaze caught by the open lapels of his breeches, showing the tented line of his small clothes, while his own gaze was running appreciatively over her curves. Pleasure had left a sheen over her skin, her breasts were peaked, and the long lines of her legs led him to the apex of her thighs where he now dreamed to bury more than his mouth.

Gwayne hesitated—serving and pleasuring her on his knees was one thing, but laying atop her, breaching her and seeking his own peak was another. "Are you certain?" he asked, and he saw hesitation spread over her face in turn, her cheeks flushing in shame.

He licked his lips. "I've broken my vows before, I am not proud of it, but..."

"I've thought of you," she confessed. "To make my nightmares endurable, to make my solitude bearable..." she trailed, then lowered herself to her elbows once more, bringing her knees up to part them. 

Without a second thought he pulled his boots off, and soon a pile of rough cloth and linen was joining it, and he stood fully bare in front of his queen.

"Wait," she said timidly as he stepped forward, ready to join her again, and he shivered as he realized she meant to look upon him a moment more.

He flattened one of his hands on his stomach, hoping to soothe the throbbing of his cock. It stood hard and leaking, pink at the tip, his stones heavy under the shaft. He bit his lip as she watched, her eyes blown wide in obvious pleasure as he succumbed to temptation and gave himself a slow pull, but instead of soothing the ache, it made his skin stretch tighter over his hardness.

"Do you ever think of me?" she asked, more brazen than she was a second ago, and her newfound confidence excited him.

He shook his head. "I faltered a few times but I never allowed myself. Not fully," he confessed.

"Would you do it now?" she asked, and he knew there was more to it than simply a woman asking to watch a man—it was a wounded girl taking back her power, taking her place as the one in charge for once, and he felt more honored than when he had taken his vows that she felt safe enough to ask it of him.

"You can refuse," she added, and her care broke his heart. He shook his head again. 

"I wouldn't refuse you that," he said, starting a slow rhythm, his skin prickling with excitement as she watched him take pleasure by his own hand. He felt his face and chest flush and he widened his stance slightly, only for the satisfaction of seeing her press her knees together at the gesture.

"Gwayne," she called again, and he knew he would never tire of her saying his name in this way, breathless and adoring.

"One time in the Sept, you caught me watching you, praying on your knees," he reminded her.

"You blushed, I had never seen you so flustered," she chuckled, then bit her lip as his hand sped up.

"I thought of it that night, and I could hardly help myself," he recounted. "I asked a brother to take his place at the watch, else I'd have sinned against you."

"It's not a sin to desire me," she said, then pushed herself further back onto the bed, and he followed her silent call. 

He crawled after her, coming to kneel on the sheets, his hand still lazily stroking his length. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he bent forward, and he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. 

She let him press her into the sheets, and they shared a moan when her knees came up to his hips, her thighs resting against his. He let go of his cock to steady himself, his arms caging her in. Soon her hands were roaming his back, his flanks, mapping the shape of his buttocks, pressing him forward until he was flush against her core.

He gasped then, rocking down against her, quivering in her grasp when one of her hands slid between their bodies and guided him to her entrance. His face tucked against hers, breathing into each other's cheek, savoring the first slow press of his cock into her.

He let her guide him, first as the tip breached past the dip that led into her body, then as the stretch made her gasp. He bit his lip as her walls molded perfectly around his length and she clenched, taking him in slowly. He audibly gasped as he bottomed out and she kissed it from his lips with a smile.

They both looked down between their bodies as they rocked cautiously together, but soon her gaze was caught on his face, alive with pleasure. His eyes were closed, his brow smoothed over in delight, his pink lips parted over sweet sighs that he could barely restrain.

Soon she couldn't keep her own eyes open, so taken with his warmth as she was—she fell against the sheets, arching her back against the delicious weight of him. The gentle way with which he was thrusting into her was easing her into it, a slow build of heat at her core.

He dipped his head into her neck, and his lovely moans in her ear only spurred her on. He pressed soft kisses into her skin, seeking the soft spot behind her jaw that made her mewl and grip his back harder.

"My love," the confession slipped from his lips and she gasped, tightening her hold on him, her legs coming to wrap around his waist.

Incensed by her reaction, he murmured it again in her ear and one of her hands slithered back into his hair, pulling him in for another wet kiss that left him breathless. They swallowed each other's names, their tongues curling in time with the rocking of their hips, and their rhythm gradually sped up.

Gwayne could feel a tension building at the base of his spine and he bit his lip, trying to keep it at bay until she was herself in the throes of it, or perhaps even on the edge. He reached down to one of her thighs, propping her leg up until it was almost curled at his shoulder, the back of her knee kept in the crook of his elbow.

The new angle made her nub catch against his abdomen, and he held steady as she ground up against him, chasing the dual sensation. Between the stretch of his cock inside of her, sending sparks up her spine, and the pressure at her pearl, setting her whole core ablaze, she could only surrender and allow the current to take her.

"Gwayne," she whined as she felt herself fall, the edge ever so close.

"I love you," he replied, his own peak approaching and loosening his tongue. 

She sobbed and he licked it from her mouth, the grinding of her hips turning frantic as she grew wetter around him. He wanted to laugh, victorious that she would accept his love and have such a deep, carnal reaction to it. Her mouth fell open on a silent cry, her back arching as she threw her head back onto the sheets, her core pulsing around his cock.

He held on, groaning through gritted teeth as his peak threatened to crash over him but he held on until the frantic rocking of her hips slowed to a stop and she grew loose and pliant. He pulled away and she clenched around the sudden loss, whining as the last waves of her pleasure still made her shudder.

She watched as he spent across her belly with a few moans and whimpers, his hair falling into his eyes as his hips stuttered into his own hand. 

She mewled as he fell forward, pressing grateful kisses into her chest as her own hands mapped his shoulders, eager to share a few more moments of bliss. She pulled him in by the back of the neck and he kissed her again, sweet and slow. 

"Allow me," he said as he pulled away again, this time climbing off the bed in search of a cloth and water to clean her skin.

She sat up, taking stock of the cooling seed on her stomach, and risking a glance to his lean back and buttocks as he turned. He was littered with freckles as stars on the night sky, and she wanted to tell him, but suddenly her words were caught in her throat.

"Are you sore?" he asked almost timidly as he returned with a wet cloth and wiped her skin clean, then folded it and gave her a gentle pat between her legs.

"No," she replied, looking up at him with something akin to adoration.

She sighed pleasantly as he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, his thumb coming to stroke the side of her face, the edge of her smile—she reached up to do the same, grazing the cut that had brought him to her in the first place.

"Do not ever let anyone touch you in this way," she murmured, and he huffed an endeared laugh.

"I swore to ward you and give my blood for you," he replied.

"Cole doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you," she pressed, her brow furrowing in earnestness.

Gwayne grew serious again, but didn't pull away until he had kissed her temple and murmured his love once more. She watched as he dressed again, their silence rather contemplative, until a knock at the door interrupted it.

He turned to her, a slight panic to his gaze and she slid from the bed quickly, picking up a robe from the back of a chair. "Hold!" she shouted. "Merely a moment!"

Yet the knock started again, more frantic this time, and she threw a look to Gwayne, gesturing from him to remain behind the screen that shielded her bed from the entrance of her chambers.

"Who is it?" she called. "I am in no condition to receive visitors."

At that the door opened and a sliver of a pale face and dark head of hair appeared—the young queen ushered the maid in quickly, and from his hiding spot behind the screen, Gwayne could only hear hushed voices. 

A heavy silence settled before the door opened again and quiet footsteps hurried out. The wood creaked loudly as it was closed, the silence broken by a wavering sigh from the queen.

Gwayne took a few tentative steps further into the room, squaring his shoulders and bracing for a terrible announcement, but when she turned to him, her face was one of utter relief.

She breathed a wet laugh, holding her hands to her chest as her eyes brimmed with tears. Gwayne felt breathless, hope and joy bursting in his chest as she spoke.

"You shall need your armor again, Ser Gwayne. The Prince Regent is calling an assembly in the Throne Room," she announced, and he couldn't have been less surprised. "It is all but a coup, my good ser."

"Long live King Aemond," he murmured as she picked up his sheathed sword and handed it to him, their fingers tangling over the engraved pommel.

Dividers by @/saradika

Beta read by the wonderful @arcielee, thank you so much ♡♡

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Gwayne Taglist: @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose @multyfangirl @purple-1995 @tumblin-theworldaway

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hotd men ; apologies.

+ . various x f!reader

synopsis. how the house of the dragon men apologize.

3 + . contents. angst. manipulation. gaslighting.

⋆.˚ DAEMON TARGARYEN.

daemon knows when he is right and when he is wrong – even if he seldom admits to the ladder. yet still, when time calls for apologies and your forgiveness, daemon will not so easily provide it. like razors through his throat or barbed wire around his tongue, apologizing is more difficult than taking sixty men head on. but daemon still yearns to comfort you, to ease you without the need for the words “i’m sorry” or “forgive me”. daemon will not show himself apologetic either, he will show nothing to indicate remorse or guilt. instead, daemon will come to you when he can’t stand the guilt in his chest and he’ll first wrap his arms around your waist. whether you melt into him or refuse, you’ll eventually cave when his hand slips up your dress and the other around your throat. daemon does not want to admit his fault, he does not need you to forgive him or pardon him because then that would mean he did do something wrong. all daemon needs, all he does to apologize is to fuck you until you forget of his wrongdoing.

⋆.˚ SER CRISTON COLE.

criston needs love, he yearns and vies for adoration and affection. should criston need to apologize, he will do so. criston will grovel and he will grasp at your dress with tears in his big brown dornish eyes and criston will beg for your forgiveness. but criston will only do such a thing once. criston believes that asking for a pardon, for forgiveness, it is a one time thing. should you deny him, reject him, criston will find any way he can to pin the fault on you entirely. to quell his guilt or to soothe his rejection, criston will grovel and he will beg and cry but should you deny him he will think he’s done all he could to right what was wronged. if you do decide to forgive criston, he litters your face in kisses and ghosts his lips along your palms and up your fingers. criston seldom actually feels a true and real guilt, what drives his apologies, his need for forgiveness is his need for love and validation. for affection.

⋆.˚ AEGON II TARGARYEN.

aegon does not – or rather cannot – apologize in words. not because aegon doesn’t want to, because he doesn’t know how. raised beneath a cold mother and father that hardly deserves the title, aegon doesn’t know how to apologize. all aegon knows is that he cares what you think, he cares about whether or not he is to lose something in his lack of apology. so, aegon uses whatever he can. whether it be his tears in big doe eyes of lilac or anger and threats with the power he wields, aegon will do anything and everything to bring you to him to let bygones be bygones. anything and everything except utter an actual apology. though, that isn’t aegon’s first resort. manipulation and gaslighting isn’t aegon’s first choice, his first is to gift you something. something aegon thinks you may like or something expensive and flamboyant to try and weakly compensate for his sin. if it doesn’t work, aegon will use manipulation like a blade.

⋆.˚ AEMOND TARGARYEN.

aemond’s way of apologizing is entirely dependent on whether he himself believes to be in the wrong. if he believes he’s in the wrong, aemond will apologize to you simply. aemond will simply ask for your forgiveness and if you don’t accept it, he’ll ask for a way to show his apology to you and fulfill it to the best of his capabilities. aemond will usually kiss the corner of your lips or top of your head after taking accountability in his apology. however, if aemond does not believe himself to be in the wrong you will never get a single semblance of an apology. any confrontation and aemond will deflect, he will impose blame on you or call you dramatic or hysteric. if aemond does not think an apology is necessary, than an apology you shall never get. whether you’re angry, sad to tears, or giving him the silent treatment, aemond will never concede. even if it means aemond will live in the chill of your cold shoulder forever. if aemond thinks he did no wrong, then he did not.

⋆.˚ JACAERYS VELARYON.

jacaerys doesn’t think apologies suffice in the mere words of “i’m sorry” or “forgive me”. when you two have a disagreement, an argument – something to bring about the need of apologies then jacaerys will first insist on space. insist you both take air before you come together to talk. then jacaerys will listen to you, your words and feelings before he provides his own. the entire time jacaerys will have a hand on you somewhere. cupping your cheek, holding your hand, resting a hand on your thigh, jacaerys must be touching you throughout the mature conversation. but it won’t always be like that. sometimes jacaerys will lose his patience, he’ll never raise his voice but he’ll storm out and or insist that he isn’t in the wrong but be will reassure you sharply and angrily that him not being wrong doesn’t mean you are. still, jacaerys will return to apologize, he will return cooled and he will murmur an apology forehead to forehead with his hands holding your face. once all is forgiven, jacaerys is more than content to forget the topic. or learn from it.

Blessing

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Includes: mentions of past rape, toxic relationship, denial, thoughts of murder

Summary: You visit an unconscious Aegon.

You take in a deep breath before entering Aegon's chambers.

The pit in your stomach grows heavier as your eyes land on him. He lays atop what used to be your shared bed — you've moved into one of the guest chambers unable to be around him for more than a few moments. One of his legs is propped up and bandages cover his entire body.

It isn't until you stand next to his bed that you can see all of his injuries. Whatever burns that aren't covered, horrify you and you must shut your eyes before looking back at your husband.

Your eyes wander up to Aegon's scarred face. He looks strangely peaceful for what has happened to him.

He could die, you realize. The thought doesn't seem real and you aren't sure what to make of it.

If Aegon died... he wouldn't be able to hurt you anymore. He couldn't hold you down during the middle of the night, the taste of wine on his tongue as he forced it past your lips.

But you didn't want Aegon dead! Of course not... He was your husband and King. And at times, he was nice to you.

You take a seat on the chair next to Aegon's bed.

Has anyone else visited Aegon? Not many people liked him, but surely his mother and siblings had.

You stare at Aegon. You think again of how peaceful he looks. These days when Aegon is awake, he's either tired or stressed or both. Perhaps this was a good thing. He can finally rest.

His silver hair is splayed out over his pillow and it would be so easy to just grab it and smother him.

You scoot closer to the bed and gently push a few tiny hairs away from his face, before moving it away and gripping the pillow that rests under him. Your other hand tenderly holds onto his bandage covered arm.

There's nobody else in the room. There are a few guards posted outside of Aegon's chambers, but they'd never know. Nobody would think it was you who did it. Everyone would just think he succumbed to his injuries.

You don't notice when Aegon's lips part just the tiniest bit, until he lets out a whisper of your name.

Daemon Targaryen Masterlist

One-shots:

None yet...

Headcanons:

Their Love Languages:

Jealousy Headcanons

How They Mark You Headcanons

Hotd characters x Sick!Reader

House of the Dragon characters with a s/o that hates Targaryens

Aegon Targaryen Masterlist

One-Shots:

Blessing

Headcanons:

Aemond and Aegon ii Targaryen’s reaction to You running away

Jealousy Headcanons

How They Mark You Headcanons

Hotd characters x Sick!Reader

House of the Dragon characters with a s/o that hates Targaryens

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

One-shots:

The Cannibal Prince

Me & My Husband

Put me onto your Black Motorcycle (coming soon)

Headcanons

Aemond and Aegon ii Targaryen’s reaction to You running away

Jealousy Headcanons

How They Mark You

House of the Dragon characters x Sick!Reader

House of the Dragon characters with a s/o that hates Targaryens

Hands on Me

Benjicot Blackwood x Fem!Reader x Aeron Bracken

Warnings: threesome, this is just pure smut, fingering, oral (male recieving) probably ooc because we don't see much of them

Summary: Aeron and Benji have a difficult time sharing.

a/n: this is my second time ever writing smut, so don't come at me lol. @lovebabe18 @cypherpt5fttaehyung

The hot air in the tent was shared by three naked bodies.

You lay between the two men — Benji to your left and Aeron to your right. Benjicot’s lips were on yours, muffling your moans, while Aeron’s were on your breast, sucking on the hardened nipple. One of each man’s hands were between your thighs, rubbing at and finger fucking into your wet cunt.

Their hands accidentally overlapped each other's many times as they attempted to pleasure you.

Benji released your lips. “Back off, Bracken,” he practically growled the words out. His pale face was flushed and you couldn’t tell if it was because of his usual shyness or because of the fact he was sharing a girl with his sworn enemy.

Aeron let out a small grunt as he reluctantly looked over at Benjicot, his hand now resting on your thigh.

“You back off, Blackwood.” You knew Aeron was trying to be intimidating, but his soft voice was not aiding him in doing so.

You had this peculiar arrangement with the two boys. During times of sexual need, the boys would come to you for help and you to one of them. Neither were fond of their enemy fucking the object of their desires, but you were not ready to commit yourself to anyone. And besides, you liked the drama.

You let out a small, annoyed whine. “Must you two argue right now?”

“Blackwood started it.”

Benji scoffed. “Me? You were the one getting your fat hand everywhere and hogging her.”

You roll your eyes and rest your weight on your elbows so you can get a clear look at Benjicot and Aeron.

“You two are acting like children,” you say, perhaps regretting this scheme of yours. When you had sex with Benji, it felt pleasurable, and the same could be said for when you fucked with Aeron. You had thought it would feel even better with the both of them, but you were beginning to feel impatient. You’d not finished once!

Aeron and Benji opened their mouths to form a rebuttal, but you beat them to it. “Perhaps, I should find another man to help me finish, if you two won’t.”

Instantly, Benji flipped you over so you were laying on your stomach. You let out a pleased grunt in return and rested on your hands and knees.

“I think something ought to be done about that sharp tongue of yours,” Aeron says, situating himself in front of you.

Ben grabs your thighs and spreads them to fit his body between your legs. One of his hands held onto your hip as the other grabbed his cock, rubbing it against your slit. He let out a small moan, feeling how wet you are. “Fuck.”

You lean forward and take the tip of Aeron’s cock in your mouth. The Bracken lets out a moan as he shuts his eyes, focusing on the way your tongue feels on his cock. Aeron reaches one hand out and digs his fingers into your scalp, tugging on the strands of your hair.

Suddenly, you feel Benji thrust his cock into your cunt, forcing you to fully take in Aeron. They both whisper profanities as you gag on Aeron’s dick. Benicot gives you a moment to get used to the feeling of his dick in you before moving in and out.

Your upper body is delightfully pushed towards Aeron in time with Benji’s thrusts. You try not to neglect the man in front of you by focusing on the sparks of pleasure shooting through you because of Benji, and instead focus on Aeron.

As best as you can, you hollow your mouth and swirl your tongue around Aeron’s cock, sucking him off. He lets out small moans and — when he can form them — words of praise. “Just like that,” he gasps out.

You move your head back and forth on Aeron’s dick, helping him face fuck you. You rest one of your hands on his thigh for stability as you continue to pleasure him with your mouth.

You moan when you feel Benji’s fingers rubbing circles on your clitoris, bringing you closer to ecstasy. Your sounds of pleasure eventually lead Aeron to his release first. You feel him tense before finally cumming. The salty liquid invades your mouth and you sputter. It dribbles down your chin and onto the ground underneath you. Slowly, he moves out of your mouth.

You and Benji are quick to follow Aeron in finishing. Your cry out in pleasure as you cum, Benji’s fingers and cock bringing you to completion. You can feel Ben’s balls slap against you and the sound of his heavy breathing. You grind against Benji’s cock and pelvis before he finally releases. He quickly pulls out of your hole and paints your ass and thighs in his cum.

You slump forward and lay down on your stomach, mind hazy from everything that’s just happened.

Someone’s hand wraps around your shoulder and tugs you toward their chest. Your eyes flutter open and see that it’s Aeron. Suddenly, Benji’s hand wraps around your waist and pulls you towards him, trying to force you away from Aeron.

You could already hear the argument that was about to begin.

I LOVE DAEMON <3 he's so silly

The shortest marriage tour

summary: requested; Your mother had decided that you must find a husband and so she set you out on a tour to go to the different regions of the kingdom and seek out a husband. Though nobody will approach you with your father looming not even two steps behind you. You fear there is no hope until you reach house blackwood and meet the only son of samwell blackwood.

fancast!benjicot blackwood x reader

w.c: 3.8k

c.w: fluff ! history of house blackwood (could be inaccurate based off wiki), crazy ben for like two seconds, father daemon, more fluff, not proofread

a.n: hbo you will never stop me from writing this man he may be dead to you but to me he is alive and well as my benjicot fancast !

benjicot taglist: @spider-stark

the carriage is silent. the only sounds are the wheels turning against the soil and the occasionally sounds fabric as the two of readjust in your seats.

It had only been the first stop and it had been awful. It was supposed to be a marriage tour, where you would meet every eligible man in the six kingdoms but it instead felt you a much too long father daughter trip. He breathed down your neck not a single man would approach you unless you, with your father not too far behind, approached them and even then it never went well.

You have no clue why your mother even allowed him to come, maybe she didnt he just forced himself on this trip. You had thought your brother jace would accompany you but you worried that might be even worse than daemon and you expressed that to your mother, you did not think that would mean your father would wiggle his way into leave dragonstone and trailing around westeros with you.

You look out the window and notice its dark, very dark out. You would certainly not make it to your next stop until morning. “I told you we should have just waited until the next morning.” You scoff and glare at him. “And have to watch for yet another evening as all those people shit themselves whenever you speak? i apologize for not wishing to stay.” “they were never going to shit them themselves, maybe pee a little.” “is that not the same?” “no shit is much worse.”

Your father sits up and knocks on the roof of the carriage. “What house is the closest to us now?” “House blackwood my prince.” Your father contemplates for a moment before he nods to himself. “then we shall head there, you shall run in and inform them of us staying for the night.” “Of course my prince.” you grip into the walls as the carriage harshly turns and glare at your fathers pleased look. “oh what now?” “you are annoying.” He laughs.

You knew next to nothing about the blackwoods other than their infamous hatred for the brackens. You cannot help but agree with them for when you once met one of the bracken men he had tried to hit on you and it did not go over well. You hoped tonight would be quick and easy so you can slip out easy in the morning and get on your marry way.

It is not that you wanted to marry some lord certainly not, you simply wished to return home and finding the first man to even so much as not make you grimace with every word he speaks will be good enough for you. Even if your visit home will be short lived as your sure a wedding is to come soon after and you would have to relocate to your forever home. The more you thought about it the sicker you got so you pushed down your thoughts as the carriage stops.

Your father walks out of the carriage and helps you out. You take a look around, there was so much greenery, a huge field of grass and when you take a couple steps closer you can see some barns out in the distance. The castle itself was much more impressive then you had been expecting, you find yourself unable to look away from the white branches of the weirwood tree. The guard ran back out to the two of you, “The blackwoods would be more than happy to host you.” “Of course they would.” You slap your father on the arm, “May you please be a little nicer this evening.” he pouts at you before strolling off towards the doors and you close your eyes and take a deep breath before you follow after him, hopeful he is not too much of a pain in your ass.

You are led in by a couple guards and you almost crash into a maid who is running by, she quickly apologizes to you before running away. “Why is everyone in a rush?” “Well when the fucking prince shows up and says he wishes to stay for the night well past the time any reasonable person would be awake whatever are they supposed to do.” your father flashes you a blank look but you just grin at him and continue moving about the hall until you are in the main room. .

You’re sure the older man is samwell blackwood lord of the house but the face that catches your attention is the boy standing next to him. He was very pretty, even in the darkness of the room you thought he was very handsome and cup your hands together in front of you as you look straight ahead with a small grin on your face. “Welcome, it is an honor to host you prince and princess.” You nod while you father merely looks around the room. Samwell gestures towards the boy next to him who meekly steps forward, “My son, benjicot.” The boy bows and his eyes find yours already looking at him and his face grows red, “Hello.” He scratches the back of his head as he lets out an awkward smile.

“What type of name is be-” your father does not get to finish his words as your heel slams down onto his foot and he curses as he turns around, leaning down to grab at his legs. You do not acknowledge him simply stepping forward while the two men look back and forth between you and daemon. “It is wonderful to meet you both. I apologize for my fathers sudden intrusion of your home,” You father turns back to hiss at you, “Did you have to do it with you heel?” You ignore him and continue to keep your eyes on the two men, “If only my father was a better planner.” “I think you cut off my toe.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms.

“Even if i did i would be doing you a favor your feet are horrendous.” “My feet are just fine.” “That is not what maid mary thinks. You had asked her to massage your feet one day and when she walked out of your chambers she gagged and held her hands far away from her as if she was holding horse shit.” You father looks at you horrified, “That is not true.” You shrug and chuckle to yourself as you think back on the day.

Samwell weakly laughs and claps his hands together before he speaks to you. “It is no issue princess do not fret. Please if there is anything i could do for either of you while you are here just let me know.” You can’t but glance at benjicot again and he is already looking at you. His eyes widen slightly as he sees you looking at him and he looks down at the ground, the tips of ears bright red. The grin on your face only grows, you wanted to talk to him but with your father by your side you are sure to not get anywhere.

“what about dinner?” you glare at your father, “do not listen to him it is far too late and he is terribly impolite,” samwell gestures to the maids who scurry off, “nonsense you must be starving, we shall cooking you up something.” An idea pops into your head and you grin to yourself. You look at your father who narrows his eyes at your face. “My father on the road was just telling me hes been dying for a good drink and a good drinking buddy.”

You slap your father on the back and he lets out a laugh as he tries to hide the confusion on his face. Samwell lights up at your words, “Well why dont we have a drink before dinner, our cellars are wonderful we have a dinning room just this way.” Daemon nods but he glares at you as he walks by and heads to samwell’s side who looks to benjicot, “Keep the princess company son.” Daemons eyes widen as he looks between the two of you, your plan becoming quite clear to him. Yet he gets the chance to say nothing as samwell basically drags him off and you send him away with a smile.

Letting out a sigh of relief you turn towards benjicot who smiles at you, “Gods i thought he would never leave.” He lets out an awkward laugh, unsure of what to say to you as you step closer to him. He rocks back and forth on his heels awkwardly but his eyes can seem to stray from your face for too long. You liked him you cant stop the real smile from growing on your face as you look at him.

You are however aware of the numerous eyes in the room that are on you, from maids to squires everyone is glancing at the two of you. “Could you show me around your lands? i know it is dark but i was so fascinated by it.” He eagerly nods, “Of course princess it would be an honor.” He offers you his arm and you take it, “Please call me something other than princess i cannot stand to hear it any longer.” “I could not princess.” You hum and bat your eyes at him and he turns away from you, “What about my lady then?” He smiles to himself and nods lightly. “If you say so, my lady.”

You like the way his words roll off his tongue too much and turn away from him as you feel your skin heat. The cools summer night air hits your skin and you admire the lands before you. You immediately stire the two of you to the weirwood tree and he chuckles. “i take it you like the weirwood tree my lady.” you look upon the crows resting on the tree in fascination. “not like i love it it is glorious. is there a reason they sit upon the tree?”

“not one that we know of my lady. they have been resting there every night for thousands of years now.” you hum as one of the ravens looks at you, you cant help your curiosity get the better of you ask you begin to ask him numerous questions about his family’s house, why had you never studied house blackwood before? “i thought weirwood was only in the north.” “house blackwood used to be in the north my lady until my ancestors were driven out of the wolfswood.”

“its fascinating. Does your family have any historical texts here?” He looks surprised at your question but nods, “of course my lady.” “will you allow me to borrow them? i shall return them of course.” its also an excuse to see you again. the words die on your tongue as much as your throat itches to release it. “You are free to keep them my lady.” “no no i could never.” he opens his mouth to argue but with a pointed look from you he turns away and his face grows red again. “Then you are free to borrow them my lady.”

You turn away from the tree pleased and the two of you walk out to the long field of grass, you look and see the small river that lines the land. Your eyes drift off to the windmill in the distance. The land was so peaceful with little firefly's lighting the land before you. “it’s beautiful.” “yes…” you turn to him and he is not looking at the view but his staring at you. you raise a brow at him, “you are not even looking at it.” a small smirk grows on his face, “i am actually. quite the view in front of me.”

You huff and turn away again your eyes catch the large rocks that draw a line between the two huge fields of grass. “is there a reason those rocks are there?” He stiffens and his voice is a lot more stiff when he speaks, “the other side is bracken land.” you tilt your head, “why do you not just, build a fence or something.” He laughs and shakes his head, “it is not so simply my lady, that requires material and funds we do not have.” “you have not brought it up with the king?” he shrugs, “my grandfather tried many years ago but they dismissed the matter to lord tully who turns a blind eye too it. pricks.” the last words is only muttered from his lips but you catch it anyway. “do you really need such a thing?” “maybe we would not if the brackens were not such-“ he stops himself as if remembering whos hes speaking to and composes himself, “They eat our grass, their cows”

You laugh out loud, so loudly you cover your mouth to hold in the sound. “it is no laughing matter my lady.” he says but he laughs while he speaks. You compose yourself and wipe your eye. “and what is the difference between the two grasses.” he looks at you as if you had said something scandalous, maybe you had. “our grass is much better than theres my lady.” “it does not look any different to me.”

He laughs but the smile slowly slips off his face as he continues to think. You take the moment to admire his face as he stares off into the distance, keeping every freckle and every mark in your memory. “they poisoned the tree.” you almost ask him what tree hes referring to until it clicks. “the weirwood tree.” He nods but does not look at you, continuing to glance out into the distance.

Everything suddenly makes sense, the generational rivalry stems from the tree. from the looks of it it looks as if the tree has been dead for a very long time. They hated them because they poisoned the weirwood tree.

“i shall bring it up with my grandsire.” he turns to you in confusion. “there shall be a wall built. I will see to it myself if i have to.” “you do not need to go to such lengths my lady-“ “consider it already done.”

you are already formulating in your head the letters you will send out to the tullys and your grandsire. Maybe it is better you see them in person, your father would not argue if you wish to head to house tully if anything you believe it to be a stop on your tour.

The look on his face is unreadable, but the two of you hold each others gaze for a while before he speaks. “you are very kind my lady.” His words are soft and you suddenly find yourself wanting to be closer to him if that was even possible. He eyes trail down to your lips and he looks back up at you.

The clanging of a bell suddenly snaps the two of you out of whatever trance you had been in and your head whip towards the castle. “dinner,,,” He turns to you and your stomach rumbles. You were not even thinking about food two seconds ago but he walks you back to the castle in silence and you cannot help but keep your mind on him.

He sits across from you at dinner though he does not eat anything while you sit next to your father who is as drunk as ever. Perfect. He was certainly not going to wake up until late into the afternoon especially since you would be going to bed late you even think he may not wake until the sun begins to set tomorrow.

You say nothing more to benjicot that night but the glances you steal say more than enough words.

You awake the next day much earlier than you had expected thought it is certainly still late normally you would be eating lunch by now. As if on que a maid walks into the room and brings you some lunch, you ask of your father and she states he still asleep, quickly shaking your head when she asks if you would like to wake him and tell her if anything nobody is to disturb him before being dismissed.

After lunch you roam around the halls a bit mindlessly looking for benjicot yet you happen to stumble upon his father instead who happily greets you. “good day lord blackwood, if you do not mind informing me where you son is?” A large knowing grin finds its way onto his face as he gestures outside. “he is out training princess. You should see him in the field.” You nod and say a quick goodbye before rushing outside. Samwell turns to one of his squires, “what did you say they were traveling around for again?” “the princesses marriage tour my lord.” samwell leans back into his seat, “well lets pray to the gods she likes my son.”

You find him rather quickly but freeze as you come upon him. You had no clue who the other boys were but you find yourself unable to take your eyes off benjicot. Was this truly the boy who could barely look you in the eye yesterday? He looked more like a rabid wolf, a feral grin on his face as he bested his peers with ease.

You have never seen a man act like him before and you liked it, maybe a little too much. Unable to stop the churning of your stomach as you can faint hear him laugh and it sounds a little sadistic. You should not be as, whatever you were feeling, right now as you are.

“i like him.” You jump as your father suddenly stands next to you and watches the boys with a devious grin. “what?” “pick that one i like him, he’ll fit right in.” You shakily laugh though the thought had crossed your mind in the couple hours youve been here more than once. “you’re crazy.”

The two of you stand in silence for a bit watching the boys practice but you cant even focus on them as your mind races. “would it truly be alright?” your father turns to you but you keep your gaze on benjicot. “if i picked him.”

a comforting hand is places on your shoulder “you are free to do whatever you wish to, it is your choice to make.”

One of the boys suddenly turns to you and his eyes widen as he quickly whispers in benjicot ear who whips around to look at you. “looks like weve been caught.”

The boys make their way over to you two and bow, “good day princess, my prince, we are so sorry we did not see you.” daemon laughs, “oh do not stop on our account please.”

You ignore your father and greet them anyway, you face hot from your earlier thoughts as you come face to face with benjicot. “good day benjicot and,, company?” The men at his sides introduce themselves as tully’s oscar and kermit, who you greet with a nod. “and please, call me ben, benny, benji, just not benjicot whatever you wish.” he stumbles over his words and you smile and let our a small laugh. “alright ben.” He smiles happily and kermit slaps his back causing ben to glare at him.

“does that offer extend to me or does it only apply to the pretty pretty princess.” Ben stumbles as he assures daemon he could do the same and daemon looks to you with raised brows pleased ben folds to his words, “i told you i like this one.” You roll your eyes as the three boys look amongst themselves with confusion but oscar grins.

You suddenly grow confident with you choices and turn back to walk into the castle, “i will be back.” The four men watch you walk away. Daemons smile grows on his face as he places a hand on benjicots shoulder. “good job boy.” Ben is more confused than ever but nods anyways and lets out a small thank you that ends with a question mark. Daemon suddenly starts asking him about his training and that easily distracts ben who spurs on about his youth.

You find samwell again rather easily who perks up at your arrival. “Did you need something princess?” He looks eager for your words, like he is on the edge of his seat but you do not notice. “would you accept if i asked for your sons hand?”

He quickly stands and you take a step back in surprise, “of course! yes yes i mean absolutely i would be more than happy for you to marry my son!” he grabs your hands and shakes your hand wildly. You did not think such a thing would be so simple as that and watch as he asks for a maid to fetch his son.

You cant help but laugh at the ridiculousness of this all. The way he was rambling off to his squire asking for letters to be sent out to his sister and the tullys. The way the maids can only watch this all go down in amazement. Benjicot soon comes into the room and is shocked when samwell walks over and grabs his face pressing a big kiss into his sons forehead. “what is going on?” You see your father walk into the room and he looks more than pleased as you roll your eyes at him.

samwell does not answer his son as he speaks, “i knew you were destined for greatness my son this is a joyous day. His eyes find yours and they widen as samwell walks off towards your father and the two of them begin discussing things you’re sure are about a wedding. “my lady?” you turn back to ben and smile at him. “i apologize for not asking you first but,,” you trail off and it suddenly clicks in his head. His face grows bright red and he opens and closes his mouth like a fish unable to speak. “my lady,,” His friends suddenly clap him on the back, “good work benny.” He looks down at the ground as a grin grows on his face and he looks back up at you.

“truly?” you shrug and walk closer to him, placing a kiss on his cheek. “truly. if it pleases you.”

He laughs as if you had said the funniest joke, “it more than pleases me my lady.” you did not think this would truly go so well. What would your mother think? you had heard her tour lasted months and even then that was because she cut it short but you think she would be pleased knowing you had succeed in less than a months time.

Ten Minutes

modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

The sound of jacaerys' alarm disturbed the quiet that had settled in over the night. His hand shot out of the blanket and grabbed his phone, turning off the alarm.

Jace glanced at the corner of the screen. 5:50 a.m. In ten minutes he'll have to wake you up so you both could get ready for the day.

He let out a small sigh and shut his phone off before placing it back on the nightstand.

Jace rolled over so that he was laying on his side, facing your back. Thankfully his alarmed hadn't woken you up. He reached out and wrapped a hand around your waist. Jacaerys gently pulled your back to his chest and leaned forward to press his nose to your head, breathing you in.

Ten more minutes and he'll have to wake you up. Ten minutes spent with you.

The Cannibal Prince

Pairing: Vampire!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Includes: nipple play, kissing, non-consensual vampire turning (Including a kiss), biting, side character death

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: You marry Prince Aemond, and he reveals another Targaryen wedding tradition that many aren't privy to.

It was fortunately windy at Dragonstone — a delightful contrast to that of King’s Landing.

You wore one of your Dornish gowns, showing off quite a bit of your skin. You hadn’t really gotten into the fashion at King’s Landing. It was so terribly hot there and your gowns from back home gave you a delightful reprieve.

You stood outside. You had first come out to watch the waves lick at the big rocks, but your thoughts soon drifted off to Aemond Targaryen — Your betrothed.

You had brief interactions with the man. Once, when you first arrived at King’s Landing. You had eaten dinner with Prince Aemond, along with the rest of his family. It had been a tense first meeting for you. Queen Alicent was the one carrying the conversation, with Otto asking questions about Dorne here and there.

Though you were not Dornish royalty like the Martell’s, your house is a great one.

You had noticed Queen Alicent lowering her gaze to your dress a few times over dinner before looking back at you with a fake smile. You think she didn’t like your dress.

Aegon, though, scared you. He would not take his eyes off of you during the feast and would speak of how you were too pretty for his cripple brother. You noticed that Prince Aemond had tensed at that, his fingers tightening around his cutlery. You hadn’t spoken out in defense of Aemond — just gave Aegon a faux smile, hoping he didn’t notice how uncomfortable you were. You think he did.

You had heard rumors about the Targaryens. Of how their serving girls were disappearing at an alarming rate, about Prince Aegon’s sexual debauchery, that your betrothed was not missing an eye at all, and that when he had his eye cut out, it had come back! That you did not believe, it simply wasn’t possible.

You shivered from the cold Dragonstone air, and like he knew you were thinking of him, a voice spoke out from behind you. “Cold, My Lady?”

You turned around, your golden dress moving with you. There stood Aemond Targaryen, a few feet away from you. His hands were clasped behind his back and his long white hair looked slightly unkempt because of the winds.

You bowed, before looking back up at him. “Nothing I can’t handle, My Prince.”

You were proven wrong as the wind beat at you, forcing you to squint.

Aemond wrinkled his nose, like he had smelt something he didn’t like before getting his expression under control and clenching his jaw.

“It is getting quite late, betrothed. Would you allow me the honor of walking you back to your chambers?” Aemond asked.

Your eyes widen slightly at the request, but you nod anyway. “Of course, My Prince.”

You both walked back into the Castle, a quiet overtaking you both. You had hoped Aemond would have offered you his arm, but he hadn’t, and this was the longest time you two had spent together, so you contented yourself with that.

Your eyes gazed at all the dragon furniture and you were reminded of Princess Rhaenyra.

You had been surprised when you found out that you’d be marrying Aemond here, as you had heard that Rhaenyra had left for Dragonstone because she couldn’t stand the Hightowers and their children anymore. Perhaps she had a change of mind.

You and Aemond reached your chamber door. There were dragons carved into the wood, their long, lithe bodies stretched out on it.

You opened the door and stepped in, turning to look at Aemond. “Would you like to come in, My Prince?” It was a courtesy, of course. If you and your betrothed were both caught alone together, it would be quite the scandal.

Aemond looked at you, scrutinizing your body as his eyes traveled down the length of your body. He stared at the exposed area of your neck before forcing himself to look back at you, his jaw ticking.

“Perhaps after our marriage ceremony.” With that, Aemond gave a curt bow, mumbling “My Lady,” before turning around and leaving — presumably to his own chambers.

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words and shut the door. You hadn’t expected Aemond to say such a thing — maybe his brother, but not him!

Your handmaidens helped you get dressed for bed and you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth in your stomach.

As you lay in bed, listening to the sound of the sea — you had insisted to keep the shutters of the window nearest your bed open and one of your handmaidens reluctantly did so, lecturing you about how it would be a terrible thing if you got sick the night before your wedding — your thoughts drifted back to Aemond. You wish he had come into your chambers.

The next morning, you had awoken to terrible news. One of your handmaidens — Aimya — was dead. Her corpse was found in one of the halls. Your handmaidens said that Otto Hightower claimed that given the girl’s pale skin, she must have picked up a sickness. They weren’t allowed to see the body and had no confirmation that this was true.

You had hoped the marriage ceremony would be canceled because of this, but of course, nobody cared for the death of a random dornish girl. Nobody except for you and the other handmaidens.

Over the years, you had all become very close to each other, and her death was like a ship wrecking when it was close to land. The night before your wedding! If you didn’t know any better, you would have taken her death as a warning.

Your handmaiden — Brise, a woman a few years older than you with a sharp face — leads you to your vanity and has you strip out of your nightgown. Your other handmaiden — Miana, a young girl with rosy cheeks — untangling your hair with a shaky hand as you sat atop your vanity stool, naked and shivering.

Brise shut the window before grabbing your wedding robes. After Miana was done, you stood up, facing the older woman. She held the traditional Targaryen wedding robes.

How disappointing. You had always thought your wedding would be an extravagant thing, but it seems not.

“Aimya seemed fine. I-I didn’t think…” Miana broke out into a sob.

Brise shook her head as she helped you into your clothing. “I don’t trust these Targaryens,” she said the name with such disdain that you couldn’t help but look at her surprised.

“That is my betrothed’s family you are speaking about,” you say as Brise finishes tying the front of the robe.

Miana grabbed the headpiece, but was shaking so much that Brise grabbed it out of the young girl's hands and placed it atop your head instead.

“My apologies, My Lady.” But you knew Brise, and you knew she wasn’t sorry at all. You decide not to dwell on it and begin your trip out of the castle.

You stand face to face with Aemond, your expression one of pain as he cuts into your palm. You bite into your covered bottom lip to silence any sound of pain that would try to leave you.

Aemond’s own hand is bloody, as you had cut into it first and you can feel it on your palm as you press it against his. The blood doesn’t do much to hide the lack of warmth in his body, but you brush it off to it just being a reaction to the cold of the Island that is Dragonstone.

An older man wraps a cloth around your hands and you watch as your blood — now mixed with Aemond’s — drips into the cup. You hear the man say some words in Valyrian, but you don’t understand any of it.

Soon, you are drinking out of the chalice. You take a small sip, the heavy taste of copper now on your tongue. You hand it over to Aemond, and he holds your gaze as he drinks the rest of your shared blood.

Then, you both kiss. It’s a quick thing, and you are aware of the eyes of Aemond’s family watching you.

Hours later, you are in Aemond’s chambers. You suppose you’ll be returning to King's Landing very soon.

You sit on the edge of his bed, anxiously fiddling with your fingers as Aemond walks over to you.

Gently, he takes off your headpiece and places it on the side table. Using one cold finger, Aemond places it under your chin, forcing you to look into his purple eye.

You’re captivated. You are sure you will never in your lifetime see anyone that looks like Aemond. Sure, they others have purple eyes, and white hair. But Aemond is unique, with his sharp features, and one eye.

“There is no need to be nervous,” Aemond reassured you. His fingers trail down your neck, to your pulse, gently pressing them there. “Wife.”

You watch as Aemond takes in a sharp breath at the feeling of you, and he quickly pulls his hand away.

Your husband sits down on the bed next to you.

“We need not do this tonight if you don’t wish for it,” he says, surprising you.

You shake your head, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you speak, “No.. I want to, Husband.”

Aemond lets out a harsh breath out of his nose and nods. “Very well.”

Gently, Aemond reached out, cupping your cheek and forcing you to look at him. He presses his lips to yours, and for some reason he still tastes of copper.

His hands find their way to the ties of your robe and undo them. He pulls away from your lips and pushes down your clothing, leaving it on the floor.

Aemond looks down at you, and you feel your nipples harden very quickly.

Gently, Aemond pushes you down on the bed, so that you are laying with your back flat against it, your head resting on one of the soft pillows.

He rests one of his hands on your hips, and the other — the scarred one — trails down to your breasts. Aemond presses his palm atop the left side of your chest, almost like he’s trying to feel your heartbeat. When he’s satisfied, Aemond brings his fingers to your nipples. He tugs on your nub and you let out a soft gasp.

His attention is instantly brought back to your mouth and he presses his lips to yours. It’s very different from your first kiss when you were getting married. This one is rough, like he’s trying to consume you.

His fingers dig into your breast — so much so that it’s starting to hurt. You let out a small mewl, and Aemond instantly lets go of your lips and breast.

Slowly, Aemond kisses down your chest, and stomach, until he is at your hips.

Aemond undos the ties of his own robes, and drops the garment onto the floor.

He spreads your legs and presses a small kiss to your inner thigh, “So pretty.”

You let out a small, pleased, sigh. “Husband..”

Aemond brings his lips back to your thighs, and brushes his lips against them. Using his cold hands, Aemond holds onto your hips, pressing them down to the mattress. You shiver at his touch, and when he licks at your thigh, you feel small tingles spread through your body.

Your eyes flutter shut, and that’s when you feel it. Something sharp presses into you and your eyes shoot open. You wriggle in Aemond’s grip, but feel his pale hands pin you down. All you can see is the white of his head as you look down at him.

You let out a small cry, confused. “A-Aemond.. What are you…!”

Aemond’s lips finally release the hold they had on your thigh, and when he looks up at you, your eyes land on his bloody mouth.

Before you can even do anything, Aemond lets go of your hips and instead crawls over you, his lithe frame atop of you. Using one hand, Aemond grabs ahold of your wrists and pins them over your head. His other hand grabs your jaw and pushes it to the side, revealing your neck.

Aemond presses his nose to your neck, taking in your scent. His eyes flutter shut and you hiss in pain as he bites into your flesh.

Your legs kick at Aemond, but it doesn’t deter him.

Soon enough, you run out of energy and cease your struggling. You quiver under Aemond, and tears run down your cheeks.

Just when you’re on the brink of death, Aemond pulls away, pressing a wet kiss to the area he just bit.

Aemond lets go of your wrists, but still holds onto your jaw, though his grip has loosened.

Your eyes flutter open, your vision blurry.

Aemond bites into his own wrist, sucking up a considerable amount of blood, before pulling away.

Aemond presses his lips to yours, and forces you to drink in the mix of your’s and Aemond’s blood. Some blood escapes you and Aemond’s mouth and trickles down your cheeks.

Aemond pulls away after what feels like an eternity. You take in big gulps of air, your lungs burning.

A warmth runs through your body before being replaced with a coldness. It feels like you're freezing. Aemond kisses at your tears before pressing his lips to your bloody cheeks. He coos against them, feeling their warmth turn cool, “I know this is now what you were expecting, wife, but that was not the end. Perhaps…” he trails off.  Aemond pulls away, letting go of your wrists. His eye looks down at your naked body, and despite it all, you feel a heat spreading through you. “After our marriage ceremony.”

a/n: Wrote this in celebration for season 2 of hotd, though this was written a few days before it came out! divider creds: @saradika

House of the Dragon Incorrect Quotes

You: Are we fighting or flirting? Aemond: I'm pinning you against a wall with my hand around your neck- You: Your point?

You: I feel like doing something stupid. Aegon: I’m stupid, do me.

You: Crushes are the worst. Whenever I’m near mine, I start acting stupid. Aemond: You always act stupid. Aemond: Aemond: Wait...

Alicent: Did you wash the dishes? Aegon: I thought you wanted to do that... Alicent: *chuckles* You were WRONG.

Aemond: People tell me I have a unique way of lighting up a room. You: It’s called arson and those people are called witnesses.

You: Are you ever going to listen to me? Daemon: Yes. Absolutely. You: When? Daemon: When you're right.

Aegon: We have a problem. Aemond: No, YOU have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps making them.

You: I still have no idea how I’m attracted to you... Daemon: Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me, and no take backs, honey.

Aegon: I committed all 7 deadly sins in 30 minutes. You: Wow, I've gotta hear this. Aegon: I was angry and envious of my neighbor so I lazily seduced his wife and ate all his groceries and didn't share. You: You forgot pride. Aegon: No, I'm pretty proud of this.

Aegon: What do you call people you go out with but don’t try to sleep with? You: ...People?

Daemon: This is bothering me. You: Well, you are digging up a corpse. Daemon: No, not that. That's, uh, pretty par for the course, actually.

House of the Dragon characters with a s/o that hates Targaryens

Warnings: Yandere behavior, violating boundaries, mentions of bullying

Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen:

Daemon and Rhaenyra take great pride in their Valyrian roots, so they get considerably annoyed whenever you complain about Targaryens and their traditions (Daemon more so).

Though they understand why, they will still try to get you to fall in love with their Targaryen heritage and traditions.

Rhaenyra and Daemon will take you on dragon rides, read you stories about their ancestors, and Daemon may sing to you in Valyrian. Though Daemon will only get to hum a song to you on days you are considerably more tired and can’t bring yourself to argue with them.

If you still continue to reject them, they’ll just have to take full control of the situation and disregard your wants.

They’ll send a letter to your mother and father, saying that they want your hand in marriage, and what fool would reject such a proposal from the Queen and Prince Consort?

Aegon Targaryen:

Aegon enjoys the luxuries that come with being a Targaryen prince, but he hates a few of the things that come with it; like the expectations, and being forced to marry Helaena.

Many other Lords and Ladies have tried getting on his “good” side because of his status, but not you. You avoid him whenever he is near, and have told him (as nicely as you possibly could) that you’re not a fan of him or his family.

Aegon finds this much too entertaining, and will try to seduce you into forgetting your “vow” of never getting into a relationship with a Targaryen.

Aemond Targaryen:

Aemond is desperate to be accepted by you. Though he is a Targaryen, you have never failed to show him respect even though you are not a fan of his family.

Other people have made fun of him for not claiming a dragon, or for only having one eye, but you haven’t.

Though Aemond won’t give up his full interest in his Targaryen ancestry, he will tone it down when around you, and will hope that would be enough for him to be an exception for your hate for Targaryens.

Aemond can’t change the fact that he's a Targaryen, just like how he can’t change the fact he has one eye, but he hopes you will love him like you would any other man.

A/N: this was requested but I accidently deleted the ask😭😭

House of the Dragon Incorrect Quotes

Aemond: If we don’t get out of this alive… If we’re both about to die… I love you, y/n! *Neither of you die* You: … Aemond: … You: So do you wanna talk about somethi- Aemond: No thank you.

Aegon: Why should I make my bed, when I'm just gonna unmake it to sleep in it anyways? Alicent: Why should I feed you if you're just gonna die anyways? Aegon: Aegon: I'll go make my bed-

You: Aegon won’t wake up, what do I do? Aemond: Did you try kicking him? You: Yes. Aemond: I’m out of ideas.

You: Your Honor, I hereby submit the following to the court: You: Aegon, what the actual FUCK?

Aemond: Y/n, I am nothing if not a man of principle. Aemond: Now let’s break into this apartment.

Daemon: I'm a reverse necromancer. You: Isn't that just killing people? Daemon: Ah, technicality.

Aegon: I was arrested for being too cool. Aemond: The charges were dropped due to a lack of supporting evidence.

You: I want to wake up with you every day for the rest of our lives Aemond: I wake up at 4:30 AM You: You: I want to see you at some point every day for the rest of our lives

Aegon: Change is inedible. Aemond: Don't you mean inevitable? Aegon, spitting out coins: No, I did not.

Aemond: What the fuck is wrong with you?! Aegon: Wow, you could start with a 'good morning'. Aemond: Good morning. What the fuck is wrong with you?!

You: We’re getting married, bitches! Daemon: And we're about to make it everybody else's problem.

Aegon, struggling to keep upright in his 1 inch heels: Yeah, I-I don’t really think heels are for me Rhaenyra, pointing at them and walking flawlessly in sparkly golden 6 inch heels: WEAK.

House of the Dragon characters x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of child death, pregnancy, mentions of sex, mentions of threesomes

Daemon has trauma from what happened with his past wife, Laena. He's terrified that you'll die during childbirth, and will have a Maester check up on you every moon.

Daemon loves to gently press his forehead against your stomach, humming a song under his breath as you fall asleep.

He'll pick out a few dragon eggs for you to choose from for your guys' baby.

If there are any complications during the birth, he'll threaten to put the Maester's head on a spike if you don't make it out alive.

He'd rather you survive than the baby. You can always have another baby, but there's only one of you.

It was no surprise that you got pregnant since the both of you were constantly fucking.

b i g b o o b s

His hands and mouth are constantly on your breasts and once you begin lactating it will probably get worse,

Like Daemon, Aegon would choose you over the child if it came to it. You are one of the only things that bring him some version of happiness and he'll be damned if he losses you.

Aemond has thought of being a father before. Of course, since he was the second son, he would need heirs. He had also sworn that he would be a better father to his children than Viserys was to him.

Aemond does get a bit possessive when your pregnant and would prefer to be the one helps you bathe and gives you massages when you complain about back pain.

Though Aemond is usually reserved and shy about his touches, once he finds out your pregnant, he becomes more confident. Something that should of been a simple kiss, would end up with his hands wandering towards your breasts.

Ser Harwin probably got you pregnant during one of the multiple threesomes you have with him and Rhaenyra.

She's over the moon when she finds out your pregnant.

Her hands are constantly on your stomach.

Rhaenyra has a lot of experience when it comes to pregnancy and childbirth. She'll be there for you, listening to your worries and reassuring you.

She'll go throw a list of baby names with you, and you'd land on Aemma and Baelon being one of your top picks.

Buys you long necklaces and new dresses that show off your breasts, and gives you a cheeky smirk when you catch her looking.

House of the Dragon characters x Sick!Reader

Alicent makes sure you have everything that you need & that you're comfortable.

She'll tuck you into bed when it's time for you to sleep, fluff out your pillows, and feeds you herself.

She prays every night & makes her children pray before every meal to wish you a quick recovery.

Alicent would rather no one visits you while your sick - especially Rhaenyra - because she doesn't want anyone to disturb you or for the sickness to spread.

Helaena likes to sit next to your bed and embroider, comfortable listening to your breathing while you rest.

She'll embroider a bug that reminds her of you in hopes to make you feel better.

When she can't visit you, she'll leave one of her bug friends to keep you company :)

Aegon can't stay away from you even when your sick.

He doesn't care if he also catches your fever.

He'll sleep on the same bed as you & try to cuddle with you, even when you tell him not to, worried that he'll also get sick.

Alicent has kicked him out of your chambers multiple times, scolding him not to bother you.

Aemond likes to read to you. Preferably stories about his Targaryen Ancestors.

He'd sit next to your bed while you sleep, so he can make sure nothing will happen to you during the night. One of the candles will be left lit so he can read one of his history books.

If you refuse to take your medicine the maester had given you, Aemond bribes you with rides on Vhagar.

Rhaenyra & Daemon usually visit you together.

Daemon will sit in a chair close to your bed, while Rhaenyra sits on the bed.

Rhaenyra will tell tell you about the gossip she's heard in court while Daemon brushes your hair off of your sweaty forehead - he keeps it there almost the whole visit.

They'd both get really stressed if you weren't getting better - but worse.

Especially Daemon after what's happened with his brother.

Daemon will threaten the maester. If the maester can't help you get better, he'll find someone who will.

Rhaenyra is more patient and will try calm Daemon down.

How They Mark You

Pairings: Aegon ii Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen

Warnings: nsfw, bruises, female reader, mentions of pregnancy

Aegon ii Targaryen:

Aegon leaves marks on your skin. Usually hickies, but sometimes he’ll lightly bite your skin or leave marks that resemble fingers.

Aegon makes it obvious that you’re his.

He is openly affectionate with you in public. And there have been multiple occasions where a servant has walked in on you two being in certain erotic positions.

And though Aegon doesn’t purposefully do this, he usually leaves your clothes ruffled after dragging you away throughout the day to make out with you or more.

Daemon Targaryen:

Daemon gifts you jewelry. He’s given you necklaces, rings, bracelets. He loves to see you wear them.

At times, he’ll reach out to grab them so he can fidget with them.

Loves to leave hickies on you. Especially in places you can’t hide.

Daemon smirks when he hears you complain about how long it’ll take you to cover the marks he left on you.

Rhaenyra Targaryen:

Rhaenyra is more subtle about how she marks you since you’re both women.

Wherever you both go, she makes sure that your arms are interlocked with each other.

Or her hand on your back, gently guiding you to wherever she wants you to go.

Rhaenyra, like Daemon, will buy you jewelry —usually necklaces — to mark you.

Rhaenyra loves to leave hickies on you, though she does so on places that are easier to hide.

Aemond Targaryen:

The way Aemond marks you isn’t in a way that anyone else but you both would know.

Aemond buys dresses for you.

From Dorne, Essos, anywhere you’d like.

Your wardrobe is full of them.

He loves to see the clothing he’s bought cover your body in a way he can’t.

When you’re pregnant, he’s quick to buy you more clothes to fit you.