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fioiswriting · 6 months

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Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew.

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded. He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt. It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation. A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges. And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled. Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger.

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders. Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it. He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own.

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell. Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost. King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you. Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you."

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor. You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back. It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you.

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead. It must have been your imagination. You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest. Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen.

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears.

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets. And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company.

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal. You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead.

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly.

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway.

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him. You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be. You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't."

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs.

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you. You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin. Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall. Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself - but you can't help feeling your heart clench. You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time.

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him. A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly. Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind. A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy. Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips.

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion. You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you.

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit. He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely.

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion.

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly.

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience.

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps.

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you.

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him. He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence. You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious.

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching.

He doesn't let go of you.

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him. It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his.

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you.

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him. You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow.

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other. Your hands are buried in his long silver hair. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet?

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress.

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices.

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body.

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry. You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable.

You need him.

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears. You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him. It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you.

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting. For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness.

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you. You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy.

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth. You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie. You know you should lie. To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years. You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not."

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips.

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye. It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words. You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath.

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe. It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity. Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know."

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him.

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him. You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up.

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know." Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence. He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions.

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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flowerandblood · 1 month

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Glass Cuts Deepest Epilogue

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, trauma, mention of sexual harassment and panic attacks, the power of fluff ]

[ description: Aemond and Wright have a year of their relationship behind them, full of joy, but also difficult situations for them, related to demons from his past. Despite this, they find their own ways to live normally and happily. Aemond, jealous that Cregan is now her professor, decides to find out if the girl who changed his life still loves him. Sexual tension, childhood traumas and sweet fluff. ]

This oneshot is the events that take place one year after Glass Cuts Deepest Series. This is a special chapter written to celebrate my one year on this platform, which falls on March 22.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

When a year had passed since he and Wright had officially announced that they were together, he was relieved to find that his panic attacks had almost disappeared, and if they did occur, they no longer involved vomiting and convulsions, causing only discomfort and a feeling of tightness in his stomach.

Wright was perfectly capable of recognising its symptoms, spotting instantly when he froze or turned pale, not touching him at the time, just asking quietly if he needed a moment alone or if he would like her to embrace him.

More and more often he wanted to simply cuddle up to her, so he would then ask her to let him, but not to touch him herself. He would then draw her close and sink his face into her neck, taking in her wonderful scent, listening to her breathing until he calmed down.

"− I'm sorry −" He mumbled then, ashamed that, as usual, he thought he had got it over with, that it was so good after all. He fought then against the grim thoughts that he would never be normal, that she had to live with someone who didn't cope, who was constantly afraid.

"− don't apologise −" She whispered softly, resting her cheek on his head, playing with the fingers of her hand, waiting patiently for him to be able to function normally again.

"− I'm glad that now when you feel unwell, you don't feel discomfort when I'm close − it's very important to me −" She said warmly, kissing his hair, and he felt his muscles relax slowly, the fact that she never made sudden movements, never tried to embrace him against his will, made him feel safe.

She respected the fact that he knew for himself what was good for him and what he needed, and she never forced him into anything, on the contrary, she always carefully studied his barriers.

Once when she showed him a picture of a nightgown, finding it lovely and pretty, white, lacy and strapless, of slippery, shiny material, he turned pale and shook his head quickly, looking away, seeing her enter his room then, what she was wearing was all too similar in his mind, a cold sweat on his back.

"− oh, I'm sorry − I won't show you this kind of things anymore − I just − I'd like to buy myself some nice pyjamas − the kind you'd like −" She muttered, looking up at him, turning on the couch, he sighed quietly, rubbing her bare legs that rested on his thighs.

"− I like it when you wear my Tshirts − nothing turns me on more −" He hummed, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, seeing her blush as she lay dressed in his black shirt covering her thighs, he knew she had nothing but panties underneath, just the way he liked it.

"− oh −" She mumbled quietly, embarrassed, pretending to scroll something further on her phone.

Since he had left the university and focused on his own studio, he felt that the immense frustration that had been with him all those years, of having to deal with strange women, having to constantly explain his decisions and apologise for the way he was, had left him.

In his new workshop, more spacious and brighter than the one he had worked in before, he felt free, and the only girl who was allowed inside was Wright.

Sometimes he couldn't help himself and would ask her how Cregan was doing in his job, seeing that she was progressing more and more each month, jealous that now someone else was her professor, she was spending a lot of time in class which was hard for him to come to terms with after they had spent so much time in each other's company up to that point.

"He is a really good teacher. He has a lot of patience and explains complicated things so that they seem simple, or he shows us something by doing it himself and we can watch." She said lightly, standing beside him, helping him cut out templates for his new commission, which he was working on with some of his former students he had hired. He hit the side of her cheek with the tip of his tongue, impatient for some reason.

"That's good." He replied dispassionately, feeling her cast him a quick glance upon hearing the tone of his voice, leaning lower to bend forward and look at his face.

"Are you jealous, Professor?" She hummed softly and he pressed his lips together, recognising that he hadn't given a shit, that he'd wanted to do this for a long time.

She squealed quietly as he grabbed her by the arm and turned her around facing the backlit table, his hands slid her panties down in a swift, sure movement, leaving her in a state of shock, his hand on the nape of her neck forced her to bend over, the material of her dress lifted slightly, revealing her naked buttocks, he noticed out of the corner of his eye her entrance, glistening from her wetness.

She was his Eve, and although neither of them had ever completely undressed, and he wasn't sure he would ever be able to do so or endure such a sight without the memories overwhelming him, the sight of her partial nudity no longer frightened him, for her body was his temple, pure, warm and safe.

"− I've been thinking about this ever since I met you − you don't even know how many times I've stood over you barely restraining myself from fucking you good on a table like this −" He breathed out, quickly unzipping his trousers, lowering them a tad once with his boxers, not waiting a moment, forcing the swollen head of his cock between her puffy, weeping folds.

"− wider − that's it − fuck − are you okay? −" He muttered, casting her an uncertain look after he thrust deeper into her, sliding all the way in, her tight walls resisting him as he hadn't prepared her for this as well as usual.

"− y-yes − keep going − just − take it slow −" She mumbled softly, and he hummed under his breath, leaning down, placing his hands on either side of her on the backlit top of his table on which he usually cut glass, his lips pressed against her long, perfumed neck as his hips began to rock slowly inside her, barely sliding out of her without any rush, letting her get used to his size.

"− so warm − fuck, baby −" He gasped out, hearing her first shy moans, feeling his cock slide into her with increasing ease, slick with her moisture, her muscles began to throb around him, squeezing him, he looked down, watching as he opened her wide with deep, sure thrusts of his hips.

"− please, Professor − please −" She mewled and he sighed loudly, she knew how it affected him, she knew how much it aroused him, involuntarily he picked up his pace, his thighs began to slam against her buttocks with loud splats, all around them just their panting and the sticky clicks of her leaking wetness.

"− you have no shame − begging for your professor's cock − is this how you got good grades at university? huh? − you like it when they fuck you well? −" He sneered, clamping his hands over her bare buttocks, letting go of control completely, allowing his subconscious to take over him and his movements, his pushes faster and more aggressive, rubbing her where she needed it. She leaned back on her palms against the table top, responding to his thrusts by rocking her hips, her hot, wet muscles sucking him inside with her moans of delight.

"− n-no − I work so hard −" She muttered frightened, as if some part of her really believed he could think that about her, he chuckled under his breath, running his hand through her hair, pounding into her so fast and deep that he was no longer sliding out of her with loud slaps of skin against skin.

"− I can see how hard you're working − how much it costs you to fit it in −" He scoffed, and she whimpered at his words, responding more and more eagerly to his thrusts, his knee spreading her thighs wider, forcing her to bend over again with her loud gasp of exertion.

"− I-I'm sorry − I promise I'll be good already, I promise, I promise, I promise −" She mewled, moaning low as he felt her muscles begin to throb in orgasm, her body arching backwards, he embraced her around the waist, his other hand gripping her cheeks, his lips pressed against hers in an aggressive, greedy, hot kiss as, after a few sloppy, messy thrusts, he came deep inside her with a heavy sigh of delight.

"− I know − my sweet little girl, am I right? −" He gasped, panting loudly along with her, embracing her tightly from behind, nuzzling his cheek against hers, her hands clasped around his arms, stroking them steadily, his half-hard manhood still twitching deep inside her.

"− yes −" She mumbled, burying her face in his cheek, as she always did after their rapprochement, needing his closeness and the tenderness he never denied her.

"− you don't think of him that way, do you? −" He asked quietly, ashamed of his insecurity, of his own fear and imaginings, of the fact that someone else, someone better could easily take his place at her side when he needed her so much, loved her so much.

"− oh, no, silly − I never felt anything like that before you − I think I was in love with you long before I realised it −" She said warmly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, a sweet, girlish smile full of tenderness on her lips that melted his heart, his confirmation that all was well.

"− yes − yes, me too −" He murmured, leaning lower, placing warm, wet kisses on her face. He began to wonder intensely if the ring he had chosen for her, which lay tucked deep in one of his drawers where he kept his designs was still there, and if he would be a complete idiot to propose to her now.

After a moment he decided that yes, he would be a complete idiot and sighed quietly, smiling involuntarily under his breath, sliding out of her gently, helping her put her panties back on over her buttocks, then zipping up his trousers, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, she turned to face him, all red from exertion, her eyes big, her breathing still slightly accelerated.

"Take me today to the church where you first saw the stained glass windows. You told me that story once, I think you mentioned that your father took you there." He said softly and she blinked, curious, cocking her head, leaning her palms against the edge of the table.

"Alright, why not, Professor. Where did you suddenly get this idea?" She asked cheerfully, excitedly, and he snorted under his breath.

"You'll see."

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asumofwords · 1 year

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Masterlist

Hi I'm Tee! I write fanfic and am entirely feral. Smoke, Fire and Ash is my first ever fanfic and is still ongoing. I'm in my mid twenties, and have always enjoyed reading and writing! My AO3 is the same handle @asumofwords

I write for Aemond Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Alicent Hightower, Larys Strong (lol), but am open to writing for other characters such as Joel Miller (TLA), Negan or Daryl (TWD), Loki, Bucky, Zemo, Venom, Miguel O'Hara (MARVEL), Frank Castle (Punisher), open to most GOT characters too.

But I'm also open to writing for other characters so it's best to just ask if you're unsure!! <3

Am excited to explore these characters in my writing in the future!

Currently my requests are CLOSED!

BOUNDARIES FOR REQUESTS: I will not write for anyone who is underage (actor and character) and I will not write anything for stepdad/stepchild fics.

If you would like to be added to a general writing tag list, click here.

Aemond Targaryen:

Smoke, Fire and Ash (COMPLETED)

Dark! Aemond Targaryen x Reader

The Sublet Masterlist (COMPLETED)

Modern!Aemond x Reader, Roommate!AU

Lighthouse - Miniseries - (COMPLETED)

Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Til Death Do Us Part - Oneshot

Dark!Modern!Aemond x Reader, Divorce!Au

Ettore from High Life:

Treat

Michael Gavey from Saltburn:

Midpoint Common Factors

REQUESTS:

Unsought Betrothal - Dark!Aemond Targaryen

Unsought Betrothal Part 2 - Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Cock sizes Drabble

What Aemond, Aegon, Daemon, Jace and Criston fancy.

Linger - Ghost!Aemond x Reader, Possessed!Cregan x Reader, Spooky Season >:)

If you wish to be put on the taglist, please let me know ! :)

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the-desilittle-bird · 10 months

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AN- Another preference guys!!! Also, I have an angsty Daemon oneshot based on Tere Liye song in my drafts...

Requests are always open and well appreciated.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

HOTD Preference

Being in an Arranged Marriage

Characters- Daemon Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Otto Hightower, Corlys Velaryon, Cregan Stark & Criston Cole

Warnings- Westrosi Shenanigans

Daemon 'Rogue Prince' Targaryen

You are an honorable lady of one of the Great Houses of Westeros. And after Lady Rhea Royce dies mysteriously, your father plotted to marry you into a marriage with the Rogue Prince.

You had met him a few times earlier, and you were less than impressed with his... antics.

You swore you would have ran if you weren't devoted to your father and his life's work in order to make a beautiful legacy for your family (sounds Lannister-ish).

You had controlled the urge to laugh during the entirety of the feast hosted to honour your betrothal with the prince.

Daemon's face resembled that of a pouty kid who was denied something he needed. While on the other hand, Viserys was gleaming with happiness as he congratulated the "beautiful pair".

The wedding was lavish, much to both your and your husband's dismay. And while you covered your dismay with grace; his remained bad.

He was partially dragged to the sept by his brother.

Marriage with him can go two ways.

Either you become another bronze bitch for him.

Or you impress him with your charms and he ends up being completely enamored by you.

If you try to reject his advances; he will never quit making them.

And when you accept his devotion, he will be the happiest man in Westeros.

Aemond 'One-Eyed' Targaryen

He marries you on his mother's demand.

Very formal and stoic. Will reward you with only a hand on your back in extreme situations.

Aegon teasing him about the upcoming bedding after your wedding.

Also offering you an opportunity to approach him if Aemond doesn't suffices you.

"My lady, you know where to find me if my brother can't suffice your womanly desires in bed."

You in reply, had smiled sarcastically and said, "it won't be required."

The boy's ego was wounded.

While Aemond was downright impressed by your courage.

It starts slow with him.

And takes a loooooong while before he shows you his left eye; bared of the eyepatch he wears.

You had a hard start; worse than that of possible.

But he starts seeing you as family after Helaena softens up with you and you spend time with his niece and nephew. Alicent also likes you.

He would never compliment you directly or profess his love in words. But his actions speak louder than anything else.

Otto 'Hand of the King' Hightower

You are his second wife. And not really a recipient of his love and care.

Purely political marriage with both your and his house benefiting in some way; all while you were being prepared to be a man's second wife.

You learnt quickly how you shall always been seen as a shadow of his wife. And you were actually happy with it.

Both of you shall perform your duties to one another, but that would be it.

No speaking until necessary.

His children not liking you at first; but once you start to open up with them, they come to tolerate your presence.

The first real conversation you two have is after you find Alicent crying in her room, reminiscing the happy family they used to be before her mother perished.

You had barged into his office, demanding to know when was the last time he spoke to his daughter.

And you fought for hours. Until you broke down into tears as your patience ran thin.

"YOU DO NOT CARE OF ANYONE AROUND YOU, BUT YOURSELF! Not Alicent, not your sons, not the king... not me."

He saw you in new light that day. Someone who was ready to fight for his family.

And he starts engaging you in conversations at feast.

And honestly, you like it. Being noticed by your husband who only saw you as a trophy before.

Corlys ‘Sea Snake’ Velaryon

Your father was the most important merchant in Essos; and you were his precious little daughter.

You met Corlys for the first time after his negotiations with your father.

When your father tells you that you shall be married to the Sea Snake to assure the new alliance’s birth and growth.

You were extremely angry. And hurt.

Your marriage to him was anything but modest; and took place in Driftmark.

You could feel the unease radiating off the lords and the King as they congratulated you and your new husband.

Unfortunate for you, your father skipped the part of him being a widower and having kids close to your age.

And you were furious. Very. Very. Furious.

You kicked and screamed; creating a scene behind the closed doors while your new family and your family was present.

Tensed with anger and disappointment burning deep in your chest, you find yourself roaming the beach as the sun raced towards the horizon.

You hadn't expected the man, your new husband, to come for you. But he did.

And you talked, deciding a few terms for easy marriage life.

Cregan 'Wolf of the North' Stark

You were from the West; betrothed to him after his first wife passes during childbirth, leaving him with a son, alone.

And so, your father decides that you should become his second wife and mother to his barely a year old son.

Your betrothal is officiated on letters. No formal meeting. No courting.

You were sent to the North before a fortnight from your wedding.

You arrived to be greeted by Sara Snow, since you cannot see Cregan before your wedding, as per traditions.

You have a wedding in the customs of North.

And then a smaller wedding with only close people around in the small Sept in Winterfell, where you are wedded in your traditions.

The feast following was loud and warm with wine flowing the cups and fire blazing in the backdrop.

When you were asked to share your first dance as a couple, your very first dance anyway; you hesitated as you accompanied him.

But everything went very very smoothly.

And then was the time of bedding ceremony. And Gods! Were you overjoyed when Cregan defended your honor and downright canceled the ceremony.

"Anyone who shall dare touch my bride shall spend his life without any further children. I and my wife are perfectly able to find our way to our chambers."

That night, there was no bedding. But you spent the time conversing while Rickon Stark slept against your bosom, peacefully.

Criston 'Kingmaker' Cole

Since he is the part of King's Guard, he can't marry anyone. But after he takes on the position of Hand of the King to King Aegon II and Prince Regent Aemond, that's a different story.

He arrives at your father's holdstead with a handwritten letter from the Queen Dowager Alicent, asking for your father's allegiance to the Greens.

But your father was no fool.

You were his eldest; first of the four sisters.

And so, he asks for a betrothal in exchange.

But with Aegon already married and Aemond betrothed to marry and Daeron too young for you, he asks Criston to marry you.

And with his undying loyalty to Alicent and Greens, he does.

The ceremony is small and not flashing, with only Aemond and your family present.

There was no feast. Just a close dinner between family.

You were scared... terrified actually.

But the Hand of the King reassured you that he will do nothing you don't wish for, and instead of consummating the marriage, he falls asleep; on the floor.

And you realize that maybe, he isn't as bad as you have heard of him.

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon preferences #hotd preferences #daemon targaryen headcanon #aemond targaryen headcanons #otto hightower x reader #corlys velaryon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader #criston cole x reader #house targaryen #hotd headcanon

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misguidedasgardian · 2 years

Text

The white dragon

An alternative universe for The House of the Dragon

Summary: How the existence of Rhaenyra's younger sister can change the course of history, the youngest daughter of King Viserys Targaryen and the Queen Aemma Arryn.

To cover the heir to the throne's transgressions, you are obligated to marry his lover, Ser Harwin Strong

Main pairing: Harwin Strong x Targaryen!Femreader

AU Warnings: violence, blood, murder, cheating, adultery, mentioned incest, (more tags added by chapter)

Main Story

Prologue

A Dragon or Goat

Collateral damage

The wreckage

What is left

Forced Landing

Name day

Seeds of mistrust

Two headed dragon

While you were gone

Taking roots

Kicks of a drowning man

Harrenhal

Driftmark

Dragonstone

The Seed is Strong

Sow what you planted

Claimed, not given

Second sons

Were loyalties lie

Were loyalties lie part 2

The Hour of the Owl

The Hour of the Bat

The Blacks

Storm's End

The North Remembers

In the dragon's den

The Greens

The march

The crossroads

The Red Keep

All roads

I bring the storm

Shield bay

Kings of Nothing

Jorraegalon

Under seige

The man of Gold

The Kraken and The Dragon

The Rock

King's Landing

Maegor

Monsters of Land and Sea

The Trident

The Dragonpit

The Great Council

Kept Promises, Epilogue

Archive of Characters

The archive of characters of The White Dragon

Headcanons & Oneshots

The White Shadow: Ser Steffon Mangold, sworn protector and sword of the princess and how he came to be

Vhaelar: how the bond between dragon and rider happened

The hunt: what was the princess doing during the hunt?

A hellish match: Jace dances with Aemma, and Baela with Aemond, but they wish it was the other way around

What If Series

what if... Harwin never stopped his affair with Rhaenyra?

what if... Reader married Cregan Stark?

#misguidedmasterlist #misguidedhotd #harwin strong x targaryen reader #harwin strong #harwin x reader #ser harwin strong #harwin breakbones #daemon targaryen #princess rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra #house of the dragon

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jamespotterismydaddy · 1 year

Text

Masterlist

Smut: 🍆

Personal faves: ⭐️

Requests I plan to write -> here

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

Rhaenyra Masterlist

Aegon Masterlist

Jacaerys:

Oneshots/mini series:

Best Friends Brother, Cops And Robbers (modern!jacaerys)🍆

Traded Posession, Gilded Whore (dark!jacaerys x reader) 🍆

Cregan:

Oneshots/mini series:

Attitude Adjustment (cregan x wife!reader)🍆⭐️

Series:

Lord Husband (cregan x reader)⭐️

Daemon Targaryen Masterlist

Alicent

Oneshots/mini series:

A Simple Favour 🍆

Nymphets🍆

Michael Gavey Masterlist

Luke Castellan Masterlist

Sejanus Plinth:

Oneshots/miniseries:

Darling🍆

Tom Bennett:

Oneshots/miniseries:

Sailor Boy🍆

Joseph Descamps:

Oneshots/miniseries:

Behind Closed Doors🍆

#hotd masterlist #aemond targaryen #hotd smut #daemon smut #aemond x oc #aegon smut #rhaenyra smut #aemond smut #cregan stark #cregan smut #alicent hightower #alicent smut #cregan x reader #michael gavey #luke castellan smut #sejanus plinth #tom bennett

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theothermaidoftarth · 29 days

Text

Exposure

T | pre-Cregan Stark/Nettles

Takes place between chapters 1 and 2 of World on Fire. A small ficlet in Cregan’s pov.

Word count: 1,444

Cw: ableism, angst, complicated relationships, family dynamics

When would he stop for breath?, Cregan thought, looking at his son in mild amusement. An amusement which waned as he heard Rickon speak of ‘Missus Nettles’ for the third time in as many minutes. It would have been of little note had he not also done as much the day before while visiting his grandmother. Cregan could feel Lady Gilliane glancing at him with increasing amusement.

She laughed at the last thing his son had said, hands flapping in his excitement, a gesture she never thought twice of from him. Had it been Cregan... “The undercrofts. Fine place for snares. But would our guest think so? Do you mean to send her running south so soon, my lad?”

Cregan only just held back a snort, though he knew his mother to be japing. Of course a young woman who claimed a dragon the size of a small keep was not faint of heart. Mistress Nettles’ diminutive stature belied her mettle. On the first night of her arrival he saw as much firsthand, many times over. Much of that in his study as she sat before his desk in that ridiculous dress which hung from her like a set of drapes, or a shroud. And he, cold-hearted scoundrel that he was, chose to proceed as if she were not the spirited girl from Jacaerys’ last letter, giving free reign to his ire when their circumstances were no more to her liking than his. He looked at her in the way which had made grown men quail since he was four-and-ten and she looked back with not so much as a startled blink.

It was his undoing. He only acknowledged as much to himself after she came across him in the hot springs. And by then it was too late. He had fallen, hard; his every other thought of her, her wants, her needs, her comfort. Her hopes and dreams and future plans…

Cregan forbeared to cease his son’s babbling; it would only look the worse for him, fermenting his mother’s suspicions. If he had nothing to fear, why put a stop to the boy’s chatter? It was not as if it reminded him that Rickon still had no mother; that Arra was dead and gone, never again to grace the world with her cutting wit; that the young woman whose kindness had so warmed his son could not stay; that Nettles could not remain a part of Rickon’s life. Not as his mother, not as Cregan’s wife. Why would she want him, Cregan was not Osric; he was not as Brandon had been or even Elric.

It seemed no time at all when the lunch hour approached and Bessa bustled Rickon away, leaving Cregan quite alone with his mother. Terrance Snow would be here soon with her medics and mayhap Hollys to tidy the room but for now it was just them.

“I hear you still seat her to your right.”

And who had told her that? There were too many fucking answers. “Should I not? Last I knew she was still a envoy.”

Gilliane knew every one of his silences, every one of his stony looks. Just as he knew her hums and tuts, mysteries it had taken half his life to solve.

“If you were not you, shall I tell you what I would suggest?” she began and he grit his teeth around his ire. Not the first time she had said so. At least twice in his memory, mayhap not as much as other mothers in her place would have but each time it was a blade in his gut. If you were not you; if you were different.

His father never said similar when he lived but the way he looked at Cregan told it true. Would that you were the younger son and Willam the elder. Or worse, would that you had died and he had lived. Centuries before the dragons came, Northmen used to leave unwanted children out in the snow to die, exposed upon the mountains. Cregan wondered sometimes if Lord Rickon would have done so, had the practice still thrived by the time of his birth, a too-quiet babe who squirmed away from all touch as if being branded, who hardly responded to his own name or smiled or laughed or babbled. He knew this because of his mother, some from servants’ whispers but mostly his mother who told him straight to his face. He wasn’t sure if he loved her more for such honesty or not.

“You will tell me all the same,” he said now.

“Take her to your bed. Or go to hers, whichever.”

He stood at once. “Good day to you, Mother.” He did not even stop to bow as he crossed to the door. A few paces from the door, he halted but only to turn and say, “Do not think that Mistress Nettles is only her dragon.”

His mother affected a look of mild affront. “Oh now you insult me. I thought nothing of the sort. But such a look in your eye, as if you’d fall on even your own sword in defence of her… Is this how it is then? Ah, fine, do not answer. But you know as well as I, he would turn in his crypt to see this.” Father. The man he’d tried to honour all his life. Had he been proud of him at all at the time of his death, even a little?

Cregan flexed his jaw. “Then let him do so. He does not dictate what I do, how I live my life.” He’d accept if Nettles didn’t want him and let it be, but to cease for the sake of a ghost? To never be touched by her, body and soul for the sake of a dead man who half despaired of him in life? No, Cregan would not live his life so. He might well be dead himself then.

Gilliane smiled then, small and sly. “No son of mine ought do any less.”

“Are you winning?”

He turned from the mannequin, startled, to see Nettles just at the edge of the training yard. She had seen him naked and he had not been as flustered. He was in his element here, steel in hand and muscles aching. He did not need to worry she’d be impressed; most who saw him were. But still he was flustered, like a boy at his first bout. She had not seen him here before; he had not expected to see her now. And they were alone, as they had been by the hot springs. It gave the moment an unexpected weight. There were no judging eyes to stare, or mouths to smirk behind hands if his wits proved too dull, his tongue too graceless.

He did so want to say something to make her laugh. He wanted to see those dimples of hers again. Laughter limned her voice more oft than not but rarely lit her eyes; she was more serious than she first appeared. Less so now than her first night here. He had been happy to see it, to bask in the rays of her joy. To be touched by her again.

“If you came afore midday, you would see me win against men of flesh and blood.” He rolled his shoulders backwards but she did not look at his muscles, did not giggle, bite her lip, glance up at him through her lashes with a smile. Was he doing this wrong? He had not done so with either Arra or Jacaerys. Things fell into place differently with them both. He had been different; with her, and with him and now.

“Tomorrow then,” her smile was small, sad. “Tomorrow is…” her last day. His stomach roiled. So little time. Nettles smiled brighter, counterfeit gold. “Tomorrow is a fine time for me to experience the north in full. Bring everything full circle. I shall see your finest sword,” she tipped her head to him and he felt hot blood sweep up his neck to his cheeks, “dance my last jig, mayhap find a shadowcat to tame.” As she walked backwards, she grinned at whatever look must have passed across his face. “Think I couldn’t?”

“I think you could. That’s what worries me.”

“And then when I triumph, you will feel awe instead.”

She was too far away to hear when he said, “I already do.” Do you not know what you have already won? He would tell her, would overcome his clumsy tongue and find a way to tell her until she knew without doubt. In my eyes, you are crowned in glory.

Read on ao3

#asoiaf #f&b fic #f&b au #cregan stark #nettles #nettles x cregan stark #cregan x nettles #cw: ableism #pre relationship #rating: t #rare pair #rarepair #oneshot #part of a series

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missmielyhoran · 1 year

Text

Masterlist

Welcome to my page loves♡

About me- Miely, 20, she/her

Wattpad

Angst fic rec 1 , rec 2, rec3

My Y/Ns

feedbacks, requests here♡

⚡️: Angst, 🌸 : Fluff, 🔥: Smut, r : Requested

Series

• Baby Honey [⚡️🌸🔥]

in which Y/N is oblivious and Harry is in love with his best friend

(Friends to lovers or youtuber!au)

• Humphrey High [⚡️🔥🌸]

in which Harry and Y/N hate each other, but things change when there is a possible attempt of murder...

(Academic rivals to lovers or prince!harry)

• Stages of grief [⚡️🔥🌸]

in which Y/N's life crumbles after her husband of 5 years cheats on her

(Cheating!Harry × Actress!reader)

• Little Freak [🔥🌸⚡️]

in which Autumn likes her twin brother's best friend, and maybe he likes her too...

(Brother's best friend!Harry × Oc!reader)

• Viridescent [⚡️🔥🌸]

in which Anna and Harry are forced to get married for generational money...

(Enemies to lovers)

• Royalty [⚡️🔥🌸]

in which crown is at war, and to have the North at their side, Rhaenyra decides to promise marriage between her eldest daughter and younger brother of Cregan Stark, Harry...

(Stark!Harry × Targaryen!Reader)(hotd au)

• Only Angel [🔥🌸⚡️]

in which Y/N is the rockstar Harry's hot girlfriend...

(90s rockstar!harry)

• Smoke [🔥🌸⚡️]

in which Harry is your dad's best friend and his boss...

(Dbf! Gangleader! Harry × Plussize reader)

• Lone [🔥🌸⚡️]

in which Y/N's new roommate is werid...

(Werewolf!Harry × Florist!reader)

• Ceo!Harry [🔥🌸⚡️]

(Ceo!Harry × Assistant!reader)

• Demon!Harry [🔥🌸⚡️]

in which demon bounded to your house who won't let you leave...

(Demon!Harry × Reader)

Oneshots

• Breakup sex [🌸🔥], ig (r)

breakup sex but not what you think...

• Bachelorette party [🌸]

in which you and Harry meet at your friend's Bachelorette party sleepover...

• Strike [⚡️], pt 2 [⚡️]

in which Harry has a work wife...

• Second [⚡️]

in which you always stayed being second...

• Better Than Revenge [🔥⚡️]

in which after your boyfriend cheats on you with your best friend, you want revenge, and luckily, he has a very hot brother...

• Nightmare [⚡️🌸]

in which Harry cheated on you...

• Yearbook [🌸]

in which Harry promised to take you to his first award show as his date...

• He looks up grinning like a devil [🔥]

in which your parents think their sweet catholic girl is in the city working as an assistant to big ceo but is she really?

• Oreos and Pickles [⚡️]

in which you spent 2 years with Harry and a grocery store trip makes you realize it was all secondary...

• Prince Charming [🦇⚡️🌸]

in which cooking for your date is always a nice gesture...

• Cameras [🔥⚡️]

She looks like a star but only on camera...

• Milk Carton [🌸]

in which Harry opens milk cartons....

• Familiarity [⚡️🌸], Part 2

in which you and Harry have a strange relationship...

Fake Ig-

• Love Story (Male!y/n)

• Deleted story (r)

• Daddy [⚡️🌸🔥]

• You're losing me [⚡️] pt 2 [⚡️🌸]

Blurbs

• in which Y/N and Harry are in secret relationship and her friend won't stop flirting with him [⚡️🌸](r)

• in which Y/N gets mad seeing the yatch pictures [⚡️🌸](r)

• in which you listen to cherry with Harry for the first time [⚡️🌸](r)

Like, comment and reblog if you like what you read or Dan Schneider will be under your bed tonight♡

I don't consent for my work to be reposted, translated, etc!! Every character mentioned and used as faceclaim is fictional and I'm not enforcing any idea or sexuality.

Love you, stay hydrated♡

#harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry smut #dbf harry styles #older!harry

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idksmtms · 3 months

Text

Cregan Stark Masterlist

Series

Under construction...

Oneshots

Wolf of the North - (Cregan Stark x maid!reader - coming soon)

The Lord of Winterfell has arrived on one of his rare trips to King's Landing for the betrothal of Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena. He has never liked the south, a northener through and through, but the palace does have its charms. Particularly in the form of one young lady...

Northern Attitude - (Grumpy!Cregan Stark x Sunshine!reader - coming soon)

Cregan married you, a Targaryen princess, for strength and allyship. That's it. But you still managed to bring summer with you to Winterfell.

AUs

Rip and Tear and Throw It All Away - (District 7!Cregan Stark x Tribute!reader, Capitol Mentor!Aemond Targaryen x Tribute!reader)

Part 2 - coming soon

Cregan Stark had been the only good thing in District 7 for Y/n L/n. They had plans, oh they had so many plans, even in that town of trash and smoke. Then her name was called. Then she was forced to rip him out of her heart and throw away all they had...

Of Myths and Moons - (Werewolf!Cregan Stark x reader - coming soon)

There are stories in the North, of creatures that appear on the night of a full moon, that are neither human nor wolf but something in between. Creatures that can wear the skin of a person and walk among the humans, and not one person could tell the difference. So just be careful walking in the wilderness on a full moon night...

#hotd x reader #cregan fanfiction #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan stark #the dance of the dragons #dance of the dragons #house targaryen #targaryen #winterfell #hotd fanfic #fanfic #arnas fedaravicius #fancast #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x oc

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starogeorgina · 1 year

Text

All characters are 18+

Ongoing Series -

𝐄𝐲𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧

The twisted love story of Dayanara ‘Nara’ Targaryen and Jacaerys Velaryon

1.01 1.02 1.03 1.04 1.05

𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

After escaping the clutches of the Greens, you return to Dragonstone with your daughter and reunite with your beloved elder brother Jacaerys. After marrying Jace, your life blooms, and the nightmares of your former life disappear until you find yourself in the heart of the dance of dragons.

1.01 1.02 1.03 1.04 1.05 1.06 1.07 1.08 1.09 1.10 1.11 1.12 1.13 1.14 1.15

𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞

1.01 1.02 1.03

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 & 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰

(Jacaerys x reader x Cregan)

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝

Inspired by scream (synopsis to be updated)

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬

As the grieving wife of Prince Jacaerys, you promise to seek revenge on those who took him from you and destroy the greens, turning them against each other one by one.

Oneshots -

𝕄𝕪 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖

#Jacaerys Velaryon #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon smut #Jacaerys Velaryon masterlist

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loveslibrarywp · 4 months

Text

Requests open. Fanfics are posted on wattpad: @LovesLibrary. Likes, comments, and reposts are very appreciated.

Requests are open. I will pretty much write for anyone if you ask. I highly recommend requesting so I have the opportunity to write more!

House of the dragon

Aemond Targaryen

Fanfics/mini series

Salvatore - wattpad fanfic

1.) Prologue/teaser +NSFW

2.) Chapter 5 teaser +NSFW

Oneshots

Aemond Loves his pregnant wife! +NSFW

- Aemond Targaryen x Wife!reader

Little red +NSFW

- Aemond Targaryen x Stark!reader

Tis the season +NSFW

- Modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader

Sharing is caring +NSFW

- Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader x Helaena Targaryen

Aegon || Targaryen

Fanfics/mini series

None yet

Oneshots

Ataraxia; freedom of worry

- Aegon Targaryen x wife!reader

Helaena Targaryen

Fanfics/mini series

None yet

Oneshots

The secrets we keep +NSFW

- Helaena x fem!reader

Sharing is caring +NSFW

- Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader x Helaena Targaryen

Jacaerys Velaryon

Fanfics/ mini series

None yet

Oneshots

None yet

Lucerys Velaryon

Fanfics/ mini series

None yet

One shots

None yet

Cregan Stark

Fanfics/ mini series

None yet

Oneshots

Marriage for duty

- Cregan Stark x Strong!reader

The Last Kingdom

Osferth

Fanfics/mini series

None yet

Oneshots

Too good

- Osferth x fem!reader

Worship and Desire +NSFW

- Osferth x fem!reader

Finan

Fanfics/mini series

None yet

One shots

None yet

Sihtric

Fanfics/mini series

None yet

One shots

None yet

Æthelstan

Fanfics/mini series

None yet

One shots

None yet

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asumofwords · 8 months

Text

The Sublet - Roommate!AU

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?

Notes: Hello angels! Sorry for the late update for this one, got lost in the sauce of writing the Til Death Do Us Part oneshot. Haha anyway, here is the new chapter, I hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 7: Hard truths

It was the tension that was the most unbearable part of it all. The feeling of words that had been left unspoken, apologies not voiced aloud, grievances that were left to fester in the quiet of the apartment after that fateful night.

When you went to work the next day, your eyes had been puffy from crying, and Jasper had asked you on multiple occasions what was wrong. You had told him it was your allergies, dust in the office irritating your eyes, but you could tell by just the way he had looked at you that he didn’t believe you.

You felt entirely defeated by it all.

Exhausted by it.

Tiptoeing in your own home, walking on eggshells, hiding in your room, not making a peep to avoid the cold glares of Aemond. And he had done much the same, staying out late, or going straight to his room when he got home.

And by the time the time the weekend had rolled in, you had had enough of sulking and decided to reply to Cregan’s invitation with a very enthusiastic yes.

Cregan told you that the boys would all be there, even Jacaerys and Lucerys, who were yet to head to the Keep to be with their family, the weekend being a final hurrah before the storm that waited for them back in their old home.

When you woke that morning, excited that the weekend was finally here and that you had something to look forward to in the evening, you decided you were going to do a quick clean of the apartment, chucking on some noise cancelling headphones and making your way to the kitchen.

You made swift work of it, and before long, you were washing your hair and getting ready for the night. Cregan had texted you excitedly saying the boys were keen to see you, and had asked if you wanted to go to his first.

You threw on an outfit that was short and sleek, hugging your curves perfectly and revealing ample cleavage. Paired with a bit of a smokey eye and your hair in a style you favoured, you looked at yourself in the mirror and smirked.

You looked hot.

Really hot.

When you came out of your room, Aemond was on the couch, watching as you ordered your Uber to take you straight to Cregan’s. You didn’t spare him a single glance, but you knew he was looking at you. You could feel the heat of his gaze roaming over your body.

Leaving without a goodbye, you hopped straight into your Uber and headed to Cregan’s, greeted by the hulking figure at the door, with loud chattering behind him and music playing.

“Look at you.” Cregan smirked as you gave him a little spin.

“Look at me.” You winked, jumping into his arms for a massive hug, the large man picking you off the ground with a shift of his back as you squealed, before placing you back down.

“The boys are keen to see you.”

You smiled, following him down the hall to the lounge room where Cregan’s friends all sat on various couches and chairs.

Two familiar faces came into view, Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon.

Both brown haired boys gazes fell on you, wide smiles spreading on their cheeks. Jacaerys jumped up with a cry of your name before rushing towards you, pulling you into a soft hug, followed by his younger brother Lucerys, who had grown a foot since the last time you saw him. Lost were his cherubic cheeks, and in their place, cheekbones that sat high on his face like his mother.

“It's been so long!” You whined, looking at Luc who now stood taller than you, “Fuck you’ve grown. What are they feeding you on Dragonstone?”

Lucerys blushed, looking away before a smirk pulled at his lips, “Not enough. You haven’t grown a bit.”

“I stopped growing a long time ago, you ass.” You chuckled.

You didn’t get to see Jacaerys and Lucerys often, having met them a few times through Cregan, and the others through Helaena. At one point you had classes with the older brother, and he had always been nothing but kind and respectful towards you.

Despite not seeing them as often as you wished, you still considered them good friends.

Scanning the rest of the room, you spotted the one and only Kermit Tully, seated beside his brother Elmo Tully. After Daeron's confession to you on the phone the other day, you couldn’t even look at Kermit without having burning questions. You put them in the back of your mind to ask later.

Cerwyn, Cregan’s best friend who was as large and as broad as Stark was, stood by the window smoking a joint, giving you a small wave and a smile from across the room.

“Where are we going first?” You asked, being handed your favourite drink from Cregan as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“We should go to the Red Kraken.” Jace suggested, sitting back down in his seat to sip on his beer.

Cerwyn chuckled, “You keen to see Dalton again?” He asked you, eyebrow raised.

Dalton Greyjoy, owner of the Red Kraken, was a man a few years older than Cregan. The last time you had went to his venue with the Stark, he had suggested the three of you go back to his when he clocked off. It was brazen and daring, but you couldn’t deny the man was attractive. He had dark hair and dark brown eyes that were almost black.

Dalton stood taller than Cregan, if you could believe it, and was often found at one of the local boxing rings for fun.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say I didn’t want to see him again.” You cheeked, Jacaerys chuckling on the couch as he explained the situation to a very confused Luc, the younger boys cheeks going a bright red.

“Hey!” Cregan chastised you, pinching your side.

“What? He’s handsome and ruggish. A bit more dark and mysterious than you are.”

“No mystery with that one.” Kermit piped up from his seat, taking a cheeky sip of his drink, eyes watching you over the rim of the can, “If you want to see his cock, just ask.”

“Kermy!”

“What?”

Cregan burst into laughter beside you and all followed.

You all finished your drinks and found your way into the city, heading straight for the Red Kraken.

It was a dingy bar, more male populated than not, but it had a fun feel to it.

Grungy and dirty, it had mismatching couches and tables, and a great smoking area out the back. On Fridays they had sport trivia nights which Cregan had once taken you to.

You lost.

You all sat down and drank and laughed, and you felt the tension from the week slough off your back like snow in spring.

It was good to be with friends like them, and you had only wished that the girls were there to join you all.

The night flew by, and your sides were in stitches from laughing so much. Dalton had come over to speak to you all at one point whilst the bar was slow, and you had felt his gaze lower to your breasts on more than one occasion. When he left, you had whispered into Cregan's ear about taking him up on his offer, which had earnt you a scandalised look.

It wasn't a no though.

“If you don’t want Dalton, I’d be happy to replace him.” Cerwyn smirked.

Cregan declared that he owed the entire table a round for that comment, and Cerwyn had done as ordered without apology or regret, a teasing 'anything for you, love' flowing from his lips.

As the night moved on, you all decided to move to the next venue, and it was your good idea to take them all to the bar that Sara had taken you to. All were in favour, and so you made your way down to the silk lanes, Lucerys’ bright brown eyes eyeing the doors of the strip clubs excitedly.

“Is that it?” Elmo sighed, looking at the busted wall and green door entrance.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

Jacaerys stepped into the venue immediately, security guard nodding at him as he entered, not bothering to check his ID. Your brows furrowed as you looked up at Cregan, who just shrugged down at you.

As you walked down the stairs to enter the bar you caught up to Jace, who looked like he was at home.

“Have you been here before?” You asked, walking inside, seeing the bar staff nod at him, big grins on their cheeks.

“Daemon owns the joint with my mum.” Jacaerys told you, and you stilled.

This was Daemon and Rhaenyra’s bar.

“What? I didn’t even know that.” You whispered in a hushed tone, still loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Pretty low key, just another investment. They said they’ll hand it over to me eventually.”

“What the fuck?! Jace, that’s amazing!” You grinned, hugging him aggressively around his neck as you stood at the bar, waiting to be served.

Cregan moved behind you, hand winding around your waist as he whispered into your ear.

“Don’t freak out.”

You let go of Jace and turned to look back at him, “What? Wh-“

There, at the end of the bar, sat a familiar head of silver hair.

And his eye was on you.

You snapped your head away, uttering a quick ‘fuck’ beneath your breath.

Lucerys, following your eye line shifted uncomfortably, “Jace, Aemond’s here.” He whispered to his older brother, who turned to face his uncle, giving him a curt smile and nod before looking back to staff in front of him.

“He’s fine. Leave him be.”

It was awkward.

This was supposed to be your new place to get away from him, and now Aemond was here? And what was worse, you were here with people you knew he didn’t get along with. And the glare he directed towards you was apparent.

Cregan led you to go sit down at a booth at the encouragement of Jace who said the drinks were on him for the rest for the night, though in reality you knew it was more like on his parents, but you didn’t argue. Free drinks are free drinks, and you needed one now more than ever.

“Are you okay?” Cregan spoke lowly, hand holding yours on the table.

You swallowed, “I’m okay. It's just awkward.”

“He still giving you shit?”

“It's a long story, and one I’ll tell you later.”

Cregan pressed a kiss to the side of your head, your eyes immediately lifting to see Aemond watching you. The other boys came to join you at the booth, Cerwyn sliding in next to you, with Luc and the Tully brothers opposite. Jacaerys made his way over to his uncle, polite smile on his lips.

You watched as Jace and Aemond shared what looked to be a somewhat tense and awkward conversation, though completely civil. Aemond seemed to tolerate his nephew barely just, and Jacaerys had slapped a friendly hand on his uncles shoulder as he made his way back to you, earning the brown haired man a frown from a head of silver.

“I think we should leave.” Luc whispered, shoulders hunched as he curled in on himself.

Jace slid in next to him, “Don’t let him intimidate you.” He put a gentle hand on Luc’s shoulder, similar to how he had with Aemond, and you got the impression that Jacaerys being the eldest, was used to being the mediator, “Let's have a drink, enjoy each others company and have a good night.”

The staff brought over your drinks, sitting them in front of you, and you clinked all your glasses together messily in a toast, feeling Cregan whisper into your ear as you took a sip.

“Relax your shoulders." You did as you were told, not having realised how tense you were, "Don’t let him ruin your night. I’m here, the boys are here, and if at any point you want to leave, we will leave. Okay?”

You nodded.

No way in Hell were you letting him sour your mood again.

You all stayed at the bar, round after round of drinks being dumped on your table without any of you having to get up or order. You were messy and loud, but above all, happy.

You felt Aemond’s gaze on you for almost the entirety of the night, and caught his eye on multiple occasions, tension crackling in the air between you. But after your third cocktail, the heat of the drinks overpowered the heat of his gaze.

Eventually, Aemond stood from where he sat at the bar, your eyes immediately finding him and watching as he left, walking past your booth as he let his eye stray on Cregan’s hand that was wrapped over your shoulder. He continued on his path, nose held high as he disappeared up the steps.

Lucerys sighed, obviously having felt some sort of tension the entire time, “What the fuck was that?”

You groaned, burying your face into your hands.

“Aren’t you living with him?” Kermit asked, and all eyes immediately landed on you.

“What?” Jacaerys’ eyes went wide, “Since when do you live with my uncle? What happened to Helaena?”

“Hel is at the Keep, and Aemond needed a place to stay, so he’s in her room.”

“Gods help you.” Elmo falsely prayed, lifting his drink up in a mock toast.

Cerwyn and Cregan shared a look over the top of your head, and then with Jacaerys, sharing some sort of unspoken conversation. The only people confused at the table, were you, Luc and the Tully brothers.

“What?”

Cregan shrugged.

You felt that there was something unsaid, but you opted to leave it, sparking up a conversation with Kermit, asking pointedly about his love life, but not mentioning Daeron. The red headed man narrowed his eyes at you, wide smile pulling on his lips, before he started to go into great detail about someone he had fucked recently, with a full and lengthy description of their cock.

The two of you the only people at the table knowing who it was.

The night continued for a while, but you couldn’t help but feel the lingering guilt and upset that Aemond had triggered inside of you. Cregan, sensing the shift in your mood, decided to call it a night, and offered to take you home.

You said farewell to all the boys, and made them swear to do this more often, giving Lucerys a particularly tight hug, feeling the tension in the youngest boys shoulders.

When you and Cregan got back to the apartment, the lights were off, and the flat was bathed in darkness. You stumbled into the apartment giggling, shushing the tall man behind you who clunked loudly on the floor with each step.

“Shhh!” You hushed him, laughter bubbling up your throat.

“Come on, bunny.” Cregan laughed quietly, steering you straight to the kitchen, filling up a glass of water for you to drink.

You scrunched your nose at him, knowing you were drunk, but not wanting to sober up yet.

“Drink it all, Y/n. You need to sober up.”

“You need t-to sober up.” You quipped back, jumping up on the cabinets, your shoes hitting the doors loudly by accident.

“Shhh!” You hushed your own feet, grabbing the water and drinking it slowly, keeping your eyes on Cregan the entire time, who watched you in entertained exacerbation.

You placed the empty glass of water beside you, which Cregan filled to the top again.

“Cregaaan.” You purred, the Northerner lifting a brow at you, “Can you roll me a cigarette, please.” You pouted at him, trying to give him your best doe eyes.

Cregan shook his head, grabbing your small handbag to pull out your cigarettes, rolling you one neatly as he moved to open the window. You shimmied closer to the ledge, putting the cigarette to your lips as you lit it.

Blowing a ring of smoke out the window, you offered Cregan a drag, who took the smoke from your hands delicately.

“I can't believe Cerwyn offered to join us.” You guffawed, cheeks heating in both embarrassment and excitement.

Cregan blew the smoke out the window, handing the cigarette back to you, “I can. Cerwyn thinks you’re cute. Plus he knows all about our little agreement.” You giggled loudly, inhaling the sharp smoke into your lungs, “Why? Are you thinking about saying yes?”

You blushed, crossing your legs tightly, heat settling in your core, “I dunno. Cerwyn is cute.”

“He is.”

Your mouth dropped open, “Cregan Stark. Tell me more right now.”

Cregan took the smoke from your fingers bringing it to his lips as he smirked down at you, “I mean, I haven’t not thought about it. He's my best mate and I live with him. I've heard what goes on behind his closed doors. Besides, you beneath both of us, begging, sq-“

“Can you two be fucking quiet?”

Both of your heads snapped to a disgruntled Aemond Targaryen, who stood in the lounge room, hands by his sides in fists. He was in those grey sweatpants again, hanging low on his hips with no shirt on, hair on his head tangled and messed.

“I’m s-“ You began.

“-It’s three in the fucking morning. Have some respect.”

You stiffened, feeling anger begin to bloom in your chest, you opened your mouth to argue, to snap back at him, but Cregan stepped in front of you, blocking you from the other mans view.

“No problem, man. We'll be quieter.” Cregan’s voice was deep, stern, clipped, and left no room for argument. Though it was polite, it was rough, like the cold in the North, biting and sharp. A true Northerner through and through.

Cregan was silently hitting back without even doing it.

Aemond’s lips pursed into a hard line, turning on his heel to stomp back to his room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Cregan spun around to look at you, eyebrows lifted as he whistled lowly, pulling the smoke up to his lips to take a long drag.

“What the fuck?” You hissed quietly, “What is his problem?”

Cregan sighed, “It is 3am, bunny. I’m sure he just wants to sleep. It would have been a weird night for him.”

You frowned, annoyed that Cregan was acting so cool about Aemond’s outburst, “Why aren’t you angry?” You snatched the smoke from him, taking a final drag before you put it out on the brickwork outside.

"I'm not not angry."

You huffed in annoyance.

Cregan stepped forward, unhooking your legs to stand between them as his large hands skated up the outside of your thighs. He bent his head to look at you, your eyes refusing to meet his.

“Y/n." Cregan coaxed you softly.

You slowly turned your head to look at him, staring into his icy grey eyes.

“Do you like him?”

“What? No!” Immediately feeling defensive.

Cregan hushed you, shaking his head kindly, “It’s okay if you do. You’re not in trouble.”

You blanched, not sure of how to speak, words getting caught in the back of your throat.

Cregan stroked your cheek softly, soft smile on his lips, “Hey, this is casual, remember? Regardless of if we fuck or not, you’re still my friend, and I care about you and want you to be happy.”

Your heart pulled painfully, lips dropping down into a frown.

Cregan’s chest rumbled with a quiet laugh, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re so sweet, Creg. What the fuck.”

Both hands rubbed warmly up and down your thighs in comfort, “You’re fluffing me up now.”

You shook your head, “I don’t understand. Why don’t I like you instead?”

Cregan gave you a sad smile and kissed the tip of your nose, “I used to ask myself the same question. But now I see it. We just don’t gel like that." He shrugged, and your chest pulled, "And honestly? I'm glad, because at the end of the day, no matter what happens between us, I know I'll still be able to call you mine in some way or another. Whether that be as my friend or my lover.”

You felt tears begin to build in your eyes, the betrayal of the prickling in the corners, causing your stomach turn, “I don’t get it. Why do I feel this way? He’s been nothing but horrible to me.”

“You’ve fucked him haven’t you?”

“No.” You said quietly.

His eyes roamed your face, knowing you far too well, “You've done something else.” Cregan guessed, watching the way your face fell further.

His back suddenly straightened, “Did he hurt you?”

“No! No, Gods no. Nothing like that.”

The Stark relaxed slightly, but you could still tell he was on guard.

“Does Helaena know?”

You looked away, fingers pulling at the threads of material on your thigh, “No. I’m scared. She’s my best friend, Cregan, and I feel like I’ve totally broken her trust and gone behind her back. She has so much going on right now, I just don’t know how I’m even supposed to broach that conversation. Like what do I do? ‘Hey Hel, your brother ate my pussy like a starved man and then immediately treated me like shit after.’”

“What did he do?”

You shook your head, “It doesn’t matter. He’s been nothing but a dick to me. It's not going to happen again.” You looked down into your lap, wringing your hands together as the feeling of being used washed over you again.

“If I know you, and I think I do, I can tell that it will happen again just by looking at you both.”

You scoffed, looking up at him in irritation.

“No, listen. There's clearly something going on between you two. Anyone with two eyes could see that. Maybe that's why he's not.”

“There's nothing-“

“-Cerwyn picked up on it immediately. Even Jace could see it.”

Oh.

Cregan's thumbs smoothed the skin of your thighs, the warmth of his body soaking into yours, “So what happened? Start from the beginning.”

And so you did, you started from the beginning, telling Cregan about the day he moved in, to your first kiss in the kitchen, all the way to the other night and how he had left you and was horrible right after a scene.

You watched as Cregan’s brows had become drawn at certain points in justifiable anger, the man always having been very protective over you, and at other times he gave you a scathing look, telling you that you had gone too far as well.

“So yeah, we haven’t spoken since, and I don’t think I want to. I just can’t see how he can be so cold to me when I've been nothing but kind to him.”

Cregan leant against the window, rolling the both of you another cigarette, trapping the smoke in his lips as he bent down to take off your shoes off as you began to swing your legs in agitation.

“He's a douchebag for sure," Cregan agreed, standing to his full height again, "And I really don’t see what you see in him.”

“See?? I think it's all hormonal or something. I don’t know. Ugh. But when he is nice, he is so lovely. And when he smiles it's this-”

You stopped yourself.

Oh gods.

You were deeper than you thought.

Why did you have a crush on this man???

Cregan smirked at you and you swatted him roughly, taking the smoke from between his lips to light it, taking a long and hard drag, feeling the smoke swirl down your throat thickly.

“I don’t know much about the man,” Cregan began, “But from what Jace and Luc have told me, I know he’s been through a lot. He didn’t get an easy run as a kid-“

“-It's not an excuse to be a dick.”

“-No its not an excuse, but it is an explanation. I know his dad wasn’t really there, and his mum was real tough on him. It didn’t help that everyone sided with Luc after the accident.“

“The accident? What do you mean?”

Cregan took a steady breath, taking the cigarette from you to take a sharp inhale, speaking as he exhaled, “Luc took his eye.”

“What?!” Your heart fell.

Cregan held up his hands, “No, not like that. It was an accident. Lucerys has never forgiven himself for it, hangs over the poor kids head like a storm. Aemond was ten, and Luc would have only been like five or six? They were both kids, and they were play fighting with wooden swords, some knights and dragon game they used to all play, but Lucerys had swung too high and too fast for Aemond to block it.”

Your stomach turned, and a chill ran through you, “Oh my gods.”

Cregan looked down sadly, shifting on his feet, “Yeah, its rough. Fucking horrible what happened, and then Alicent wanted to sue Lucerys for grievous bodily harm.”

“What the fuck? But he was just a kid? They were both kids! It was an accident!”

“I know right? Alicent started a fight right in front of Aemond at the hospital with Rhaenyra, got physical, everyone started screaming at each other when they all should have been comforting the poor kid who lost his damn eye. The family has been a mess ever since.”

It all made sense now.

The tension.

The disdain.

The law firm.

All of it.

Cregan handed you the smoke and also held the second glass of water to you, waiting for you to drink half of it, “I’m not telling you this to excuse his behaviour or make you pity him. I'm just trying to give you some perspective as to why he is the way he is. He’s had it rough, and from the sound of it, he doesn’t know how to open up or feel safe. The people that were supposed to protect him failed him, and I think that it really did change the way he is.”

You felt guilt.

Guilt for not knowing. Guilt for now knowing. Guilt for not being more understanding. But at the same time, you were not really at fault.

How were you to know?

“Fuck. I feel terrible.” You sighed.

“Don’t be. He was an ass to you. No excuses there.”

“I guess. I did rub his ex in his face.”

Cregan sucked in a hiss, “Poor form.”

You buried your face in your hands, “I know. But he just left me, straight after giving me one of the best orgasms of my life. It was horrible, Creg.”

“Best orgasm?” Cregan joked, and you sighed.

“Shut up. It was horrible. I've never felt so used before. It reminded me so much of Jason, I think it really triggered me. I cried myself to sleep after.”

Cregan stepped back between your legs, pulling you into a tight bear hug, in away that he always did, tucking your head beneath his chin and cradling you to his chest. You instantly felt safe, reassured, and loved.

And it was always how you felt around him.

“You’ll get through this, bunn.”

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