#aegon targaryen fanfic

[aemondsbabe]

Little Love

summary: aegon comes to your chambers crying and needing comfort, but what happens when your husband walks in?

pairing: aemond targaryen x reader x aegon ii targaryen

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, mommy kink!! i cannot stress that enough!! astronomical amounts of titty suckin', nipple/breast play, oral (f receiving), handjob, fingering, piv, angst but happy ending, hand on throat but no choking, subby aegon, breeding kink, creampie, consensual threeway relationship, let me know if i missed any!

word count: 6k oops

a/n: header image is for aesthetics only & is not used to describe the reader! a huge huge thanks to my honorary wife & this fics adoptive mother @toms-cherry-trees 🩵 thank you for all your help with this one!!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Aww,” you coo softly, eyes filled with adoration as you study the man on your lap, “Are you mommy’s precious little baby? Hm?” You brush a silvery lock of hair off of his face, trailing your thumb over the light flush across his cheeks as your other hand rubs soothingly over one of his biceps. 

Aegon hummed and nodded as best he could around your pert nipple, bright eyes lazily blinking up at you. One of your thumbs gently sweeps away tears from the corners of his eyes while you gently rock him as best you can, gazing at him with a smile. You stay quiet for a while, taking pleasure in the way he clings to you so needily, the way he’s looking at you as if you hung the stars in the sky. 

You can’t help the sigh that leaves your lips at the feel of his warm mouth around your nipple, his tongue flicking and teasing at the sensitive skin as he carefully suckles it in his mouth. “Shh,” you whisper, calming Aegon when you see another wave of tears threatening to spill from his violet eyes, “I promise there is nothing to worry yourself over, my little prince,” you tell him softly, trying to squeeze him somehow closer to you, “Just rumors, nothing more.”

You couldn’t help but feel protective of Aegon, your heart twisting as you remember the state he was in at the beginning of the evening when he had first loudly burst into your chamber. 

The fire in the hearth warmed your skin as you sat on the sofa in the small sitting area of yours and Aemond’s chambers, easily guiding the needle through the fabric of your embroidery as you hummed a song. With a sigh, you held the hoop up and tilted your head as you examined your work, nearly dropping it when you jumped at the sound of the heavy doors of your chambers crashing open. 

You jumped up, whirling around to see who could’ve possibly been disturbing you in such a manner, already glaring before you’d even turned your head. Your narrowed eyes widened however when you saw Aegon striding toward you, a pained look on his face.

“Is it true?” He had questioned, coming to a stop a little ways away from you, voice shaking even through the angry tone of his voice. 

“Is what true?” Your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as you clasped your hands in front of you. 

His frown had faltered for a second, eyes already sparkling with tears as his hands clenched at his sides. “The whispers in court,” he explained, gaze flitting from you to the stone floor, “The rumors about – about you and my brother.” 

Shaking your head, you had carefully walked toward him, “My love, I am sure they are untrue,” your voice had been gentle, “I cannot even imagine what they would be ab—“ 

“That you’re pregnant!” His voice was thick with unshed tears as he spit out the words, “That you must be!” This had left you dumbfounded, unable to do anything but gawk at him, which had only served to upset him further. He had sighed heavily and fixed you with a tearful gaze, bottom lip quivering, “So it’s true?” 

“No!” You rushed out, emphatically shaking your head as you hurried to him. “My love, my sweet baby,” your fingers carded through his hair when you reached him. You had gently pulled his gaze to yours before you had cupped his cheeks, your fingers already damp from the tears streaking them, “That is nothing more than court gossip, I promise you. I swear upon the Mother, you’ve nothing to worry about.” 

The dam had finally broken as he hiccuped out a sob, his shoulders sagging. “D-Do you mean it?” He’d asked meekly, voice so small you had felt your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. 

“Oh,” you had taken his hands in yours and led him to your bed, sitting him down at the edge as his body started shaking with sobs. Sitting next to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck, gently cupping the back of his head as he slumped against you and rested a wet cheek against your chest. “My little prince, I swear to you I do,” you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, rocking the two of you together, “You know Aemond and I would not do that to you.” 

His fingers had clung to your sides as he sobbed, hands bunching in the fabric of your gown. “They’re saying it’s been long enough,” he’d said mournfully, “Th-That it’s been three moons since the w-wedding and y-you must be by now.” 

You’d stroked his hair comfortingly and rested your chin on the top of his head, feeling his hot tears trail down your cleavage, “You know your brother and I would speak with you first, my love. We would not leave you out, you know how this arrangement works.”

The only answer you got was a small sniffle, his shoulders still trembling, although not nearly as badly. You had let him calm down for a moment more, rocking him against you while you hummed his favorite song. 

Eventually, he had calmed down, his shoulders steadying and his breath evening out. You had almost assumed he was asleep before you heard him whimper against your collarbone, pink lips mouthing needily at your skin. Your lips had quirked up in a smile as you had gently pulled him up, his small whine making you chuckle as you looked into his eyes.

“Do you need some time with mommy, my little love?”

Which is how you found yourself in your current position – reclined on the plush pillows of your bed with Aegon’s head in your lap, his lips eagerly suckling at your breast, not getting any real milk but the action calmed him still. You shiver slightly in the cool breeze that wafts in from the balcony, the air growing colder now that the sun has set. 

Aegon sighs contentedly, his warm breath fanning across your chest as small whimpers and whines slip past his lips. The small noises make you chuckle as you run a hand over his bare chest, “You’re my favorite little prince, do you know that?” You whisper, softly tickling his side enough to make him giggle and squirm. He smiles around your breast and nods happily, his nose digging into the fat of your breast as he presses himself more firmly against you. 

You stiffen a little at the sound of your chamber door opening once again, unable to see the entryway from the decorative screen you and your husband had placed in front of the bed. You make no move to disturb Aegon, though – bless the poor maids but there is not much they haven’t seen already. It is not a maid, however, that rounds the corner and you are instead met with the wide, surprised eye of your husband. 

After a second, the shock melts off of his face and he smirks at the sight of the two of you, his older brother still suckling away at your breast as if nothing were amiss. “My, my,” he tuts, stalking across the room to deposit the stack of books he carries onto the small breakfast table by the balcony before returning his attention to you once more, “I left my wife this morning dripping with my spend and already I return to a babe.”

“Aemond!” You hiss, frowning when you hear Aegon whimper at your chest, “Please, he is already in a state.”

“And in our chambers,” Aemond takes a seat at the table, unlacing his boots before setting them to the side, along with his leather tunic, “Normally you two reserve this… intimacy for his rooms.” His long fingers quickly untie his trousers, leaving them hanging from his slender waist as he moves about your chambers, poking the fire in the hearth back to life and tidying the papers on the writing desk. 

You soothe Aegon when he whimpers again, looking up at you with questioning, unsure eyes as a blush blooms on his cheeks. Even if his brother knows the details of your relationship with him, and even though he had walked in on him in this exact position before, he couldn’t help but feel so shy and vulnerable when he got this way. 

“Shh, my sweet,” you speak softly to the man at your breast, running your fingers through his pale hair, “Just relax, you’re okay.” Your words seem to settle him and his eyes grow droopy and half-lidded once more, a contented groan rumbling through his chest. 

“You should have seen him earlier,” you turn back to Aemond, eyes following him as he walks to your dressing table, “Poor thing came crying about court gossip.” You didn’t miss the small eye roll your husband gave at you calling his brother “poor thing” but you chose to ignore it for the time being; you didn’t love their endless taunts and teasing but they were still brothers, after all. 

“And what was the sweet babe weeping about this time?” Aemond asks, his voice dripping with derision as he takes a cloth from the small wash basin on the dressing table and quickly wipes at his neck and shoulders, droplets of water streaming down his defined frame and running into the lines and dips of the muscles on his chest, arms, and abdomen. 

Aegon growls at your chest, not missing the mockery in his brother’s tone. You try to calm him but it’s no use, he pulls off of your chest and throws Aemond a vicious look; you merely make yourself comfortable against the pillows and sigh tiredly. Gods be good, you thought, staring up at the stone ceiling as if the Seven would appear to offer their guidance; you love the two brothers more than anything else but you could do without their brotherly spats. 

“Well?” Aemond goads, his eye widening as he stares at his brother, a silent challenge.

“He feared I was pregnant,” you interject quickly, attempting to quell the coming squabble before it broke out, “Apparently the ladies of court have nothing better to do than monitor my condition.” You put an arm around Aegon as you speak, as if keeping him close to you would keep the two men from bickering. 

“You are my wife,” Aemond huffs out a sardonic laugh, a smirk playing at his lips as he wrings out the cloth and leaves it to dry on the side of the wash basin, “Why would it be of his concern if –”

Aegon growls against your breast again, letting your nipple fall from his pink lips as he fixes his brother with a glare, one that falters for half a second as you protectively tighten your hold on him. His dark eyes continue to glare at Aemond, following his every move as he comes to stand at the side of the bed, arms crossed over his chest as he studies the two of you. 

“Hush, my love,” you pet at his head and shoulders in an attempt to soothe him once more, glaring at your husband in warning, “This is nothing we need worry ourselves with tonight.” 

Aemond comes to sit next to you on the bed, giving Aegon a quick glare before he leans down and places a tender kiss to the top of your head. “You’re right,” he says into your hair, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face, “We need not trouble ourselves with it tonight.” 

Aegon huffs against your chest once more and gives his brother a final warning glance before looking up at you with a questioning gaze, pouty lips parted in an unspoken question. 

“You need some more time with mommy?” You ask him softly, grinning when he shyly nods, still so skittish of his needs around his brother. You coo and give him a nod, unable to stop the sigh that leaves you at the feel of his mouth on you once more. His tongue delicately licks at your hardened nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, still teasing it as he suckles. 

You admire him for a moment, studying the way his long lashes fan out over his cheeks once his eyes slip closed, his arms wrapped protectively around your middle as he kneels at your side. 

Finally, you turn your head to Aemond, surprised to see his eye trained on his brother, watching as he nurses at your breast. “Husband?” You ask tentatively; your relationship with both brothers was not a secret, at least not between the three of you, but even still, you rarely had them at the same time. 

His eye finally meets yours and he smiles, cuddling you closer, which earns a small whine from Aegon as he’s forced to move a fraction of an inch with you. “You needn’t worry so much,” he keeps his voice soft as he speaks, trailing kisses down your temple and cheek, “I’m merely thinking.” 

“About?”

“Putting a babe in you,” he all but growls into your ear before kissing the delicate skin just below it. “Seeing you grow with my child,” he continues, one hand skimming up your arm before he cups your unoccupied breast, long fingers kneading it gently before they pinch at your nipple, “Watching as these swell with your sweet milk.”

A shiver rolls through you at the thought, and at the salacious groan that vibrates from Aegon’s mouth. Your husband smirks at your reaction, watching proudly as your eyes become cloudy and unfocused. 

“Do you like that?” Aemond asks against the column of your throat as his lips and teeth and tongue work against your skin, sucking marks into the flesh, “Like the thought of my seed filling you up, finally taking root?” 

You hardly register Aegon’s whine, eyes squeezed shut as you feel your husband pressing himself to you, lips pressing against any bit of your skin he can reach, chuckling softly at how easy it is to work his brother up. “Wouldn’t that be something, brother?” Aemond questions sarcastically, his eye glimmering mischievously, “Wouldn’t she be so beautiful with my babe in her?”

The older brother grumbles something against you before redoubling his efforts, making you gasp as he begins suckling at you harshly, nose twitching in annoyance. You calm him as best you can, a shaky hand coming up and carding delicately through his hair – Aemond’s ministrations making it hard to concentrate. 

“You’ll be such a good mother, sweetling,” Aemond says lowly, kissing his way down your stomach as he moves to kneel between your thighs, “So perfect and sweet and caring.” He continues, punctuating each word with a kiss against your abdomen, his long hair tickling the skin of your thighs. 

“Aemond,” you pant softly, back arching as Aegon’s teeth just barely graze against your sensitive nipple, “Please!” You beg, though whether it’s to get him to stop taunting his brother or carry on with you, you cannot say. 

“Shh,” he presses wet kisses against one of your thighs, lips trailing slowly up to where you want him most before he tilts his head and begins kissing up the other thigh as well, his pace torturously slow, “I always give you what you want, do I not?”

A loud, uncontained moan tears itself from your throat as Aemond presses a kiss against your folds, groaning into your heat as he tastes you. “Gods, you’re dripping,” he growls into your cunt, practically making out with your center as his hands come to rest on the tops of your thighs, holding you in place, “Did your babe not care for you at all?”

At this, Aegon pauses, whining against your breast as he lifts his head, thin tendrils of drool connecting his shining lips to your hardened nipple. The feeling of his mouth lifting off of you has you finally opening your eyes, only to be met with his wide, uncertain eyes.

“Mommy?” His voice is so small, so terribly worried at the thought that he may have disappointed you somehow. 

“Oh, sweet prince,” you whisper, voice catching in your throat as you gasp at the feel of Aemond sucking your aching pearl into his mouth, worrying the sensitive skin between his lips. Your brows furrow with concentration as your eyes meet Aegon’s, your hands gently cupping his cheeks, “Don’t worry yourself,” you have to pause again as a curse slips past your lips, “You’re my perfect little baby, you could never disappoint me.” 

You finally manage to pant out your reassurances, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head at the feel of Aemond’s hot tongue licking into your center, his nose pressed firmly against your bud as he fucks you on the long muscle, groaning into your slick folds as he savors your sweet taste. You stare desperately into Aegon’s dark eyes, back arching as your husband feasts on your cunt with practiced ease, the slick, squelching sounds of him licking into you and suckling at your pearl making you mewl and blush. 

“You’re so beautiful, mommy,” Aegon murmurs softly, violet eyes staring at you with rapture, as if he’s trying to absorb the pleasure radiating from you, “So pretty.” He breathes finally and leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips, whimpering when he feels your tongue press into his mouth. 

The men hold you like that for a moment, letting you lie back on the bed as they attend to you – Aemond murmuring dirty praises into your cunt as he licks at you wildly, flicking shapes and patterns against your pearl that have your head spinning; Aegon swallowing your wanton moans in his own mouth as he moves his lips against yours. 

You whine against the older brother’s mouth when you feel your husband’s fingers gently prodding your center, gathering wetness on them before carefully pushing two into your heat. “Seven, you’re tight,” his breath is warm against your glossy folds, “Always so tight, feels so good, sweetling.” He purrs before quickly wrapping his lips around your bud once more, gently sucking at the tender flesh but combined with the pressure of his fingers, it’s enough to send you into a tailspin. 

You pull away from Aegon with a gasp, back arching off the bed as you whine Aemond’s name, blushing as you hear the loud wet sounds emanating from where his fingers fuck into your cunt. Faintly, you hear Aegon whimpering next to you, his soft cries almost in time with yours as he presses soft kisses along your neck and shoulder. 

“Mommy, my mommy,” he whispers in reverence, leaning across your chest to get to the breast he’s neglected thus far, kissing softly across your supple skin and teasing your nipple with the tip of his tongue before finally suckling it into his mouth, closing his eyes with a soft groan as he nurses, getting lost in the feel of you beneath him, your skin on his. 

Aegon’s lips around your nipple has you breaking, every muscle in your body seeming to tense up as your high overtakes you. A strange mixture of their names leaves your lips in a rough moan as you squeeze your eyes shut, fire exploding through you. 

“That’s it,” Aemond groans, crooking up his fingers within you as he feels your walls pulsing around them, pressing them into that rough patch he has memorized in your heat, the one he knows prolongs your peak, “Gods, that felt like a big one, sweetling.” 

Somehow, you find it within yourself to nod tiredly, chest heaving as you catch your breath, slinging an arm over Aegon’s back as he sighs happily against your chest. 

“Made you feel good, mommy,” he chuckles proudly around your breast, nipping and licking at your nipple as he tilts his head to meet your gaze, earning an annoyed huff from Aemond as he presses calming kisses against your thighs and hips. 

He’s so proud of himself that you can’t help yourself from smiling and giggling, your fingers carding through his hair. “Oh, yes you did,” you coo, “You made me feel so good, my precious boy.” 

Below you, Aemond bites at your thigh as a warning, making you jump. “Keep it up and you’ll only give him a bigger ego,” he rolls his eyes and presses wet kisses in a trail up your stomach, stopping only when he reaches Aegon, still lying across you. The bed dips as Aemond crawls back up to lie next to you, kissing his way up your neck and jaw before finally slotting his lips against your own.

A whimper escapes your lips as he does, one of your hands reaching up to run your fingers through his long hair, the pale strands threading between your digits like silk. He sighs into the kiss, one of his hands coming up to gently cup your neck, not choking but merely staking a claim. The action makes you mewl and he uses it to his advantage, quickly sliding his tongue across your bottom lip before entwining it with your own as he licks into your mouth. You can feel your face heat up as you taste yourself on his lips, squirming in his hold as Aegon continues licking and suckling at your hardened nipple, sending shivers of pleasure up your spine and quickly reigniting the flames in your belly. 

Aemond smirks as your moans change in pitch, the familiar high-pitched, whiny cadence causing him to let out a low, vibrating growl himself. 

“Please, Aemond,” you whisper against his lips, whimpering as he trails his kisses down your jaw and neck.

Your husband groans softly against your shoulder, a shudder rolling through him at the breathy way you say his name, his favorite sound. “You need not beg me, sweetling,” he sighs, gently gripping your hips and nodding for you to roll onto your side, “I’ve got you.”

Aegon whines as Aemond moves you, struggling to keep his soft lips latched around your peaked nipple, which earns him another eye roll from your husband. Quickly, you settle onto your side, both arms immediately wrapping around Aegon to hold him close. His pale hair tickles your lips as you press a sweet kiss to the crown of his head, softly giggling as he desperately suckles your nipple back into his mouth; your sweet boy could be at your breast for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough for him. 

The bed dips on either side of you as the two men bracket you between them, Aemond behind you and Aegon in front. Your husband presses kisses against the back of your shoulder as he slots himself against you, the warmth of his chest pressing against your back sends a shiver down your spine and makes your already stiff nipples harden to the point of aching. 

“Iksā sīr gevie, ñuha ābrazȳrys,” Aemond whispers against your shoulder as he trails a hand over your curves, humming appreciatively as he palms the swell of your arse, “Avy jorrāelan sīr olvie.” (You are so beautiful, my wife, I love you so much.)

You whimper at his words, your heart twisting happily in your chest as you recall their meaning from the lessons he had given you during your courtship. “Avy jorrāelan tolī, ñuha valzȳrys,” you manage to moan brokenly, “So much, Aemond!” You breathe, foggy brain unable to keep up with translations any longer. (I love you too, my husband.)

A gasp leaves you as Aemond presses himself against you tightly as you realize that he had managed to tug off his trousers at some point, his length slotting beautifully between your thighs as he ruts against you. 

“Gods!” Your slick folds part greedily as your husband rubs against your center, coating his cock in your juices, the tip rubbing deliciously against your pearl, “Oh, Aemond!”

“Shhh,” he breathes against your ear as one of his warm hands latches onto your thigh and pulls it up, giving him more room to guide his cock into your heat, “I’ve got you, sweetling, I have you.”

You nod, near delirious, practically sobbing as he finally guides himself into you, filling you perfectly. Your head lolls back, further into his embrace as he slowly presses into you, stretching you as he finally bottoms out, stones pressed firmly to your backside as a low, gravelly groan vibrates against your back. 

“You feel so good,” you moan breathily, your fingers scrambling through Aegon’s hair as you press his mouth against you, earning a whimper from the prince as he takes your breast further into his mouth, suckling at it greedily, spit leaking from the corners of his lips. 

“Feels perfect,” Aemond huffs, grunting as he begins moving his hips against yours, eye squeezing shut at the feel of your slick walls sucking him in as you quiver around his length, “You feel perfect, tight little cunt.” He mutters, more to himself than to you, hissing the words between clenched teeth.

You let yourself get lost for a moment, a light sheen of sweat blanketing your skin from the heat of the two men around you. You make no attempt to stop soft, satisfied moans from slipping out of your lips, breathing your pleasure against Aegon’s forehead as Aemond rocks into you, thrusting his hips in a well-practiced pattern as he fills you again and again. Your husband’s grip tightens on your thigh, making your eyes roll back deliciously as Aegon flicks his tongue against your nipple before greedily sucking it back into his mouth. 

A few moments later, you’re brought out of your reverie by a slick feeling at the front of your thigh, small whimpers and whines from the man at your breast finally managing to trickle their way into your consciousness. 

You finally open your eyes, letting out a soft moan as you take in the sight before you – Aegon suckling desperately at your sensitive breast, his dark eyes looking up at you pleadingly, already shimmering with unshed tears, as he ruts his hard length against your thigh, already leaking glossy trails onto your skin with every movement.

“Ohh,” you coo softly, pressing a kiss to his sweat-damp forehead as you wrap your hand around his length, feeling it immediately twitch in your grasp, “You need mommy to take care of you?” You ask breathily.

“P-Please,” Aegon whimpers brokenly, flicking his tongue over your nipple as he nods his head, “Hurts!” He whines, voice thick as tears leak from the corners of his eyes. 

You press another comforting kiss to his forehead, gasping in time with Aemond’s hard thrusts as you begin slowly teasing the prince’s hard length, cooing again as you feel him pulsing in your grasp. “What a good boy,” you whine, swirling your thumb against his leaking tip, “Getting so hard from hearing mommy get fucked, hm?”

You feel him shudder against you, a low groan sounding against your breast as his hips fuck up into your hold. He whines as you let go of his cock for a second, quickly running your fingers around where Aemond spears into you. Your husband grunts behind you at the sensation as you quickly gather some of your juices on your fingers, moaning brokenly as you flick them around your pearl for a second before returning your attention to Aegon. 

Your face heats as you suddenly get a dirty idea and you take a second to spread some of your juices across your unoccupied breast, chuckling breathily as Aegon immediately abandons the one he’s currently suckling on, a loud moan snaking past his lips when you wrap your slick fingers around his cock once again, easing his thrusts into your fists. 

“Greedy babe,” Aemond grunts from over your shoulder, watching as Aegon frantically licks around your breast, humming excitedly at your sweet taste before latching onto your nipple once more, “Suckling at any part of my sweet wife he can reach.”

A fire lights in your belly at Aemond’s words as you’re surprised he’s addressing Aegon at all, his teasing lilt only adding to the heat within you. The prince whines within your grasp, his face flushing to a deeper shade of pink than it already is and his violet eyes shoot daggers in his brother’s general direction, not caring that he can’t see them. 

Suddenly, Aemond lets go of your thigh, leaving you to sling it over one of Aegon’s pale hips as he continues thrusting his cock into you, deep and slow. His hand instead settles on one breast and he lovingly palms at it, humming with satisfaction at its weighty feel in his hand. 

A loud whine leaves you as his fingers pinch around your overly-sensitive bud, tweaking and tugging at the swollen skin. Your back arches, loud whimpers tumbling past your lips as his touch borders on pain. Aegon growls at your sounds of discomfort, letting your nipple fall from his lips as he sits up just enough to throw him a malicious glare over your shoulder.

“Ngh!” Your little prince grunts, smacking Aemond’s hand away from you before wrapping an arm around your waist protectively and pressing soft kisses to your abused breast, “Mommy?” He questions softly, teary eyes searching yours, desperately wanting to make sure you’re alright. 

“Shh, shh,” you soothe sweetly, carding your fingers through his hair as he lays his head on your pillow once more, “Mommy’s okay, my sweet, thank you.” Your words are breathy, feeling halfway forced out of you as Aemond’s thrusts speed up, your mind growing fuzzy as the head of his cock moves against the sensitive spot within you perfectly, making you clench around him. Aegon continues thrusting into your grasp, his hands frantically grabbing onto any parts of you he can reach. 

“Pathetic,” Aemond huffs at his brother, biting into the sensitive skin of your neck, “So whiny, fuck, so whiny under your muña’s touch you can’t even speak.” (Mother’s)

Aegon whines again, a high, pitiful sound against your beast as he latches onto you once more, low groans ripping through him as the leaking head of his cock rubs against your soft thigh. 

“Hush,” you admonish, one arm hugging possessively around the prince, “Mommy’s taking good care of her sweet little boy, isn’t she?” 

“Y-Yes,” Aegon breathes brokenly around a soft moan, his cock twitching desperately in your hand, “Yes, yes, yes!” He chants around your breast, soft little words in time with each stroke of your hand. 

You can see him start to lose himself — watching as his eyes grow ever more glossy, tears welling up in the corners while throaty sobs and sighs warm your breast, his length seeming to get somehow thicker in your grasp as the head of his cock positively weeps against you. 

“What a good boy,” you sigh encouragingly, smiling proudly, glowing with the knowledge that you can reduce him to such a state, “Are you close, my sweet?” 

He nods desperately, soft grunts accompanying the thrusts of his hips up into your grasp. You keep your pace steady, your own head swimming as your release builds within you. 

After another few seconds, Aegon begins shaking helplessly in your grasp, his chest heaving as sobs are wrenched from his throat. “That’s it,” you murmur softly, feeling your cunt clench around Aemond’s length at the sight of the prince coming undone before you, making the other man groan loudly behind you, “Come on, I know you’re so close, show mommy how good she makes you feel, my love.” 

As always, your soft approval is what unravels him. You moan loudly, watching him fall apart in your arms, relishing the soft moans and sighs of your name as they fall from his pouty lips, the way his hips stutter in your hold. You gasp softly at the feel of his cock twitching between the two of you, his spend coating his belly and chest in pearlescent streaks.

Before he’s even had the chance to recover, your sweet boy finds it within himself to bring one hand down, greedily seeking out your bud. He sighs happily when you cry out his name, his fingers circling your aching pearl perfectly, just in the way you’d taught him, his chest still heaving with his own release. 

“Oh, Gods!” You gasp, your own hips rutting back and forth between the two men, “So c-close, fuck!” You whine, the fire in your belly threatening to consume you. 

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond grunts, hips thrusting into you at a maddening pace, “Do you want me to breed a baby into your wet little cunt, sweetling?”

You and Aegon whine at the same instant, yours in pleasure and his in annoyance. Your walls clench desperately at your husband's thick length, making him chuckle breathlessly behind you. 

“Find your pleasure, sweet girl,” he groans, his thrusts somehow perfectly timed to the swirls of Aegon’s fingers against your bud, “Peak and I’ll put a little babe in your belly, my love.” 

Aemond’s promise, Aegon’s soft whine, and the feel of their touches mingling on your slick heat finally pushes you over the edge once more. Your cunt pulses around Aemond as you slip over the edge, your pearl buzzing and twitching under Aegon’s fingers as flames of pleasure lick up your spine, sparks exploding behind your eyelids as you cry out against Aegon’s neck. 

Your release claws Aemond’s out of him as well, the feeling of his seed emptying into you spurring your peak on further. You whimper, mouthing at the pale skin of your prince’s throat as you feel warmth bloom within you, your husband’s harsh strokes finally slowing to a stop. 

The three of you lay silent for a while, the only sounds in your chambers being soft pants and sighs. Finally, Aemond carefully pulls his length from you, soothing you gently when you whine. 

“Seven,” he groans softly, watching his seed slip slowly from your spent center, “Perhaps this time we should let it take.” He muses as he gets up from the bed, retrieving a fresh cloth from your dressing table and quickly cleaning your center and thighs.

“But,” Aegon whimpers softly, drawing your attention back to him as he looks at you with wide, worried eyes, “What…what about me?” The meekness in his voice makes your heart ache as you hurriedly hush him, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes with your thumbs. 

“You don’t worry about a thing, my little love,” you reassure him, pulling him into your arms and rocking him slowly against you, “No matter what the future holds, you will always be my precious little prince. I swear it.” You promise, pressing soft kisses to each of his cheeks, one of your hands tickling at his side until he squirms and giggles against you, burying his head in your neck with a tired sigh.

Aemond huffs again, setting his eyepatch on the table by your bed before he assumes his spot next to you once more, slinging an arm over your waist as he makes himself comfortable. 

On your other side, Aegon shuffles down the bed once more, making you giggle softly as he presses feather light kisses to your breast, sighing happily at the mere feel of your supple skin against his lips as he cozies himself against you. 

“Maybe we should hold off on the moon tea this time,” Aemond ponders, mumbling against your shoulder as his fingers trace soothing patterns into the soft skin of your hip, “Surely an actual babe could be no more difficult than the one we already seem to have.” 

Aegon whines, Aemond chuckles, and you tiredly groan.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @hopelesswritergall @phantombitch @fan-goddess @aemshaircare @cuddlejeongin @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon smut #aegon x reader #aegon fanfic #aegond #aegond x reader #aegond smut #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon smut #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #smut #fanfiction #my writing

[toms-cherry-trees]

Safe In Your Arms || Aegon II Targaryen x Reader

Summary:  There is only one person whom the Prince can find comfort with

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: 18+, lactation kink, mommy kink, p in v sex, handjob, edging and denial (m receiving), overstimulation (m receiving), implications that Aegon was beaten as a child, Aegon being a sad little meow meow, minor character death,

Author’s Note:  First time writing Aegon y'all!. But this idea had taken root in my brain and had to be delivered. Thank for to my lovely honorary wifey @aemondsbabe for brainstorming with me and giving me the seal of approval at an ungodly hour. I hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @fairysluna

The embrace catches you by surprise, a pair of strong arms circling your waist and a nose nuzzling your neck, inhaling deeply the scent of your skin. A large hand cups the round weight of your breast, clumsy fingers unsuccessfully trying to undo the buttons of your servant’s dress. The other lays flat against your belly, pushing your body flush against the prince standing behind you. You try to halt his movements, eyes darting around the nursery to ensure your privacy, even though you knew the children have gone out to the Godswood with the Queen and Princess Helaena. Still, you need to make sure no prying eyes will come across you two. You will not be the first servant the prince laid with, nor the last, but gossip would spread nonetheless if Aegon is found being so amorous with his children’s wetnurse.

He has already opened the first two buttons when you decide to stop him, gentle but firm fingers holding his own and pressing his hand against your heart. A small groan of discontent escapes his lips, and you can picture the scowl in his face without looking at him. He complies and abandons his efforts, but doesn't let go of your body, keeping you caged on a grip tighter than usual. You two linger like that for a few moments, surrounded by a comfortable silence. You could stay like that, but you know that something particularly bad has to occur for him to seek you during the day and with such desperation.

“My Prince?” You try to crane your neck to lay eyes on him, but he only groans again and buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing featherlight kisses to your flesh. You feel dampness on your skin, like tears dropping slowly from his lashes.

With a bit of struggle you turn around, still trapped in his arms. You try to make him look up but he refuses, hidden into you like a cranky child. Over time you have learned how to read him, as easily as an open book laid out before your eyes. He has his way with words to brazenly flirt, jest and argue, but never to express his feelings, especially when they overwhelm him. He just tries to show with actions what his mouth refuses to say. 

Tenderly, like you would do to one of the children in your care, you force him to look up and meet your gaze. Red rims his eyes, violet pupils glossed over with unshed tears, the imprint of a slap still fresh and inflamed upon his cheek. You need not ask to know he has once more been caught in an altercation with his grandsire and mother, one in which he stood no chance. He never has a chance against them and the great plans they have for him, plans in which he has no say nor desire.

“Go to your bedchamber” You murmur quietly, two fingers pressing against his lips to stifle the protest that has already formed “I will be there shortly.”

Begrudgingly he drops his arms, quietly exiting the nursery, shoulders slumped and gaze downcast. You quickly finish your current duties, instructing another maid to cover for you as you make way to his chambers as discreetly as possible, excuses ready upon your lips should someone question your presence away from the children. But no one looks at you twice amidst the hustle and bustle of the Keep, and you find his door unguarded and unlocked.

Aegon has already thrashed the bed in a fit of anger, the blankets scattered around it while he lays under a sheet, still fully dressed and shoes still on. He clings to a pillow like a child to a beloved toy, although by the way he does it, so tight his hands touch his own arms, you think he is trying to actually hug himself, give himself some of the love he rarely got. You sit by his side, a hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. He takes your hand, fingers tight around your wrist as he brings it up to his face, pressing your soft palm to his reddened cheek. He closes his eyes, and you notice yet more tears beading on his lashes, and the characteristic wobble of his lower lip. 

“Let’s get you comfortable, yes?” Soft tone and gentle words, a speech used many times before with him. You have been there a plethora of times with him drunk, hungover, crying, covered in spilled wine and his own waste. And time after time you have cleaned him, changed his clothes and dried his tears. You have snuck his soiled sheets and clothes to the laundresses, since you know his maids report his every word and action back to his mother, and you want nothing more than to spare him to the best of your abilities from his elders’ wrath.

Some nights he clings to your body desperately, his fingers digging on your hips as he begs you to stay. And you comply, unwilling to pile more sorrow on him and incapable of denying anything to those wide, sad eyes. 

He doesn’t say word, but you don’t need any to heed his call for help. You undress him easily, unbuttoning his doublet and undoing the laces of his breeches, leaving his clothes carefully folded on a nearby chair, the boots neatly by the side. When he remains in only his linen shirt and smallclothes, you put the bed together around him, tucking the sheets and smoothing the blankets as you quietly sing a lullaby, the same you use to put his twins to bed every night. It has the same calming effect on him as it had on them; the soothing of your voice halting his tears and making him relax his posture as he lets himself be cared for and pampered by your tenderness. 

Once he has settled comfortably, you lay by his side. Aegon immediately scoots closer to you, his head burrowed against your bosom and one arm draping around your waist. You trace his swelling cheekbone with featherlight touch. Whoever has slapped him has put quite a lot of anger into it, most likely his grandsire. It is not the first time things have gotten physical between them, and most certainly not the last. It seems the Hand thinks he can beat his grandson into the Prince he wants him to be.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” Aegon often chooses to seek comfort and just push his problems to the back of his mind, but you still encourage him to voice his woes. More often than not he prefers to remain silent, but you always offer him the space to speak freely and without consequences should he want to. To know he won’t be judged or chastised, and he will only be met with the tenderness he deserves.

Long seconds linger in absolute silence before his voice breaks through, weak and constricted “They have found me a bride”

You only nod, not needing to ask more. Ever since Aegon’s first wife had passed, scarcely 3 nights after the birth of their twins, his grandsire and mother had pushed him to pursue another wife, a lady from a strong House to garner their support when the time came. Originally his mother had wanted him to marry Helaena, to strengthen his claim to the throne, but then the King intervened. The only time he put his foot down instead of letting his council rule on his behalf, and he did it to betroth Aegon to a branched out lady of House Velaryon, while promising Helaena to Aemond. While the siblings’ marriage flourished, Aegon found himself tied before the Gods to a woman he couldn’t love, to the extent it took 6 years for them to conceive, and she only lived enough to name them. 

At your silence, Aegon clings tighter to your body, his freshly blossoming tears dampening the front of your dress “I don’t want to, they can’t make me” His sniffs, and you notice him pressing his lips tightly together to force himself to be quiet.

You shush him, smoothing back his damp hair “You have to, sweetling. You are a Prince, and you have duties to your mother and family” Your words make him tense again, fisting your dress as he exhales loudly through his nose. 

“I have no duties, I am not the heir, I am just a failure they are stuck with. I’ve done everything they wanted of me, and still my mother won’t ever look at me with pride” Another conversation had one and a thousand times. As the firstborn male, all eyes turned to him when the King’s health began to fail, and even though he still lingers, he hangs only by a very fine thread. And the Hand has everything prepared to land the crown upon his own bloodline, whether his grandson wants to or not. And he most certainly doesn’t want to. 

You don’t argue, knowing that any attempt of contradicting him would only circle you back to the same arguments. You only let him speak, let it all escape his chest. But he has few words that day. There’s not much to say that has not been said already.

“Father never loved me. Grandsire only sees me as something at his disposal to use at convenience. Mother does not love me any more than what she is obliged to” His eyes meet yours, wide and adorable and terribly sad “I only have you. Just you. If they make me marry I won’t let you go. You cannot abandon me” His words carry an urgency and fear you hadn’t heard on him before. A deeply rooted terror of losing the only person who has not touched him with violence

You press tender kisses to his forehead, your touch gentle and warm “You will always have me, sweet boy. To the end of times. If they send you to the end of the world, I will be right behind you, taking care of you. If they put you on the throne, I will be at your feet as your most loyal servant”

Those reassuring words coax a smile out of him, a smile only meant for you. It is not often these days that Aegon is seen smiling, only in rare instances when he is with his children or with Sunfyre. All the others are reserved just for you. 

Another comfortable silence lingers between you two, eyes locked with one another as your fingers card through his blonde tresses, his breath becoming a little sharper every time you accidentally tug on a knot. His hands snake up your front, stopping just in the curve of your breasts as he waits for your permission. You easily undo the very first button, allowing him the pleasure of doing the rest. 

It takes him no time to have the front fully unbuttoned, pushing the fabric away to reach the object of his desire. The dazzled look he gets on his face whenever he stares at your bare breasts never fails to amuse you, as if he is staring at the most wonderful thing the world has to offer. His lips quickly find home around your perked nipple, releasing a satisfied sigh as he suckles at your milk, his hand cupping the free breast and massaging it lovingly, swiping his thumb over the hardened peak. You let out a content sigh, settling comfortably on the pillows as you watch Aegon nurse enthusiastically, barely stopping to breathe. 

It had been after one of his many nights out that he first found comfort that particular way. Smelling of cheap perfume, even cheaper spirits and covered in vile things you didn’t wish to identify he had returned, and once more you had been by his side, putting his broken pieces back together and trying to not let his cracks be seen by the world the next morning. His hands had roamed your body, as they often did, a touch you glady allowed; he had never once done one thing you didn’t let him do, not even while being so deep in his cups he couldn’t say his own name. He had rested his face against your bare chest, inhaling deeply the musk of your skin while he toyed absently with your breast. A sharp pinch to your nipple had coaxed out some droplets of milk, which he collected on his thumb and brought to his lips. He repeated the process several times before crossing eyes with you, searching your face for any sign of rejection, but you only smiled and helped him get comfortable in your lap as he latched onto your breast for the first time. Nothing could quite calm him like that afterwards.

The prince at your breast lets out small sounds of satisfaction and content sighs as he grips your flesh tenderly, massaging it to coax more of the rich liquid to come down. At first you think he is relaxing and perhaps close to falling asleep, but then you notice his free hand down his body, palming his erection over the sheet. His teeth graze the engorged bud of your nipple ever so delicately, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. Heat starts to pool in your lower belly, accompanied by a growing dampness between your thighs. You rub them together discreetly, seeking some form of friction as you continue to watch Aegon clumsily touch himself, trying to balance his need for pleasure with the attention he is lavishing upon your tits. 

His whines take a desperate edge while he humps his own hand, his movements faltering since he doesn't know where to focus. Instinctively your hand moves slowly down his torso and under the sheets; you gently push his away and wrap your fingers around his length, giving a few tentative pumps.

“Do you want Mommy to take care of this?”

Both of you stop for a moment, eyes wide, and he even drops your breast in shock. He had very occasionally called you ‘mommy’, mostly ironically when you had ordered him around, or more intimately when you did certain things like tug on his hair or grip him a bit tighter. But you had never used the term that way, and by the way his cock throbs in your hand, the idea excites him as much as it does you. You give him a firm squeeze, making him jump on the bed

“I asked you something, sweet boy. I taught you how to use your words. Do you want Mommy to take care of your problem?”

Aegon swallows visibly, eyes still wide. His lips move rapidly, but no sound comes out other than a pathetic mumbling as he tries to unscramble his brains. He finally gives up and just nods, looking up pleadingly. But you don’t cave in and give him a firmer squeeze, earning a whimper from him

“Words” You say firmly, but without sounding too harsh. You don’t want to take him too far and make him scared. But you are also deeply curious on how far you can take this little jest. 

It seems to take all his strength to push out every word “Yes Mommy, please” He sounds so small and defenceless, bordering on innocence. If you didn’t know him much better you would believe him a man that has rarely laid with women. 

Encouraged, you stroke his hard cock slowly, swiping your thumb across the leaking head to gather the already forming drops and smearing them down his length. Aegon’s hands are everywhere, on your face, on your breasts, on your shoulders, pushing the rest of your dress out of the way to free more of your skin. He grips your hips, squeezes your thighs, seeks in your body an anchor to life as his face scrunches in pleasure. His breaths become ragged and you see his abdominal muscles tensing as he approaches climax. But as soon as you feel the familiar twitching you let go of him, your hand resting on the curve of his thigh. 

His eyes shoot open and he half sits, staring at you with a mix of desperation and indignation. He whimpers quietly, shifting his hips to try and get under your delicious touch again, but you slap his thigh gently to keep him still.

“No moving. Mommy is taking care of you and you don’t move unless I say so.” Your tone is low, whispering the words as you press your forehead against his, gazes locked on each other. The black of his eyes has widened, making the purple seem darker, and the tears have dried at last. All that remains is lust mixed with submission, all of it just for you.

You gently caress his stones, watching in amusement as gooseflesh spreads across his skin at the touch, his legs instinctively spreading wider to grant you better access. You trace your index up his length, following the path of the throbbing vein prominent on the underside of his cock, while he fists the sheets, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. You lean down to kiss him, letting him drown his moans against your welcoming mouth when you finally pump him, keeping the pace steady.

Again you stop just seconds before he reaches climax, earning an even more desperate whimper from him.

“Mommy, please, it hurts, I want to-” His words are cut short when your free hand takes hold of a fistful of his hair, just enough to feel the pull in his scalp. The moan comes from the depths of his chest when you brush your lips against his ear.

“Are you a good boy? A good boy for Mommy?” 

He nods eagerly, his hands cupping your face to keep you close.

“I will be good Mommy. Please, please it hurts” His eyes gloss over, and his lower lip trembles again. He looks so pretty you struggle in your heart to carry on with this little game, even though he seems to enjoy it. And you are enjoying it too, so much you feel is unfair you are missing out on the best part.

You pull away just enough to drop your dress to the side, your smallclothes following suit. With Aegon flat on his back, it is easy for you to straddle his hips, letting the head of his cock snuggle in your slick folds. He sucks in a sharp breath when you rock your hips, gliding the heat of your cunt along his length. You take a slow pace, dragging out the moment as much as possible. But while you are in no rush to finish, Aegon is in a desperate hurry, pushing against your hips and mewling desperately to urge you on. When he tries to grab your hips you smack his hand away and lean in, so close your breaths mingle. 

“Stay still, sweet boy. You don’t want Mommy to get angry and leave you like this, do you now?”

“But Mommy” He pants heavily, beads of sweat gathering in his temples “I need it, please. I will be good. I need to be inside you. Please” 

You click your tongue, a smirk pulling at your lips. You smooth back his hair and press a kiss to his hairline, an almost soothing touch.

“You have been such a good boy for Mommy, so good. But you have to keep being good and do as you are told, sweetling. If you are extra good, Mommy will let you spend inside her” 

With that promise in mind, Aegon does his best to stay still, but you don’t make it easy for him. The rhythm is tantalisingly slow, coming to a halt every time you or him get too close to climax. His desperation grows to uncharted levels, fingers digging on the mattress, fists so tight on the sheets his knuckles turn white, lip bitten so strongly between his teeth it leaves an imprint. Tears bead in the corners of his beautiful eyes and roll down, dampening the sheet underneath. When you stop for the umpteenth time and a sob racks his chest, you know he’s ready.

You sit back on your haunches and watch him carefully. His hair is toussled from how much he has trashed on the bed, his face puffy and tear streaked, the flush of his cheeks spreading down to his chest. His cock is angrily red and leaky, impossibly hard and coated in your juices. Every muscle on his body is tense like a bowstring ready to fire. You touch his taut abs, rubbing the aching muscles soothingly.

“You have been such a good boy for Mommy, so good. You deserve your prize” 

The moan he releases as you line his cock with your entrance, sinking slowly until he is buried to the hilt, has surely been heard throughout the entire Keep. Encased in your tight heat, it takes no more than a few rocks of your hips for him to peak, back arching off the mattress dramatically as he screams his release to the vaulted ceilings, painting your walls with his spend. But you are not quite there yet. You continue to ride him, now at a dizzying pace, chasing your own release. His whines reach a new high, having barely time to recover from his groundbreaking climax. His abused cock is almost too sensitive to touch, and the drag of your cunt around him feels like fire climbing up his spine; the most deliciously tortuous fire. 

Your hips and thighs begin to ache from the exertion, but you are so close, and seeing your sweet Prince so ruined it's definitely spurring you on. You shift your angle just a bit, so the head of his cock brushes against a certain spot inside you that makes you feel like you can touch the stars, all while your fingers circle your neglected pearl. It takes no more than a few thrusts before you climax, your walls tightening around him and somehow drawing out a second peak from him, even though you are sure he doesn’t have much more left to give you. You ride out your release, halting only when the burning on your thighs becomes too much to ignore. 

You slide off and lay next to Aegon, who appears to still be waiting for his soul to return to his body. His eyes are wide, some stray tears still rolling, his breaths heavy and slow. When he whines quietly and turns to you, you reward him with a sweet smile and a tender, brief kiss upon the lips. Aegon snuggles into you, just like he likes it best, his face buried in your cleavage as he catches his breath. You rub his back in slow, soothing circles; he closes his eyes, his lips seeking and finding your nipples once more

While he suckles you lean closer, tracing his features with your fingertip

“You were such a good boy. So good for me. Mommy is so proud of you” 

The gentle praise goes straight to his heart, that much you can tell in the way he hugs you with his entire body and the upward turn of the corner of his mouth. You know he is tired, and perhaps his body is urging him to sleep. But to do that he needs one last little nudge

“Mommy will always be with you, my sweet Prince”

#marsie writes #aegon targaryen x reader #prince aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #prince aegon x you #aegon ii targaryen x you #prince aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #king aegon ii x reader #king aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen one shot #Aegon targaryen imagine

[vsnyarbll]

Pillow talk between Aegon II and his wife

(drabble)

words: 877

warning: explicit language, fluff

You were lying top off Aegon. His arms were around you. His eyes were closed, but you were sure he wasn't asleep- he was playing with your hair. 

Your head rested on his chest, and your hand gently caressed the side of his body. 

It must have been past midnight already. 

The only light in the room came from candles that were almost out. Even the moonlight didn't shine in through the open windows. 

You felt happy to have him. You kissed his chest, and Aegon began to run his other hand along your arm. 

You'd had a long evening. Aegon's hard kisses had softened- he didn't want to hurt you. 

You tried to think of something else as your mind drifted again to the way he had kissed you and held you all night long.

You wanted more, you always did when it came to Aegon, but you weren't sure your body could take another round. 

"Aegon?" you said calmly.

Aegon didn't open his eyes, but he murmured. 

You focused on the first thing that would take your mind off Aegon's body and... his cock. 

"Do you think fishes drink water?"

Aegon's hands stopped moving over your body. "Fishes?" 

Your question was clear. "Yes?" You said.  

"Isn't it... meal?"

You lifted your head from his chest and looked directly at his face. He had opened his eyes. Aegon was looking at you with an expression that said he wanted more, too.

"Aegon, they are animals."

Aegon raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

It was hard to believe he was a prince who had been taught lessons for as long as he could remember. 

"Animals? Then I think they drink?"

You threw your hair back. "Water?"

"No, my love, wine."

You patted his chest and laughed. 

He watched your laugh with a crooked grin.

Since you married, it was always difficult for him to wait for night during the day. He would want to go to his room and feel every inch of your body again. He would want to hold your chin and tell you to open your eyes while you closed them in pleasure. He would want to feel his body tremble every time you moaned his name.

He never wanted the nights to become days. You were the only thing that made his life better. 

"What?" you said with tired eyes and a smile as you watched him looking at your face. 

Aegon's smile grew. "Nothing." 

He loved you. 

He was afraid to love you. It scared him to put you at the center of his life. 

But he loved you deeply. 

He didn't want someone to fix him. And you didn't want to fix him. He would never be an ideal prince like Aemond, but neither of you cared.

You two were the most compatible couple of the seven kingdoms. 

He was thankful that he had a life to share with you.

He even thought of going to the Sept with his mother. 

While his mother thanked the gods for their health, he would kneel beside her and thank the gods that you had accepted him into your heart. And... that he could fuck you every night. 

He kissed your cheek firmly. "Let's sleep. I'm worried that if you don't get enough sleep, you won't be able to speak properly tomorrow."

You muttered something under your breath and buried your nose in his neck. 

"And make sure you rest. I don't want Daeron to make fun of us again if you can't walk tomorrow." He said, unable to stop laughing. 

You blushed and lightly pinched his arm. "Like it's my fault." 

Aegon placed a kiss on your shoulder. "Of course, it's your fault! I could have kept my hands off you if you weren't so delicious." 

You lifted your head from his neck.  

When Aegon saw your flushed face and strand of hair sticking to your forehead from sweat, he stroked your cheek. 

Contrary to what you expected, he didn't say anything to embarrass you again. 

“I've never loved anyone as much as I love you.”

a/n: I love him so much you don't understand

#aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #prince aegon #aegon the second #aegon targaryen x female reader #aegon targaryen x y/n #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen fluff #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon fanfic #aegon drabble #house of the dragon #drabble #hotd aegon

[danytar]

“The Midnight Mood” [King!Aegon X Wife!Reader]

Warnings: Frank talk - Intimacy

Summary: Your husband returns to your chambers in a sour mood after one of the council meetings. Now you have to deal with him.

You were enjoying your time in a warm bath to relieve your head and thoughts from today's events. Your maids were washing your beautiful hair and massaging your shoulders and arms It felt very comfortable for you.

“My queen you have such a beautiful hair”. one of your maids said.

“Oh? Is this so? ”. you chuckle softly.

The other says, praising your beauty “Yes my queen.. the King is so lucky”.

you gave her a soft smilie to show your gratitude. It was true he was so lucky to have such a beautiful women like you as his wife and queen.. and his children's mother.

You were in the middle of a very friendly conversation with your maids when you felt the doors of your chambers being opened.

“All OF YOU GO NOW! ”. You hear your husband's voice ordering the servants in a stern tone.

They quickly nodded and leave the room.. leaving you and your husband alone. His facial expressions definitely do not bode well.

He was clearly angry and upset. you hated how you sent your husband in a good mood and he came back to you in a bad mood.

He threw his body on your bed in frustration and sighed in annoyance. You were still sitting in the warm bathtub of yours.. “You look sad what happened again? ”. you said.

“Sad? I don't think this is the correct word ”. He growls at you.

“What happened? ”. You reply with a sigh.

“Maybe you would interest you if you went with me to the meeting ”. He growled at you

“Are you here to fight me or something? ”.

He lifted his head from the bed sheets and looked at you with a sour face. You met his gaze with a soft look.

“You know very well I can't handle with these fuckin council myself ”. he replies

“Come here”. You told him to come closer to you.

He sighed and sat down a little closer to the bathtub. “I thought you were used to the Council's bullshit ”. you reply.

He sighs and doesn't answer you.. then he looks at your wet form inside the tub.. “Why are you showering at this time? ”. he asked you with a sour tone, he was probably looking for an excuse to start a fight with you.

“Excuse me? Do I need a specific time to bath? ”. you said.

His eyes narrow and he gets up to pour himself a cup of wine.. “Bring me one too”. He heard your voice behind him as you asked him to pour you wine as well.

He ignores your request...and when you notice this, you speak a little louder “AEGON! ”.

“Bring it yourself ”. He taeses you.

You get up from the tub without putting any robe on your naked body and approach the table to pour yourself.

His eyes pierce your body as he sees you in all your glory, getting up to pour yourself. You took your cup and went back to the tub.

He kept looking at you as you quietly enjoyed drinking your wine. you looked back at him and smilie slyly.. “Would you like to join? ”.

His eyes lit up with happiness and he forgot his displeasure.. “Ofc I would! ”. He smiled at you and started taking off his clothes.

You kept drinking and looking at him, enjoying the sight of him getting naked to you.

You were now leaning against his body in the tub enjoy each other's presence. His hands were both on your breasts he was caressing. He softly pinches your nipples and his lips caressed your neck and ear.

You felt so relieved...the feeling was so good!

Of course neither of you can keep yours hands to yourselves. “Dove? ”He whispered in your ear.

“Yes my dear? ”. you reply then you turned to face him.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you to sit on him..You wrapped your arms around his neck in return.

“I want to come back as a prince ”. He replies

“Wh- What? ”. you chuckle softly

“Don't laugh I am serious ”. He squeezes your ass

“Can I ask why? ”. you smilie slyly because you already know the answer but you wanted to hear it from his lips.

His hand rose from your nape to push your hair slightly “Hmmm.. ”.

He approached your ear, his hot breath on your neck “So I can fuck you all the day and night without worry that I have duties and seven kingdoms to rule”. He whispered.

his dirty talk made you blush a little.. “ but we still sleeping together almost every night.. ”. you said.

“I know but.. I miss sleeping until noon with my cock inside you.. don't say you don't like it ”. he replies With a cheeky smile.

“Aegoon!”. You blush and hit his shoulder playfully.

he chuckles and replies “Come on now.. How about we move you to bed for another round? ”.

“Are you planning to make me walk side to side tomorrow? ”. You complained.

“This is a good idea ”. he chuckles and lifted you from the tub.

“Aegon! ”. you chuckle because you knew that nothing would stop your husband from taking you again and again.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon the second #hotd #house of the dragon #aegon headcanons #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen x you #aegon fanfic #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon the elder

[solacestyles]

─ EARLY RISER ❜ aegon ii targaryen

─ summary to wake your husband for his duties, you need to take desperate measures.

❛ pairing Aegon II Targaryen x reader

❛ note this is the first time I post anything I write here! also, english is not my first language.

❛ word count 697

Unfortunately for your husband, you've always been an early riser. The heat waves from your hometown used to force you awake and out of bed right after sunrise, the time that it became unbearable to even stay lying down.

When the light started gleaming through the thin navy blue curtains your body immediately stirred, taking you out of your rest. Aegon's arms were keeping you locked close to his chest, and not even your tiredness from the night before was enough to keep you in bed, his body warmth combined with the high temperature left you bothered, your skin burning where the blanket and his skin touched yours. Thankfully, the servants already knew you enjoyed bathing first thing in the morning, especially on warmer days like this one, and made sure that your bath was ready before the first rays of light reached the horizon.

You knew your first challenge of the day would be convincing Aegon to get up and ready. The family carriage was set to leave at 8 for your son's name day hunt, and although it was your husband's idea, you were aware he wouldn't mind leaving the realm's most important lords waiting several hours just so he could get a few more hours of sleep.

The first try was calling his name and touching his pale face, it only made him snuggle closer to be more comfortable with you. You tried again, getting out of his embrace and shaking his shoulders, but again, a failed attempt. At least you were seeing progress now, earning a few complaints from him.

Silently deciding this was your last try before taking more desperate measures you straddled his body and left kisses all over his jaw and neck, finally contemplating his dark violet eyes opening.

"Good morning, my handsome king." his face was still red and with evident sleep marks, his eyes struggling to be kept open. One of your husband's hand went directly to your waist, while the other was occupied rubbing his eyes.

"Morning, my dear queen." he bent his body to peck your lips and dropped his head again to the pillow straight away. "Must you wake me at this unholy hour?"

"Well, I don't know if it slipped your mind, but today is Rhaegar name day." you said giving him small kisses with each word. "You know, your son, the future king, our little brave dragon rider."

Aegon gave you an airy smile and mumbled something among the lines of "totally remembered" while closing his eyes again.

"No! Don't go back to sleep, do you know how long it took me to wake you?"

No response. You climbed out of his lap and stopped by his side of the bed. Sighed and debated mentally what you could do to get him up for good.

"Aegon!" you said a bit louder, making him jump a little in bed. "Love, please get up."

"Dove, i'm begging you, let me enjoy a bit of sleep before making me endure those lords dull talk." he did not even open his eyes, trying to go back to sleep.

"We need to be there so the lords dull talk is not about how they have an irresponsible queen and king as rulers." again, nothing. "Please, Aegon."

You finally get fed up and decide to use your low blow. You walk away slowly from the bed and stop close to the door that leads to the bath chambers.

"Fine, do as you please." you said with a ruff, and this sparked Aegon's interest, you never give up this easily, he opened one eye to see what were you up to, and he watched you start to undress from your white nightgown.

"I'm going to take a bath, I was expecting you to join me, but it seems I'll be alone today."

Aegon leaps up immediately, his eyes wide open. "No, no! I'm already up.”

He speeds to get to you before you leave and rapidly caught your waist with both of his arms. With his head resting on your shoulder, as he sniffs your neck lovingly, getting giggles out of you.

"Knew that would work."

#darcywriting ₰ #aegon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon imagine #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon imagine #aegon x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon fanfic #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 1: Ares, God Of War]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.7k

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💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let’s begin with a definition.

Disaster is a noun derived from Ancient Greek: dus, a prefix meaning “bad,” and aster, or “star.” In the time when humans worshipped Zeus and Hera, Hephaestus and Aphrodite, it was believed that tragedies resulted from the inauspicious positioning of celestial bodies: a volcano erupts because of Jupiter, a returning comet brings with it a flood. There is a certain helplessness inherent in this mythology. There is predestined suffering that lies in wait until all the jewels of the sky have malignantly aligned.

Have you ever met someone who made you ache to change the stars?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gunshots explode through the lobby of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, Florida; you feel the wind of the bullets as they clip by, fragmented metallic rage. Aemond is on the marble floor, blood pouring down his face, blood all over the white shirt beneath his navy blue suit jacket when you rip it open, tearing a button loose. He’s reaching for you through the jostling and the screams, leaving crimson handprints on your mint green dress. And you think: He just won the Florida primary. He’s not supposed to die. He’s supposed to be the president.

“What happened?” Aemond murmurs, his right eye dazed and only half-open; the left has vanished beneath a cloudburst of gore. Perhaps ten yards away, people have caught the assailant and pinned him against one of the vast Venetian windows until the police arrive. They’re roaring at him in red-faced fury, their closed fists strike his ribs and his cheekbones, their knuckles paint him scarlet and indigo.

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” You brace both palms over the maroon stain spreading rapidly across Aemond’s chest and press down as hard as you can. Your fingers are drenched in seconds, warm fading life. He’s bleeding to death. You shriek through the turmoil: “Criston?!”

“Is he okay?” Aemond asks faintly. He means the baby; you’re six months pregnant with his first child, his greatest treasure, his Atlantis, his Holy Grail. Aemond has already decided that it’s a boy. Sometimes you fear what will happen if he’s wrong.

“Yes, honey, the baby’s fine, don’t worry. Criston!”

Aegon is here instead, sweating out rum and ruin like he always is, hair too long, veins full of pills, colliding with you and pawing at his dying brother with untrustworthy hands. “Aemond?!”

You shove Aegon away, splattering him with blood. “Get back, he needs air!”

“Where’s he shot?! Let me see—”

“I told you to get back!”

“Goddammit, you don’t own him! He’s mine too!”

Criston has fought his way through the maelstrom and is dragging Aegon away by the collar of his frayed olive green army jacket, stolen from Daeron when he visited home after basic training, a uniform of embittered revolution worn by a man who’s never fought for anything. “Aegon, make sure someone’s called for an ambulance, then meet the paramedics at the door and help them find us.”

“But—”

“Go!” Criston roars, and Aegon scrambles to his feet and is lost within the crowd. You can hear Otto bellowing at journalists and hotel employees to make space for the fallen senator; there are flashes of cameras and prayers shouted aloud. Above your head are crystal chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling hand-painted by 75 Italian artists in the 1920s; swimming in your skull are visions of Jackie Kennedy in the pink suit filthy with her husband’s brains. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, May 28th. Upstairs in their oceanfront Imperial Suites, nannies will be shaking awake the absent adults of the Targaryen dynasty, who retired with the children before Aemond made his victory speech in the hotel ballroom: Alicent, Helaena, Fosco, Mimi.

Criston’s hands—larger, stronger—replace yours over the gushing wound in Aemond’s chest. What did the bullet hit? His lung, his heart? He’s not speaking anymore, his right eye is closed. His bloodied hands rest open and empty on the floor. “Criston, he’s dying,” you sob.

“No he’s not. We’re not going to let him.”

“What’s the closest hospital?”

“Good Samaritan is just across the bridge on the mainland.” It’s Criston’s job to know these things, though he had been thinking of you when he plotted his meticulous notes in his day planner: in case you eat a bad cheeseburger, or trip on the stairs, or catch the flu and start burning up with fever. Aemond worries about the baby. Aegon has five children, Helaena has three, and Aemond will feel that he has been robbed of something if he does not swiftly procure a family of his own. He needs you on the campaign trail, but still, he worries.

Across the lobby, the police have arrived to arrest the aspiring assassin. He puts up a fight when they try to handcuff him and earns a nightstick to the gut, an elbow to the nose. He is choking on his own blood. Perhaps he is drowning in it. Good, you think.

“Don’t kill him!” Otto booms at the officers. “I want him alive for trial! I want him to ride the lighting up in Raiford, you keep that son of a bitch alive!”

“Aemond?” You thread your fingers through his soaked hair. What happened to his left eye? Is it somewhere underneath all that carnage, or is it gone? “Please wake up. Please stay with me. We need you. The baby and I need you.”

“He’s going to live,” Criston promises, both hands still clamped over the bullet wound to slow the hemorrhaging.

“Aemond, please…” How can he be the president with only one eye?

An old woman in a yellow striped skirt suit is lumbering close with a homemade prayer rope clenched in her fist. “A komboskini for the senator!” For his last rites. For his soul.

“He doesn’t need it!” Criston says. “He’s not dying! No one is dying tonight!”

Still, you take the komboskini from the lady, each of the 100 knots a prayer unspoken. She is a devotee of Aemond, and you must show her gratitude. “Efcharistó, aderfí. O Theós na se evlogeí.” They are some of the few Greek words you’ve mastered; you’ve used them often since Aemond announced that he was running for president. Thank you, sister. God bless you.

The paramedics arrive, splitting the crowd like a laceration, white uniforms and a stretcher to ferry Aemond away. People are wailing, cursing, swearing vengeance. Aegon has returned and is peering down at Aemond with those large, glassy, muddled eyes, afraid to ask. “Is he…is he still…?”

“He has a pulse,” Criston replies. He helps the paramedics drag Aemond onto the stretcher and strap him to it. Your husband’s shirt is now drenched in red like garnet, like cinnabar, like the poppies that commemorate the boys butchered in World War I, like the wasted blood being spilled in Vietnam, men reduced to memory. “Good Samaritan?” Criston confirms with the paramedics.

“Yes sir,” the most senior one agrees. And then to you, with great deference, with compassion that transcends what somebody can harbor for strangers: “Ma’am, there’s a place for you if you want it.”

“I do,” you say, tear-streaked face, hands bathed in blood. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The ambulance is idling outside the main entranceway of the hotel. Criston grasps your hand to steady you as you step up into the back, and you take a seat on the red leather bench beside the stretcher. The paramedics are placing IVs, holding an oxygen mask to Aemond’s face, muttering urgently into their radio, abbreviations and code words you can’t understand, a secret language of organic calamities. High above the stars are crystalline and radiant in a clear sky. In your own chest—unshredded by metal, unpierced by rage—your intact heart is pounding.

The lead paramedic turns to you again and says: “We can fit one more person.”

It’s your decision. You are the senator’s wife; you were supposed to be the next first lady of the United States. You look through the ambulance’s open doors. Aegon stares back expectantly, his hair falling in his face, his arms thrown wide, petulant, combative, useless, drunk. “Criston.”

“Bitch!” Aegon hisses at you as Criston climbs into the vehicle. The doors slam shut, the engine rumbles, the siren squeals as the ambulance races westbound on Breakers Row towards County Road, which connects with Flagler Memorial Bridge and the mainland.

Through the rear window you watch Aegon as he stands in the white-gold hotel luminescence, becoming smaller and smaller until he vanishes, and all you can see are streetlights, and all you can smell is blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

Every story needs its cast of characters. Here are the major players in the summer of 1968.

President Lyndon Baines Johnson is in the White House watching the clocks tick towards November 5th, when his successor will be ordained. He has chosen not to seek reelection. Since his ascension upon Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, Johnson’s domestic focus has been unprecedented civil rights legislation and his War On Poverty, yet what has infected the media like blood poisoning is the war in Vietnam. On the television are napalm bombs incinerating Vietnamese peasants, caskets draped with American flags, riots being beaten down by police, college students torching draft cards and chanting “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” Now the president is sick in body, in spirit, in heart, and this is not a metaphor: he suffered a near-fatal cardiac arrest in 1955 and another shortly after John F. Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, Texas. He will die almost exactly four years after leaving office. Had he sought another term, he would have been unlikely to survive it. The public eye is something like a snake bite; it sinks its fangs in and you hope the venom burns clean before it can curse you with clots or hemorrhages or paralysis, before it can drown you in the dark waters of infamy.

In the void left by President Johnson’s surrender, four factions have emerged within the Democratic Party. The old guard—the same labor unions, congressmen, and local political machines who have steered the platform since the days of Franklin D. Roosvelt’s New Deal—has flocked to current Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Humphrey is competent yet uninspiring, a mid-fifties Midwesterner who flinches at the unpolished fury of antiwar protests and sedately lectures Black Power activists on the dangers of “reverse racism.” He is not a threat. He is a sheep in sheep’s clothing, and this is the time for wolves.

Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota is unapologetically opposed to the Vietnam War, a moral crusader, a reluctant warrior, a man who wears his lack of taste for the presidency like a badge of honor. He feels compelled to run, but he does not crave it. He thinks this makes him a saint; but Joan of Arc was burned at the stake and Saint Lawrence was roasted alive. Like Halloween candy plunked into a child’s neon orange plastic pumpkin, McCarthy has collected his own coalition, college students and posh urbanites who believe themselves to be the future of the Democratic Party. In 2016, people will conjure McCarthy’s ghost when drawing comparisons to a controversial left-wing senator from Vermont named Bernie Sanders.

If McCarthy is the future and Humphrey is the past, then former governor of Alabama George Wallace is downright archaic. He is the candidate of choice for Southern white supremacists, averse to Republicans since Lincoln and still reverent of Depression-era New Deal programs that kept them from starving to death. Wallace is best known for his promise of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” and pledges to end the chaos that has besieged America through strict law and order. Provided he loses the Democratic primary, Wallace plans to run in the general election as an Independent, hoping to peel away enough support from the major party candidates to force the House of Representatives to declare the winner and then leverage his votes to negotiate an end to federal desegregation efforts in the South. His devoted wife Lurleen just died of uterine cancer, a diagnosis which Wallace kept hidden from her for years; doctors are in the habit of informing husbands of their wives’ ailments and giving them carte blanche control over the treatment plan, which unfortunately in Lurleen’s case was nothing. She was 41 years old.

In his short-lived castle of red corridors like the marrow rivers of bones, President Johnson hides from the hippies who jeer and spit; Humphrey frowns at them, McCarthy tries to appease them, Wallace says the only four-letter words they don’t know are “w-o-r-k” and “s-o-a-p.” But Aemond climbs down from podiums to meet them like old friends. He is young, only 36. He has a brother serving in the swamps of Vietnam. He is focused, determined, insatiable; he devours every scrap of news that is printed about him and writes his speeches by hand. As the self-admitted runt of the Targaryen family, Aemond knows what it is like to be underestimated. He wants a better America, and he wants to be the president, and he wants these things in equal, relentless measure, each fueling the other until these ambitions become inseparable. He has grown up hearing slurs against Greeks and consequently has no tolerance for discrimination, which he contends is antithetical to the American Dream. He attends civil rights marches in labyrinthian cities, antiwar protests on college campuses, union meetings in coal mining towns of West Virginia and Kentucky and Wyoming, music festivals crowded with long unwashed hair and braless women, fundraisers flush with the deep pockets of the Northeastern elite. Aemond’s coalition grows each day, bleeding away strength from his rivals like a Medieval surgeon. Their flesh turns cold and anemic, while Aemond’s heart pumps scalding torrents of blood.

If Aemond wins the Democratic primary at the convention in August, his opponent will almost certainly be the Republican frontrunner Richard Nixon of California. Nixon wants the White House just as badly, and he’s much smarter than he looks. He was Eisenhower’s vice president for eight years in the 1950s and lost to the ill-fated John F. Kennedy in 1960 by a whisker; some say he did not lose at all, but instead was cheated out of 100,000 votes by Kennedy’s mafia connections in Chicago. But with the Democrats divided and their incumbent president floundering, Nixon’s timing has never been better. He was once a poor boy with two dead brothers who earned a scholarship to Duke Law. Now he will become whoever he needs to be to win the presidency of the United States.

1968 is the year of wolves. The fangs are sharp, and the bellies ache with hunger.

~~~~~~~~~~

A local deli has opened early and sent sandwiches to Good Samaritan Medical Center for the family and friends of the senator from New Jersey: ham and Swiss, cucumber and cream cheese, tuna salad, egg salad, pimento cheese, BLTs, Cubans. The lobby is filling up with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes. You pace and count the knots of the komboskini over and over again as you wait; Aemond has been in surgery for hours. The nurses periodically bring you Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, scalding watered-down sweetness to distract you from the fact that some surgeon is currently rooting around inside your husband’s ribcage.

Alicent—a convert to the Greek Orthodox faith just as you are, though far more zealous, far more sincere if you dared to admit it—is pleading for God to save her son as she clasps her own prayer rope. Helaena is seated beside her, eerily calm. Helaena’s husband Fosco is wandering around boredly and inflicting small talk upon the nurses, ogling out the third-story windows, playing with his red Duncan yo-yo. Otto is making a series of calls using one of the phones at the nurses’ station. Criston is there too, leaning over the countertop and speaking with Otto in low conspiratorial whispers.

Aegon is sitting alone and glaring at you. He takes a rattling bottle of pills—prescriptions that doctors are too afraid not to write for him when he asks—out of a pocket on the front of his green army jacket, spotted like a leopard with your bloody handprints. He opens the amber-colored, cylindrical container and pours two, no, three tiny white tablets into his palm. He tosses them into his mouth and washes them down with a swallow of his own mediocre hot chocolate, still glaring. You ignore him.

“How could this have happened?” Mimi says again from where she’s slumped in her chair. Aegon’s wife has a Snow White sort of beauty, but with a perpetual ruddiness in her nose and cheeks from the gin she sips constantly. You suppose it would make anyone a drunk, being married to a man like that. Her maiden name was Marina Marceline Leroux, but everyone has always called her Mimi, even the press on the rare occasions when she makes an appearance. Her children—Orion, Spiro, Violeta, Thaddeus, and little Cosmo, only five years old—are all back at the Breakers Hotel with the nannies, the same as Helaena’s. Mimi blubbers to nobody in particular: “How…? Who…? Who would want to hurt Aemond…?”

Someone needs to sober her up. You fetch a BLT off the platter of sandwiches and offer it to her. “Here. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry. Who on earth could be hungry at a time like this? I’m absolutely nauseated, I’ll never want food again—”

“Mimi, eat the sandwich.”

“Fine, fine,” she slurs morosely, then takes an unenthusiastic bite. She listens to you, all the women do. They listen to you, and you listen to Aemond, and the circle is closed and complete.

Criston is walking over now. You turn to him, needing good news, bad news, any news. “It was a Wallace supporter,” Criston says. From his seat, Aegon is watching Criston with his slow drugged gaze, listening intently. “Some bell pepper farmer from up by Jacksonville.”

“He’s been taken to the local jail for holding?” you ask, and then add: “Alive?”

“Yeah, and he already has a record. Assault and battery. His brother-in-law is apparently a Grand Dragon in the Klan.”

“What the hell is a Grand Dragon?”

“Well, it’s higher than a Goblin, but not as illustrious as an Imperial Wizard, does that answer your question?”

“Perfectly.” You smile at Criston, a pained, wry smile. He returns it and places a palm over your belly. You are still wearing the mint green dress Aemond picked out for you this morning, before he won the Florida primary, before he was shot twice by the disciple of a political adversary and laid at death’s doorstep. You are still covered in your husband’s blood.

“You’re feeling alright?” Then Criston smirks, knowing how ridiculous he must sound. “You know. All things considered.”

“We’re both fine. The baby’s moving around, I can feel it.”

“You can feel him, you mean,” Criston teases, knowing Aemond’s preoccupation with his unborn son; but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the joke.

Aegon says to you suddenly: “How the fuck did you let this happen?”

“What?” you answer, stunned.

Aegon stands and approaches, lurching, raging. “You always have to be right beside him, in the photographs, in the headlines, in the soundbites, but you let some psychopath run up and shoot him? Twice?!”

“I thought he just wanted to shake Aemond’s hand, or maybe get a quote for an article—”

“You didn’t notice the gun?!”

“Aegon, sit down,” Criston orders.

“It happened in seconds,” you say. “You think you would have done better? You and your Valium, and your Librium, and your Percodan? You think your reaction time would have been so superior to mine?”

“Please,” Alicent moans, mopping tears from her pink cheeks with a handkerchief. “Please, don’t fight, not now…”

“We are all friends here,” Fosco adds in his thick Italian accent, yo-yoing by a window.

“You want to be the first lady so bad but you can’t handle it!” Aegon shouts, his voice echoing through the lobby. “You’re not some prodigy, you don’t have all the answers, you’re just a girl who stitched yourself to Aemond and then you let him get shot, he’s being operated on right now, maybe he’s even dying, and you still act like you’re so fucking perfect—”

“You’re mad because you know that everybody here is thinking the same thing,” you tell Aegon, cold and cruel. “That if someone had to get killed tonight it should have been you.”

Aegon’s mouth drops open; he stares at you with that slippery, opaque, stoned woundedness, pathetic, infuriating, illogically childish. Everyone else pretends they haven’t heard you. Alicent sniffles into her handkerchief. Fosco begins humming I Want To Hold Your Hand. Mimi chews sluggishly on her BLT. From the nurses’ station, Otto says, holding the phone to his chest: “It’s George Wallace. He’s calling for Aemond’s wife.” Then he waits to see if you’ll agree to take it.

Of course you will. You have to. You are acting in your husband’s stead. You go to the nurses’ station and grab the handset when Otto passes it to you. “This is Mrs. Targaryen.”

“Ma’am, I just wanted to offer you my sincerest condolences.” He has a pronounced drawl, born and raised in what he has praised as the Great Anglo-Saxon Southland. You animal, you think. You braindead bigot. “I do hope the senator makes a hasty recovery. I sure would like to beat him at the ballot box, but I have no stomach for anarchy. An act like this is repugnant to me, as it should be to any red-blooded American.”

“It was one of yours, do you know that?” you say, dripping venom. “One of your hateful ghouls.”

“I have no such knowledge. But if the shooter does turn out to be a supporter of my campaign, I disavow him utterly. He deserves a nice long sit in Old Sparky and then to meet his maker.”

“You inspire men to commit violence, and then you renounce them when they spill blood. I’m still wearing my husband’s. It’s on my hands, it’s on my dress, and I will not absolve you of blame. You are a gardener of discord. You grow it like roses or wheat. You tend to it until it blooms.” Otto is studying you, bushy eyebrows raised. “If you’d truly like to repent, perhaps dropping out of the Democratic primary would be a good start. And then you could find something useful to do, like drowning yourself.”

From whatever office he’s currently lounging comfortably in, his shoes kicked up on the desk, Wallace chuckles. “Aemond is very fortunate to have as ardent a defender as you, my dear.”

“Yes, a devoted wife is such a treasure. It’s a shame you killed yours.”

“Ma’am, once again, I just wanted to express how terribly sorry I am for your family’s hardship. I would never wish for an incident like this—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be emboldening white supremacists then!” You slam the phone as you hang up.

Otto looks at you. He says: “Did it go well?”

The heavy double doors leading to the operating theater swing open, and a surgeon steps through them, still drying his hands with a dark blue towel. He has changed his scrubs and washed his skin, but you notice a spot he missed: a fleck of half-dried blood up by his temple. That’s Aemond, you think. That’s a piece of him.

Everyone rushes to gather around the doctor, even Mimi; she lists like a ship taking on water as she walks, gnawing at all that remains of her BLT, just a sliver of white toast crust.

“The senator is alive,” the doctor says, and Alicent cries out in relief. Criston rests a palm on her shoulder. “But we could not save the eye.”

“He’s half-blind?” you ask. There’s never been a half-blind president. There’s never been a Greek one either. And the only reason this is stuck in your mind is because you know it will consume Aemond’s.

The doctor nods. “We had to remove it. The bullet that struck Senator Targaryen in the head, fortunately, was more of a graze. It ricocheted off his skull and didn’t cause any trauma to the brain, but his eye was…” He hesitates, trying to find a more polite word than shredded, macerated, pulverized. “Destroyed.”

“You stopped the bleeding?” Aegon says, astonished. “He’s okay? He’s really okay?”

“The second bullet pierced the thoracic cavity and was lodged less than an inch from his heart. He was very lucky. We repaired the damage to the best of our ability, and I am optimistic that the senator will make a full recovery. He’s resting comfortably now, but he should be awake soon.”

“Oh, thank God,” Alicent says, glistening dark eyes raised to heaven. The salient points gathered, Fosco wanders off again, his yo-yo dangling from its string.

Otto asks: “When can he resume campaigning?”

The doctor is caught off-guard; it takes him a moment to answer. “That will depend on the senator’s stamina as he regains his strength. If he chooses to stay in the race at all.”

Otto scoffs. “Of course he’ll stay in. This is what he lives for. You really can’t give me a ballpark figure?”

The doctor is determinately impassive. “I would estimate a month or two before he can withstand the rigors of the campaign trail again.”

“California is June 4th,” Otto recalls, counting off dates on his fingers. “Illinois is the 11th, New York is the 18th…”

“Look, there are people outside!” Fosco announces excitedly as he peers through one of the windows. “Hello! Hello everybody!”

“Fosco, you idiot, stop waving,” Otto snaps. “Go sit down.”

“But they are cheering.”

“Not for you.”

Fosco, somewhat deflated, grabs an egg salad sandwich off the platter and plops into a chair to eat it. He’s dressed in a green plaid sport coat and tight white trousers, very chic, very European. You’ve never been able to imagine Fosco and Helaena being passionately romantic with each other. They’re both a bit too doll-like for that, closer to Barbie and Ken than flesh and blood, blank stares and vague ambitions.

“Someone should talk to them,” Alicent says softly. She means the crowd that is forming in front of the hospital: journalists, cops, local politicians, mutilated veterans, college kids, farmers, fishermen, women and children, the future and the past. Everyone turns to look at you.

“I’ll do it,” you volunteer. You will, you must. Aemond could have chosen a hundred similarly suited women to be his wife, but he chose you, and when he did your vows became a blood oath.

Criston accompanies you downstairs to where the crowd has gathered just outside the front entrance of Good Samaritan Medical Center. The night air is warm and humid, the stars bright. You had thought of so many things to tell these people as you’d stood in the elevator as it descended, but now your mind is empty, fearful. There are photographers with blinding camera flashes and apostles waiting with famished eyes. From the depths of injustice and poverty and war, they have come to pay their respects to the man they believe is destined to save not just themselves but their world. What should I say? What would Aemond want me to say?

“I am very pleased to share with you all that Senator Targaryen is out of surgery and regaining his strength.”

There are cheers and applause and prayers; you are still clutching the komboskini that the old woman gave you in the lobby of the Breakers Hotel. You see more prayer ropes in this flock, and rosaries too, Bibles and dog tags, copies of The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Joanne Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

“We would like to thank you for your heartfelt support. Aemond and I are so very grateful, and he is looking forward to being back on the campaign trail soon.”

More clapping and whistling, and then the crowd waits. You aren’t sure what they want to hear as you stand in the glow of the hospital luminance; your hands are trembling wildly, so you clasp them together as you hold the komboskini. Criston glances over at you, concerned. You settle on the truth.

“The man who tried to kill my husband tonight is a supporter of former Alabama governor George Wallace and an avowed white supremacist. Any ideology that advocates for violence and prejudice is a threat to our bodies, our nation, and our souls. We will not surrender to it, not even when our lives are in jeopardy. We will not concede that hope for a better world is lost. We will press ever onward with the knowledge that God is on our side, and that the future of this country is worth fighting for.”

You are bathed in flashbulb lightning; your ears ring with the thunder of the applause. You are shaking hands now, nodding, beaming, Criston following you like a shadow as you move through the congregation. You stop to listen to a middle-aged woman in a floral dress who wants to give you marriage advice: never get bossy, don’t become selfish, remember that you are his safe harbor in the storms of life. It is your job to gift her your momentary veneration. You have beauty, but she has wisdom; or at least, that is the bargain that has been struck, that is the presumption everyone agrees upon. She must have some advantage over you, otherwise the decades she has spent in service of her parents and husband and children have been wasted, she has carved away pieces of herself to feed hungry mouths until she vanished like the doomed nymph Echo. In return, she tries not to envy you too much, not to dismiss you as foolish or frivolous or lustful. Sometimes you think that women are filled with such vicious, relentless self-loathing that it feels good to direct it at someone else for a while, to pick apart another body, to tally up the deficits of her spirit.

“Aemond is so lucky to have you,” the woman says. You can barely hear her over the roar of the crowd.

And you smile as you dutifully reply: “I think it’s the other way around.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is a television mounted on the wall in Aemond’s room. The news coverage, the volume turned way down low, oscillates between his own near-assassination and the stalled peace talks in Paris. Representatives of the United States and North Vietnam cannot agree, and so each day more body bags are flown home to return the bones of the nation’s sons and fathers to Missouri, Alabama, Idaho, Maine, Wisconsin, Maryland, Arizona, California, New Jersey, everywhere else. Someone has to end it. Aemond will end it.

“I dreamed I won Florida,” your husband mumbles, and that’s how you know he’s awake, here in a hospital bed and wearing IVs like strings of Christmas lights around a pine tree.

“You did,” you tell him, gently smoothing back his hair from his forehead. His left eye—where his left eye used to be—is bandaged; his words are soft and labored. “Humphrey was second. Wallace got third. But you won. And you’re going to be okay.”

“McCarthy?”

“It seems you’re devouring his coalition.”

Aemond’s lips slowly curl into a grin, triumphant. “It is God’s will.” And this is what he always says. It is God’s will that he survives, it is God’s will that he wins the presidency, it is God’s will that you give him sons.

“Yes,” you agree, lifting his right hand to kiss his knuckles. Then you press the komboskini you’re still carrying into his weak grasp. It means more to Aemond than it does to you. “Yes it is.”

Aemond sinks into unconsciousness again, morphine and dreams that blur with reality. There will be pain soon, and plenty of it, but he is free from that impending truth for now. You rise from your chair to tell the rest of the family that Aemond is beginning to wake up. Alicent and Criston will want to speak with him.

When you open the door, Aegon is standing there: an eavesdropper, a trespasser. He glares at you with his large wet ocean-blue eyes, hazy with pills, glinting with resentment. Reluctantly, you step aside to let him in. Aegon wobbles as he passes you and has to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself, scrabbling like a trapped animal.

“You’re a disaster,” you say, caustic like acid, biting, repulsed.

Aegon whirls and jabs his index finger against your chest, bloodstained mint green wool bouclé by Chanel. “You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you.”

You feel something hitting you like a bullet, cracking ribs, piercing lungs, tearing muscles and ligaments. Your lips have parted, but you can’t fathom words. Aegon has said many things to you—bitter things, belittling things, things in mixed company, things when you’re alone—but never this. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he has won one of your sparring matches. He has the upper hand. He has wounded you.

Aegon can see this, certainly. But he doesn’t seem pleased with himself. He looks a little shellshocked, like he can’t quite believe he said the words, like maybe if given the chance again he wouldn’t take it. But the moment is over now, and you can’t get time back, it is a thread that unspools until every inch is gone, spent, tangled in a thousand webs.

Aegon staggers into the hospital room. You flee from it. Out in the lobby the phone at the nurses’ station is ringing again. They’ll all be calling now to give their requisite sympathies. Humphrey counsels prudence, McCarthy prays for peace, LBJ offers the empathy of someone who has felt the cold gaze of Death in his own doorway, Nixon praises Aemond’s resilience and quotes the ancient philosopher Seneca: “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader

[elliewlums]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 [𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐢]

pairing: aegon targaryen ii x fem!reader

summary: aegon seeks comfort from you

content warnings: implied nightmare, a lil bit of crying, a whole lot of hurt/comfort, feelings ugh

no judgements i beg i have a soft spot for emotionally crippled emos. also i know this will flop but i had an idea and ran w it so i’m committed. and as always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

“y/n…”

you roll over at the rasping voice in your doorway. “mmh.”

the door creaks as aegon pushes it closed behind him; steady footsteps advance on you as your body naturally unfolds to make room for his broadness. you feel his heat, the blankets lifting at the corner as he works his way into your side; you shuffle over in the king sized bed, already knowing what he desires.

he needles his way beneath your arm and sniffles. his bare torso is cold against your own warm skin.

“come here,” you murmur, not wanting him to catch a chill. your arms instinctively wrap around his neck as you cradle his cheeks, all the while dotting tender kisses against his face, damp with tears. “what is it, hm?” he shakes his head, reaching to twirl the ends of your hair in his large fingers.

you sit up, propping yourself against the various pillows and coaxing him up into your arms.

his head lolls as he gazes up at you through blonde lashes, almost invisible until the sunlight catches them. your own hand travels up to brush stray strands of hair out of his face.

“what did you do to my guard?” you giggle. aegon’s brows knit until a deep crease forms in his porcelain skin. you smooth it with the pad of your thumb.

“i just… suggested he take a walk.”

“at two in the morning?”

a beat of silence follows. your smile slowly fades as his lips part to speak.

“do you love me?” a question often asked; one often unanswered by the person he craved to hear it from the most.

“i do. more than anyone.” you pinch his chin, not meanly, just enough to encourage his eyes to yours in the dimly lit chambers. “i swear it.”

you press a sweet kiss to his lips, pushed into a gorgeous pout that makes you giddy with affection. “do you love me?” you ask. a rebuttal.

he nods shakily; then again, firmer. “more than anyone.”

“good,” you say. his eyelids start to drop as he settles in your arms and presses his nose to your neck. you press lips to the top of his head as his cheek squishes against the juncture of your shoulder. his fierce grip around your waist borders on discomfort.

“gentle, aegon.” you murmur. he mumbles something indiscernible but loosens his hold nonetheless. his flaxen tresses fall around his face in a halo and soon his breathing evens and deepens. it’s not long before you’re exhausted as well.

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the second #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x fem!reader #aegon targaryen x female reader #aegon targaryen #aegon x you #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #aegon drabble #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fic #writer #writing #writers on tumblr #fanfic #fic #fic writer

[nebulaafterdark]

Dearest Love

Aegon x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Aegon and Y/N are newly married and thus they must begin producing heirs. Set before the ‘More Than Anyone’ series. Inspired by @narwhal-swimmingintheocean

Warning: MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY! Targcest, mentions of sex.

“That was a heavy sigh, sweetheart.” Aegon chuckles as his wife turns away from him. “You reached your peak, did you not?”

“I am not yet with child.”

“Mmm, and I have been doing my best to remedy that.”

“What if I am barren?”

“You are not,” Aegon scoffs. “Ripe little thing, you are. If it is either of us, it must be me.”

“They will blame me.” Y/N murmurs.

“Who, my darling?” He demands, using his arms to reel her back in. “Who will blame you? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You do not understand the pressure that I am under to produce an heir.” She begins anxiously toying with his fingers.

He does not understand, they’ve been married but a moon turn, almost two.

“Sweet girl,” he frowns, nuzzling the side of her face. “If it does not take, there are other things we might try.”

“Like what?” The princess wonders, smushing their cheeks together.

“Never you worry about that, hmm? I will give you a babe, as many as you want. As many as you’ll give me, but you must settle down.”

“I am settled.”

“Even your cunny was tense.”

“Aegon,” Y/N whines, covering both hands over her face.

“None of that,” he chuckles, feeling himself harden again. Sliding into her slick from behind, the pair on their sides. “You know I adore you.”

“Aegon,” she sighs, reaching back to stroke his hair.

“Try to enjoy yourself, dearest.” Aegon murmurs, “let us not make a chore of it. When you are with child I will want you still.”

“Will you?”

“Every morn, noon and night I will want you. I want you always.” One hand wanders down from her hip to her belly, stroking the warm skin there. “Soon you will swell with our child. So very soon. I swear it on all my love for you.”

Love, a frivolous endeavor, as Aegon had called it not so long ago, is now the currency which he swears by. Y/N nods, lacing their fingers together for just a moment before he is pulling away.

Bringing her leg backwards to rest over his hip. Fingers teasing her bundle of nerves once more. “Now-” her little cunt is sloppy, loud and hot as his earlier release lingers within, “be a good girl for me.” He keeps her full of his seed, fingers and cock. Determined to give her exactly what she wants.

News breaks over the next few weeks, the Princess Y/N is with child.

This update on his wife’s condition did not come through her, rather in passing during a visit to the silk streets. Aegon acts as if he is in the know, of course he knew, Y/N is his wife. The number of cups he consumes that night is more than he’s indulged in since the start of their union.

And when he returns that night, to crawl into Y/N’s bed, she welcomes him there. “You are in quite a state, my Prince.”

“You did not tell me.” He slurs the words out from where his head rests, cradled against her bosom.

“You were not here.” Y/N strokes a patient hand over his hair.

————————————————————————

Y/N grows quickly and the Maesters confirm that she is with more than one child. Likely no more than two, though they cannot say with certainty.

She is sick often, tired and moody, though she tries, Gods know how hard she tries.

“This is what you wanted, is it not?” Aegon asks, staring up at her over the tiny swell of her womb.

“This is what I wanted,” Y/N assures him.

Why then are you so unhappy?

In Aegon’s defense, he has no concept of what a marriage should be. Certainly no concept of how to properly love someone the way he loves his sweet wife.

“And now she draws away from my touch.” He cries into his cup. Entirely intoxicated as he lounges, nude in the lavish private room of the pleasure house. The women there please him greatly, repeatedly. Only nothing compares to the feeling of her.

“Oh, my Prince.” His lady of the night frowns. “Perhaps your wife is at war with herself.”

“In what way?” Aegon rolls onto his side to face the pretty blonde in which he attempts to drown his sorrow.

“She is with child. Tis not an easy task. The Princess might need a little…more from you in these times.”

“A gift!” Aegon suggests, “she might like a gift.”

“She might.” The woman agrees.

“Would you help me find something? Of course, something for you as well. For your troubles.” Aegon springs from the mattress, making for his clothes.

“You are half my troubles, your majesty.” There is no heat behind her words. “The sooner I return you to your bride, the sooner I can retire.”

————————————————————————-

Aegon presents Y/N with a necklace, the following night before supper. Nestled safely in a satin case.

“It’s beautiful.” Y/N breathes, tracing the chain with her finger.

“Would you like to wear it?” He cannot tell by the look on her face.

“Help me with the clasp?”

“Turn around, my love.” My dearest love. Aegon takes the necklace in hand. Waiting as she turns, then securing the gem in place.

“How does it look?” Y/N smiles, facing her husband as she strokes her thumb over the stone.

Don’t you know you hold the moon and stars in your eyes? “Perfect.” You are perfect.

She kisses him then, softly, sweetly on the mouth. “Thank you, Aegon. I love it.” I love you.

They join the rest of their family for dinner. Alicent taking note of her daughter-in-law’s jewelry. The way Aegon’s hand does not leave the tiny swell of her belly. They are in love. Head over heels, madly in love. So long as they are, only good will come of their union.

As Y/N grows, not much seems to fit her. Even her mother’s maternity dresses leave little breathing room and she is only two thirds through her term.

She cries often, so often that Aegon’s heart breaks with it. The heaviness of her sorrow. Though such is her duty and she does love the babes, more than she can say.

“This will be over soon, love. Our sweet babes will be in your arms.” Aegon soothes, holding her close, stroking dark hair with an affection learned just for her.

Y/N nods, sniffling as she clings to him. She is always hot or hungry or tired. So terribly tired.

“Tell me, sweet girl, what should you like to name our little dragons?” He wonders, stroking her belly to feel the tiny kicks there.

————————————————————————-

Y/N does not understand how or why Aegon is still attracted to her in this state. Not when he has prettier whores to bury his cock in. Even so, Y/N allows him to kiss and lick at her greedy little cunt anytime it pleases him.

“My only love,” he murmurs against her inner thigh. “My dearest love.”

And when he fucks her, so soft and sweet; Y/N has no choice but to believe that he loves her as much as he claims.

When they are finished, he breathes in deeply, his ever furrowed brows lulled to submission. Almost as if he were relieved.

“I do love you, Aegon.” Y/N whispers, “I love you with all my heart.”

————————————————————————

They spend days together strolling the garden, sharing secrets and stealing kisses.

At supper Aegon demands a cushion for his sweet love. The weight of their babes, push down on her back and hips. Y/N is terribly uncomfortable, even when she does not speak it, Aegon sees. Everyone sees.

“Make quick work of your food, darling.” Rhaenyra encourages, “so that you might retire early.”

Alicent bites her tongue. Though it is the King’s place to excuse the Princess and not Rhaenyra, she does not wish for Y/N to suffer.

Once Y/N and Aegon are finished, the Prince helps her to stand and when she does…

“What is it?” Aegon fusses about her, desperate to understand why all the blood has drained from her face.

“M-my waters.”

Everything moves out of time. Y/N is whisked away. Aegon is forbade from seeing her as she births their children. He remains close to the door of her chambers, wishing to hold her more than anything. To bring even an ounce of comfort to his wife, but it would be improper. And they must be respectful of tradition.

When the heart wrenching sound of Y/N’s cries begins to quiet, Aegon is informed that he has two daughters. Though his wife has yet to deliver the afterbirth, he forces himself to her side. Despite his mother’s warning.

The babes are perfect, being bathed softly by Y/N’s maid. The Maester working between her trembling knees.

“Y/N,” Aegon cups her cheek.

“Aegon.” She slurs, drunk on milk of the poppy, administered to stitch up where she’d torn.

“You did remarkably.” He kisses her sweat damp forehead.

“A son will be next,” Alicent assures her. They will have to try again.

If looks could kill, Alicent would have fallen over dead at the daggers Rhaenyra shoots her direction. Stroking her daughter’s dark hair affectionately.

Aegon waves his mother way. “Rest now, my dearest love.”

Moments later, when Y/N is long asleep, Aegon holds his daughters for the first time. One in each arm and neither of them cry. He does. Overcome with love for the tiny babes. When they do begin to fuss, Aegon hushes them. “Papa’s got you,” he rocks lightly, switching from foot to foot. “Papa’s here.”

He will never leave or shove them aside, never trade them for a thing in this world. He will be better than his own father. He will spend the rest of his life doting upon them and even still, they will never know how dearly they are loved.

#house of the dragon #hotd smut #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon ii #aegon targaryen smut #aegon the elder #aegon smut #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen fanfic

[gtgbabie0]

-Aegon Targaryen x Barmaid!Reader

{Aegon, once again, seeks refuge within the safety of your bedroom…}

Enjoy lovelies 💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊

Your bedroom was comforting. The low light from the candles cast warm shadows against the walls, and the warmth of the fireplace spread through the tiny, rundown room. It was an escape from the brothel in which you live above, an escape from the noise and drunken guards who were a little too rowdy tonight for your liking.

Seems the Prince also felt the same because when you walked into your room he was there, lying face down against the cushioned divan snoring ever so softly without a care in the world.

His white and choppy hair splayed messily over the pillow, his lips stained red from whatever cheap wine he had indulged himself in tonight.

It doesn’t surprise you nearly enough as it should, to see him here, a Prince, within the calmness of your own room sleeping and drunk no less.

You try to stay as quiet as possible, moving around the room on steady feet whilst you clean up the mess he had caused by stumbling into your room haphazardly.

But your attempts are useless when the sound of his hoarse voice breaks through the air, “Good… you’re back.” He pushes himself to sit up with a groan, his eyes heavy with a deep sorrow that he’s clearly trying to drink away.

The audacity, the way he thinks he can just barge in here. It frustrates you and rightfully so. “What have I told you about this… look at the mess you’ve made.” You huff with narrowed eyes as you pick up the books he had knocked over.

Aegon stands up with a struggle, his face scrunching up in what you presume is pain. “Where were you?” He completely ignores your complaints with a heavy sigh. His words are all slurred as he leans forward as if trying to spot you out on a lie.

He doesn’t even give you time to respond before he’s talking again through the thick haziness that the wine has caused. “They said you were here… and you weren't, I waited hours for you.” He says, his tone was clearly accusing you of something.

“Not all of us have the privilege to lay around and drink all day Aegon.” You tell him with an anger in your voice that he wasn’t used to, not from you at least.

You watch as his glossy eyes narrow with a turmoil of emotions that he can’t escape from. He’s quick to try and push past you with a dramatic huff. However, he doesn’t make it further than the end of your bed before he’s stumbling slightly with unbalanced footing.

“Seven hells, Aegon… what have you drank?” You mutter as you catch him just barely, an arm wrapping around his torso to help him stand up.

Despite him being completely inebriated he still tenses up at the feeling of your arm around him, keeping him steady. It’s a certain softness that he doesn’t deserve.

“The usual shit… now answer my question, where were you?” He mutters, turning his face towards yours. The smell of wine hits you much stronger now that he’s this close, his breath fanning against your cheek.

With a soft sigh, you cave. Knowing you won’t talk any sense into him whilst he’s like this. You’ve learned from the hard way that he’ll just end up circling back to the same question over and over again.

“I was in the market, I needed to stock up on a few things.” You tell him as he leans further into you for support, his arms circling your waist to try and keep himself upright.

He takes a breath as if he was going to argue with you, but no words follow. Instead, he presses his face into the crook of your neck with a heavy sigh, his fingers fisting the soft fabric of your shirt as he pulls you closer.

Your expression softens and you roll your eyes, your hand soothing his back. This happens a lot more than you care to admit and you can’t help but wonder, at times like this, what went wrong with him?

“You can’t leave… don’t leave me.” The words leave his lips pathetically, so heavy with emotion. His hands tighten, holding your shirt as if he were scared that you might just disappear into thin air.

“I’m not leaving, I won’t.” You tell him, a promise that he won’t believe, because you can guarantee that you’ll have the same conversation with him a couple of days from now.

But your words seem to do the trick for the time being as you feel him smile against your shoulder, pressing his face further into you. “Good, I won’t let you leave anyway.” He says with a certain seriousness in his tone, and in all honesty you wouldn’t put it past him to hunt you down if it came to that. He’s a prince after all, whatever he wants he gets.

You guide him to sit down on your bed, his hands falling to your hips as he collides with the bed with a groan, looking up at you with glazed-over eyes. A warm but strained smile adorns your lips as you rest your hands on either side of his face, his cheeks are warm beneath your palms.

His eyes flutter ever so slightly at the feeling. No one had ever touched him so sweetly, as if he was a piece of art that needed to be revered.

“Lay down… let me get something to eat.” You whisper softly as you guide him to lay against your pillows, his fingers wrapping around your wrist tightly so you don’t slip away from him.

It takes a lot of convincing and patience for you to finally leave your bedroom with the promise of bringing him a small meal. However, by the time you walk back up into the safety of the room he’s passed out on your bed.

His face smushed against your pillow as he curls himself up into a ball, his lips slightly parted. You sigh, placing the metal tray on your bedside table before sitting down next to him. You debate for a moment whether or not you should wake him, deciding it’ll be best to let him sleep off the wine.

With gentle fingers you brush his white hair away, tucking a few strands behind his ear. He could do with a good bath, you think to yourself. You sit there for a while, watching him as he nuzzles into the warmth of your pillow. He will be gone before the sun fully rises, leaving a small bag of coins on your dresser... in thanks?... or maybe as an apology? but for now, you'll enjoy this, the peaceful silence, whilst it lasts.

The candlelight flickers slightly with the breeze that pushes through your room, casting a warm light against his face. In many ways, this room is as much of an escape for him as it is for you.

#aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii fic #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii imagine #aegon ii #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd x you #aegon targaryen drabble #hotd fic #hotd aegon #hotd x y/n #hotd drabbles #hotd one shot #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd masterlist

[starogeorgina]

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲

Paring: Aegon II Targaryen x Targaryen OC

Warnings: None

Chapter: 1.01

“Rhaenyra!” You continue to rapidly bang your fist against the door leading into your elder sister's bedroom. "Rhaenyra, open this door right now!”

You hated her.

“You’re a fucking coward to hide from me!” You didn’t care that your language was unfit for a young lady, a princess; Rhaenyra had cut you deeply, and you wanted to make sure she knew it. “Unlock this door at once!”

You hated her.

“I would have never done this to you,” you sob. “I loved you, Rhaenyra, my big sister. We’re supposed to look out for each other, not... I would never do this. Not to you, never.”

You only stop banging on the door when your fist is pulled back by Ser Criston. “You need to stop before you hurt yourself, princess.”

You knew he was right, but it didn’t stop the anger that was radiating through you. Not only has Rhaenyra humiliated you by sleeping with your husband, she has also given birth to his sons. Three of them. Something you were never even given the chance to do. Your brain comes to a heartbreaking realization, one that makes you want to scream as soon as you think about it. Rhaenyra doesn’t care about you and never did. You feel your knees start to weaken, and your stomach drops. The knight whispers, “I know you’re hurting, princess, but they aren’t worthy of your tears.”

You take a deep breath and wipe your fallen tears away, knowing that he was right. “Thank you, Ser Criston.”

“The queen heard about what happened and would like for you to join her in her quarters. She wishes to offer you her comfort.”

You blink away the tears, your vision becoming more clear, and when it does, you see your husband standing down at the opposite end of the hallway. No doubt he was coming to see her. He was staring at you, looking worried. You feel your heart harden, not wanting to give him or her the satisfaction of seeing you hurt. You push back the sob, desperately wanting to escape your throat. “Ser Criston, do you mind escorting me to the queen's chambers?”

“Of course, princess.”

—

“How could she betray me in such a way?”

Alicent wraps her around your shoulder; she seems genuinely concerned about you. You had managed to maintain a smidgen of your dignity by holding your head high as you walked through the castle, ignoring all the side-eye glances and whispers going on around you. One of Alicent’s ladies-in-waiting brings in a tray of tea that’s supposed to help calm nerves.

“Prin-”

“Ivory,” you correct with a weak smile.

Lord Strong nods, “Ivory, I am ashamed to admit that rumors of my brother's betrayal had reached me long ago, but I assumed there was no truth to it. It wasn’t until I learned about the incident in the training yard this morning that I came to realize it was true.”

You had spent the last year defending Rhaenyra and Harwin, insisting that Jacaerys and Lucerys weren’t fathered by your husband before you were married. Because of your age, you had yet to lay with Harwin, and you thought if he was going to stray, it would be in the streets of silk, not with your own flesh and blood.

“She swore to me in our mothers names that they were Ser Lenors true-born sons. How could I have been so foolish?”

“You aren’t foolish, my sweet.” Alicent picks up a cup of tea and hands it to you, giving you a sympathetic look as she notices your hands trembling. “You have been deceived, and I can only imagine what Viserys will have to say when he finds out.”

You shake your head. It was widely known that Rhaenyra was your father's favorite, and learning what she was really like could be the thing that breaks him. “My love for my father is the only thing keeping me quiet. He is sick; finding out the truth about what Rhaenyra has done might be the thing that kills him, and we do not want him to suffer. If I’m being honest, I don’t know what to do.”

“I find that praying helps me find clarity and reassurance. I pray to the mother nightly; you can join me if you wish.”

“Perhaps I should pray to the warrior as well as the mother.” You chuckle lightly. “I could really use the gods' strength and courage."

—

After visiting the sept the night previously, the queen had arranged for you to stay in a separate bedchamber for the night since your quarter was beside Rhaenyra’s.

In the morning, Ser Criston escorted you back to your quarters; with him by your side, nobody dared approach you. The knight made pleasant small talk and even managed to make you laugh. When you reach your quarters, you thank him before walking into your bedchamber. You sit down at your vanity and begin to unbraid your hair, only stopping when you hear the door opening.

“Flora?” You call out, hoping to see your lady in waiting, who has become a close friend over the years. “Flora, is that you?”

When you turn around, you’re stunned to see Rhaenyra and Harwin. At first, you were afraid that the sight of them would upset you, but now, as you sit in front of them, all you feel is anger.

You say nothing; you turn your back on them and shift your attention to taking the remainder of your braids out. You push down the lump forming in your throat when Rhaenyra kneels down beside you with tears in her eyes. You pretend she isn’t even there and get up to go pick a dress to wear once you are bathed.

“Ivory! Ivory, please,” Rhaenyra begs. “It happened before you were betrothed! I never wanted you to find out like this. Sister, please! Just let me explain!”

You had fully intended to continue giving her the cold shoulder, but hearing the word sister caused you to snap. You can’t believe she had the nerve to call you that. You spin around fast, and your expression pulls into one of anger and hurt as you snap, “Don’t call me that again.”

Rhaenyra steps back as if you’d struck her.

Harwin says, “I am sincerely sorry for betraying your trust.”

You scoff, annoyed that he seems upset when it’s you that should be hurt by his dishonorable actions. “Until such a time that I am of age to perform my duty as princess and your wife, I don’t think we need to speak again.”

“Ivory…”

“You may leave, Ser Harwin.”

When the knight leaves, you turn to face your sister, whose eyes were bloodshot from crying, which angers you further. “Since the day Jace was born, I have loved him; the same is true of Luke. You’ve watched me play with them and sing to them. I’ve basically grown up with them, and not once did you ever think to tell me they were fathered by Harwin.”

“I tried to spare you the pain of knowing the truth.”

You can’t help the laugh that slips past your lips. “You must really hate me.”

She squeezes her eyes shut as more tears roll down her cheeks. “I love you.”

“No, you don’t. I’ve always looked up to you; I wanted to be just like you. My perfect big sister.” You shake your head, backing away from her slightly when she reaches for you. “Do not touch me.”

"When my father told me about his plans for you and Harwin to wed, I tried to stop the betrothal; I really did.”

“I believe you,” you say, wiping away more fallen tears. You hardly knew Harwin; he would occasionally accompany you on walks around the garden, and nothing more than a kiss on the back of the hand was shared between you, but he was still your husband. “Both Jacaerys and Lucerys were born before the betrothal; I would have easily looked past that and done everything I could to help protect them. But Joffrey, he’s only a few days old. Even after I married Harwin, you continued to have an affair with him.”

You see guilt pass over her features before she drops her gaze to the floor and says, “I’m sorry.”

“I still love my nephews; that will never change, but I can’t be around them right now. Not after knowing what I know, it will just be a constant reminder."

“Of my betrayal.” Rhaenyra takes a deep breath; red patches have appeared across her neck and chest. “I hope one day you can forgive me.”

When Rhaenyra leaves the room, you throw yourself onto your bed, pull your pillow to your face, and sob into it. This was too much pressure for a girl of one and five to bear.

When someone knocks at your door, you groan a little, assuming Harwin or Rhaenyra had come back. “Go away,” you mumble into your pillow. You lift your head to tell them to go away, but change your mind when you see who it is “Aegon, what are you doing here?”

He avoids looking you in the eye and shrugs. “My mother said you were upset.”

“So you came to check on me?”

You weren’t much older than Aegon; before you had even celebrated your first name day, your father had remarried, and Queen Alicent was pregnant. You were surprised to see Aegon, considering he didn’t spend much time with any of your siblings.

He rolls his eyes and says, “No.”

“Oh, then what are you doing here?”

“Wanted to know if you’d like to go dragon riding together.”

You smile and say, “Sure, that sounds like fun.”

Aegon on Sunfyre and you on Ghost were exactly what you needed to take your mind off everything else that was going on.

#house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen x female reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #Aegon II Targaryen/you #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii fic #ghosts in the sky #aegon ii targaryen x oc #Aegon II Targaryen/oc #Aegon II Targaryen x fem oc #aegon ii x oc #aegon targaryen x oc #Aegon Targaryen x fem oc

[aemondsbabe]

Anniversary

summary: swimming & face fucking || you and aegon relax at a snowy cabin in winter town for your first anniversary

pairing: modern!aegon x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, oral sex (m receiving), face fucking, breast/nipple play, dirty talk, i love him idk, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 1.8k

a/n: happy day four of 12 days of smuff!! surely this counts for swimming they are at least in some water lmao

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @gameofthronesdaily!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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You let out a soft sigh and relax further into the balmy water, letting your eyes slip shut as wafts of steam warm your face, which contrasted nicely with the cold mountain air that blew in breezes all around you. Your lips can’t help but curl up into a soft smile as bubbles gently break across the surface of your bare skin, tickling slightly as they rise to the surface of the water. 

“Okay,  you were right,” Aegon rasps next to you, his signature soft smirk audible in his words, “Maybe celebrating our anniversary in Winter Town wasn’t such an awful idea.” 

You blow a huff of laughter through your nose as you crack open an eye to peer at him — watching as he lets out a contented sigh, head tilted back against the lip of the hot tub, along with his stocky arms. Your eye opens a bit more as you let your gaze linger for a second longer, taking in the soft pink blush smattered across his full cheeks and the way silvery strands of hair stuck against the top of his forehead from the steam billowing up off the surface of the water. 

“Better than Dorne?” You tease, letting your eye slip shut once more. 

You hear him let out a soft laugh next to you before he sighs happily again, “Better than Dorne.” He agrees, voice strained as though he were speaking through a stretch. 

The two of you stay that way for an indiscernible amount of time, minutes seeming to blur together as jets massage every inch of you. 

Suddenly, you feel the water seem to shift around you and you open your eyes, smiling when you see that Aegon has chosen to move much closer, his shoulder nearly bumping against yours. 

“Hi,” you say simply, peering up at him through your lashes before you turn and lay back against him, your back against his side. 

He quickly readjusts and hooks both of his arms around your middle, his hands resting idly just underneath your breasts. “Hey,” he chuckles, tilting his head to press a soft kiss to the damp hair at the top of your head, “Come here often?” He teases; you can practically feel his chest swell with pride as you laugh against him. 

“As it just so happens, this is my first time,” you reply, tilting your head back to look up into his violet eyes, “Although, I happen to be on an anniversary vacation with my boyfriend.” Your smirk quickly turns into a pleased hum as he cups your breasts in his warm hands, your nipples hardening as you arch your back enough for them to rise out of the warm water. 

“He sounds very lucky,” he rasps, savoring your gasps as he kneads the fat of your breasts, eyes glimmering at the whimpers you let out every time his thumbs skim across your nipples. 

You reach a hand up and twine your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “He tells me quite often he is,” you breathe before tugging his face down to yours and hungrily pressing your lips against his. 

Both of you sigh into the kiss, your lips moving together lazily, unhurried. Aegon groans above you when he feels your tongue brush over his bottom lip, his hands grasping tighter to your breasts as he parts his pouty lips and lets you lick eagerly into his mouth, a gesture he happily returns as your tongues languidly swirl together. 

The two of you kiss for a while, moving against one other leisurely, each of you drinking down the other’s small noises of pleasure. 

Before too long, though, Aegon started to become restless and you smiled into the kiss when his touches became more desperate — harder, more incessant. You squeak against his lips when one large hand comes down and suddenly cups your center, already bare from when you’d both decided to forego swimsuits. 

“Wait!” You breathe, sitting up and disentangling yourself from your boyfriend’s arms. 

“Everything okay?” He asks with concern, one eyebrow quirked up. 

You can’t help but smile, endeared at his concern, although you quickly correct yourself with a sly smirk before you lean in and press kisses in a trail, starting at his chest and working your way up and over his collarbone and neck until you reach his ear. 

“Just want you in my mouth…” you tease, biting your lower lip as you pull back just enough to peer into his eyes.

“That can be arranged,” he says around a gruff laugh before tilting his head toward the sliding glass door that leads back into the small, cozy cabin you’d rented for the weekend, “Shall we head inside?”

You nod with a small giggle as you pull yourself from the bubbling water, squealing playfully when he takes the opportunity to smack a hand against your ass. The two of you quickly skitter inside, the cold air instantly nipping at your skin. 

You sigh a sigh of relief as you make it into the cabin, happy to be out of the cold breeze. Aegon makes quick work of the sliding door, quickly locking it into place before he takes one of your hands and leads you to the soft leather sofa in the middle of the room, a pleased smirk on his face. 

“I believe someone said something about getting their mouth on me…” he said, quirking his head to the side in mock contemplation as his hands settled on your hips; he presses a soft kiss to your lips before plopping himself down on the couch, one hand wrapping loosely around his already half-hard cock as he stares at you expectantly. 

You merely give him a playful eye roll before sinking to your knees between his thighs, the plush fur rug cushioning your knees from the wood floors of the cabin as the heat from the small fireplace in the corner of the room warms your back. 

He meets your gaze with a groan, tongue darting out to wet his lips when you place your hands on the tops of his thighs; the hand around his cock relaxes at his side. 

You lean in and press soft kisses to the light trail of hair that leads down from his bellybutton, taking your time before softly licking at the head, a pleased hum bubbling up from your throat at the salty taste of his pre-cum. 

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs above you, dark eyes nearly black as he watches you gently lick and kiss around the tip of his cock, “That’s it.” He praises when your lips wrap around him and eagerly suck him into your mouth. 

You groan softly, relishing the heavy weight of him on your tongue, before you begin bobbing your head. You wrap one hand around the base, stroking what little of his considerable length you can’t fit into your mouth, as you look up at him through your lashes, your eyes scanning over the pale planes of his chest before locking with his eyes once more. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he huffs above you, pushing a stray lock of hair out of your face, “So beautiful with my cock in your mouth, hm?” 

You nod as best you can, eyes watering slightly as the head of him pokes against the back of your throat. You can already feel his length twitch in your mouth, feeling cocky as you cup his stones with one hand, smirking when you find them already tightening up as you roll them gently in your hand in a way that makes Aegon’s head tilt back with a loud, drawn out groan. 

You move against him for a minute more, your other hand gripping at the top of his thigh as lewd wet noises fill the cabin. He can’t help but curl in on himself slightly when you run your tongue over that one sensitive area at his head, a hiss leaving his lips as one hand cups the back of your head. 

“Seven Hells,” he mutters, swallowing thickly before just barely canting his hips up, eyebrows furrowed in a silent question as his eyes meet yours, “‘M close, princess, please — fuck!” 

You can’t help but giggle around his length, nodding the best you can. He makes a soft sound of relief before the hand at the back of your head tightens in your hair; you steel yourself, groaning as he begins rutting his hips up into your waiting mouth. 

He lets out a beautiful whining groan above you, relishing the way his cock slides so easily in and out of your mouth as his tip prods deliciously at the back of your throat. 

“Shit,” he grunts, guiding your head down at the same instant he snaps his hips up, watching intently as your eyes roll back into your head, pleased at how you seem to enjoy this just as much as he does, “Gonna cum down that pretty throat, fuck.” He warns, gripping tighter at your hair as he starts to lose himself. 

You nod as best you can, sealing your lips around his cock a bit harder, squelching noises filling your ears as you choke around his length. Tears spring to your eyes as he thrusts a handful more times before his hips still, cock buried down your throat for a second as he all but growls above you. 

Pride fills your chest as you feel his length twitch against your tongue, the heady taste of his spend fills your mouth as you swallow around him, careful to breathe through your nose. 

After a moment, the fingers in your hair relax, allowing you to pull yourself off of him with a soft pop, smirking as you press soothing kisses to the insides of his thighs before you push yourself off the floor, wiping a hand across your mouth as you join him on the sofa. 

“I take it you enjoyed that?” You ask softly, chuckling at the soft moan that sounds from his throat as you straddle his legs, your breasts pressed up against his warm chest as you settle yourself in his lap. 

“You are goddess,” he murmurs, half-lidded eyes peering up at you as his hands come to rest on your hips. 

You merely chuckle as you card your fingers through his hair, gasping as he pulls you to him, violet eyes flicking up to yours before he runs his tongue over one of your nipples, sealing his soft lips around the bud for a moment as he suckles it into his mouth. 

“Aegon…” you breathe above him, whining as his hands sink down to cup your bum, pressing you harder against him still, as if he can’t be close enough to you. 

“Give me ten minutes and I’m yours,” he promises roughly, nose digging into the fat of your breast as he busies himself against your chest. 

You sigh softly and pull him up, slotting your mouth against his.

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#aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon smut #modern aegon #modern aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen fanfiction #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon fanfiction #aegon fanfic #aegon fic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #fanfiction

[sunfyresrider]

*ೃ༄SACRILEGE | AEGON II TARGARYEN

✧Synopsis. You’d been sent to Valea Zalanului, Transylvania to aid a church in desperate need of sisters of the faith. Since you arrived your faith has been constantly tested and the priest himself stirs nothing but unease within you.

✧Content. 18+nsfw ahead, Old English, vampire!priest, fem!reader, “blood letting”, confessional, provocative thoughts/dreams, vampire cult?, blasphemy, sacrilege,“father”, corruption kink, smut, m/f cunnilingus, pnv. WC. 6.3k

✧Translations. Wot- know, Gramercy- thanks, Hast- have, Hath- had, Thou - you, ‘I- in, Dost/Doth- do, Thy- your, Tis- it is, Merely- solely/only, Beray- reveal, Aye- always/ever, Ere- before

✧Note. anddddd we’re back. I haven’t been writing enough in the last few months so I am rusty. FYI the plot moves fast, this was originally just meant to be a short smut. Tags. @criticallybella @etherial-moon-blog @xylianasblog

Valea Zalanului,

Transylvania,

1480

You had been sent on a journey to join and aid in a new church far from home. A little village twenty some miles from the nearest city in desperate need for a priest and sisters of the faith. You hadn’t minded traveling the distance, albeit the chill from the soon to pass winter season made it all the harder. The town itself was even smaller than you assumed, a grandiose church sat in the middle of around thirty very simple dwellings. The wood, straw and stone was much different from the entirely stone city you were blessed to be born into.

Valea Zalanului had a certain charm about it that most large settlements lacked, natural beauty. God had taken extra time to craft the hills and forests surrounding it. Unfortunately, you’d be inside the church for most of your stay here. Which might not be a horrible thing considering many lives had been lost due to disease, a child who made it past three was considered a blessing. Not to mention the wars that raged on throughout the country.

Your heart ached with excitement at the idea of being a part of this place and helping the people who lived here.

You noticed that even though it was shrouded in beauty every face you passed seemed grim and the town itself was droll in comparison to ones you visited previously. In all honesty, and god forgive you for saying this, you’d find more cheerful faces during a funeral.

As you began to ascend the steps to the church you were immediately greeted by two sisters, one was much shorter than the other, her face soft and fresh, the other was tall and sharp. The elder seemed less pleased to greet you as she stood a distance, observing you carefully. The younger girl stepped forward and bowed slightly before taking your hands.

"Thou might not but be our new sister! welcome, I be sister Marishka, the one standing yonder is sister Aleera!” Her voice was sweet and her excitement was evident. “Pleased to compose thy acquaintance Mariska,” you smiled earnestly, “And sister Aleera.” Her eyes bore into you and you waited with bated breath for her judgment. None came, only a single nod and a knowing look to Mariska.

“Don’t let her fright thou, that little nod means she approves. Aleera is normally quite welcoming, it’s just these days hast been busy.” Your face betrayed you as it showed your surprise, the town seemed too empty to have a lot of traffic. “Truly?”

“Oh yes, many of the sisters that hast traveled hither were disappointing to say the least. Not to mention the sheer numbers of victims of war and famine that hast graced our steps… This winter hath been much worse than 'i the past.” You glanced around, observing your surroundings for all the people she spoke of but none were found. Perhaps that had all passed away while in their care or sent away for whatever reason.

A strange feeling began to creep up your spine. You could not place what it was or why it was but it was very much present. Your head whipped back to the door where Aleera was beckoning you inside, an arm wrapped around your own, paired with the brightest smile you’d ever seen. She had practically dragged you inside, gawking at the new ceiling fixtures. It grew ever darker the further you moved inside, save the one grandiose stained glass window depicting the crucifixion.

For how busy she claimed it to be, the church seemed rather empty. It felt chilled, more so than the outside and instead of oak the building was made of stone. Her chatterings were lost on you as you took it all in. There was something greatly lacking, overshadowed by a presence you could not name. It almost felt as if this building was a costume, built to resemble a sacred place. You nearly began to regret auctioning yourself to a newer place, perhaps adventure was not suited for you.

A light nudge to your waist drew you out of your stupor, gazing incredulously at Marishka. Her voice was still hushed as you turned to look upon, what you could only presume was the acting priest. He looked far younger than what you expected, messy platinum hair framing his baby-esque face. His smile was bright, yet his eyes were a stark contrast. They were drowned in a hue of violet, shrouded with a cloud of something you could not pinpoint.

His lips moved and you still could not hear, you were far too focused on how his attire was not in the proper size. “Mine mind seems to be elsewhere, please forgive me. What was it thou spoke?” He chuckled silently to himself, your disrespect of his status seemed to amuse him.

"Never fret, thy journey hath been long and i presumed thou had been exhausted. I’m father Aegon, the current and hopefully 'i the foreseeable future priest.” His accent was heavy and foreign, British, not something you had heard often. You bowed slightly, hand pressed against your chest as you greeted him.

"Mine name is-” Father Aegon waved his hand, “I wot thy name and all the important details. I’ve been 'i close communication with thy sect and we feel most blessed to hast thou” His smile felt unnerving, unusually sharp at the tips of his mouth. You could almost swear his teeth were whiter than most, though dental hygiene was not a common practice.

His eyes, on the other hand, were strange. You’d never seen such a color before nor been enchanted into gazing at them. It seemed you could become lost in the depths, if only for a moment. Your silence must have been off putting because Marshika seemed to grip you harder. “Alright, Methinks mine sister hath had too much excitement for today. I shall guide her to her chambers.” Father Aegon nodded, a silent understanding passed between them.

You struggled to find sleep after today's odd welcoming. After mindlessly reading through the weathered pages of a Bible you’ve owned since a child you blew out the singular candle in your room. You settled under the thin blanket and turned your back to the window.

The moon was full tonight. It bathed your whole room in its pale light, creating odd shadows from your belongings. Your eyes were trained on the window across the room. The howling sounds of wind began lulling you to sleep like a corrupted lullaby.

Everything will be okay, you told yourself as you squeezed your eyes shut. God will guide me through this, you murmured as you finally drifted off into slumber…

The sudden feeling of your bed being weighed down stirred you awake, but when you tried to move your body became limp. You glanced up to see a figure on all four limbs climbing onto the bed, dazzling red eyes boring into yours as it moved above you. A beast, one that seemed to be plucked out of hell itself. Your blood ran cold, the pounding of your heart echoing in your eardrums as its clawed, beastly hands slowly descended upon you.

You could neither scream nor move, as if you had been held down by an invisible weight and gagged by an unknown object. Your eyes squeezed shut, praying, begging for some sort of escape. Dear Lord art in heaven, whatever sin I may have committed or performed against you, dear god have mercy on me.

A soft pair of lips touched your collarbone, kissing against your trembling skin gently. You felt the devil above you shift, the horrid hands changing into ones that carefully caressed you. Blasphemy, you thought bitterly. How could such a heinous creature use such loving, familiar gestures? And yet, the hands and lips brought a strange warmth that calmed the tense muscles in your body and eased the erratic beats of your heart.

Your eyes began to pry themselves open, a flash of silver hair just hovering in your field of view. The smell of wine and a strange hint of musk entice your senses, the image growing clearer by the second. It was not the nightmarish shape you had seen before. Instead, a beautiful, gorgeous being that lulled you to another world with his hands.

Priest Aegon? No, not him, it couldn’t be.

His kisses did not cease, instead trickled down to your collarbone. His fingers inching onto your breasts, massaging into the tender flesh. You were not in your right mind, thoughts beginning to form and protest kept slipping away. It felt too good to fight it. Surely, this man is god in disguise.

The father’s lips pressed into that of your breast, his tongue ghosting your nipple. Your breath hitched, the feeling alone almost is enough to send you into convulsions. However, you were abruptly pulled from the haze, a sharp sensation pricked at your breast. With sudden clarity you peered down to see the priest sinking his teeth into your breast.

You jolted awake, eyes flying open and hands grasping at the spot where he bit you. You were in your room, alone, but you still were reeling from the dream. You heard the soft chirping of chaffinches and the soft rustling of the leaves. The normally comforting sounds of day instead brought a sense of dread in the air, as if the nightmare that visited you had left an imprint on the atmosphere.

As you remove yourself from bed and began washing yourself in front of the mirror you noticed A thin sheen of sweat coated your brow, and when you shifted you felt an odd ache between your legs. Worry began to nestle within your chest, could the lord see your dreams? Will he know about the vile, carnal, utterly strange thoughts that came to you?

You had neither had intentions to act on anything nor the carnal desire others held. You would repent for this, pray for forgiveness and to banish the image from your mind entirely. Out of thought, out of mind, you repeat to yourself in your mind as you readied yourself.

It’s important to note each house of God has different rules, in this one they are extremely picky about who they allow to work inside. Though it was increasingly clear it desperately needed some changes. To start, proper sleeping areas and a better way to heat the stone building. Perhaps more windows as well, it was extremely dark inside, midday felt more like midnight.

Everyone had made themselves scarce after breakfast, a small meal of bread and cheese that the farmers were kind enough to provide the church. It was a Sunday which meant communion would be held later in the evening. You attempted to make yourself busy in the meanwhile traveling around the town to feel out the people, culture and whatnot. It’s very important to know whom you would be spreading the word of the lord to.

The hallways within the cathedral were dimly lit, torches lined the walls instead of the usual decorative windows. There were few people around during the day and you encountered none of them. It seemed eerily empty, lacking something you could not put a name to. The wooden floorboards creaked as you walked across them and the grandiose door made a wicked screeching noise as you pried them open.

You felt lighter as you stepped outside, you felt lighter as you stepped outside, as if a weight was lifted from your shoulders and the dust no longer filled your airways. How odd, you thought to yourself, no house of God had made you feel like that before. You shook your head, starting your venture outside the confines of your home. The sleet had turned the soil into mud and the clouds remained dreary but at least the sun was starting to peak over the distant clouds.

Without hesitation you made your way through town, taking note of the way people eyed you suspicious and the caution everyone exuded while walking around the church. A scrawny man with a scraggly beard and rotting clothes strode towards your direction, probably going to visit the single alcohol serving establishment. You decided to attempt to speak to him, “excuse me, sir?”

He seemed completely uninterested as he avoided meeting your eyes. “S-sir? Doth thou hast a instant-” The man paused in his steps, turning around to meet your face. “You’re new, aren’t thou? Shipped 'i from another country i'd wager.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, glad he was willing to converse. “Only a few countries away,” you lightly jested.

He let out a sigh of disappointment, almost gazing at you with pity in your eyes. “If you’re as smart as thou sound, sister, i would turn tail and flee.” Before you could muster up the courage to ask him why, the man continued. "Aye since that priest came around everything’s been strange. Don’t say to me thou haven’t noticed aught?” You opened your mouth to return the sentiment, perhaps ask more questions, but the sound of the church bells caught you off guard, the bells signaling the start of service. The man gave you a curt nod before continuing his trek.

You nearly fell over yourself trying to walk back to your temporary home. The doors were open, though there was hardly any people inside. Just as you stepped through the threshold you heard the doors close, the heavy wood clanging together loudly and shutting you out. A sudden wave of panic hit you, instead of feeling safe locked away in the house of god, you felt panicked.

You kept your head down as you walked to the front, seating yourself farthest from the altar. You closed your eyes, readying yourself for opening prayer.

“We gramercy, our father, for that life which thou've discovered to us by jesus, thy son, by whom thou made all things, and take care of all of the world-”

The insistent pounding of your heart beat berated your eardrums, drowning out the flurry of voices around you. A part of you worried someone could read your mind, see what you saw last or heard the distrust for your church evident in your innermost thoughts. No longer did you feel pure enough to partake in any ceremony and if you could, you would flee to your chambers.

“Eternal god, we bid thou 'i the name of thy son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those whom receive it. That they may eat 'i remembrance of the corporal agent of thy son, and witness thee, o god.”

You were drawn back to the start of the communion, realizing you must have blacked out to miss so much. It felt as if time moved differently, you could swear you had just sat down.

“Holy God, we bid thou 'i the name of thy son Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this wine to the souls of all those whom receive it. That they may posset 'i remembrance of the blood of the lord which was shed for 'em”

Father Aegon’s voices boomed and bounced against the stone walls. It resounded in your head, as if it had come from within. You watched with careful eyes as the followers of Christ walked the aisles, one by one lining up in front of him. It was your turn now to stand and retake communion, as was required of nuns who moved sects. A part of you wanted to just sit and not join the line, but the fear of being shamed was far greater than the woe.

Your legs felt weak as you stood, your muscles nearly denying your pleas to move. You felt guilt weighing down your soul, as if divine punishment was awaiting. You shuffled along, eyes casted towards the ground as you gripped your dress. The Father was looking at, you could feel his eyes as you moved forward. From the tone of his voice he appeared disinterested in every other participant. Nervously, you stepped onto the last step, his form looming over you.

Father Aegon’s eyes bore into yours as they glimmered, unnatural they were, but he would just deny the accusation. He presented the host, and carefully he placed it in your mouth. His eyes studied the way your tongue nervously peeked out of your mouth, the way your large pupils stared into his own with such innocence and devotion.

Aegon imagined you would look even better on your knees.

“The body of Christ,” he proclaimed as he studied the way your throat moved as you swallowed the host. “Amen,” you mumbled out so quietly even his advanced set of ears struggled to hear. Your eyes watched him carefully as he turned to pass the chalice of wine to you. Quite the attentive little thing you were.

A moment later, he handed you the chalice with a light smile. The golden cup was unsteady as your hands trembled for an unknown reason. A strange feeling continued to creep up your spine as you lost yourself in his gaze. Perhaps it was due to the fact you hadn’t seen a man with his appearance in your entire life. If you were allowed to think such, he could be considered devastatingly beautiful.

The liquid slipped from the chalice and into your mouth. Instead of the warmth of Christ coating your senses, you felt your throat constrict and a harsh itch causing you to choke. You nearly dropped the holy cup to the floor as you tried to force yourself to swallow, his hand caught it before it could hit the floor, eyebrows raised as he studied you closely, listening to the rapid beat of your heart.

It burned in an unfamiliar way, as if you were being poisoned, and soon the taste of the communion wine coated your mouth with its putrid flavor you weren’t used to. Panic settled in your veins as your mind raced with explanations, fear of damnation.

Aegon smiled a small, amused grin which caught you off guard. He looked deeply into your eyes, his own burning with a mix of hunger as one hand slowly rose to wipe the wine from your lip. You couldn't look away as he brought his finger to his mouth and licked the liquid away, humming lowly. “Tastes like shit, doesn’t it?”

Your breath caught in your throat as your mouth gaped in shock. This was your Lord's blood, this was a sacred ceremony. How could he say something so vulgar. Aegon cleared his throat, lazily moving his hands to make the sign of the cross. “The blood of Christ,” he spoke louder than necessary. “Amen.”

You bowed your head, fingers gripping tightly onto the hem of your dress as you scurried away. The rest of mass you sat in utter silence, your gaze casted onto the floor. What the hell was happening to you? You had accidentally disassociated throughout the rest of communion, whatever prayers and hymns were sung you did not hear. You denied Marishka’s invitation to supper, instead running straight to your room to find solace in isolation.

Sleep once again eluded you the night after communion. It did not matter how much you tossed and turned, the sheets felt suffocating and your blood burned beneath your skin. Each time you began to drift your mind wandered where it shouldn’t, thoughts you hadn’t had before crept into your subconscious. Why did you choke? You’d never done anything like that before.

It felt as if the wine itself was rejecting you, deeming you unholy and not worthy of swallowing it. That terrified you, what had you done to deserve such a punishment? Nothing, you’ve done nothing in your existence that was against neither god nor man. You sat in bed, tearing the cloth that shielded you from prying eyes. It was better, but it was not enough. You swiftly leaned over in bed, pushing the tiny window up so the cold air could enter. Finally, your lungs seemed to inhale deeper, a blanket of ice wrapping around your flesh and easing the constant heat.

Out of thought and out of mind you murmured to yourself as you laid back down, out of thought and out of mind, out of thought and out of mind, out of thought-

In your dreams you mindlessly roamed the halls, drawn to an unknown location. Through the darkness you eyed a crack in a doorway, golden light emitting into the hallways. You stalked closer, carefully angling yourself so you could peek inside without being caught. It took you a moment to recognize the sounds, quiet giggles, panting breaths, soft murmurs, and vulgar noises coming from a female. It made your skin crawl.

You could make out three figures on the lavish bed, which you noted was much more posh than your own. Their bodies intertwined around each other and fully nude. There was something strange about it, each of them were glistening as if their skin was damp with water. Quietly, you sunk to your knees, bending your neck so you could truly focus in. As your pupil dilated, your mouth gaped in shock, thank god no noise came out.

They were there, you mean, the sisters and a strange man were all there. Their skin covered in what you could only assume was blood due to the red tint and they were… coupling. Or were they devouring him? Quickly you rose to your feet, silently scurrying away to not draw attention. Your heart raced as you neared your chambers, reaching your hands out into the darkness grasping for salvation.

Your body collided with something hard, arms reaching around to blindly grab hold of it. The pale moonlight illuminated the silver locks adorning his head, violet eyes and white teeth glowing against the dark. Priest Aegon. You looked back down in shame, your eyes had deceived you. You were not in the halls, no. Instead, in his chamber.

“Are thou alright, sister?” He asked in a gentle voice, a hand resting on your cheek, caressing the warm skin. You aren’t sure why your body refused to move or why your hands refused to release their hold on him. It felt as if your blood had turned into lead, weighing you down. Your eyes trailed up to his face, purposefully avoiding the lack of clothing or cotton bottoms he adorned which hid nothing.

“I- Methinks I was sleepwalking.”

Aegon’s fingers pulled your chin up, the corner of his lip tugging into a grin. Your brain was a fog, a mist, unable to process what was happening. He was leaning in, and the smell of wine and musk blinded your sense. You felt his lips brush past your ear, a chill running down your spine.

“And thy subconscious brought thou to me. Could it be that you’ve been dreaming of me?” The words were whispered like a secret, a taboo, a forbidden thing. Aegon’s words enticed you, which they shouldn’t, it is immoral and sinful. Your heart raced at the thought, “yes,” you breathed out.

Your hand reached up to rest against his bare chest, feeling his heart thump in the same erratic pace. “I’ve been dreaming of thou too, little lamb.” A hand found its way to your neck, his lips grazing over yours as he spoke. “Each time, thou devote yourself to me merely and i consume thou wholly. Keeping thou inside me eternally.” Your stomach flipped, a tightness building in the pit of your abdomen. It was sinful, it was wrong, it was utterly obscene.

And yet you sunk further into him, lips parting and inviting him to ravish you. His hands slipped under your dress, cupping your bottom and lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso, his cock pressing against your sensitive region. Aegon climbed on top in a familiar way, his soft lips dancing with yours.

Your head felt fuzzy and light, the sensation of his touch overwhelming and euphoric. You lost control of yourself, abandoning the vows and purity you swore. You were so lost, consumed by lust and sin. He pressed his hips against yours, rubbing against you. Aegon’s lips trailed down your jaw, peppering kisses along your neck.

He moved away from you and for a moment you mourned his touch, yearning to have him close to you once more. You observed him with lidded eyes as he kneeled down between your thighs. He was beautiful, a divine image of an angel sent to heal you. “I wonder if you taste as sweet as your scent, little lamb.” The father muttered before pushing up the skirts of your dress, he pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh.

The warmth of his breath tickling the most sacred area. His strong hands gripped your thighs, holding them down. Aegon licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, the sensation sending shockwaves into your body. You couldn't help but completely lose yourself to him. You never imagined such pleasure could be given, and by a man of god.

The father's tongue circled your clit, sucking on it gently. Aegon pulled away and pushed a finger inside you, a quiet gasp escaped your lips, a foreign pleasure spreading through you. He began to pump his finger in and out of you, curling his fingers, stroking a bundle of nerves that sent electricity through your body.

Your head began to spin, pleasure consuming your every thought. A pressure began to build within you, an indescribable sensation that only grew. His tongue traced intricate patterns onto your core, suckling on the sensitive bundle. ”p-please father,” you begged, though you were not sure what. Aegon chuckled and the vibrations made your eyes roll in the back of your skull. Your sense of reality had all but abandoned you, your head was stuck in the cloud as if you had ascended to heaven.

You felt your body shake and the tension in your abdomen snap. It was as if your soul was torn out of you, the euphoria so intense it was almost painful. You felt dazed, lost in a trance, and unable to move. However, as you glanced up you no longer saw your angelic priest.

Instead, a demon gazed down upon you. The beautiful face now morphed into a twisted image, fangs protruding from its jaw, and eyes glowing a sinister crimson. Its mouth opened, a forked tongue slipping out and licking a path up your thigh. Your mind started to clear, terror seeping its way in your heart, and before you could scream for help it sunk its fangs deep within the flesh.

knock knock

You jolted awake, grabbing the skin around your neck and chest as your frantic breathing cut through the silence. It was only a nightmare, you muttered to yourself. You shifted in place, feeling something cool beneath your bum. Gazing down at the creased sheets, the sight of a sopping wet spot on the cloth made your stomach churn.

knock knock knock

“Sister! Tis time to wake!” The door handle wiggled, the sound of locks echoed throughout the room. “Y-yes, sister!” Hurriedly you rushed to the water basin to try and clean off the sinful stain, but as you stood your head began to pound. It was as if a needle pricked at the backs of your eyes. To add further to the misery, an instant dizziness overtook you as your legs buckled beneath you, sending you tumbling to the ground.

Horror flooded into your veins, was this a divine punishment for what happened in your thoughts? It was pure carnal desire, a disgusting and immoral craving. This was a divine warning, a sign that if you don't rectify your sins soon you will be punished. You scrambled to your feet, putting on the clothes necessary to venture to the altar and pray for forgiveness.

You flung open the door and hurried out, leaving a bewildered sister behind. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you, passing a group of befuddled visitors in your wake. Tears streamed down your face as the weight of your actions began to crush you. As soon as you reached the altar seating in front of the statue of God himself you fell to your knees.

The sickness he has placed upon you was a warning, the dreams you were having were cursed. You felt as if eyes were always watching, a shadow lurking around every corner. The walls seemed to be closing in on you, the air thick with regret. You bowed your head, clasping your hands together in front of you.

You prayed on your knees every day for the next week. Each night you dreamt of him, he was a devil, a temptress pulling you into sin. You had to rid yourself of the thoughts. Each day, you would pray, and each night you would dream. Your own mind began eating itself alive, the constant fear and paranoia taking its toll on your body. There wasn’t a day in the past weeks where you did not feel exhausted or sickly.

It was only an amount of time before you fell from grace, perhaps died from stress. You have felt like an animal hiding in the skin of a holy nun. No matter how many times you scrubbed yourself, you still felt the filth from your nights. It was only a matter of time until they found out, until the others saw. It was past time you confessed to your crimes and beg the lord directly for forgiveness, you could let these ill feelings fester no longer.

You’d never had to take a confessional in your life except for when you first became a sister. Since then, you have remained in good standing. It was an awkward thing, especially since the only confessor was the priest. You knew you could tell him anything, he was the voice of god, yet a larger part of you was frightened too.

The idea of seeing him, knowing what you dreamt, was terrifying. But you had no choice, you needed to seek repentance, or else your mind would eat itself alive. As you walked to the confessional, a familiar feeling of eyes burning holes in the back of your skull followed. You begrudgingly pushed through, waltzing towards the steps of the lord. It was darker than usual, the storm brewing outside mimicking your internal warfare. The quiet cracks of distant lighting illuminating the statue of Christ, in a haunting way.

It lacked a confessional, though one was being built in the far side of the room, until the carpenter disappeared. Unfinished and unused it sat and a part of you envied it, for now you felt sullied. The soft pitter patter of footsteps approaching from the hall echoed throughout the chapel, growing closer. A lump formed in your throat, nerves eating you from the inside. You felt him kneel next to you, his head tilting to gaze at you. “Come to confess, little lamb?” His words came out in a purr. The script you had rehearsed vanished into the void and your mouth dried up. “How’d thou wot?”

Aegon raised a hand and tucked a stray hair under your veil. “I’ve taken notice of thy ailments as I hast taken notice of the lack of thy presence. I wot all that goes on inside these walls.”

“Then I suppose I hast no choice,” you sucked in a deep breath, chewing at your bottom lip. Aegon beckoned you to continue, his face laced with curiosity and understanding. “Forgive mine, Father for I hast sinned,” the words rushed out of your throat. “I hast been having dreams of late. The most intricate and vivid dreams I hast had ere. 'i mine sleepless nights I see things that I shouldn’t and doth things with thou that are deemed unholy. I betray mine God and worship only thou. ” You released the breath you were holding, awaiting his response.

He moved closer to you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver. "Tis not wrong to worship I, his voice and his will join through me. I grant thou what he not, if only thou speak to me.” Aegon’s violet eyes gleamed, and his smile divine yet twisted. “Wouldst thou like to live eternally? Wouldst thou like to feel ecstasy?”

“What will you from me?” The words left you silently, your own voice unrecognizable to your ear. "Remove thy dress as I will guide thou thumb," His hand slipped from the veil and caressed the soft skin of your cheek, a thumb grazing your lips. His hand caressed yours, his warm touch sinking your mind further into the clouds. At first, you moved away, some semblance of sense still lingering within.

“Dost thou not desire what I giveth freely?” Aegon’s eyes were so magnetic, pulling you closer into his gravity. You could not deny him, nor did you want to. You shook your head quietly, beckoning him to continue. He guided your hands to the string lacing together your blouse, pulling them apart. One by one the threads popped, a slow and tantalizing pace. The fabric slid off your shoulders, exposing the tender skin underneath. Your heart beat flurried, some remnant of holiness trying to will you to stop. “Such beautiful skin thou hast,” Aegon murmured, his nose brushing against your neck.

A soft kiss was pressed into the side of your neck, his teeth lightly dragging along the flesh. You gasped, your eyes closing. You were lost in a fog, unable to think clearly or make rational decisions. Father Aegon guided your hands to the waist of his skirt, slowly pulling it down. Your eyes shot open, watching his cock spring free from the cloth.

The tip was a soft pink, one large vein running down the middle. You were clueless as to what to do. You felt his fingers slip under your veil, gripping onto your hair. “I will guide thy mouth,” he purred, as if he read your mind. Father Aegon stood up, “like this,” his hand guided yours, stroking him slowly.

You leaned in, pressing your lips against the tip, the skin velvety and hot. Your tongue darted out, licking his tip. You could feel him throb within your grip, his eyes glazing over with lust. Father Aegon pushed your head down, forcing the head past your lips.

His hips began to rock, pushing deeper into your mouth. It was difficult not to choke, the saliva in your mouth gathering quickly. The sounds of his pleasure were like choirs of angels to your ears, serenading you into a trance. Your jaw ached, drool dribbling down the side of your mouth and the length of him.

He pushed your head down, his cock hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes welled with tears and he admired their glistening beauty. You were utterly perfect for him, he decided, a divine blessing. You tried your best to keep up with his pace, but the dull ache between your legs blinded you. A few small whimpers escaped your throat as you dropped your hand to ease the feeling between your thighs. Aegon released your head, a strand of spit connecting his cock and your lips.

Father Aegon gripped your cheek, colliding his lips with yours. He devoured you as if it was his last meal, as if your lips were the sole path to redemption. His tongue darted out, swirling around your mouth and relishing in your sweet taste. Your mind grew hazy, lack of breath making you dizzy, but you could not pull back. You had desired his touch more than you have ever before.

You whimpered into his mouth, the feeling of his body pressed against yours was indescribable. His firm hands gripped your waist, pushing you on the ground. “Thou look so ethereal underneath me,” he panted out in between breaths. “Wouldst thou like to feel me inside thee.” Aegon rubbed his cock against your heat, your juices coating him.

“P- please Father, I need thou,” you begged, wrapping your legs around his torso pulling him closer. “Needy little lamb, aren’t thou?” His cock pressed into, slowly stretching you to fit him. You let out a moan, a sound you didn’t know you could make. Your fingers found their way into his dress shirt, gripping onto him as he pushed himself inside you.

“Confess sister, how did you allow me to defile you,” he thrusted inside you, filling you completely. You could not think straight, his cock hitting the bundle of nerves that made you squirm. “Confess,” he beckoned before he began slipping himself out of you. “N-no I confess,” you whimpered. Aegon began to slam back into you, a rhythmic pace that made you see stars.

“I- I confess father, I let thou defile me, I dream of thou fingers inside m-” Aegon suckled on your ear, “more,” he growled. “I- I- I dream of your tongue bringing me p- pleasure- every night.” He thrusted into you harder, the sounds of his cock slamming inside you echoing.

He was a god, a divinity sent to bring you to madness and bliss. Aegon had bewitched you body, mind, and soul as you him. “I dreamt thou devouring me,” you screamed out, your legs shaking. Aegon grabbed your hips, digging his nails into the skin to keep you in place. “Wouldst thou like to stay with me forever?” The father’s hips snapped as he pushed deep inside, his cock pulsating. You could feel him inside your womb, his hand pressing down on your lower stomach to feel himself.

Your head spun as the coil inside you began to unwind, the intensity of ecstasy blurring your being. “Y- yes Aegon,” you whimpered out, tears welling in your eyes. His thrusts began to stutter, his pace faltering. Your cunt tightened around him,the muscles in your stomach clenched as a wave of pleasure began to overcome you. “Dost thou swear thyself to me forever,” he whimpered.

“Aegon!” you screamed out, eyes fluttering open. The coil in your stomach snapped, eyes widening moments before you saw his fangs sink into your neck…

#house of the dragon #hotd fic #hotd au #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #dark aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii smut #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii fic #aegon fic #aegon smut #aegon targaryen x female reader #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen fanfic

[officialaemondtargaryen]

From Her Knees

❝either we're smoking, or we're drinking, or we're at each other's throats. ❞

Summary: You're in a toxic relationship with Aegon.

Pairing: Modern Aegon Targaryen x Unnamed Female Character (no Y/N)

Word Count: ~1.5 k

Author’s Note: This is a rewrite of an old fic for a different character, but it fits Aegon so well that I had to write it for him. I hope that you enjoy it! As always your support through a reblog or comment is appreciated!

Warnings: alcohol use, language, p in v intercourse, oral (m receiving), mentions of previous domestic abuse, they are so bad for each other.

“You don’t do anything, Aegon!”

That was true.

The words she screamed at him usually were. He knew that, of course. That’s why it pissed him off so much. She was always right and she rubbed it in his face every single time. He had been home less than an hour after the shittiest day and she was already gunning for him.

“When am I ever here?” He spat. “I’m never fucking here! And when I am here, I have to listen to you bitch, and moan, and complain, and I’m fucking sick of it!”

That was also true.

He was almost always working; bearing the cross of being his father's son, forced to live a life he despised. It was exhausting, and draining, and all he wanted to do was come home and rest for the few short hours that he had before he had to get up and do it all over again. She’d never let him, though.

“Oh, you’re sick of it? Boo-fucking-hoo, Aegon,” she threw her hands up in the air. “What are you going to do? Leave? You tried that before, remember? It didn’t work.”

She was right again. How many times had they broken up? They had probably been separated more times than they had actually been together. He broke up with her the night before over something equally as futile, and yet, here he was again.

He just couldn’t stay away.

“You’re such a fuckin’ bitch!” He yelled. “You know that?” 

Yeah, she knew. She always had been and he always knew it. Yet, he stayed, she stayed. The two couldn’t stay away from each other.

They were moths to a flame.

He threw the door open, marching outside to the balcony, cigarette already lit and beer bottle in his hand. He slammed the door behind him, but she didn’t flinch. She was used to slamming doors, used to him in her face. Their screaming fits turned into fist fights almost every single time.

“Yeah, well fuck you,” she mumbled.

She poured herself a drink, swallowing the warm liquid quickly; it burned the whole way down. His silhouette danced along half-opened blinds as he paced back and forth on the balcony. Through the thin glass of the door she could hear him talking to himself; talking himself through hypothetical arguments while waving his hands in the air as he rehearsed. She didn’t even know why she was mad anymore. That’s how it was most nights. Something so small would trigger one of them, and then one sarcastic remark after the other and they were fighting again. The only time they ever got along was when they were both drunk, high, and fucking like animals on the closest surface available.

He was contemplating leaving again. Contemplating grabbing the keys, getting in the car, and spending the night in the gutter of some bar. This relationship was toxic. It always had been. His family begged him to stay away from her; the ‘narcissistic bitch’ they called her. Told him she was no good for him and that all she did was use him for money and sex. No matter how many times he tried to tell them that wasn’t true, they still wouldn’t believe him.

She didn’t want or need money. She didn’t want or need the sex. Hell, she barely wanted him. She could do so much better, they both knew it. She was beautiful and smart, and had everything going for her. Why she was sucked into this black hole of a fling, he would never know, and at times that made him feel even worse; knowing that she- in all of her holier-than-thou attitude and narcissistic personality disorder- she was still the prize of the two of them. He was just some cubicle junkie who only amounted to anything because of his last name, not because he cared.

Not because he was good at anything.

He came back inside when he was done smoking his cigarette and feeling sorry for himself. She was sitting at the table waiting for him. That was it, that was all it took; either he left or it was going to be World War III. He knew it by that shrewd look in her eye. The one that said, ‘you say one word to me, and I’m going to hurl this bottle of Jack Daniels at your fucking head’. He pulled the keys from the counter and started making his way back towards the door.

“Where the fuck are you going?” She asked him, standing up from her seat at the table and placing her hands on her hips.

He rolled his eyes and stopped. He really, really didn’t want to argue with her. He was tired, his muscles were sore, and he was so fed up with her shit. When he turned to face her, he sighed internally. She looked so cute standing there like that. Like at any moment she could just jump on him and claw his eyes out.

He hated crazy, but he loved her crazy.

“Well?” She drew out after not getting an answer the first time.

She was really trying to start something, and Aegon was caught in a cross hair; if he answered her, they fought. If he didn’t answer her, they still fought. If he left, they’d fight when he came back. Either way, there was going to be a fight.

“I’m getting the fuck out of here!” He yelled, knowing that everyone in their apartment complex could hear him. “Away from you and you’re fuckin’ voice that’s like nails on a goddamned chalkboard.”

All he had to do was say ‘I’m leaving’. He didn’t have to add the comment about her voice. But back-handed remarks were his thing, and he really couldn’t keep his mouth shut when it really mattered.

“Oh my voice is like nails on a chalkboard, huh?” She replied. “You aren’t saying that when you’re asking me to scream for you in bed! And trust me, the only reason I would be screaming is in laughter because your dick is so fucking small!”

She was in his face now, not intimidated at all by the way his eyes darkened. His fists were balled. He had hit her before a few times, and he always felt bad about it. But Gods, she was so annoying.

“What are you going to do? Hit me?” She egged on.

He was seriously thinking about it. Shut her up for the rest of the night. She might even pack her bags and stay with someone else for a few weeks. But he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. Instead he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her into him, crashing his lips on to hers. It didn’t take long at all for her to wrap her legs and arms around him.

They wasted no time; Aegon pushed her up against the wall, unbuttoned his jeans, pulled her panties to the side, and spit in his hand to wet the tip of his cock before he pushed himself into her. She gasped, fistfuls of his hair. Her mouth hung open as he pounded into her, slamming her up against the wall with each thrust. Her heavy moaning in his ear only added to the built up frustration that he needed to take out on her. She nibbled at his ear lobe, sending a shiver down his spine.

“I fuckin’ hate you,” he groaned in between thrusts.

Aegon pulled out of her and forced her down to her knees, shoving his wet cock into her mouth. She sucked the taste of herself off of him with pleasure before he pulled himself out and slapped the tip against her cheek, exploding on her face. He stood there for a minute, riding out the climax as she licked the dripping seed from his shaft. Then, she looked up at him from her knees; the sticky white liquid covering her face as she smiled. 

This was why he couldn’t stay away.

She stood up, adjusting her clothes, and wiped the semen off of her face with the t-shirt she had pulled off of him. Aegon fixed his pants and plopped down on the couch.

“Grab me another beer, would you?” He asked after a yawn.

She resisted the urge to laugh out loud. “Get your own fucking beer.”

“You’re so ungrateful!” He replied.

“I’m ungrateful?” She started. “I fucking cook your meals, wash your fucking clothes, do your fucking dishes! And what do you do? Nothing!”

She suddenly realized why she was mad at him in the first place.

“Here we go again,” He replied with a groan. “For the last time, I’m never fucking here!”

#the new trailer is coming out today and I wanted to celebrate with a lil some some for my mans #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x your #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii imagine #aegon ii fic #Aegon Targaryen #Aegon Targaryen x reader #Aegon Targaryen x you #Aegon Targaryen smut #Aegon Targaryen fic #aegon targaryen fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon

[peterparkersnose]

Throne

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x fem!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: smut, sugar daddy themes (not au), undefined relationship, dominance, teasing, aegon can be such a fucking asshole, guilt tripping, neck play, angst, public pleasuring, punishments (yay), dirty talk, fem!receiving oral, fingering, begging, delayed orgasm, blood play, degradation, aftercare, aegon's ownership of reader

a/n ok ok ok i actually really enjoyed writing this smut. so much. i just love me a good dominant man that does what he wants (within reason ofc we love consent here)

summary Y/N is taught a lesson by Aegon

masterlist

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read time: 11 mins 1 second

“What is it?” she asked, bursting into the throne room angrily. No bows, no titles, just anger.

Aegon smirked at her devilishly, watching her approach him with such an angsty tone.

“I cannot just simply ask for you to pay me a visit?” he asks, unfolding his legs from the childish position on the Iron Throne and straightening his back.

“I don’t like being torn from my studies just because you wish to see me.”

He laughs out loud, almost mockingly. “A ‘Hello your Majesty’ and perhaps a bow would have done.” Aegon scoffed, staring her body up and down like she was a new shiny toy. He noticed the dress she was wearing; the one he had commissioned for her after she was such a good girl after their previous endeavors together. She earned it- she deserved it. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Aegon said, rubbing his legs until he got to his knees and finally stood.

“Have you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and walking closer to him.

“It’s rude to deny your king of what he wishes. I called upon you nearly an hour ago.” Aegon declares as he skips down the stairs, meeting her halfway and softly grabbing her wrists. He was just as an impatient man as he was a gruesome King. He holds her at arm’s length, looking her up and down once again with hungry eyes. 

“And you are what I currently desire.”

She catches her breath as she stares at him. “You called me out of my studies… for this?”

She stares at him, her heart pounding against her ribcage. The room feels suffocating as if the tension between them has thickened the air. Her initial confusion morphs into a wave of disappointment and frustration, evident in the deep furrow that forms between her brows.

Her disgust was off-putting to him. With a menacing glare, so different from the adoring one he had for her moments ago, he pulled her close and brought his fingers to her chin, and forced her to stare into his gaze. His face contorts, momentarily betraying a flicker of vulnerability, as her disgust pierces through his facial facade. In response, his expression transforms, and his previously adoring gaze is replaced by a cold stare that bores into her soul. “I can do what I want, when I want. I am the King. Do you understand?” 

The weight of his words hangs heavily in the air, a chilling reminder of his position of authority. 

She does not reply, her lips tightly sealed as she gazes into his tired eyes. It looks like he hasn’t slept in days. In fact, it was clear that he hasn't slept in days. The exhaustion seeps into every fiber of his appearance, affecting his posture, his movements, and even the cadence of his voice. His shoulders sag, burdened by the weight of ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and perhaps watching over her every movement. She wasn’t obedient enough yet for his liking, evident by her previous actions of the day. 

“Do you understand?” he asks once again, this time with more anger backing up his tone. Aegon was not one to be denied, especially when he felt such ownership over her. His grasp on her wrists became tighter as his breath now drew on her ears. “You act like you don’t deserve this dress. I had it made for you. Act like you deserve it, love.” 

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, closing her eyes as his words flew through her. She let out a shuttered breath. 

Aegon smirked at her, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. It was a kind smirk to most, but she could recognize the evil behind his mask. “Not good enough,” he groaned. 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t wear it anymore. You are misbehaving, hm? What happens to disobedient girls? Do they get to keep all the presents they were so gracefully gifted?”

Aegon’s hand moved to her neck, softly squeezing it. It didn’t harm her, if anything it would be seen as comforting. But she knew, she knew how Aegon worked. His hand traveled from her neck to her collarbone, touching the stone necklace that rested on her chest. “So pretty,” he whispered, fingering the stone. As he got bored of that, his hand traveled to her neckline. Right between her cleavage, he dipped his fingers under her hem, feeling the top of her breasts. 

She looked beyond him and to the Iron Throne, feeling the oh, so familiar guilt mixed with pleasure wave crash upon her once again. 

Aegon’s fingers moved from her chest, following the hem of the neckline of the dress up to her sleeve, and pushed her left sleeve down exposing her shoulder. “What shall your punishment be?” he asks her, bending over slightly to kiss her shoulder ever so softly. His hand moved to her cheek now, cupping it and forcing her to look at him once again. 

“Punishment? What for?” she asked. He couldn’t tell if she was toying with him or being serious. He let out a cruel little laugh. “For being late to my summoning and disobedient to your King.” he scoffed, stating his words like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“You treat me as such even though I treat you so kindly. Do you know how many coins this dress cost the crown?” he asked, pulling down her other sleeve. She shook her head no.

“More than I pay any one of these useless studs in a year.” he said, looking around at the six guards that stood obediently in the throne room. They all looked the same and sat perfectly still, their only intention to protect this arrogant man and the crown. 

She quite adored the dress. Aegon really did well with this gift, it was spot on to what she wished for. Perhaps above her wildest dreams of what it could be, it most definitely exceeded her expectations from their… their strange agreement. The dress, in every aspect, seemed tailor-made for her. It was neck tied with a few buttons around the back of her neck and with a short sleeve. It was colored a deep gold and bronze. The colors seemed to breathe life into the fabric, casting a radiant glow that shimmered with every movement she made. The neckline plunged, showing off her assets quite nicely. It had beautiful traditional embroidery, one fit for a noble of quite high standings. The waistline, designed with precision and purpose, hugged her curves in all the right places, accentuating her frame with a subtle grace. A bust of gold adorned the ensemble, meeting at her navel and drawing attention to her slender waist, creating a beautiful pattern that enhanced her natural beauty. It was floor length and seemed fit for a Queen. 

“You will behave. Even if I have to teach you a lesson. It’ll do you better than any of those stupid Septas teaching you how to be a Lady.” he whispered to her, now grabbing her hand at her side and entwining his fingers with hers. It was a surprisingly kind gesture, one she didn’t expect from him. 

He led her to stand in front of the Iron Throne, her back to the chair and he stood a step below her. It felt almost wrong, as he was the King and she was just a noble Lady. She looked at him with a confused face, unsure of what he was doing. Aegon had a terrible grin displayed as he looked her up and down once more. Aegon placed his hand on her stomach, pushing her back into the throne. 

“Aegon what are you…”

He shushed her quickly and harshly. 

“You will obey. Do you hear me?”

She nodded. He got down on his knees, reaching out one of his hands for her to place her hand in. He graciously accepted her hand, kissing it slowly, giving each finger its deserved attention. She was flushed, embarrassed at what the guards must have been viewing at that moment.

Little did she know, that was the easiest part of this she would have to endure in terms of embarrassment. 

“Did I ever tell you how pretty your hands are? So gorgeous.” he kissed her palm. “Especially when they are around my cock. That’s my favorite, seeing your pretty little fingers work for me.” 

Her eyes widened as he said these words. A red tint came to her cheeks, but that only made Aegon want more of a reaction from her. 

Aegon dropped her hand, now placing his hands on both of her thighs over her dress. “I want no complaints from your lips. Do you understand?”

She was hesitant to answer him again. Furrowing his brows, he was angered by her rebellion. He grabbed down on her thighs harder now, his thumb trailing dangerously close to her core. His eyes met hers once again, waiting for a response. 

“Mhm,” she whined out, feeling the pressure building between her thighs. 

“Good girl.”

With a sudden movement, his hands left her thighs over her dress. Aegon lifted her legs to his shoulders, each leg resting on each shoulder. He moved his hands to cradle her lower back, pulling her closer to his face. She squirmed, as she did not expect this move from him at all. She didn’t have time to complain. His hands delved under her skirt, pulling at her undergarments and swiping a finger over her bundle of nerves. 

He laughed at her reaction, watching her squirm under his touch was one of his favorite sights. 

“Hold your pretty present for me.” he ordered, speaking sweetly with a hint of cruelty as he bunched up her skirt, holding the expensive fabric in his hands for her to grasp. She listened. 

“B-but Aegon, the guards.” she protested. He looked at her and rolled his eyes, smirking and staring at her with a look that she was the most idiotic woman in the world. “Fuck the guards, my love. Perhaps they’ll enjoy the pretty little noises you’ll make for me. Stroke their own cocks to the memory of your wails after their shift.”

She gasped at his words in shock. Her gasp was followed up with another one, but a pleasurable one. Without warning, Aegon delved his face between her thighs and began lapping eagerly at her cunt. There was no warning, just an over sense of his tongue on her. 

Y/N let out a guttural groan, her hands moving straight to his hair. She pulled ever so lightly, her head resting against the back of the throne as he worked his magic. “But if anyone… if anyone were to see.” she says between breaths, now looking down at his blonde head between her thighs. He stopped momentarily and looked up at her. He licked his lips, as her juices dripped off his chin. 

“Then they will see that I am very obviously busy.”

He returned to his place between her thighs, but this time brought a finger to her and inserted it. 

“Aegon!” she cried out as he did, pushing herself forward and more eagerly into his grasp. She could feel his chuckle on her cunt as he stopped momentarily. He kissed her and continued his multitasking of eating her out and fingering her. His nose sat perfectly within her. It was almost as if his nose was made just for her cunt. 

He works for a while more, he could feel her pulsating around his fingers. This only drove him more mad, as if he was drunk off of her. He inserted another finger, revealing another groan from her that went straight to his cock. He pumped in her faster by the second, he was sure she was going to cum any minute now. “Are you close?”

She nodded eagerly. A smile came to his lips. “Do you want to cum?” he asked, his wrist beginning to hurt with the angle he was pumping his fingers in and out of her. Oh, how he would suffer for her pleasure. 

“Use your words,” he says sharply. “Tell me how you want it.”

“I-I…” she could barely form a sentence. “Tell me,” he ordered her. “Beg for it,”

Her hips rolled against his touch as she cried out for him. “P-please, let me cum.” she whispered out, with all her might she had left. 

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, dear.” Aegon teased her cruelly, her words weren’t enough to satisfy his needs. “Say my name like I’m yours, like you fucking mean it.”

“Aegon,” she breathed out, trying her best to keep her eyes open. “Louder,” he demanded. “Say it like you mean it.”

“Aegon!” she blurted out, loud enough for anyone down the hallway to hear her voice. “Just like that, yes.” he praised her, brushing his free hand up her thigh. His touch sent chills down her spine, a foreshadowing of what was about to come. He could feel her heat rising, her climax was definitely near. He kissed her thigh, looking up at her pretty face as she moaned, her head bowed back and her left hand in his locks. This is exactly how he wanted her; this was what she deserved. A fitting punishment for a brat such as herself. 

“Yes, you can do it. Come on my fingers, pretty girl.” he says, moving his fingers to her clit and circling it just as he knew she enjoyed it. She tried to speak his name, but she couldn’t process the syllables to do so. She had used the last remnants of her voice moaning his name only seconds ago as he had requested. Only a strange mutter mixed with a moan came from her. “Oh yes, just like that.” he says, adding now a third finger temporarily, stretching her out. Aegon was pleased by her lack of words. She nods as he does so, with her hands moving from being entwined in his hair to absolutely anything around her. 

Usually, when they were in bed, she would grasp the sheets when she became close. It was something to ground her, making her feel stable in her weak state as she would cum. Now as she was surrounded by swords, there wasn’t much to hold on to. But that thought didn’t occur to her, as she was too obsessed with the orgasm that currently racked through her body. She let out a cry as she stupidly grasped a sword, slicing her finger as she came.

Aegon didn’t notice this at first, all he could do was watch her cunt clamp down on his fingers. He smirked evilly as he kissed her slit once more, then grabbed the bunched-up dress from her waist and made her modest once again. 

She was still breathing heavily from her orgasm, but her eyes were on her now sliced finger. “Fuck,” she whispered. That caught Aegon’s attention. He now stood in front of her, ready to scold her for her language, but then saw her wound. 

“You stupid woman.” he scoffed, grabbing her wrist. He inspected the cut. “How could you be so dumb? Grabbing the Iron Throne?” he asked, looking at her with a certain look of disdain. 

“I suppose you want me to fix it.” he groaned, looking into her eyes. A sense of embarrassment has filled her, more than already had. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. 

“Good. You’ve learned your lesson.” he smiles with dead eyes, his power trip coming to its height as he praised her. 

He takes her finger into his mouth, licking off the blood. Y/N groaned as he did, as his tongue swiped the cut roughly. Aegon enjoyed watching her in pain, swirling his tongue on her cut as he did with her clit just minutes ago. 

After the wound was empty of blood, he swallowed hard. So obviously, letting her know that her blood now rested in his throat. As a way to let her know that he truly does own her. 

“Do you want a bandage? I would hate for that to get infected.” 

He lets go of her hand.

She inspected her now-cleaned cut, but more blood seemed to seep through. Y/N knew all too well that it wouldn’t be that easy with Aegon.

“Do you want one?” he asks her. She nods. He comes close to her once again, grabbing her chin like he did before, and looked into her eyes, their faces only inches apart. “Use your words, love.” he says quietly but dominantly. 

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” he asks, raising her chin slightly.

“Yes, please.”

“Good girl.” he purred once again. Aegon snapped his fingers at the nearest guard, and within seconds a bandage is delivered to him, along with some sanitizing liquid in a vile. The guard returns to his place. Y/N struggled to look the man in the eyes, knowing all six guards heard her moments before. 

He carefully took her hand, treating it with such grace. “Such a shame to see your pretty fingers hurt. Be more careful next time, dear. I don’t like my things to be broken.”

Aegon took some of the sanitizer and placed it on her cut. It made her pull back her hand slightly as she seethed at the pain. “You could have warned me,” she hissed. Aegon rolled his eyes. “Watch your tongue, girl. I am doing you a favor.”

He closed the vile and placed it in his pocket, and began to unwrap the bandage. “Is it too tight?” he asked her, looking up at her with kind eyes. She knew that his care wouldn’t last long, so she enjoyed it while she could. “No, my King. Just right.” she replied. He smiled as she used his proper title, the feeling of love he had for her returning momentarily. Aegon tied off her bandage, lifting her wrist and kissing her finger. 

"There we go," he says proudly, looking from her hand and back to her. Aegon was in awe of what was his. She looked absolutely gorgeous in her post-orgasm state. He huffed proudly.

“All better.”

-

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[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part One

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: This is based on the depiction of Aegon in HBO's House of The Dragon and not the books, though I do change some details about his character here and there. I fully recognize that he is a horrible person in the show, especially, but it still makes me want to fuck him just as badly. Please give me hate for this, so I know what to add to the story to piss you Aegon haters off. Toodles!

Chapter Warnings: Graphic depictions of childbirth and complications, death, reference to sexual assault, Aegon speaking inappropriately to a minor.

Screams echoed throughout the dark streets of Flea Bottom, the sound emanating from one of the many brothels that occupied the townspeople and even certain royals. The usual moans the whores had listened to were gone, replaced with their encouraging words and the shallow pants of a woman in labor. The establishment was closed for the night, which was unusual. They were always open, even on holidays that were supposed to be observed in silence, but this, they believed, was far more important.

One of the fellow women was giving birth to the firstborn daughter of Daemon Targaryen, a bastard.

"Push Elaina! Push!" the Madam commanded, holding her sweating hand.

The whispers of the other girls were the only thing Elaina Black could hear, even over the pound of blood through her ears. She had taken all the proper precautions to avoid this, but it seemed the Gods had other plans for her. Elaina had been the private whore of Daemon Targaryen, reserved only for his cock. Typically, the Madam would refuse such a demand, but he was a prince, and only the best were given to the Highborn.

"I can't," she whimpered, tears streaming down her temples. Unable to hold herself up, she lay on her bed, legs held open by her fellow girls. It had been hours, and the babe had not breached the canal. She was exhausted, sweat coated all her limbs, and she had given up on the birthing chair.

"You must!" A young girl to her side whispered, dabbing her forehead with a cool, damp cloth.

"The babe is stuck," the Madam said, her gruff voice turning into a soft, worried sound. Her callused hand rubbed her stomach.

"I-I need something, anything, for the pain," Elaina cried, her whole body feeling like she was lying in a bed of flames.

"I am sorry, sister, but it might harm the child," a girl holding her leg spoke. Elaina grunted, baring down and pushing with all her might with a scream. She felt as if her eyes were going to pop out of her head with force.

"Yes!" The Madam shouted. "Yes! Yes! Keep going, Elaina! It is moving!"

"Oh Gods," she groaned, attempting to roll on her side, but was held down.

The Madam had a bright smile as she stuck her hands inside Elaina's canal, feeling the soft hair of the newborn as it slid forward. She could feel the child's head moving against her pelvis, creating an indescribable pain. A few more contractions and the babe would be free.

Elaina tossed and turned, gripping the stained sheets and nearly ripping them in half as a soft tuft of brown hair appeared. She screamed, her back lifting as she bared down, knowing that would be the last push.

A searing pain surged through her body from her core, traveling up her spine. She felt like she was being ripped open, all her insides tearing apart and coming out with the babe.

"Good. Good," the Madam soothed, the cry of a newborn echoing in the room. "You may rest now, Elaina."

And Elaina tried, she did, but the contractions did not stop. She kept pushing and pushing. The sighs of relief all the whores let out were all that could be heard. They left Elaina to tend to the babe, ignoring her raspy breaths. Though they were still in the room, she felt so alone and helpless, lying there with her legs spread open. She assumed her body kept pushing for the afterbirth, which was something to be expected, but she didn't think it would happen so soon. She felt her body pop like a plug pulled from a drain, which she assumed was the placenta exiting her body. She finally relaxed, her body exhaling all her pain and tension.

"May I see them?" Elaina asked softly, barely containing any energy.

The women finally turned to Elaina, and the newborn swaddled in one of their arms. Their faces all paled, the Madam passing the child to another girl as she ran to her parted legs.

"Wh-what is the matter?" Elaina looked down, seeing a pool of blood between her thighs. She sat up, finally gaining the strength to move before someone could push her down as she saw her organs.

She nearly fainted in shock but willed her eyes to stay open. She could not be done until she held her child.

"My baby," she whispered, but nobody listened, everyone panicking as they tried to get Elaina's internal organs back inside. "My child," she shouted, finally finding her voice. "Give me my child."

The young girl holding the still crying babe looked to the Madam, asking permission. She nodded, hands wrist deep into Elaina's heat.

Finally, she got to hold her child, numb to the poking and prodding of people's hands inside her. She wrapped her arms around the small bundle, the child as if knowing they were in their mother's arms instantly calmed. Elaina shifted the blankets to see the babes sex, smiling to herself.

"A girl," her trembling voice whispered, covering her daughter back up and whispering her name. "My beautiful girl."

She rubbed the soft lanugo hair on her head, noticing a small block of skin lighter than the rest of her scalp, white hair growing from it. The newborn closed her eyes at her mom's soft stroking, a yawn escaping her tiny mouth, smacking her gums. She knew that her daughter would have a piece of her father with her, even if she never knew him. Elaina had never felt such love for another being in her life. How could such a small thing make her feel this way?

She was oblivious to the panicky talking of the Madam and other girls, a few entering and exiting the room with different supplies. All that mattered in the world right now was her daughter in her arms, her eyes slowly opening as she stopped stroking her head. Rings of violet wrapped around her pupils, almost sparkling in the candlelight.

Suddenly, the babe was removed from her arms, and Elaina shouted, attempting to jump out of the sweat and blood-soaked sheets, but was shoved down by four women. Her daughter's cries mirrored her mother's, wanting to be in her warm embrace again.

"Where," Elaina's breath caught in her throat, realizing how exhausted she was, "where are you taking her?"

"Elaina, calm yourself." She ignored the girl's words demanding her to hold still.

"Give me my baby! Give me back, my child," she screamed, but no one listened, holding her down with all their strength.

"I need to stitch you up, Elaina! The babe tore you down to your arse!" The Madam shouted, getting frustrated with her violent squirming.

"I do not care! Give me back my child!"

"Restrain her."

"We are trying, Madam," the four girls responded as Elaina managed to free a leg and kick one of them in the face.

"Get her Milk of the Poppy, now."

It was only mere moments before a whore came in with a small glass bottle, asking another girl to help her open her mouth as she poured the liquid. Slowly, Elaina began to calm, her thrashing coming to a halt as her mind left the realm. Her child still wailed its deafening cries, never ceasing even as her mother settled.

"There, there little one," the girl who had taken her cooed. "It's alright. Your mama will make it out alright. I am sure of it." The babe continued to cry, almost as if she could sense her lies.

"Lyra, shut her up or leave the room," the Madam said, her voice returning to her routine. Lyra chose the latter, closing the door quietly behind her as she rocked the newborn in her arms.

The infection took Elaina Black in three days' time. Even though they managed to stitch her together, her insides still kept coming out. It was as if her body refused to heal without her daughter's presence. The Madam refused to let the child see her dying mother for fear that she would somehow make her sick, but she could not handle seeing her in that state. She felt like a failure. Letting one of her whores get pregnant in the first place was shameful enough, but her dying from said pregnancy under her care was terrible. She was supposed to take care of her girls, and she failed.

It was early in the morning, a week after Elaina's death, and all the brothel women were confused about why the Madam decided to call a meeting instead of letting them sleep. They all gathered around in the small room they designated for meals, waiting for Madam to address them finally. She was babbling to the bundle in her arms, letting her play with the finger she was swirling over in her face.

"I called you all here today because word has gotten to me. Rumors that some of you have broken our unspoken agreement to keep the child safe," she spoke, her eyes never leaving the babe.

"Madam," Lyra spoke up before anyone else could dig them a deeper grave. "We would never put the child at risk. Whatever whispers you have heard are false."

Madam hummed in response, finally looking at the frightened girls. "You all know her parentage and why she should be kept out of your mouths, and yet," she paused, looking at every one of their faces, "someone has spoken, and word has made it to the Red Keep." They gasped, knowing what this could mean for them and their business.

"The child is my concern, and I want no word of her to anyone. Do you understand?" The sternness in her voice was enough to make even the strongest of men falter. "Or I will have you all kicked to the streets."

They all nodded without protest, knowing that she would follow those threats. Madam took a breath, turning around to dismiss them as she kissed the babes forehead wordlessly, her purple-lined iris' glinting up at her. She knew she wouldn't be able to hide her from the royal family forever, but she would try. She'd be damned if she failed you too.

Several Years Later...

You giggled as you ran along the Streets of Silk, a mischievous grin plastered on your face as you dropped a few apples from your tiny arms. A few City Watchmen chased after you, and their shouts for you to halt fell deaf on your ears. You weaved your way through the crowds of people like a snake in the grass while the guardsmen ran through them like bulls, bumping into almost everyone they saw.

It was easy for you to get away, slinking down an alley and hiding behind a corner in your dark cloak. You turned, making sure the men ran past before you stepped out of the shadows, putting the rest of the apples into your brown satchel but leaving one out to eat. You took a bite, smiling triumphantly that you had gotten away with your crime as you skipped back to your home in Flea Bottom.

You had just reached the back entrance of the brothel you called home, always listening to what Madam said as it burst open, revealing an incredibly drunk patron as you fell to the dirty sandstone, the cloak of your hood dropping.

"Ouch," you cried, rubbing the back of your head from where it hit the ground. All the apples roll from your bag.

You looked up at the man, only to realize it wasn't. It was a young boy, barely looking at the age of ten and three, with a leather patch over his left eye and tears in the other. He, too, had a cloak of his own, now pushed back and revealing hair as white as snow. It took you a moment to comprehend what that meant, a young boy with hair like that, but then you realized, quickly scrambling up into a clumsy bow.

"Your grace, I-I did not mean to-"

A hard shove knocked you back to the ground, but this time you caught yourself staring at him with an angry look. You knew you couldn't do anything to him, he was royalty, but that did not stop you from trying.

"Get away from me whore. I have had enough of you." The prince rubbed his tear-stained cheeks with his sleeve as you attempted to get up again, but he pushed you back down, stepping on your hand as he ran away.

It was your turn to cry now, the pain and anger mixing as you whimpered, clutching your hand to your chest. What had you done to offend him so dearly? It was his fault he ran into you. Maybe he could have seen you if he wasn't such a baby. You did nothing wrong. You had half a mind to chase after him for hurting you the way he did as you got up, debating if you could catch up to him in time. You probably could. He was a selfish, pampered palace ass, not a street rat like you.

"A bit young to be whoring yourself out, aren't you? But I suppose it never hurts to start young." A tall but stocky man stood in the door frame, eyes roaming your body. He had the same white hair as the boy from before, only shorter and curly and reeking of sweat. You stepped back, trying your best not to scrunch your nose up in disgust at his smell.

"I am not a whore," you spat, putting your hands on your hips. He crossed his legs, still leaning in the doorway as he observed you, an almost calculating look on his face.

"Ah, my apologies then, dear maiden. I only meant whore in training," he said with a smirk. You scoffed, fixing your pouch as you knelt to pick up the red apples on the ground.

"Hardly. I do not whore myself, nor will I ever."

"A pity," he said, crouching down to be level with you, "for I would love to see your body once fully grown."

You grabbed the last apple, ignoring his comment and putting it in your bag as he placed his hand over yours, staring into your eyes. You grew uncomfortable at his unwavering gaze, heat rising to your cheeks as he ran his fingers through your white strand of hair, comparing it to your eyes. If you weren't any brighter, it would seem like he was about to kiss you. He hummed to himself as if he was inspecting a relic he did not understand.

Your name being called sharply moved your gaze from his, standing up as you shoved the apple back into your satchel. The prince stood up, his knees cracking as a part of his tunic moved, showing an indentation of teeth in his skin, and suddenly you remembered why he was here in the first place.

"I am coming, Ma." You brushed around the stranger, his fingers ghosting your arm, sending gooseflesh throughout your body. "I brought us some apples," you offered in peace as she clutched you to her bosom, hiding your face from his.

"Thank you for your patronage, my prince. I hope on your way home, you and your brother offer the upmost discretion of your time here." She stroked your soft hair as you peeked, catching his eyes for just a moment before Madam pulled you closer. "After all, it was a joyous celebration of Prince Aemond becoming a man, and special memories like these are best kept close to the heart." You knew she was trying to protect you, as she did with any man or woman you met on accident, but this time she spoke in riddles.

A thick air of uncertainty hung between them before he responded. "Of course, Babette, I would not dream of soiling such a memory with loose lips," he replied, walking away with a curious expression. "Though," he said, causing Ma to tighten her grip on you, "I must admit, your daughter has the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen." She nearly suffocated you now, shoving your face in between her breasts. "The hint of violet in them, oh, how exquisite. They remind me of my own," he turned to her with a devilish grin, "or perhaps someone else who has frequented this brothel, my Uncle, maybe?"

You weren't ignorant to his words, you knew what he was implying, but you did not have any of the same features of Daemon Targaryan. You did not have the same silver hair as him, nor the purple irises he has. You would hardly call yourself related.

"Thank you, Prince Aegon. To have my daughter be compared to the likes of royalty is the highest compliment of them all." Ma bowed her head stiffly. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a business to run."

Before he could utter another word, Madam shut the wooden door, locking it with the keys she always kept on her swaying hip. She released you, crushing your small frame with her large one.

"Oh, I love you, little one," she let go before smacking you on the side of your head. How many times were you going to get hit today? You didn't want to know. "Don't you ever talk to a stranger again, or else I will have to send Lyra to be your chaperone." You tried to squirm from her firm grip, but she tugged you closer.

"Ma, I cannot breathe," you complained. She laughed, nuzzling her face into your neck.

"If you can speak, you can breathe," she said plainly, waiting a moment before letting you go. "Now, what did you say about some apples?" You smiled, showing her the bag as she took it off your shoulder. "How did you get all of these? I did not give you that much coin."

You giggled, looking away as you tossed the money she lent you. "I am very good at haggling, Madam." She sighed, knowing you must have stolen them, as she pulled you into another hug, kissing the top of your head.

"Oh, my sweet girl, whatever shall I do with you," she jested. Half scolding and half praising that you managed to get a dozen apples on your own without getting caught.

You ignored the loud moans and squeaking beds from the rooms above, going to the cramped kitchen. You stood next to Madam as she began peeling the skin off the apples, handing you a knife to do one. Ma had made you gather some ingredients throughout the week, but she did not tell you what she was planning. She knew how much you loved this dish.

It was your mother's favorite, too, so she should have known. Madam did not make it much for her, though, as she was just one of her many whores that came and went. She did not care for Elaina until she realized the prince had taken a liking to her. He had brought in most of the brothel revenue at the time, and when Elaina fell pregnant, she was angry. Any appreciation Madam had towards her was gone. She thought Elaina's stupidity would surely bring her to ruins under the realization that she would have to refuse prince Daemon now in fear of the bastard child's life, but the Gods seemed to favor her when another prince decided to frequent the halls. He made up for any loss in profits.

Madam did not want to lose you; she had grown quite fond of you over the years and knew the girls under her care did too. She didn't want to turn Aegon away, for that was a risk she could not take, but your safety came first. She would have to be more thoughtful about this. Madam would need to pull some strings and ask some favors of people to make sure you were either hidden or not here when he came. That was the only way you could remain safe.

"Ma, will I be a whore when I am grown?" Your question nearly caused her to faint, shocked something like that would even be on your barely-of-age mind.

"No, sweet thing, you will not," she answered curtly, cutting off a big chunk of fruit instead of a peel. You paused your actions, pursing your lips in thought before asking another question.

"What will I be then? Like you?" Madam sighed through her nose, putting the apple down on the cutting board.

"If you want, yes." She placed her hands on her wide hips. What had Aegon said to you? "Why do you ask, sweet one?"

You mirrored your caretaker's actions but didn't reach her eyes. "I-I do not know, Ma. It was just a silly thought. It does not matter." She could see you recoiling within yourself, hugging your young body. Her urge to comfort you overpowered any worry she had as she softened her posture and voice.

"It is not silly for you to have thoughts. Do not ever let anyone say that to you. Everything you think or feel is valid." You furrowed your brows at her, confused at where this sudden sentiment came from. "But do not worry yourself with thoughts of the distant future; you still have the breasts of a toddler." Madam pinched your slowly stretching skin as you yelped and swatted her hand away, chastising your guardian. "Now, go to the cellar and fetch me the items you got at the market this week." Your face brightened at finally knowing what Ma was going to make you.

"Apple Muse! Oh, Ma, I love you so much," you squealed, wrapping your arms around her in a bone-crushing hug before running down a hatch. Madam smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. For now, she was worried about the thought of your future. 

I know, I know— such a boring chapter. No smut, which is crazy for me, but don't worry, it'll get nasty eventually. On that, I can promise you. ;)

Master List of Series

#hotd aegon #aegon the second #aegon the usurper #aegon ii #aegon x you #aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #haelena targaryen #aegon x reader #aemond one eye #daemon prince #daemon x rhaenyra #aegon smut #aegon targaryen smut #house targaryen #targcest #aegon targaryen fanfic

[elegantsplendour]

Love Is A Downfall

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3? | Epilogue

Summary:

One girl, two dragons.

Bound to one, attached to an another.

Love is the most powerful form of magic.

Love is the fuel that leads to destruction.

Fear leads of anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.

Pairing 💕 : Aemond Targaryen x !Redwyne reader x Aegon II Targaryen

Warnings / contains in this part: smut, fluff, 3some, some violence and gore, slight angst, green biased pov.

Word count: 5k

Ps: Would love to see your comments 💗

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @aemondx @theroyaldixon @heavenly1927

Other friends: @purple-writer8 @boundlessfantasy @qyburnsghost @lovelykhaleesiii @snh96 @amiraisgoingthruit @arcielee @chompchompluke @godrakin  ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶　　　　　　 ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶

“Tell me what you see, Aemond,” she gasped for air as another deep and hard thrust drove her closer to the brink of ecstasy, “I want to hear it.”

Aemond chuckled, squeezing her backside possessively before whispering in her ears, “I see your body, flushed and glistening with sweat," he began, his hot breath teasing her, “Your back arched, offering yourself to me.”

He left a delicious mark on the fragile skin of her neck, “I see the curve of your hips, the smoothness of your skin. Your beautiful bottom bouncing on my cock as I slam into you, claiming you as mine, again and again.”

Aemond grasped a strand of her silky hair gently as she whimpered tantalizingly, “I love you.”

Just he was about to lean down and kiss her, his brother’s voice, filled with amusement, echoed the room, “How adorable. She’s never told me that even I am her husband to be.”

Aemond growled in frustration at the interruption while the little figure under him giggled, “Shut up, Aeg. You know I love you both, just in different ways.”

Aemond turned her head roughly for a feverish kiss, “I love you,” he smirked at Aegon and bit her earlobe and teased, “My Queen.”

Aegon tensed as he closed the distance between them and tilted her bouncing chin caused by his brother’s forceful pounding, “You say you love me? My lustful betrothed?”

Aegon explored her mouth with his tongue meticulously.

He loved her too, but not the way Aemond did.

“Then take me in your mouth,” Aegon commanded, petting her hair tenderly.

Aemond glared at him ferociously at the provocative grin. He had no choice but to tolerate this.

She was too kind, too caring, too selfless, too innocent, well not exactly, to refuse either of them.

Aemond often cursed the gods for gifting Aegon such a soul.

Her mother, Erya Redwyne, childhood friend of Queen Alicent, brought her into the world the same day Aegon was born at the cost of her own life.

As the joyous cries of the two infants echoed through the Red Keep like a hopeful symphony, their fate was sealed.

Queen Alicent often jested about how Aegon used to steal her favorite toys in the nursery, causing the angelic young girl to cry.

Yet over the years, of all the responsibilities Aegon failed in, she remained the only exception.

Aemond could remember one instant after Aegon’s cruel taunts on his bastard nephews and him, his demeanor immediately changed as he welcomed her on piggyback.

Seven Years Ago

“You are so cruel! Let me down, Aegon!!” She protested yet her giggles pleaded otherwise.

“Why? I think I enjoy tormenting a young lady like you than my stoic brother,” Aegon grinned, his hands steadily on her calves while swirling her wildly.

Jace and Luke laughed while Aemond watched, a bizarre sensation burning in his stomach.

She seemed to have sensed his gaze and jumped off of Aegon without warning.

Aemond’s eyes widened as she, a head taller than him at the time, enclosed him in a tight embrace, “Your brother had been cruel to you again, hasn’t he? My sweet Aemond?” She leaned down and squeezed his cheeks, leaving the older brother whine in annoyance, “You could’ve fallen on the sharp stones and leave an ugly scar on your legs,” Aegon narrowed his eyes at the sight of his girl comforting his brother, “And your future lord husband will close his eyes while he beds you.”

She looked at Aegon unbelievably with hurt, anger and embarrassment.

“Let’s go,” she took the young prince’s small hands and left the training yard.

Aemond slightly raised his head and caught glimpse of diamond like drops forming in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

And he knew why. The last time she cried, Aegon had called her an insolent ladybug.

Aemond, although young and small, spoke courteously, hoping to ease her sadness, “My lady, you are beautiful. Your grace far surpasses the mere allure of your physical beauty. You have a kind, and compassionate heart,” he swallowed, trying to look her in the eyes but failed as he returned his gaze on the ground, “I am thankful to have you in my life. Your future lord husband, no matter who he might be,” Aemond’s voice caught in his throat, he knew who she would eventually belong to, “Would be lucky to have you.”

But what he truly meant was, “I wish to have you as Aegon does.”

Surely, Aemond didn’t know what his wish signified. Until Driftmark. Or better. Until he found them pleasuring each other in his brother’s chamber.

But that was another story.

Aemond groaned as his felt his release approached. He bent down, squeezing her breasts, and whispered, “You ok, love? I am going to spill into you.”

Her nods were barely recognizable as Aegon buried her head mercilessly towards his hardened cock.

Aemond wanted to murder him.

If not for his gesture of tenderness.

Aegon slowed his pace and stroke her hair softly, looking at her for assurance.

She blinked at Aegon with mischief.

Of course, that, Aemond didn’t see.

After a deliciously short moment filled with moans, growls and screams of pleasure, they collapsed on the bed.

Aemond didn’t wait for an instant to envelop her in his arms before Aegon had the chance.

He pressed a kiss on her crown, murmuring sweet nothings to her ears, and caressed the deep and permanent scar on her left thigh over and over again.

Six Years Ago

“You really think that I should?” Aemond asked hesitantly.

“Of course you should!” She furrowed her brows, “A dragon is not property, not a heirloom to be passed on!”

Aemond lowered his head and smiled. Nothing could have made him stronger than to have her by his side.

Though, as the sea wind washed over their faces, she squeezed his hand anxiously, “But, I am scared if… if anything happens. You know, the dragons are-”

“Unpredictable,” Aemond nodded, “Even Targaryens may not be exceptions from their wrath.”

He reached out his hand and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ears, exposing her delicate features in all its beauty.

He had grown taller.

Almost as tall as her.

He noticed, secretly smirking in his mind.

“I’ll be there with you,” she declared.

Sensing his widened eyes and worries, she sealed his unspoken words with her finger, “And don’t you tell me what you to do! Little Aemond!”

Aemond breathed in annoyance as he rolled his eyes.

One day, he will be her equal.

He will be the fiercest warrior, a Targaryen that people sing ballads about for centuries, the best dragon rider of his generation, if not of any generation.

He will become her protector.

“Stay here!” He ordered under the dimly moonlight lit beach. It was the first time he spoke to her with such authority.

It felt good, Aemond admitted it, not the control he exercised on her, but the fact that he knew that he was protecting her from harm.

“Aem,” she reached out his arm desperately before letting go, “Be careful. I’ll come to you if anything happens.”

Aemond stood stunned momentarily. He cupped her cheeks and promised full of conviction, “I will come back just fine. More than fine. I will become the rider of the largest dragon in the world. You will be the first one I rider her with. We’ll fly across the Narrow Sea, visit Pentos, Bravoos, Lys. We will be the rulers of the sky.”

She smiled faintly and leaned into his touch, “I’ve never had more faith in anyone, at any moment, than I do to you, right now. Go, Aemond Targaryen. Claim her. I know you can.”

She watched his distancing figure with a mixture of pride and anxiety.

Aemond desired more than what he was handed to him.

He will never be satisfied.

He would not himself without his thirst for the world.

She loved him, though she didn’t fully understand what that word meant. It was different from what she felt for Aegon.

But she was sure of it, no matter what, she would follow him.

For what seemed like an eternity for her,

Aemond’s cries of raw excitement, exhilaration, and rush of adrenaline flowing his veins mixed with her cheers of pure pride and joy.

The green beast left out an equally ferocious roar, as if she shared his rider’s overwhelming emotions.

As the two rushed back into the castle, sand and joy written over their faces, they were fretted with five accusing figures, demanding for justice, she had anticipated. But she was wrong. They demanded for blood.

“It’s them!” The younger sister pointed at Aemond.

“It’s me,” Aemond held her hands confidently. He was no longer the dragonless spare, the little boy who needed her protection.

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon,” Rhaena protested.

Before the girl beside him could retort, Aemond spat back, “Your mother’s dead and Vhagar has a new rider now.”

“She was mine to claim,” the younger sister clenched her fists.

Perhaps it was the allure of his newly claimed power, or it was truly his true nature emerging, Aemond tilted his head provocatively, “Then you should’ve claimed her. Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.”

Her tangled hands stretched his arms, her eyes stared at him with disbelief, “Aem, don’t say that,” she whispered urgently.

Aemond clenched his jaw as he recognized the look on her face. It was the same one when his brother made that cruel jest.

They stared at each other for a short moment, forgetting the rival tension rising in the air.

The confused peace was brutally shattered as Rhaena’s punch landed on Aemond’s nose.

Caught off guard fleetingly, Aemond’s fury unleashed itself as another punch from Baela Targaryen on her.

With a burst of strength, he pushed the two sisters on the cold ground and tugged her into his arms, “Come at her again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!”

The next blow came from Jace, jumping on him with a rain of strikes, followed by Luke and the two sisters.

Yet she didn’t hold back. Aemond had never witnessed this side of her. Being slightly older than the Targaryen-Velaryon sisters, she held a slight advantage as she grabbed Baela’s hair violently and threw her on the floor.

Rhaena soon came to help of her sister, the three of them engaged in a savage dance of violence.

There was a fire in her that was unleashed, untamed and primal.

“You cowards!” She seethed while pinning Rhaena on the ground, “A dragon is not a slave. The dragon chooses its rider and she chose Aemond! Get your empty heads over it.”

Aemond, fueled by her words, twisted Jace’s fist directed at him toward towards his own chest with a taunting smirk, making him cry out in pain before kicking him on the ground.

With a swift move, he seized Luke’s neck and a rock in his hand.

“You will die screaming just like your father did,” Aemond sneered, “Bastards.”

“My father is still alive!” The small boy gasped for air.

“He doesn’t know, does he? Lord Strong?”Aemond chuckled, glaring at Jace, then at her, like a lion conquering a new terrain, declaring its victory and superiority, not only to instill fear into its opposing beasts, but also to impress the lioness.

As Aemond embraced the rush of victory and lowered down the rock, a shining dagger rose of Jace’s hand went unnoticed.

“Aem- Watch out!” She shrieked, capturing Jace’s hand with all her strength.

Everything blurred in Aemond’s eyes as his nephew growled and cut deep her thighs, a stream of blood bursting out of her flesh.

He rushed to her side and tried to cover the blood loss, but it was no use. The wound was too deep and in a critical place. She looked up at him in confusion and fear, her teeth trembled at the shade of deep red.

“You will pay for this!” He gritted his teeth, reseizing the rock before shoved Jace viciously on the floor.

Baela and Rhaena, shocked by the unseen rage of their cousin, stepped back.

“Aemond, we’ve won! Step down now!” She cried, her face mingling with tears of fear and blood from her open wound.

His gaze softened, hand lowering down the weapon.

He wished to carry her into his arms to the maesters.

How fate had an ironic twist.

Everything went scarlet and black as the ravaging pain cut through his left eye.

Aemond curled into a ball on the floor. His shrieks of pain mingling with her screams of horror tormented him like a giant bell ringing ringing in his head.

She jumped on his nephew, “You little rat! I will kill you!”

He heard Luke’s screams of help, Jace’s and her growls as they wrestled on the ground, trashing and pummeling each other.

Seconds slipped away, Aemond could do nothing but grapple in agony.

His lost eye continued to flow streams of blood while the other was forced to watch Jacaerys’ training in swordsmanship overpowering her advantage in height, her being chocked helplessly on the cold ground.

Their gaze locked.

She looked at him with despair.

Sorry. Her eyes told him. I am sorry that I couldn’t protect you.

In that l moment, a solemn vow crystallized within him - he pledged to do whatever it took to shield them both from ever enduring such depths of despair again. He would seize the future in his hands, defying even the gods if need be, to bestow upon her nothing but hope and joy.

The next thing he remembered was Ser Harrold Westerling dragging Jace from delivering another slap on her face.

Her thigh continued to ooze a ghastly flow of unstemmed blood.

She lost her conscience as the knight pulled Aemond from the ground.

With every fiber of his being aflame, he unleashed a torrent of hysterical screams, as though his desperate calls possessed the power to wrench her from the clutches of the Stranger, to defy the realms of the departed, and reunite her with the realm of the living, with him.

Both of them were brought to the maesters. Aemond’s teeth sank into each other, his fingers digging into his flesh at the piercing pain as the maester retreated his broken eye and wove his scar.

And she was there, lying peacefully as if she had fallen into a slumber, unaware of the healer’s hands on her flesh.

“It would heal, will it not, maester?” Alicent’s trembled as she asked.

Reminded by his mother, Aegon demanded with equal urgency at the maester treating the flesh of her thighs, “It will heal. Right?”

“The lady has lost considerable amount of blood, my prince.

The older prince felt hot tears swollen with hot tears.

He gently caressed her cheeks.

She was his responsibility and he failed her.

“The flesh will heal, but the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

“The flesh will heal, but the scar is permanent, my prince.”

Aemond watched his mother striking his brother on the face, “Where were you?”

“This,” Alicent spat furiously, “Is nothing compared to the abuse your brother and betrothed suffered when you were drowning in your cups, you fool!”

Aegon bit his lips, turning his head from his mother as he forced his tears back.

Alicent was right. He had indulged himself again, yet it was because his betrothed distanced herself from him ever since that jest in the training yard. He was such a coward, Aegon cursed himself, why couldn’t he just apologize?

If he had excused himself, he wouldn’t have been drown in cups, he would’ve been by her side, she wouldn’t have laid unconscious, Aemond wouldn’t have lost his eye.

The rest of that fateful night concluded in accusations and turmoils.

The agony of the sight of her fragile form and his wound prevented from memorizing everything about that fateful night of accusations and turmoils, but there was one thing etched into his memories.

“It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves,” Rhaenyra pushed her children behind her, “Vile insults were levied against them. The legitimacy of my sons’ birth has been put into question. This is the highest of treason, Your Grace. Prince Aemond and Lady Redwyne must be sharped questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”

“Over an insult?” Alicent shook her head in disbelief, “My son has lost and eye!” She pointed her finger at the girl in slumber, “And she! She is Erya’s daughter!” Alicent exclaimed, “You would torture Erya’s daughter?!”

Silence was the princess’ answer. It was obvious that the queen’s attempt at recalling the memory of their deceased best friend was at no avail.

“You won’t touch her!” Aegon stood before her, his violet eyes blazing with an unprecedented fire.

“No one is to be tortured, boy,” the old king glanced at his eldest son and approached Aemond, “You tell me. Where did you hear such slanders?”

Aemond faced the broken old man he had been forced to call father and king head on. He looked at Alicent, then at Rhaenyra, Daemon,

Aegon, then, at her.

“It was Aegon,” he said.

“Me?”

“And you! Boy! Where did you hear such slanders?”

Aegon took a deep breath, averting his gaze on the floor, seeking to appear as clueless as possible, “Everybody knows, father. Just… Look at them.”

As the room fell into a haunting silence, Aemond and Aegon exchanged a look.

They hadn’t wanted to be a part of this fight, but their half-sister had forced their hand.

She had just threatened their everything, her.

Now, they would play ruthlessly together.

Present day

“Aem,” she purred, nestling in his chest.

Chuckling, he cupped her cheeks and kissed her with utmost adoration. She slowly rolled herself on top of him, her soft breast lied flat on his stomach and her ears pressed against his racing heart.

“Can I hold you?”

After gods know much time, Aegon asked with a hint of longing and jealousy.

She twinkled, sneaking a peck on Aemond’s cheek before accepting Aegon’s invitation.

Even tugged in Aegon’s embrace, she gazed back at Aemond with uncertainty.

With a mild smile and nod, she giggled and wrapped her arms around her betrothed with any reservation.

Did Aemond mind sharing her with his brother, the soon king to be?

The fuck yes.

Yet the One-Eyed Prince would do anything for the future queen of Seven Kingdoms.

The story how Rhaenyra gave up her claim on the Iron Throne was one both brothers, especially Aegon, was proud of.

It didn’t take much other than hiring a few pirates across the Narrow Sea to kidnap the Realm’s Delight and the Rogue Prince’s first born son to force her hand.

And…

A few more drops of herbs in the milk of poppy their father consumed daily, and an edict composed of, or deadly similar to, King Viserys’ handwriting.

Aemond kept watching the sight before him. Her fingers trailed on his brother’s chest. She leaned in to murmur something audible only to Aegon, who smirked and captured her lips into a passionate kiss before hovering her pliant body under him.

He diverted his gaze.

Seven Moons Ago

The first time he had seen them in such intimacy was on his seventeenth name day. The prince refused to display it, but butterflies burnt in his stomach as he replayed the anticipating whispers of her promises of an unforgettable gift. Curiosity reigned his mind as he strolled the Red Keep to the library, a sanctuary he would most likely to find her in.

Yet the spectacle before him made his world crumble down.

She looked like an exquisite doll at his brother’s mercy, his one hand exploring her forbidden forest while the other massaging her soft breast.

“Aeg, please,��� she whimpered, grinding her core to the magic of his hand.

“Please what, my little betrothed,” Aegon whispered seductively while trailing a series of kisses down her neck, “For me not to stop? Squeeze your breasts harder? Or spank you over my knees for being such a lustful maiden? You’ll have to be specific.”

“All. Everything, please,” she arched her back, offering herself to him, exposing her neck while letting head fall backwards.

And that’s how she caught glimpse of Aemond.

“Aemond!”

She screamed. Her face flushed. Guilt and apology all over her features.

“It… it isn’t what it looks like.”

Aegon chortled at his brother’s murdering look, “Calm down, Aemond. It’s my duty to satisfy my betrothed’s unfulfilled desires in-“ he taunted, “Ways that violate the codes of propriety the least.”

Aemond breathed, his nostrils observably widened with fury, “Indeed, I will leave you to it,” he returned his gaze to her, his tone grave and devoid of emotions, “Enjoy yourself, my lady.”

Storming off from the library, Aemond felt disgusting liquids forming in his good eye while an excruciating ache formed in his sapphire eye where his lost eye used to be.

Urgent footsteps and her calling echoing behind him only urged him to stroll faster.

“Aemond! Please, let me explain!” She pressed her hand on his closing door desperately.

He didn’t respond. She was Aegon’s betrothed, destined to be his the moment she stepped into the world . He had only been a foolish, jealous and pathetic little boy hoping one day she could love him. However, despite every fiber of his being telling him that she had nothing to apologize for, he couldn’t help but to feel betrayed.

It was his name day, yet it felt like the most precious thing in his life had been ripped away from his heart.

“I am sorry,” her lips trembled.

“Why?” He tilted her chin, making her look him straight in the eye. He longed for her answer. He thirsted for the truth. Behind his commanding voice, Aemond Targaryen’s heart begged her to give him the very answer he craved, even if it knew it was wrong.

“I…” she opened her mouth, trying to find the right words.

“Tell me,” he stepped closer, “Is it because you know that my heart races every time I find you in proximity? That I have to force myself to divert my gaze every time Aegon has you in his arms? That every second of my life had been an excruciating torment, always desiring things and people that I can never have?”

Her eyes opened wide with shock and dilemma. She reached her hand to touch his cheek, “Some of it, perhaps,” she answered, her voice barely than s whisper, “But above all, because, because…”

He was convinced she bit her tongue out of nervousness.

“Because what?” Aemond demanded, his grip on her shoulders almost inciting pain.

“Because I love you.”

“What?” His voice almost a growl.

“I love you. I. Love. You,” she declared, tears swelling in her eyes, “I’ve always loved you.”

“And do you love him?” He shut the door abruptly, saving them both from the prying eyes, before cornering her on the wall like an wolf ready to devour a sheep.

Biting her lips, she spoke again, “I do.”

She grabbed his hand as if she was scared that he would walk away, “But you don’t understand, Aemond. He… he’s been with me since I was born. We cried together, mumbled our first words to each other. Aegon,” she hardened her resolve, “He is a part of me.”

To her surprise, Aemond pressed his forehead on hers, their lips only inches apart, “Do you love him like you love me? As much as you love me?”

A profound silence enveloped them.

“No.”

It was all it took for Aemond to crash on her lips.

Their hands roamed over each other’s bodies like like two starving migrants caught sight of honey on another.

As they gasped for breath, she slowly slipped her gown off and pressed her flesh against him, “I had a present for you, my prince. But I think you would prefer this gift.”

The prince’s movement froze at her offer.

It was too unreal. Too wrong yet too tempting.

“Has he?”

She understood the question and shook her head.

“Are you sure? Once we go down this path, there is no going back,” Aemond held the back of her neck tenderly, his one eye searching for any sign of hesitation.

“I have never been more sure of anything in my life than right now, with you.”

“I’ve never had more faith in anyone, at any moment, than I do to you, right now. Go, Aemond Targaryen. Claim her. I know you can.”

The bittersweet flashback at Driftmark, when he was still whole, was all he needed for assurance.

She wrapped her arms around Aemond’s lean yet muscular shoulders as he carried her to the bed.

“I want to see you, all of you.”

With Aemond’s hands quivered, she took the initiative and slowly removed the barrier between them.

“I love you,” she murmured as she kissed the scar that lined the prince’s sapphire eye.

Aemond smirked as he traced his kisses in an agonizing pace to the centre of her core, “Let me show you how much I love you, my queen.”

She moaned at the title that she was soon to bear, a shameful yet arousing reminder of the betrayal against her betrothed, the man with whom she came to this world together.

Aemond took time particularly at the scar on her left thigh, savouring every imperfection with his tongue.

“Aem! Watch out!”

The image of Jacaerys’ blade cutting sliced through her perfect skin still gnawed his spirit.

“I should’ve killed him for what he did to you,” Aemond kissed her flesh possessively.

A light chuckle came from her mouth, “And now, you can. Aemond Targaryen,” she stretched out her fingers and teased the prince’s rarely messy hair, “But he is not worth our time.”

Her words were cut off by a loud moan as Aemond inserted a finger inside her while pressing his thumb on her pearl.

“Is that how he touched you?” He groaned, “Does he make you feel like this?” Aemond grinned before using one hand to to make her straddle him, the other squeezing her round bottom, eliciting another moan from her lips.

“Not like you do, Aem,” she kissed him hungrily, eagerly grinding and teasing his hardened length, “Take me now. I am ready. Just,” she swallowed, “Be gentle.“

“Hmm,” he kissed along her collarbones, “I’ve never been good at gentle, but I’ll do my best for you. Always,” he pressed another kiss on her cheek, “I’ll do anything for you.”

With that, Aemond gently lifted her hips, allowing her to adjust to his length at her own rhythm.

Taking him fully, he sensed her body wince at the discomfort, her nails plunging into the flesh of his shoulders, her head buried behind his back.

“We can stop, love,” the prince wiped away a tear from her cheek caused by the pain.

“No,” she smiled, the trace of liquid still apparent on her skin, “I want you, I am sure of it.”

The two of them moved delicately, melting the unspoken and forbidden tension built between them like snow under the sun.

The initial winces of pain transformed quickly into soft whimpers of pleasure and light giggles.

“Do I bring you pleasure, love?” His voice laced with tenderness, “For your pleasure is my utmost desire.”

She laughed softly and met his stroke eagerly, “What do you think, my sweet Aemond?”

She then started leaving kisses on the top of his head, his hair, messing his silver lock with an insatiable appetite.

“My Queen,” he groaned, “I’m close.”

With a smirk, she took control and pinned his hands above his head, “Me too, my sweet prince.”

Although Aemond One-Eye rejoiced his Queen’s vigor, the blood of the dragon runs hotter than the blood of Redwyne.

He flipped over roughly on her back and replunged himself inside her.

“Gods, Aem,” she whined, “Fuck me like the dragon you are.”

Aemond’s breath hitched, his laughter filled the room, “I will fuck you until you forget your own name, my precious,” he whispered in her ears before slamming his hips into hers with all his might.

As the sinful slapping and screams of pleasure transformed the room into a sanctuary isolated from the rest of the world, the two collapsed on one another.

“Moon tea, then?” She asked softly.

“Moon tea,” he nodded, “for now.”

They stayed entangled in each other for quite a while. Thoughts swarmed through his mind like a hive of bees.

He took her maidenhead.

He, Aemond Targaryen, took her maidenhead.

She, Aegon’s promised, loved him.

She loved them both.

How could this story conclude happily?

Aemond forced out the few dark possibilities that crossed over his mind.

At least, he couldn’t possibly do that to her.

She seemed to have sensed his worries and kissed his forehead, “I’ll find a way, I promise.”

That’s how the three ended up here.

A week after their first passionate encounter, they found themselves giving into their desires again in the secrecy of Aemond’s chamber.

This time, Aegon burst in with a smug face.

“Mind if I join you?”

Aemond’s throat burnt with rage and embarrassment, “Get out.”

The older brother shrugged and did the opposite, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ears, “We tell each other everything, Aemond. I’ve known that she loved you for quite a while now.”

Do you know that she loves me more?

He wanted to throw that question onto his brother’s face, but he didn’t, for her sake.

Seeing Aemond’s clenching fists, Aegon moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her neck, “I would do anything for her. I wouldn’t let her lose anything or anyone she loves, wouldn’t you, brother?”

She slowly reached Aemond’s hand hesitantly, “Are you mad at me, Aem?”

“No,” he cupped her cheeks, “Never at you, love.

Two sides fought brutally in the battlefield of Aemond Targaryen’s head.

One side lured him to rip off his brother’s head off.

The other side urged him to accept offer.

He chose the second option.

Present day

The inky night enveloped the sky at the hour of the Wolf.

The two brothers turned over and found the space between them empty.

She stood in solitude under the moon, her hair cascading down, her body enrobed by nothing but an almost transparent night gown.

A goddess.

They both thought.

“What are your thinking about, love?” Aegon left a feather light kiss on her neck.

She smiled and turned around to face them, “It’s a fortnight until the wedding and coronation.”

Aemond’s figure tensed.

“So many things are about to change. So many new responsibilities,” she sighed, drifting her gaze to the centre of King’s Landing, where undercurrents surges even in the darkest of nights.

“This,” she lowered her head, “Can’t continue. At least, not like this.”

Aemond’s heartbeat raced at her declaration.

She couldn’t abandon him.

She couldn’t.

Her chuckle slightly released his tension as she leaned into his chest.

“What she means is that we can’t lay together anymore,” Aegon clarified, a hint of amusement in his voice, “Relax yourself, brother. She’d never let you go.”

Aemond smiled faintly as he carried her back to bed. They were right. Although the moon tea had served as a temporary solution for their indiscretion, its effectiveness had been limited. Once a child was conceived under the scandalous circumstances, it would be impossible to know who the father was.

She grinned softly before drifting to sleep, “You are both going to be fathers. So get rid of your childishness, especially you, Aeg.”

As two of them fell into a delicious slumber, Aemond stared at the ceiling alone, contemplating the possibilities of the future.

It seemed like everything was falling into place.

Rhaenyra’s claim destroyed.

Aegon finally starting to take interests in his responsibilities.

Her declaring that she loved him, even more than his brother.

Them finding a way for their love to co-exist.

Despite all the signs of peace, Aemond couldn’t help but to have a lingering impression that it was the calm before the storm.

Author’s note: Team Aem or team aeg? Lemme know your thoughts.😚

Whispering, hinting: enjoy part 1 while you can ;) 🥺

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